Kayaker tells of his epic adventure
Intrepid kayaker Scott Donaldson has revealed it could take a year for him to completely physically recover from his epic solo voyage from Australia to New Plymouth.
The adventurer shared the ins and outs of his 62-day journey across the Tasman Sea during a public thank you at New Plymouth’s Puke Ariki museum on Saturday.
Only days after coming ashore at Nga¯motu Beach, he told the crowd of about 70 people that the idea of kayaking 2200 from Coffs Harbour, north of Sydney, to New Zealand first came to him while paddling on Lake Rotorua one day. ‘‘And here I am eight years later.’’
He set off on May 2 and arrived last Monday, becoming the first person to navigate the ditch alone in a kayak.
But paddling for up to 20 hours a day meant Donaldson was in the same position for such long periods of time that his hip flexors shortened and his knees and ankles were affected.
He lost a lot of weight too – 16 kilograms to be exact. The
48-year-old tipped the scales at
98kg when he got on board in Australia and 82kg fully clothed once he touched land in New Plymouth.
And it’s these physical and mental limitations he overcame – ‘‘the stuff people didn’t see’’ – that he’s most proud of.
‘‘I did stuff I didn’t think I could physically and mentally do.’’
In his 6.3 metre kayak, Donaldson carried a desalinator to make the seawater drinkable and edible. He’d use it to buff up his freeze-dried spaghetti bolognese, vacuum-packed porridge, and several courses of antibiotics, which he had to take occasionally for his skin and a gastro bug.
If he was cold, Donaldson had to ignore it unless it was affecting his performance. For a week straight he couldn’t feel his hands.
He wore gloves about 10 per cent of the time, not for the cool temperature, but to protect his skin.
He got up 40 minutes early to dress his skin as much as possible – trying not to touch anything and get the dressings wet, and being mindful of every small cut to ward off infection.
‘‘Your skin integrity is easily compromised when you’re wet all the time.’’
Apart from 48 hours in the Australian shipping lanes, Donaldson didn’t see another soul – not counting the albatrosses and shearwaters, the shark that tried to bite off his rudder and the lone seal who lives 300km off the Taranaki coast.
He swore it was the same seal he saw on his failed attempt four years ago, when his mission had to be aborted just 80km from Taranaki.
During his more than two months on the water all he could see for days was endless ocean – the GPS his only hint that he was actually moving.
‘‘You can’t focus on the finish; it’s too far away and if you focus too much on the finish it distracts from what you’re doing right in front of you.
‘‘Expectations create limits so I didn’t expect it to take anything. It took what it took.’’
On the Australian side the ocean currents are strong, but they get weaker the closer you travel to Kiwiland – but also more unpredictable. And the swells, with waves as high as six metres, can create what Donaldson describes as a ‘‘washing machine’’.
‘‘It’s way harder being in the cabin than paddling, and that’s because it’s basically a box.’’
Donaldson said he had to modify and test a lot of his gear – ‘‘if it says it’s waterproof, it’s not"- and moderate his thinking. Too much dreaming of a nice meal would create a craving and distract from the goal.
He told the audience there is a shortage of modern-day heroes in the ilk of a Cook or Hillary as everything is ‘‘over PC’d and over-safe’’, and people have unreasonable fears.
‘‘Everyone has their levels and then you can train those levels.
‘‘Everything’s trainable. I think you should be far more fearful of getting on the road to drive home than sharks on the beach.’’
As for his kayak, Donaldson’s had some offers but wants to keep it for now.
And his future plans? Well, there is nothing in the works, yet.
‘‘It’s a nice space to be in after so many years of focus.’’
However, his immediate future will be taken up with ‘‘family time’’, his wife Sarah said.
‘‘I’ve hardly even said ‘hi’ to him,’’ she said.