The Final Hurrah

Well I've been a bit slack over the last few weeks. Instead of regularly updating my blog to let people know where I am and what has been happening I have instead been lying low. A lot however, has passed under the bridge since last I wrote.

I'm in Hobart now and not on the river for a start.

Yes thats right, I am literally thousands of kilometres away from my beloved rivers. Have I completed my odyssey? Well, yes and no.

My last port of call on the Murray was Wellington, which is where the Murray River pours into Lake Alexandrina. At least, it has poured into the lake in the past but in truth today it is in a sad state of events today. Not much more than one thousand megalitres a day flow over at Lock 1 at Blanchetown and the majority of this is destined to be pumped out of the river and piped to Adelaide before it reaches the lake. The lake itself, which is seperated from the ocean by barages, is typically 0.75 of a metre above sea level. Today, due to the ongoing drought it is minus 0.3. That means the level of the lake is 30 centimetres below sea level! The locals are, as you can imagine, up in arms. They are worried that their entire livelyhoods will go up in smoke simply because there is no water for them to live on.


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Even people who have water allocated to them and are allowed to pump water from the lake are in trouble. Why? Because the lake is so empty that they simply cannot get pipes to the water.

None of this is the reason why I'm in Hobart without having paddled to Goolwa, which is at the far end Lake Alexandrina and is where the lake waters interact with the ocean - not including the barrages that are in the way at the moment and preventing any mixing of the two waters. As I left Renmark a few weeks ago I had the flu and had to take a couple of days off from paddling at Berri. Up until reaching Renmark I have been remarkably healthy and I assume that on hitting a major town I was open and suseptable to catching any dreaded lurgies which happened to be lurking about.

After hanging around for a couple of days at Berri in a caravan park, I decided to head off. My cold was largely gone and time was a-wasting. I had a big day on the second day out and made Cobdogla with a few hours to spare before night fell. My shoulder however, began to feel a touch sore. Instead of giving it time to recouporate I haded out the next day - and the next and the next. After heading out each morning I would find that after about ten minutes or so my should would become increasingly sore. If I tried to look in one direction or exerted to much pressure then sharp pains would shoot through my neck and shoulder.

By the time I was in Wellington each stroke was a studied effort in pain. With a big day needed to cross the lake I was worried. Worse, the lake is renowned for being challenging and I was concerned that my body wasn't in any fit state to battle adverse conditions which may spring up at any time.

Now I'm in Hobart once more and giving my shoulder time to heal. It has taken a good couple of weeks for the pain to dissapear completely and I now shall be looking to testing out the shoulder by carrying out some explorative paddles around Hobart before making a decision on whether or not I should paddle the final leg I had planned - across Lake Alexandrina to Goola.

I shall keep the blog up to date to let you know how I go.


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Riding an Anabranch

Rather than simply following the course of the Murray River, I decided that it would be far more exciting for Tim, David and Marcel to enjoy a bit of variety by cutting of some kilometres and shooting down Anabranches...

And what is an anabranch? Well, I'm glad you asked. An anabranch is when a stream or creek branches off from the original river and rejoins it later downstream. The anabranch I had selected was Mullaroo Creek. This had been recomended to me by some people I had met on the Darling and I would have to say that they were right. It was a great route to take. Of course it did provide us with a few challenges....

as you can see from the picture above, there were many snags which we had to negotiate and the river - unlike the Darling which was also snag ridden, this water was flowing! Tim and I were in tghe double kayak and as I was in the front it was up to me to call out which direction we should go and for Tim to guide us in that direction.

"Left", I'd call out with some degree of authority. "Left", I'd say again as we began to get closer to a branch sticking out prominently directly in front of us.

"Left left left", I'd call in some distress as the kayak kept in a straight line.

"OK then", I'd say as the kayak began to veer to the right. "Right". Then of course the kayak would begin to move to the left. "No no. Left. Go left. No. Go right. Riiighhttttt. Argh!". Bang! The kayak must have hit snags every five minutes or so. It was great. I'd recommend it to anybody.


There was one snag which spanned the river. There was a low section on it and I directed Tim to charge at it - full tilt. The nose of the kayak slid up the snag and the kayak came to rest half way across and Tim had to hop out of his seat, lean against me and put his feet onto the snag and push with all his might before we came adrift. Great fun. We also had a bit of trouble negotiating a very low lying bridge. We had to get down to the same levels as the deck of the kayaks almost and drift slowly under.

There was also quite a few birds and we even came across some fishermen that took pity on us (well, mainly me really) and handed us a six pack of beer, which was very nice of them.

Of course the creek didn't run swiftly for long. Mullaroo actually bypasses a lock and drops around three metres over ten or fifteen kilometres or so and is geat fun whilst it lasts. Once the creek reaches the same height as the water pooled up in the lock below however, it becomes as placid as the Murray River and we camped that night on the banks of a placid Mullaroo creek. You would never know what fun could be had on the upper reaches of this wonderful little creek.
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Friends Reaching the Murray

Last Saturday I was joined by David, Marcel and Tim for a few days who have all managed to run away from their normal lives to join me for a few days paddling on the Murray River. Just getting from the daily grind to the Murray was an epic unto itself - let alone the paddle down.

After much umming and ahhing both David and Tim teamed up to come on up to the Murray and took the ferry (after a frenetic drive hoping that they would make it) to Melbourne where they picked up Marcel and drove to join me. I wasn't meeting then at a town or any other such simple place. Instead after much to'ing and froing we decided upon Neds Corner, a property once owned by Sydney Kidman. Unbeknownst to me at the time, there was more than one Neds Corner. The first - Neds Corner Island was a days paddle distant from Neds Corner homestead. in fact the original homestead had indeed been closer to Neds Corner Island but the homestead was moved when the original burnt down in 1959. This of course resulted in much confusion, with me trying to figure out just where the heck I had suggested we meet. In the end we met at the new homestead of the property. I arrived a good hour or so before they did and talked to the caretakers who let me know that the roads were a "bit dicey" and that most cars getting through to this area were all 4WD. Oh oh.

No problems for Tim, who just aimed at the mud, stuck his little Subaru into low wheel drive and floored it. It sounded a bit dicey getting through though... With rain forecast however, we knew there would be no chance of the car getting out. To make sure they lads could actually get back to Tas, Tim and I drove down to Renmark once things had been unloaded then came back as far as we could go in a taxi. Not unreasonably the cab driver went only so far before Tim and I had to hop out and walk. Tim, being the genius he is, managed to forget his shoes and had to walk for kilometres in bare feet on muddy ground.

so as you can see it can be a bit of a challenge just getting to the point of starting an expedition like this. Fortunately Tim, David and Marcel made it, and the expedition I'm sure was worth it. Or perhaps you should ask them that...
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Wentworth at Last

Well who would have believed it. 1,500 hundred odd kilometres of discovery has so far brought forth myriad adventures and challenges and I have finally reached Wentworth - the confluence of the Darling and Murray Rivers. I am writing this scarcely believing that I have indeed travelled from where the Barwon River turns into the Darling. The last leg - from Pooncarie to Wentworth was a kicker.


I guess I could have really guessed. The second last leg - from Menindee to Pooncarie was far more challenging than any other section. I guess I was just hopeful that I would find that the final leg would be a beautiful, easy finale to my journey down the Darling River. No luck there damn it.


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Within 5 minutes of heading out of Pooncarie I was forced to put my paddle down and hop out of the kayak to drag it over sand bars. The sand bars were quickly joined by some challenging trees which spanned the river. My first hour was slow but then the river opened up and let me pick my way carefully downstream.

"Ripper", I thought. "Hopefully it won't get any worse".

Hah!

A week or so into the leg from Menindee I made a comment in my journal about new weeds which were beginning to encroach upon the river. I thought that they looked like bad news and hoped that they wouldn't span the river, for if they did I could see it might be a nightmare to continue. Well guess what.

After a couple of days paddling a came across a virtual sea of the dreaded reed. A good couple of hundred metres of the stuff. It took me a good couple of hours to get through it all. Well - close to an hour of very hard work anyway. And that was a taste of things to come.

I couldn't tell you the number of times I had to hop out of the kayak to beat down the reeds and drag my kayak through them. I felt like Humphrey Bogart on the African Queen. At times I was waist deep in water - which was pretty darn cold I must say and beating my way threw. Still, in the end I managed to get through and once I was within a hundred kilometres or so of the Murray River the condition changed totally. The water became deep, houses became more common (sometimes I'd see two or three an hour!) and the obstacles became non existent. This was because the Murray river backs up the Darling for miles. I ws pretty relieved I must say. Of course it did feel like suburbia after the remote rigours with which I had been faced.


Dad and Anna joined me at a station called Sturts Billabong for a night or two, and Anna joined me for the final two days paddle into Wentworth, which gave her a real taste for the river and meant that I had somebody helping paddle (which meant I didn't have to paddle so hard).

Tomorrow I head off from Wentworth. Down a new river. A river where the waters of the Darling mix with those of the Murray. A river where house boats are common, the waters are broad and fast boats make their way from one town to another. A far cry from the river of little water, no people (let alone boats on the water) for days or weeks and remoteness unparalleled with towns a novelty rather than a regular occurrence. as such I am treating this river somewhat differently. No need to stock up on supplies for weeks on end. No need to ensure that I am self sufficient for weeks on end either.

The first leg from here - Wentworth to Renmark, is the longest leg on the Murray for me (about 250k's or so) and I am joined by a few people as I do it. Darryl Brander, a property owner whom I met on the Darling River will be joining me for the next couple of days and when he goes Dad will be staying the night before David Wanless, Marcel and Tim Larby will join me at a place called Neds Corner and paddle with me down an Anabranch and into - or close to - Renmark...


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Supplies and the route to Wentworth

Well, I've managed to reach Pooncarie, which is around 1,350 odd kilometres from where I started. A decent old paddle really.

What does this all mean? Well, it means I only have about 240 kilometres to go before I reach the confluence of the Darling and Murray Rivers. It also means reaching Wentworth, which is a decent sized town and a place where I will actually be able to buy a reasonable amount of supplies.

Imagine that.

I went into the general store here at Pooncarie to stock up on supplies but I wouldn't say that the selection was terribly extensive. I didn't see any eggs but I did get some bacon. A little bit of meat, some flour, chocolate, tea and some biscuits was all I was able to buy. This means no sweetened condensed milk to help me through. Tragedy!

I expect the river will be quite challenging from here for quite some way. There was today 72 mega litres going over the Pooncarie weir, which is very little indeed. Normally i would expect around 200. Apparently the reason there is only 72 is that I am now on a controlled river (since Menindee) and the government system is on the blink. The people in Menindee who open up the weir to supply water downstream know how much water is going through by looking but the metres show something different. In other words, the system is broken and as a result they are not allowed to let more water through until somebody from Sydney has been sent out and recalibrated the water metres.

May that be sooner than later is my prayer. Full Story

The Importance of Progress

One thing that I have noticed is that as I wonder down the Darling River, the towns through which I go vary enormously. Pooncarie, which is where I am at the moment is a ripper.

First of all, it is immaculate. Nice and clean and quite welcoming. Clearly the people who live here believe that it is important to ensure that the place looks and feels good. The camping area nearby is well kept, there is a golf course (which has no grass I might add) and the houses are generally well kept. It also has (joy of joys) a cafe where you can sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee. I'm actually sitting out the front of this cafe as I type now and it brings to mind the pub in Parachilna, South Australia.

The pub there has decided that instead of aiming purely at locals and being a place where travellers fear to tread, they would change the outlook and aim at the myriad types of travellers who love the Flinders Ranges. The pub, which from the outside looks to be the quinessential outback pub opens up when you walk inside. The bar looks like any other bar execpt that on one side they are selling ice creams and gourmet hot chocolate. They have a good art gallery for people to wonder and the dining area is clean. The food, rather than being traditional pub fair is far more cosmopolitan with wraps and falafals being on the menu. In other words, it is bringing a touch of wealth to the outback. A place where people can feel comfortable and don't have to feel that they have to drink alchohol all the time.



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Clearly, the Cafe here in Pooncarie is trying to do something similar - though on a slightly smaller scale. Several locals look askance at this new venture by out of towners, yet those out of towners have clearly taken to a clean, airy cosmopolitan area like bees to honey. Well before I hit this place I had heard about it. First at Bindara, then later as I met travellers camped on the banks of the Darling River.

No, this is not an advertisement for this cafe. Rather it is an endorsement of bringing a touch of class to what has recently been seen as a rough place to be - the Outback. Whilst some people may be attracted to a rough and tumble lifestyle, many people love the bush but also enjoy quality as well - and quality means cleanliness, open spaces, welcoming people at the very least. Often these elements are brought about when new people hit a town. People entrenched within a town often have difficulty in seeing what can be done to life a town. Pooncarie, like Parachilna, has been given a new lease on life thanks to John and Pauline.

Now if only the Tilpa pub where visitors are a little like creatures from alfa centauri.

Christo
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The People You Meet

Breakfast this morning, was superb. Huge as well, which was good. And all because of the great people you meet on a journey like this. Wonderfully tender steak, onion, exquisite tomatoes and a couple of eggs is a great way to start the morning.

A few days out of Menindee and after some pretty tough days paddling - or to be accurate - dragging - meant that I was pretty keen for at least one easy night and it was with this in mind that I was keeping a lookout for Bindara homestead. As a way of supplementing their income. Bindara has opened its grounds to people for accomodation and after a couple of long days in the saddle (figuratively speaking of course) i was keen for a touch of luxury.

I reached the homestead quite late - 4:30 or so - and wondered up to find somebody and see if I could get a bed for the night. In the end I found Barb and Kanga (Barb's tree climbing dog), and she offered me a bed for $25 a night or $30 if I wanted fresh linen. Fresh linen! Who could say no to such a proposition? In the end I was given the old boundary riders quarters. The grass was nice and green all around, I had my own kitchen to do with as I wished and the showers were excellent. In fact I liked the place and my hosts Bill and Barb so much that I stayed an extra night.



Asides from the kitchen, there is a well organised area for a campfire and sitting around the campfire for dinner and solving the problems of the world a perfect after dinner job. Bill is mad keen on home grown energy solutions and has solar panels, wind generators for the house and he powers his car with fish and chip oil.

When I did finally leave it was leaving friends behind whom I would like to see again - not as it is when normally you leave. I also left well stocked, with many tomatoes, mandarins and capsicum freshly picked from their garden. The only problem was that I didn't get far after setting out. No more than five or six kilometres down river I ran into Karl and Gay. brand new grey nomads - though Karl proclaims himself to be a bald nomad - not grey.

I came across Karlas I rounded a bend and he was seated next to a fishing rod, hoping or preying to catch a fish. after a few minutes down came his wife and before you know it I was invited to lunch which was a fantastic salad sandwich. It had to be one of the best lunches I've had in a long time. One thing led to another, meaning I ran out of daylight and camped the night next to (well within 100 metres anyway) their decidedly flash 4wd camper van.

Very gernerously, they shared their dinner with me - steak bacon, chops and potatoes wrapped in foil and thrown in the fire not to mention several galsses of decent red wine. Who could ask for me? When I left the next morning Karl went to the fridge and ripped out four vacuum packed sides of beef and a side of bacon for me. his parting gift to me.

So you can begin to see why I dined so well this morning Last night I ate two of those steaks with onion, garlic and roasted capsicum (coming right out of the Bindara gardens of course). Its all positively decadent. Now I relate this all not to show the largese of Karl and Gay, Bill and Barb, but rather as an example of the wonderful people I've been reading. This last few days is just a part of the continuing story. Whether its Graham and Kerry, Barry and Irene with their Irish stew for dinner and samples of yellow belly and yabbies or the manager of Wienteriga putting on a BBQ with Johnny Cakes on the side and ample bread and baked beans for a week or two, or Izy, Steph and Tracy inviting me to dinner then lunch and dinner at Kallara station or any of the others I've met as I've travelled the river.

All the station owners and property owners have been great as well, offering to fill my water with fresh rain water and offering plenty of cups of tea and views on life. These are the reasons - or at least some of the reasons this journey is turning into such a wonderful odyssey.





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The Dubious Art of Short Cuts

I have great difficulty in getting over just how different the river is here compared to Wilcannia and further upstream. Upstream of here, the river trickles down, rapids must be contested and running aground a constant threat. The banks are high as well, with the gum trees lining the river towering hoigh above. Your entire aspect is confined to the river which holds you closely to its bosom. Here though, it is an entirely different river.

The river here is wide - sometimes 200 metres or more and it has poured over onto neighbouring ground and swamped all the trees. In some areas it is hard to see where the water stops and the land begins. mud plains abound and if you are careful (or lucky) you can knock several kilometres off your journey by taking a short cut over what would normally be dry land. This can be a bit of a hit and miss affair though.

The first time I tried I had instant success. There were few trees in the way, the passage was deep and the path short (some fifty to eighty metres long) and that knocked off at a guess around three kilometres. My second attempt at a short cut was a bit more dubious - though still a success. The route was bestrewn with trees in the water and was quite shallow in a couple of places. Still, I managed to find a path and made it through. Or at least almost.

At the very last hurdle I got through all right. So did my kayak. Some equipment however, did not. As I scraped through the last narrow passage a branch managed to snag a dry bag which was sitting on the rear deck and only tied down with an octapuss strap. I paddled hard and the kayak - with a scrape here and there - popped through. the dry bag however, stayed behing, dangling on the branch half in and half out of the water. What was worse was that I didn't realise it had come adrift. It was only a couple of hundred metres later as I carried out one of my regular equipment checks that I noticed.

Eek!

I quickly back tracked and collected the bag, which had fortunately lived up to its name. Inside the dry bag was the flash digital SLR camera and all its paraphernalia. It wasn't even my camera, but Anna's. I would have been dead meat if I'd lost it. Still, I didn't and alls well that ends well.

Taking short cuts certainly reduces the distance but it also raises the chance of something out of the ordinary happening.

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A day of luxury

A cold morning this morning. Its around 6 degrees C at the moment, though with the light winds and due point it feels considerably lower than that. As a result of the chill in the air I remained cocooned within my sleeping back until almost seven. .

I emerged from the tent to the cries of Red Tailed Black Cockatoos and mists rolling off the surface of the Darling which was is notmore than five metres from my campsite.



Now, however, I am writing this as I wait for breakfast to cook. I have a couple of chops on with eggs and two slices of bread fried in the juices of the chops. Delectable. This campsite is an unusual one in that I am immedietly below an old homestead - Weinteriga. Its in ruins today, but this old homestead must have been something in its day.

Situated on a bend of the river and once lived in by Sid Kidman, it has commanding views and looks as if once apon a time it was a real hive of activity. Outhouses abound and the main quarters is quite spacious with the kitchen being enormous. Its a crying shame that the place has gone to rack and to ruin. The new homestead is situated about 1.5 - 2 kilomtres away and is no great shakes. A few very average houses with no beauty or grace whatsoever.

Weinteriga is owned by the local aboriginal community in Wilcannia (who are part of the Paakantji - Paak being river and antji I assume being people). I understand that they procurred the land in 1984, just after the momentous Land Rights Act of 1983 by the Wran Labour government of NSW. The property iself is around 70,000 acres and currently runs 5,000 head of sheep - though in good years this almost doubles. According to Dave, the station manager (and an aboriginal elder from Wilcannia), the ultimate goal is to buy up all the land between here and Wilcannia for the community. Sounds like a plan to me.

The land lining the banks of the river is generally in good condition and the whole place has a good feeling to it. It seems an incredible waste to see these old building withering away though. I could just imagine schools from Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide coming up here for week long camps, staying in the old homestead and learning:

a) about the machinations of a working sheep station;
b) about aboriginal culture and history;
all about fishing, wildlife, plants all everything that goes along with going bush.

All thats needed is a single million dollars or so I'm guessing.

Now where do I find one of those.... Full Story

Pay Attention

I almost came a cropper today. I guess I've become blase about these rapids on the Darling. they can't add up to much can they? In fact it comes as a bit of a surprise finding any rapids on the river at all. I certainly wasn't expecting any when I was planning this journey.

Rapids on the Darlign?

Bah.

I went through several areas with rapids today however. Some required a deft dipping of the paddle to line up properly, but most were simply pointing the kayak in the right direction and paddle like buggary - for any rapid upon the Darling invariably means scraping across some rocks as you sail on by.

I'd just gone on by a homestead and was actually thinking how nice iit would be to take a photo of the next rapid I went down when this rapid came into view. I whipped out my camera and had it ready to go. The only problem was that I hadn't really been paying attention to what was going on up ahead.

This rapid was a weir.

I put the camera down and took a couple of hurried strokes, hoping a bit of speed would see me right, but no joy. I hit the weir and a log stuck on it held me fast. I had to hop out of the kayak to get things going again and after a couple of concerted heaves the stern (can you call the rear end of a kayak / canoe a 'stern' or is that a bit presumptuous?) started moving inexorably and before I knew it lay athwart the weir, Water spilled into the kayak briefly as I battled to keep it upright. Luckily I won.

After that it took me only a minute or two of heaving the kayak about and it was all ok.

so the lesson here is to never take things for granted. Expect the unxpected and stay alert: even if you are o Australia's longest river where paddle steamers used to ply their trade. I was just lucky the drop to the other side of the weir was 6 inches instead of 6 feet! It could have been a lot worse.
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Wildlife of the Darling

I thought that some people might be interested in the type of wildlife I have been seeing. Here is a quick summary of what I saw today.

Birds Choughs x 15
Masked Wood Swallows x 12
White Necked Heron x 15
White Faced Heron x 11
Wood Ducks x 45
Whistling Kites x 4
Pied Commorants x 2
Wily Wagtail x 20
Dotrell x 1
White Plummed Honeyeater x 40
Budgies x 200
Red Tailed Blck Cockatoos x 30
Ravens x 25
Black Kite x 2
Galahs x 10
Welcome Swallows x 20
Goshawk x 3
Kookaburra x 4
Mallee Ringneck parrot x 6
Various other parrots x 100 or so.

Animals Kangaroo x 12
Goat x 5
Turtle x 1
Jumping Fish x 10
Murray Cod
Sheep x 30 or so.

Less herons than normal. And Kites. Lots of budgies but only a few Red Tailed Black Cockies. No swans or pelicans or other such oddities which I have seen before now. The rarest animal sighted so far would have to be an Australasion Bittern.

All pretty good I have to say.
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Two days away from Tilpa

well, I am around 77 kilometres out of Tilpa, with around 190 - 200k to go before reaching Wilcannia. Today was a good day. I managed to paddle just on 40 kilometres, despite stopping quite a bit and hitting a number of shallow areas. Actually it was quite exciting in parts. A

I ran a couple of rapids today. Nothing huge I'll grant you, but white water nonetheless. I would definately rate them as grade 1 rapids which, considering this is the Darling River and its meant to be flat as a pancake is quite amazing. In fact I would even go so far as to say that one of the rapids was grade 2. Almost anyway. You actually had to pick a line and change course by back stroking a couple of times. How they got paddle steamers up here I'll never know.

On another front, its been like Pitt Street today on the river. 90 minutes or so after setting out this morning I came across four fishermen. Just as I came up to them they managed to land a murray cod, ten pounds or so in weight and 67 cm in length. They were, as you can imagine, pretty excited.

Another hour or so after leaving them behind I came across another couple of people making it six people in one day on the river. a lady was rowing a dinghy across the river, from west to east, with a long rope attached to the western shore. Her oars were all a whirl as she inexpertly did her best to go from one side of the river to the other.

On the far bank was a man giving her encouragement - a advice - as she made her ineffectual sweeps with the oars. An audience (i.e. me) was not what she wanted. As I got closer the more quickly did her oars whir and the slower she went.

"Geez", I thought to myself. :A Trffic jam on the Darling. After talking with the two of them for a moment I offered to nudge her dinghy the last few feet. An offer she greatly accepted. When she was close enough she threw the end of the rope to the bloke on the other side - or at least she tried to. The rope just made the shore and as she started to drift it gradually inched its way towards the water.

Seeing this, the bloke took a step or two towards the rope only to recoil as the muddy ground underfoot begun to give way, making him slide inexorably towards the waters of the Darling. After beating a hasty retreat he found a stick and used it to retrieve the thrown rope which he then made fast to a tree. The rope now spanned the river, with the idea that in future somebody crossing wouldn't need to paddle across. They could pull themselves over. All very tricky really.

Once this palava was over I was offered a cup of tea and allowed to fill up my water bottles with fresh rain water, which I have to say tastes a heck of a lot better than the muddy waters of the Darling.

Now though, I am at camp. The tent is "abduled" and the fire is slowly dying down, the embers are still glowing red. This has to be one of the best camp sites to date. In fact I thinks its the best so far. I am on a knoll overlooking the river and surrounded by a small grove of juvenile Red River Gums (say 50 years or so old). The tent is strung up between two of them and I can hear fish jumping out of the water on an intermittant basis.

Does it get better than this?


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Creatures from Alpha Centauri

So last night I stayed at the Tilpa pub. Over a century old in one flavour or another, its a beautiful place to look at. Well, maybe beautiful is the wrong word for it. It is full of charecter anyway.

When I paddled into town yesterday afternoon (the town has a population of six I might add) there was a few cars around and the playground was full of children who had been recently released from the confines of the cars to stretch their legs. Adults were laughing and standing around in relaxed attitudes and the sounds of the kids at play all led to an atmosphere of conviviality.

Or at least so I thought.

When I walked into the pub for a drink and enquire about a room, you could feel the entire mood shift from one extreme to another. A rougher mob behind this counter they are, who'll ignore you as best they are able. I'm not sure if its because they don't see many new faces in these parts and are scared to talk to people they don't know or are simply showing their disdain for "blow ins" like me and other travellers.

Needless to say, I thought it was great.

"G'day" I said in as cool and tough a manner as I could manage. The woman behind the bar looked at me with unfriendly eyes.

"Um", I said convincingly. "I'd like a drink please". She thought about this for a moment. A hard look was in her eyes.

"What do ya want?" she asked obligingly.

Now Tilpa is clearly a place where Men are Men, Women are Women and Small Furry Creatures from Alpha Centauri are Small Furry Creature from Alpha Centauri. I considered her question for a second and, despite my dislike for it ordered a beer. I did this in the rather forlorn hope that I would be seen as a Man rather than a Small Furry Creature from Alpha Centauri which, from the initial looks I was getting was just where they thought I was from.

Sigh. The beer at least was cold.

Funnily enough, this was just the sort of reception I had been expecting. Pretty much all the travellers I had met who had come through Tilpa had waxed lyrically about the gruff, taciturn reception that they had recieved at the pub. "Mr. Personality" is how one person had nicknamed the publican. I was at Kallara station at the time, some ten or so kilometres by the road up river, camped by the river and talking with a couple of groups of people travelling through.

One person mentioned "Mr. Personality", people all looked at each other and started talking about the flat reception that they had recieved. People were relieved to find it wasn't just them - that the reception was poor for any traveller. So I knew what I was walking into and thought it was great.

I noticed that during the night the people behind the bar opened up a little, but only when talking to locals. When i was ordering a drink (even beer) I would be ignored for a moment or two (sometimes more) before being served.

I'm still not sure if it was because they wanted to appear tough or simply don't know how to handle strangers. Or Small Furry Creatures fro Alpha Centauri.

Same thing really.


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Tilpa reached!

Hi all,

Well right now I am in Tilpa, some 480 kilometres away from the confluence of the Bogan, Barwon and Culgoa rivers, from whence I started. This is really just a quick update to let you all know that I am ok and am now looking forward to what looks to be one of the most challenging parts of this expedition: Tilpa to Wilcannia.

.

Zannia and I set off on the 30^th of last month where the Darling begins and made rather rapid progress to Bourke. Wild pigs, goats, turtles and birds a plenty. We got stuck at one point and I hopped out of the kayak to push us off the sand bank we were on. Took one step, then another and before you know it I was waist deep in mud. Instead of helping me, Zanni just laughed.

Once at Bourke it took a day or so to organise the next stage with Pip and the rest of the Melbourne mob: Paul, Rob and of course Redbox (Pip’s dog). In the end we took three kayaks – mine and two of James (two flash mirage kayaks). Red box sat in the middle of my big beast and had two people paddling for him – when he sat in a kayak at all of course. The first day or so he must have run 20 kilometres. He was exhausted. Bourke to Louth was a top leg. Good company, fruitless fishing, goat stew and a hugely varied river as we wended our way down. On the last day the lads decided to be picked up early and I pushed on by myself – a long leg of just under 70k’s, which was good but exhausting.

Now though, I am in Tilpa. I’ve crossed a few weirs (see photos), met some good people, paddled like buggery. I’ve had a shower (bliss!) and had a day off paddling to recoup my energies before heading off on this next, long leg (some 280 kilometres if I remember correctly from earlier calculations).

My principle concern at the moment is the river itself. Will there be enough water to get right the way through. I was told that I it would be tough to get to Bourke. I was told in Bourke it would be hard to get to Louth (if not impossible) and I was told Tilpa was touch and go. So far so good. But I do know that the amount of water in the river at the moment means I will be dragging the kayak over some shallow sections on my way to Wilcannia.

Wish me luck.

Regards,

Christo

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The Brobdingnagian People you Meet!

As I mentioned in my earlier blog, Zanni and I were given a lift to the start of our journey by a bloke I met in Bourke. A really interesting guy, a kayaker of amazing proportions. Of biblical proportions. Of brobdingnagian proportions.

I wonder if that's a word by the way. Brobdingnagian. Sounds like it should be. It Sounds HUGE! And that is what this man has accomplished. Huge things. Before I go into that though, let me tell you how I met this person.

The logistics of an expedition such as this are many and varied. Food, equipment, scheduling and more all become issues at one time or another. Organising equipment for the Melbourne Mob (an eclectic medley of mad Melbournians) who are to join me on the river meant that, amongst other things, ensuring kayaks were available to actually paddle in. With this in mind, Pip (my brother and one of the Melbourne Mob) rang a guest house in Bourke and asked if it would be possible to hire a kayak or canoe. Much to his delight the guest house owner said yes. In fact she even owned a canoe - and she knew of a bloke who was a keen kayaker and owned a couple.

Anyway, one thing led to another and Pip gave him a call only to find that this guy was indeed one of the dead set hard core kayakers of the world. A man who has kayaked or canoed in various parts of the world. He's paddled a large part of the river - down to Wentworth in fact. That paddle helped him fall in love with the area and today he lives out here, teaching kids and loving the bush and lifestyle out here.

Now I can understand that. On the face of it, Bourke is a pretty rough town. Crime is high and petty theft common. Windows on houses are protected by wire mesh and peoples property are behind big huge fences. Cars being left on the streets are almost assured of being broken into during the night. not a pretty picture, right. Well true, but that's just one side to the place.

The people that you meet here, the community which is clearly thriving is just beautiful to see. People are quite friendly and are keen to help in any way possible. It is wonderful really. On hearing that I was looking at kayaking down the river, James (for that is the name of the kayaker) was only too happy to give a helping hand.

"Where are you launching?"

"Whose property are you going through?"

"Who do you know around here?"



After an hour or so of discussion, James volunteered to drive Zanni and myself out to the start of the river. He's also keen to call ahead so that some of the people on the river can expect to see a mad mob kayaking down.

I love this place. The people here are great. Sure the youth is disaffected. Sure petty crimes are rampant. but the people here are like gold and the country is just beautiful to behold. I can really understand the reason why people would far rather live in places like this instead of those cosmopolitan places they call cities...

I can't wait to discover other people of such brobdingnagian proportions. If its a word anyway...

Regards,

Christo
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The Journey Begins

And the Journey begins. Well, almost anyway. Tomorrow I shall finally putting paddle to water in anger. The first stroke in the journey down the Darling River. And not before time I might add. The last few weeks has been astoundingly busy, buying equipment here, talking to people there; researching what's needed here, modifying equipment there.

Now though, I am truly kitted out and ready to hit the water. I'm writing this now on the veranda of the Port of Bourke hotel, a pub which I stayed in for the first time over 30 years ago. Back then as a callow youth it made quite an impression on me and I'd have to say its still a great place to be. Back then they charged $19 per night per person. Today things are different. They charge $50 per night but you get a free meal thrown in. Last night I had a Reef & Beef meal: Scotch Fillet steak with prawns and squid on top essentially, with as much salad on the side as you like. The meal was easily worth $25, which means that the room itself was about $25. not bad eh.

The pub (which I think was called the Royalle hotel when I was here in '77) is a classic outback Australian pub. Wide veranda's, corrugated iron and tiny rooms. I love the shared sitting room (where the only TV is) and showers are down the corridor. Very civilised. Tomorrow however, will be the first night on the river. I'm ready for it. I've been running hither and thither for the last few weeks and feel as if I've been run off my feet.

I now have enough equipment to fill a warehouse. I'm not really sure just how I will fit it all into the kayak. Maybe if a put it all in and just jump on it it will all just find a place somehow. Actually its not that bad but I sure do have a lot of gear. One of the funkiest purchases over the last week has been a new water filter. Instead of the normal pump action, which most filters I've seen use, it is gravity fed. You simply fill up a water bag and attach it to the filter and Bob's your uncle. Just leave it for a few hours and come on back to fresh water. The claim is 10 litres over about 7 hours, which means that by the beginning of every day I will have all the water I need. Of course thats just the most recent purchase.

I have a GPS, camera, phone, laptop, tons of food and more to say the very least. I even have a solar panel to help keep this electronic world fed.

At the moment the plan is to head out tomorrow morning from Bourke by 4WD to the junction of the Culgoa and Barwon Rivers. Zanni, a very good friend of mine is joining me for the first few days and we are being very kindly taken to the river by a bloke I met in Bourke who just happens to be a mad keen kayaker himself. So just to give you a bit of an idea about the itinerary...

Sunday 30th	Put paddle to water with Zanni
Wednesday 2nd	Paddle into Bourke. Zanni head home to Melbourne
Thursday 3rd	Joined by the Melbourne Mob (Pip, Paul and Rob). Late morning start for Louth
Tuesday 8th	Melbourne Mob leave the river and head for home
Thursday 9th	Estimated arrival in Louth.

View Larger Map
For more detail on where I'll be check out my calendar.

I am hoping that I shall be able to update people as I go on down the river but I don't expect to put much up for the next few days.

Regards,

Christo Full Story

A Touch of the Outback

Henry Lawson wrote "If you know Bourke you know Australia". Well, Bourke is my first town on the Darling River and a place which already has a place in my heart.

When I was a seven year old stripling my father (when he had black hair instead of white) took me (and others of course, but lets just focus on me for a second) out of my safe environs and into the bush. I remember the first night we camped on the Bogan River (at least that's where I think we camped) before making our way to Coopers Creek via Bourke. It was a magic journey. A journey full of wonder for a young mind. I remember vividly the times when at night, with the fire low we would retire to Dad's old canvass tent (more a tarp then a tent really) where, by the light of an old hurricane lantern, Dad would read to me about the great gray green greasy Limpopo River and other suchlike Rudyard Kipling gems. It was wonderful. As I lay on the banks of the Cooper my soul gradually become one with the land, and ever since I have loved the Outback.

Now of course, I am about to write a new chapter of my life in the great Australian Outback. This chapter is somewhat different from the other chapters of life. Its centred around the Darling for a start. I've always felt that the Darling has had an allure for me of course. I've just never really given in to this allure. Not that there has been much opportunity to of course.

For at least the last ten years the river has run pretty much dry. Instead of a majestic river "A Second Mississippi" as Henry Lawson would have you believe, it has instead been a chain of elongated billabong's. Instead of water gently flowing, blue green algae has proliferated, making much of the water virtually unusable and certainly undrinkable. Fish have suffered and could be seen desperately trying to survive in the few clean sections of the river. Today however, its a different kettle of fish. The Warrego, one of the tributaries to the Darling hasn't flowed for twenty years but this year its in flood. Of course most of the water will be eaten up on the vast floodplain's north of Bourke, but this years La Nina weather pattern has changed all that. Some of the precious water has managed to hit the Darling River. More water from Flooding in Central NSW has also meant that the average depth of the Darling has risen markedly. Not to dangerous levels. Not to flood levels, but to healthy levels: where people can swim in comfort and the fish and other animals have the opportunity to breed prolifically before going into hibernation when the next drought hits this benighted land. Farmers of course, are in ecstasy. now they just need to get crops planted again and that could be the tricky part.

Since the drought began in this area the population of he town has dropped by about a third. People have gradually been drifting away to find work in less benighted lands. Now however, the land is far from benighted. Today the land seems to be bursting with energy and the farmers are walking about with a spring in their steps. Now they need to figure out ways to entice people to return to Bourke and help them plant their crops. Of course the problem with this is that the amount of water allocated for farm usage is way beyond the capacity of the river meaning that the continued degradation of the river is almost a dead certainty, despite the federal government making noise about buying back water rights... Its a beautiful place around Bourke. I can really understand why people around here fight to keep the way of life they live going. So much beauty. So much magnificence.

The rivers upon which now I look are those which conjure up a wonderful sense of romance. The mighty Paroo, the Bulloo overflow and the Warrego just to name a few. These are the names of far off places and little understood by people sitting back in their offices. As is Bourke of course. Just the word "Bourke" conjures up images today in any person who has learnt anything about the history of Australia (and even in the minds of those who have not the faintest idea of the history of Australia.

If you hear somebody remark that something is at the "back of Bourke", then you immediately know that it is miles away. And that's because Bourke is in the middle of nowhere. Anything that is further away than Bourke is an unimaginable distance away. I love that. When people think of remoteness, then surely the Australian outback must be one of their first thoughts. And Bourke is a gateway into remoteness. A gateway into the Outback and hence a gateway to my heart.

All my love,

Christo

P: The Limpopo River, of which Rudyard Kipling waxes upon, is a river one third smaller than the Darling River - at least in terms of length. Of course, the amount of water which flows along the Limpopo River is more - almost twice as much in fact. It does have similarities however. Like the Darling River, the Limpopo runs through desert country. Like the Darling River its flow waxes and wanes with the heavy annual rains. Unlike the Darling River, the Limpopo has thousands upon thousands of people who live upon its banks.

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Darling River facts

The Darling River is one of the great rivers of the world. Beginning near Bourke in northern NSW, it wends its way 1,475 kilometres through some of the most remote country in the world before the confluence of the Murray and Darling Rivers at Wentworth, on the border of NSW and Victoria. From Wentworth, it is some 1,000 kilometres to Lake Alexandrina and the mouth of the river, which is on the tip of one of the most incredible regions of Australia – the Coorong.

The goal for this expedition is to journey – largely un-aided – down the Darling River to the rivers confluence with the Ocean and to experience some of the challenges which faced the early explorers. This is the realisation of a dream borne through childhood journeys into the heart of Australia and late nights over ten years ago with good friends. Through realising this long held dream, I hope to inspire people to step out of the everyday world. Just as importantly, I hope to discover the story of the people in the area and how they contend with one of the harshest, changing landscapes in the world.

Town	Leg Distance (km)	Distance Covered (km)	Day	Comment
Bourke	0		0
Louth	204	204	14	Mt Gundabooka exploration between Bourke and Louth
Tilpa	170	374	20
Wilcannia	276	650	31
Menindee	309	959	41
Pooncarie	285	1,244	54
Wentworth	229	1,473	63	Confluence of the Murray and Darling River
Renmark	261	1,754	72
Goolwa	1,082	2,836	110	Where the Murray Darling hits the Ocean

The Darling River is a slow moving river and I expect that the average distance covered will be in the order of 30 kilometres each day. Rather than treating this as a single massive expedition with a single goal (i.e. to reach the ocean from Bourke), the plan is to break it into two distinct sections: section one being from Bourke to the confluence of the Darling and Murray rivers – the township of Wentworth; and section two being from Wentworth to the headwaters of the river in South Australia. Late March is the expected launch date and it is expected that from Bourke to Wentworth will take two months, with an extra month at the very least required to reach the ocean.

The river conditions at the moment are awesome. The depth of the river is exceptional and the flow of water through the system is very high. The table below shows the current conditions of the river recorded by the NSW government. Look at the water temperature! I see swimming in the near future to be a certainty. And the salinity shows that this water is eminently drinkable; pure and clean (at least so far as salt is concerned).

Place	Depth (m)	Flow (ML/day)	Water Temp (C)	Salinity (EC)
Source of Darling	5.54	3,293	25	164
Bourke	4.57	3,919	25	152
Louth	4.22	8,018	25	252
Tilpa	5.07	10,519	25	183
Wilcannia	4.60	10,152	24	214
Menindee	1.47	381	23	290
Pooncarie	1.92	255	26	530

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The Journey Draws Nigh

View Larger Map 

Well, its getting closer.  In just over a months time I will put paddle to water as I launch my kayak into the Darling River.  The water is good, the depth very good and I expect that there may even be a bit of flowing water when I start the trip.  In fact, I understand that the Darling River is flowing appreciably better than the Murray River at the moment, which is one for the books.  Not that that will make it that much easier of course.

Just to put this all into perspective for a second: from North to South, Tasmania is around 280 kilometres long.  This is one tenth the length of the Darling River, which I will be heading down at the end of March.  No wonders I'm getting nervous. 

I'm planning for the journey to last for several weeks, given that at best I expect that I shall be covering 30km's a day paddling. 

On average when I paddle at the moment I manage around 7.5km's per hour, which means that I do 30 kilometres in about 4 hours.  I figure with a more cumbersome kayak and a heck of a lot more weight I shall paddle quite a bit slower.  At a guess around 5 kilometres per hour, which means that I'll be paddling for around 6 hours per day, give or take.  Given the state of the river at the moment, I'm guessing that fishing is a good idea.  And yabby's.  I can't wait.

My primary goal is simply to paddle down the Darling River to the confluence of the Murray at Wentworth.  This is some 1,500 kilometres down some of the most remote country you could ever imagine.  My secondary goal is to reach the Ocean, some 1,400 kilometres away from Wentworth in Goolwa.

I also have a dream to explore the Mt Gundabooka Range.  Gundabooka is about 30k's South East of the Darling River.  I'm not to sure just how to get there at the moment.   Walking of course is the only way, but how do I carry all the gear I'll need?  What about water?  I know that I'll need to carry all the water as water is at a premium out there.  This means that at the very least I shall need to carry around 20 litres of water + the rest of my regular gear, which I guess for a four day trek will mean the total weight will be around 30 - 35kg's.  Eek! 

The logistics at this stage are slowly sorting themselves out.  I still haven't confirmed how to get my car back to civilisation for example (hi Al ).  At this stage it appears that I will have company leaving Bourke, with my brother Pip able to take some time from his busy schedule with Tzu et al. 

I haven't yet bought any food, and I plan on doing this when I hit Sydney mid next month.  If anybody can think of a decent number of recipes, which consist of really basic food which can last for long times in a dry, hot climate then I'd be grateful.

 

Christo

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Paddle Steamers on the Darling

The Darling River is a big river. Hundreds of kilometres longer than the Colorado in the United States and longer than the Zambezi (by a whole 3 kilometres) it is in anybodies language a big river.


It traipses through some of the most remote country in the world, where populations are measured in the tens of people, not thousands of people.

This is a river which has captured the imagination of explorers and poets, adventurers and farmers alike. Its also a river that for much of the last 100 years has rarely existed.

For the first time in years, 2008 sees the Darling River in flood. Not, admittedly a flood of biblical proportions, yet a flood nonetheless. Where only six months ago a baron water course lay - the despair of hardened men and women - today there flows a river: and its not just water that is running. Its opportunity. For the first time in years water can be drawn from the river and carefully dolled out to the orchids and cotton crops which intermittently line its banks.

Well over a hundred years ago the Darling River was also used as a thoroughfare. Paddle steamers wended their way up from the Murray and Darling River confluence to Bourke, captained by enterprising men who saw a ready dollar for any person able to transport the agricultural bounty found in the inland ports of Bourke, Louth and Tilpa.

Today however, the very thought of taking a boat of any size is anathema. Even in their hey day, taking a paddle steamer was a journey fraught with risk. Several steamers sank and others became stranded - sometimes for years. The quikest trip recorded from Bourke to the mouth of the Murray - Goolwa, is three weeks. The same boat which took three weeks to get to Goolwa took three years from Goolwa to Bourke, which gives an idea of the enormous variations on the river.

Henry Lawson spent some time on the Darling River and likened it to either a muddy gutter or a second Mississippi. He wrote about its winding ways and of how a swagman could walk the same pace (or quicker) than a boat and could at the close of each day ask for a feed from the same boat, week in, week out. Full Story