Showing posts with label Murray River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murray River. Show all posts

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 23 Tooleybuc to Narrung Station Nov 7



Tooleybuc to Narrung



Tooleybuc in the morning was busy with backpackers getting ready for work. I thought I was up early at six, but it turns out that 6 am is the standard time for the start of work in Tooleybuc. Country time doesn't run slow when it comes to getting a start to the day. When the sun rises, work starts and it doesn't stop till it sets.


As I packed up my tent, young Malaysian fellas donned their very Aussie looking fluro work shirt's and waited for a lift to their farm and as I carried my gear down to the river, minibus after minibus and old car after old car full of backpackers passed by.





From Tooleybuc to the Wakool Junction, the river runs almost due North and without the characteristic meanders of most of its journey to the sea. There must be some sort of geological reason for this: a clue might be found in the large parallel sand dunes which run along to the river towards Goodnight. The sandunes are around 15m high and according to Justin, a Narrung local, you have it made if you have them on your land. It's where the orange, almond, olives and grapes are planted. Justin informed me that most of Cobram Oil produce comes from here. The factory is in Cobram, but the trees are grown on red mallee soil.



The first black box have begun to appear on the edge of the river red gum is since generally appear to be in good health. During the day, their number increased until they occupied stands in both sides of the river.



From Tooleybuc onwards the Murray seems to be increasingly influenced by the high level of the Edward Wakool system. There is no noticeable current 10 km out of Tooleybuc and water has reached the top of the bank and is overflowing into the surrounding countryside.






About 12 km from the junction with the Wakool river, the first dead fish began to appear: first the smaller ones, I didn't expect this, then the larger ones. Given the lack of current I thought the northerly winds had pushed them up here, but perhaps they swam here but died of exhaustion.








I was prepared for swirling currents when I finally reached the Wakool Junction, but the river was calm. There were even signs of bank on the NSW side. What had I been worried about? I photographed the channel I had just left and compared it to the one I was about to enter. The curent picked up after the Wakool junctions. It was good to have that helping hand once more.








Fast flow through redgums aerating the oxygen starved river water.











At Narrung I found a quiet little spot under some black box and had just set about making dinner when farm ute pulled up and Justin (adjacent whose property I had camped( pulled up with an esky full of beer - to share! I did not return to my meal until much later - 3 cans, 4 fresh eggs, a farm tour, family introductions and an invitation to use their spare room should I ever come by again another time. Talk about country hospitality!





The sun set as I ate my dinner, warmed by the experience and sleepy after the beers, I crawled into my tent and allowed evening to fall.

Entering the Barmah-Millewa Forest. Gulf camp. Bushfires.






Today, Ruth and I paddled 57km from just outside of Tocumwal, just upstream from the rather unfortunately named 'Bottom Beach' until the Gulf, a bend in the river deep in the Barmah-Millewa National Park, which bends right back on itself. 

Our camp site is quite picturesque and well worth the awkward clamber from our boats to the bank, as we can see down both stretches. With just over 100km to go on our trip from the Hume to Echuca, Ruth thought the campsite could not be better - "the river is showing us where we have been and where we still have to go". The Gulf is also where two feeder channels for the forest head off, controlled by regulator gates, to be used for forest watering. Reeds cloak the banks and there us an abundance of bird life. Lively wrens hop around the campsite looking for insects too small for us to see. They are such bundles of energy, it is quite a task just to follow their activities. Small tree creepers dart up the massive tree trunks and then dive, kamakazi-like down before flattening out just above the ground to glide to the next tree. The sky is full of cockatoos, which seem to spend there evening hour flying back and forth for no apparent reason and with no clear destination. They squawk the whole time. I wonder whether they use this time to bond socially, mimicking each other's cry and flight path, and at the same time clearing the area of potential competitors for their roosts.  The beat of their wings sounds like an engine. The shadows from the flock as they fly past moves swiftly over the tree canopy; a projection of the activities above.




The Betsy.

Hair pin bend campsite.




We have seen the river change today from a broad stream with beaches on almost every corner, to a low banked meandering forest river, flanked in reeds and seemingly as high as the surrounding forest. The river flies swiftly here. It's banks are like levees which keep it out of the low lying forest on neither side. The forest is thick with grasses that shine copper and golden when the sun is behind them. It looks healthier than I have seen it for many years. From Murray Marathon days I know this stretch as a dust bowl, it's bull dust hides holes and makes vision difficult.

Remains of a steam engine: now river art.

company

lunch break




None of that today. The forest and the river are quiet. There has been very little traffic, only a handful of fishing boats and one speedboat which was fulfilling the noble function of 'bus' to tow two young girls one bend above their campsite in the river in a large tube and then release them to flits back down again. We watched this activity whilst we had our lunch break on a small beach in the shade of a tall gum.






Forest regulator.

The Gulf.

The Gulf.

Campsites are simpler as the river enters the forest. At Ulupna Island, famous for its koalas, some prow competed for the most patriotic camp. One man, proud in his deck chair beneath his awning had at least 20 flags. We hope that it is their way of showing appreciation if the beauty if the river - something that was evident in everyone we spoke too. Further into the forest the camps become more alternative, many taking on a gypsy like flavour. Must were creative and orderly. Some were more or less permanent. One 'home' was made of three trailers, each designed to be a room, sitting on trestles. Others were real man caves - single room shacks and battered caravans. Fishing boats were everywhere.



Cockatoos.

Gulf campsite.




Tonight smoke drifted through our camp. We have good reception, surprising for the forest and have our fire apps (fire ready) which tell us as soon as a fire is reported and provide map locations and running updates. There does not seen to have been anything local. The smoke must have blown in from elsewhere. All the same, our boats are pack ready and we have several exit strategies.