All the Way Round Read Online Free PDF

steep beach, 8 or 9 metres high, but the high-tide mark was at the top, so I had to carry everything up to find a camp spot that would stay dry. Then I realised that if I was to avoid carrying the kayak back over the reef on my way back out to sea, I’d have to leave before the tide dropped too far. This allowed me only four hours on dry land.
    So at 2 am, after two hours’ sleep, I was back on the water and heading towards Cape Jaubert.
    Cape Jaubert is 130 kilometres from Broome, or four paddling days if you’re in a kayak. The light sandy beach and clear waters were picture-postcard stuff. On the low headland there was a basic shelter of four timber beams supporting a makeshift roof of chicken wire laden with dried brush in a vain attempt to provide some much-needed shade. Apart from this there was not a bush, tree or rock standing high enough to cast its own shadow.
    There was a group of Aboriginals fishing in the surf and a couple around the shelter tending a fire. I was unsure about the sort of reception I would get. Would I be viewed as a trespasser or welcomed as a traveller?
    As I landed the kayak I was approached by a fit-looking man with a stern face. I prepared myself for the worst and gave my friendliest smile. To my relief, the smile was returned. When I asked about camping I was told that only the elder, who was at the shelter, could give me permission. At the shelter I was made welcome and was soon eating fresh fish and damper, washing it down with sweet tea, and feeling silly about my previous concerns.
    The elders were teaching the kids traditional spearfishing and some were using handlines. One youngster proudly produced his first turtle he had killed with a spear. I looked at my pile of kit then at the couple of handlines and spears they had used to catch dinner for eight people and felt a little overequipped. They offered me some spare drinking water, but I was so conscious about my excessive equipment that I declined. Besides, how could I be out here with all this gear and take something from someone with only a pair of shorts and a spear?
    When the fishing lesson was over, I was left with the permission needed to camp the night and a welcome feeling. The group lived at the same settlement as the policemen that were called to the eco lodge where I’d washed up on that first day, so I gave them a message to pass on that I was doing well and making progress.
    It was still very hot and humid. Trying to be energetic in these conditions was like moving about with bricks on your head. The shelter had been set up on a low hill to catch any breeze that happened by. But the wind was hot and it just seemed to dry out the human body. I was still drinking 10 litres of water a day and that wasn’t enough. I had three days of paddling to the next water at Eighty Mile Beach Caravan Park. Given my current consumption, supplies would only just last. That may seem like no reason for concern, but with no margin for the unexpected and after suffering dehydration just a week before, to have ‘just enough’ was an uncomfortable place to be.
    While I was in Broome I was looked after by Belinda Dwyer and Richard Young of the Broome Adventure Company. They told me that at this time of year everybody was anticipating the end of the Wet Season, a dramatic change in the weather which was sudden, unannounced and irreversible. The Wet Season brings the Kimberley its yearly quota of fresh water, but there is a terrible price to be paid with the humidity that builds with the rains. All that allows Broome to function during this time is the air conditioner.
    Belinda and Richard told stories of guests turning up for dinner and, having been sealed in the air-conditioned rooms, were unaware that during dessert the Wet Season had ended. They took two steps outside before turning around to borrow a jumper for the journey home. The photos stuck to the fridge would curl their corners as the humidity was swept away and the rains stopped.