A vast lake lies ahead - smooth as glass and reflecting blue sky and the leaning branches of ancient paperbarks. White sand beaches slide by as we paddle steadily across the tannin-stained water. It is day two of a so-far idyllic trip - exploring isolated shorelines where goannas hunt and young sea eagles practice flights and battles. It feels like a soft, soul restoring kind of journey.
Then, about mid-morning, the wind gets up, ruffles its feathers of air. White caps rush ahead of us. The roar of a southerly wind rises. We are out in the centre of Myall Lake and the water crashes regularly across the bow of our kayaks as white streaks of foam begin forming on the torn surface.
The suddenness of the change in weather is humbling. I focus on a tiny island of trees just ahead and try to keep the boat straight. The distance looks longer and harder with each passing minute.
