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stuff to the beach—for which I was especially grateful as the tides weren’t quite so convenient on this occasion.
    With the 8-metre tidal range and a shallow beach, the water moves in and out at a slow walking pace; this may not sound like much, but in terms of tidal movement it’s huge. To help win the race I’d use the invaluable trolley system specially designed for the kayak to be pulled to the water. The trolley system supplied with my kayak is made up of two metal tubes and two wheels from a golf cart. You stick a wheel on one end of the tubing, put the other end into a purpose-built hole in the kayak then use cord to hold it in place. It’s light, simple and effective, and it packs away neatly with the wheels attached on the back deck. However, to ensure the trolley system lasted the whole trip I’d offload the heavier items like food and water to take the strain off the wheels. This meant I’d have to go back to pick up my stuff, and by the time I’d returned to the kayak the sea had retreated a further 100 metres—a game of catch-up. Sometimes I’d find myself almost a kilometre from my camp before getting on the water.
    After leaving the caravan park I started to relax and get into a daily routine. I had been struggling as my body adjusted to the rigours of being outdoors and paddling for 7–8 hours each day. But I soon got settled into the repetition of packing up, getting everything to the water, paddling all day, landing at a campsite, unpacking and setting up. Despite the sharks, I was pleased with the way things were going and I felt like I’d gathered momentum after my bad start from Broome.
    At Port Hedland I found a caravan park close to the water. As I dived into the tent I kicked in a clump of leaves, which I couldn’t be bothered to kick back out again. What I didn’t know was that with the leaves came a spider whose bite was way out of proportion to its size. It had enough of me as I unknowingly booted it around the tent and as a result I had a foot which throbbed painfully from its reprimanding bite.
    Stupidly I’d also managed to camp next to some sprinklers which set themselves off in the middle of the night and pounded one side of the tent for hours. But the main reason for my sleep-deprivation wasn’t sprinklers, it was backpackers partying next to my tent. Now I’m mindful of all the people I must have annoyed with the aid of alcohol in my youth while camping around the world. I see such disturbances as a penalty I have to pay on their behalf. But come midnight my dues were paid and I got out of the dry side of the tent and limped over to strongly suggest the backpackers shut up. Although English wasn’t their first language, they got the message. I was satisfied with the result but I didn’t make much effort to keep quiet during my early morning start.
    I had a couple of days of 30-knot winds going my way after leaving Port Hedland. These created short, sharp waves that made for very wet paddling. I couldn’t open my hatch cover to get food for fear of it filling with water. The wind did mean I travelled a lot quicker, but it was just as tiring as paddling with no wind.
    One evening as I rested at a camp spot I was rewarded with what is known as the ‘Stairway to the Moon’. This is a phenomenon caused as a rising full moon reflects on the rippling, exposed mudflats at an extremely low tide, creating the beautiful optical illusion of a staircase reaching up to the moon.
    A shortcut to Dampier is Searipple Passage, a channel splitting the Burrup Peninsula. This was a great spot, though slightly tarnished as the mountains of rocks all the same shape and size were evidence the area had been mined. I guess when all the goodies had been dug up the area was abandoned, and with no further value it was then called a nature reserve.
    Here, there was lots of life in the water. A fish that had been sheltering under the kayak was chased out into the open by a shark, which then propelled