As we got to shore the weather started to intensify.

But, entranced by the beautiful rock formations and the fascinating dinosaur egg proportioned beach stones, we didn't hold much concern for the steadily building wind rising out of the north-east. Afterall, the nor-easter is a friend.

We climbed the steep country behind this bay, through a landscape that had not seen many humans, and looked at the growing anger on the sea's surface. 

I don't have any photos to show how the wind built and built until the sea was covered in white horses. We waited for a couple of hours for this wind to abate - but it didn't.

We considered pitching camp for the night but the land was far too steep and the beach was a field of boulders. There was nowhere to put even a single tent.

So we collectively decided that we should grit our teeth and paddle around the enormous cliffs of Bishop and Clerk to the safe cove at Darlington, on the Mercury Passage side of Maria Island.

There are no photos to show of this next passage.

It was impossible to hold a camera.

Gripping the paddle and maintaining uprightness required all senses and intense effort.

For the stiff afternoon nor-easter was actually the pre-curser to a massive belting weather change from the south-west.

We paddled hard into the teeth of this 25 -30 knot nor-easter all the way up this north-eastern side of Maria Island. We were drained of our energy, but still managing okay.

With devilish timing, however, just as we turned the corner of the island to head along a nor-west bearing the nor-easter turned through 90 degrees of the compass and became a hot and forceful nor-wester. Shit - we were now in some trouble here.

The cliffs along this shoulder of Maria Island are truelly intimidating and cruel.

They rise directly out of the sea to a full height of SIX-HUNDRED AND THIRTY METERS like a shear gothic cathedral from the pages of a horrible book. These evil-looking cliffs threaten to throw 20 tonne daggers of rock at your miserable little boat. There is nowhere to land or hide anywhere along this relatively short but formidable section of coast. We seemingly paddled for an hour without moving past a particularly mean-looking jut of rock that sneered scornfully at us from half-way up its towering cliff face.

The sea began to build further.

At one point my crawling progress came to a sudden jolting halt - I had forgotten the lure that I had been trolling.all afternoon to catch the dinner that we would enjoy that night. I strained to pull the very heavy line while waves and wind slapped my kayak and me backwards. Two or three very large barracudda-like fish, each as thick as my upper arms and each at least a metre long (divide by two for more reasoned accuracy) were thrashing the lure and line into a horribly tangled web of knots. These fish had all hit the lure's 3 sets of trident hooks at the same moment. I could see myself getting into a dangerous situation here so I cut the line without another thought for our dinner.

On we struggled across the face of Fossil Bay where we threatened to join the extinct creatures buried in the rocky shore upon which a large swell was now thumping in with the fists of a solid bone-crushing shore dump.

The wind went further around to the west. It was now blowing at least 30 knots.

We were all getting cold.

"We have to get around the nose of the island and hook into Darlington. Otherwise we will be found on the west coast of New Zealand three weeks later" I shouted.

And then we saw it.

I will never forget it.

The Mercury Passage was a lime-green torrent of roaring water.

Waves were smashed all over its ugly face with spray being whipped twenty metres beyond its breaking crests. The wind had gone severly hard from the south-west. Was it now blowing 40 knots?

The sun was setting.

Bullets of sea spray stung our cracked lips.

Frozen hands stabbed paddles into the angry sea and the wind strove to rip those paddles away again.. 

We fought our way in inches along that fucken side of Cape Boullanger as the sky turned sickly green-black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nightfall as we hauled our water-logged kayaks out of the shore break, then 100 metres along a creek narrow channel and onto the firm land at Darlington.

We looked like three drowned rats from a ship wreck as we dragged ourselves into the camp ground. Someone from another camping party expressed disbelief that we had just come ashore in such treacherous conditions.

We fell into our wet sleeping bags and dreamed our fitful and hypothermic dreams while the wind tore through the branches around us all night. 

The next day was, not surprisingly, a rest day from kayaking.

The Janus-faced weather mocked us with its sunny disposition.

Psychologically damaged, but still alive, we climbed to the top of Maria Island and looked back on the path of our journey of the last 8 days ...

Our starting point was somewhere beyond the south-western horizon.