Free All the Way Round by Stuart Trueman Page B

so I waited until after dark to set up camp.
    While I was in the shadows, on the phone arranging a pick-up in Perth for the next day, a shiny Range Rover pulled up. They didn’t see me, but I watched in disbelief as Mum stayed in the car with the engine running and a youth got out, walked up to the kayak and tried to remove my spare paddles attached to the back of the kayak. He wasn’t quick enough. I ended my phone call and stepped out into the light. Not wishing to attract too much attention to myself, I only used short words and walked the youth back to his mum who showed considerable restraint by waiting for him to shut the door before driving off without a word to me.
    That was the only time I had an issue with theft during the trip, and it was in an expensive part of town by someone in a car that had almost the same value as our house when we bought it.

Map 3: The second leg—Perth to Esperance,
24 June–12 August 2011

3
    Perth to Esperance
    U nlike on a remote coast, you can’t just rock up to a big city like Perth and pull the kayak into a nearby campground. Caravan parks are hard to find, never on the coast, and always full. So I tried to find a sympathetic kayaker who would be able to put me up for a few days while I prepared for the next stage. This normally involved contacting the local sea kayak club or emailing friends before I approached their area.
    I had read about Terry Bolland and his 100-day solo kayak trips through the Kimberley. Among his many achievements was a trip when he ran, bicycled and kayaked around Australia. As well as running his shop, Canoeing Down Under, where he sells all things kayaking, Terry regularly heads off to the United States and paddles thousands of kilometres up and down rivers. He never seems to stop. I was keen to meet him and had previously organised via email for him to pick me up when I got to Perth and look after the kayak.
    My time with Terry was an inspiration. He gave me good advice about paddling the south coast and, after looking at my rather tatty and inadequate clothing, he generously upgraded some of my gear. He also offered to lend me his satellite phone for my crossing of the Great Australian Bight, which I rather reluctantly agreed to. I was worried about getting it wet, and as I mentioned earlier it was against my personal ethics to carry one, but after some words of reason from Terry I was grateful for the safety net it would provide.
    I had five days in Perth of overdosing on good food, coffee, booze and TV—it was great. Then it was time to leave, so I packed my gear and, almost as an afterthought, I tested my PLB the afternoon before I was to continue paddling. Bloody thing failed.
    I was angry with myself for not testing it earlier, but relieved I’d tested it at all. The fact my PLB failed gave me a nagging feeling about the reliability of a device that was my only way of getting help should I need it. Terry raced me over to a Perth dealer who, rather rashly, advised that he would send it to Sydney and I would have a replacement in a matter of days. I had no intention of waiting and, as it turned out, it took a few weeks and plenty of phone calls to get a response back from Sydney.
    So on 24 June I set off from Perth with Terry’s PLB, planning to return it when mine came back from the PLB doctor. Terry dropped me off and I headed south again.
    By the end of my first day back on the water I had a sore right wrist. By the end of my second day I struggled into the Dawesville Channel, 70 kilometres south of Perth, with a constant stabbing pain. My mind was in turmoil. I knew the pain was not something I could ignore and I realised it was serious, because it hurt even when I wasn’t paddling. The wrist needed rest, but I still ignored the reality, deciding I would get some sleep and hope the cocktail of drugs I’d popped would fix me by morning.
    It was bitterly cold that night and I only had my tropical sleeping bag, which wasn’t capable of