After paddling flat out into a headwind, Chris rests under this fisherman’s shelter. We bargained with the fisherman for half his day’s catch in return for biltong!

The business end of Likoma island: goods to be loaded and off-landed, with the mountains of Mozambique in the distance.

On 7 November we landed in Lichinga, having flown there via Maputo and Nampula. Our friends Ryan and Jill Stainbank met us at the airport and drove us straight to Cóbuè. They live on an estate called Tenga, two hours from Lichinga, where they farm macadamia nuts.

They own a double kayak, which they were kind enough to lend to us. The first 100 km to Cóbuè were on tar and the last 100 km on dirt. The road was quiet. At Cóbuè we were greeted by a wonderful African sunset. The beauty of the lake and the view over Likoma Island and Chizumulu Island blew us away.

Ryan and Jill spent the night with us at a rustic beach lodge, before heading back to Tenga. We
planned to call them in seven days’ time. Chris and I prepared the kayak, packed all our stuff
and headed for customs, which we would have to clear before being allowed to paddle out to
Likoma Island. But the customs officials were nonplussed. How did we plan to get to Likoma? We
explained that we had a kayak.

The official said the kayak did not have legal papers and we would be locked up in Malawi. Chris asked if all the wooden boats on the lake had papers? The official smiled and said nothing. 

Then we all went off to look at the kayak. The three custom officials shook their heads. Chris and I looked at each other and smiled. We all looked at each other and shook our heads. Then we did it all over again. Not wanting to miss the chance of seeing Likoma, we relented and agreed to hire a boat to make the 5 km crossing.

Now in Malawian territory and mindful of the rules, we went looking for the customs official on the island, whom we found playing pool in the local pub. He hauled out his briefcase, stamped our passports and exchanged some money for us (at the black market rate). Chris and I ambled around the island and admired the Anglican church, where a Sunday service was in full swing. This church was completed in 1911 and is one of the largest in Africa.

At lunchtime, we were pointed in the direction of the local restaurant, The Hunger Clinic. Chris ordered fish, but looked crestfallen when his meal arrived. The only thing on his plate was a fish head. He was told the head is “the special part of the fish”. I had chicken, but Chris went hungry.

Back at Cóbuè we were met by the Mozambican customs officials who had come to retrieve the outboard engine off the boat that had transported us. Now we understood: It was their boat! We paid
the “boat man”, who then paid the customs officials. Before retiring for our second night in Cóbuè, Chris and I were waiting to order dinner in the lodge’s dining room when, much to our astonishment, a young white woman arrived out of the dark.

She told us she’d hiked three hours from a lodge on the lake’s edge. We found out she was from
Australia, which explained it all. Our conversation was interrupted by the waiter, who asked us what we wanted to eat. A hungry Chris, not wanting to be caught out again, yelled: “Chicken!” There was a black chicken roosting on the wall close to us. The waiter casually lent over, grabbed the chicken and wrung its neck.

Our new dinner companion nearly collapsed with shock, mumbled something about being vegetarian and disappeared back into the night, never to be seen again. Chris and I ate the chicken
anyhow, by the light of a paraffin lamp on the beach.

The trusty double kayak, pulled up on the beach at Nkwichi Lodge.

Early the next morning we put the kayak into the water and started heading south. The lake was flat
as a mirror and the water so clear you could see all the way to the bottom. This was better than any
package holiday in the world! We paddled in silence, absorbing everything around us and keeping a lookout for the place where the Australian vegetarian was staying.

We entered the Manda Reserve, an area of pristine beauty, and soon found Nkwichi Lodge. Much to our surprise, this place has won several awards, including being voted best small hotel in the world in 2008. A young South African, Devon Concar, was in charge, and really chuffed to see us. We
exchanged biltong for other food and decided to stay the night.

Ordinarily it costs $300, but we paid only $30! Biltong does funny things to people. It really is an impressive place, completely in tune with its surroundings. The rooms are built in such a way that they are invisible from the lake and the lodge does a great deal to support the surrounding
communities.

The next morning we were back on the water at 5 am. We made good progress, taking in the
breathtaking landscape. It was a privilege to be paddling along this remote stretch of coastline.
Later we stopped for a breakfast of Morevite (a cheap cereal made of sorghum) and biltong
on a secluded beach surrounded by indigenous trees and canopied by an enormous baobab. We felt completely at ease – there was no sense of urgency.

After all, we’d come here to unwind and take in our surroundings. Little did we know that everything
was about to change. As we set off, the weather began to turn nasty. Within minutes we were paddling into a fierce headwind. The horizon was black with clouds and I sensed that our worst nightmare was about to unfold.

Waves that seemed to come all the way from the Malawian mainland, probably 100 km to the west, pummelled and pounded us. We entered a bay and paddled furiously towards a headland, about 300m away. Chris shouted that we were too far from the shore and if we capsized it could be fatal, but it was too late to change our course. The waves would sink us. We paddled for our lives!

The shore didn’t seem to get any closer. Was this the end? It was an enormous effort, but we eventually reached the shore. We dragged the kayak high up on the bank and discussed what to
do next. We had to push on. If the storm continued, we would not make it to Metangula and we would miss our flight home. So we pushed the kayak back into the water. It was impossible to paddle. The only way to make any progress was to drag the kayak through the shallows – it was
simply too heavy to portage.

Three hours later we were still dragging the kayak. Dhows were being lashed by the storm too. We
noticed that the fishermen were also hauling their boats, but in the opposite direction. 

After another hour’s schlep we collapsed in a heap under some fish-drying racks. Two fishermen noticed our despair and offered us shelter and a fish. We finished the fish in seconds and they offered another one – gone! We slept for an hour, but as night approached, we decided we should keep on going before complete darkness set in.

So we continued hauling the kayak along the shore. An hour later Chris yelled at me to stop. He was exhausted and needed to sleep. But before stopping we were faced with a final obstacle: a difficult portage around a rocky headland. At 7 pm we finally found a beach where we pitched our tents to sit out the storm. At 11 pm the storm increased in intensity and the thunder and lightning became more violent. We cowered in our tents like two little boys, and soon my tent was flattened.

For two hours the rain stung my back through the tent, which was now plastered to my body. I lay there hoping the storm would abate, but it just wouldn’t stop. In the darkness, I searched
for my tent zip because I was soaked and needed to escape. I scrambled to a fishing shelter I
remembered seeing some distance away, only to find two fishermen fast asleep. They had also sought shelter from the storm.
 
I woke them and gestured a request to squeeze inbetween them. I rate this as one of the most
moving encounters of my life. Incredible! They made space for me and we huddled together for
warmth until 5 am. I often wonder about those two fishermen and whether they had ever experienced anything as bizarre before. At dawn the lake was still wild, but we were able to paddle. We made an all-out effort to get to Metangula. We paddled past some remote fishing villages,
once again enjoying the beautiful terrain.

When we surprised some kids washing dishes at the lake’s edge, they looked up, dropped everything and ran for cover! PARADISE. The trusty double kayak, pulled up on the beach at
Nkwichi Lodge. We weren’t sure whether it was because we were both really ugly or whether they had never seen white people before. It once again reminded us of how remote this area was.

By late morning we were exhausted; the day before had drained us completely. Finally we rounded the last bend before Metangula. We considered our options. It was two days until our flight and if we
encountered more bad weather we would be stranded. Meponda was still 100 km away. We decided to be sensible and opt for Plan B. We spent the night at Metangula Lodge, then caught an overcrowded bus back to Lichinga.

We still had a day to kill before catching our flight, so in Lichinga we found a flatbed truck to take us
to Meponda. Two hours later we were back at the lakeside, safe and sound. We spent one more day at the lake before our friends came to fetch us and take us back to Lichinga for the flight home.
The whole journey may have been a crazy adventure, but it brought us back to earth. We live for the extreme. It’s what makes our blood pump through our veins, although you do sometimes wonder whether or not you will make it home!