Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 36: Moorna Station - Lock 8

Lock 8 Campsite 20th Nov 2016

Moorna Station - Ecology - Dead Cod - Heat - Lock 8 and 9 - Thunderstorms Building

Over toast and a hot cuppa, Annabelle, the manager of Moorna Station, shared her views on why blackwater in the river was such an issue. She takes a holistic view. Seeing the interruption of water cycles on a range of scales, from the seasonal floods which no longer happen most years, to those driven by trees and plants by drawing water from deep down on the soil, or by being a driving force behind the building of beaches and floodplains, as red gums do on the inside of river bends. Annabel argues that salinity is the greatest threat to our environment, but one that can be overcome, if we use native plants carefully. If there had been native grasses she argues, there would not be so much black water. They would have helped decompose the leaf litter that the floods have taken into the river, reducing the sad toll the event is having on the murray cod population.

Throughout the day, we saw many dead cod, usually quite large ones. Shrimp gathered on the side of the river for oxygen, but downstream of lock 9, many had also died. There was a thick layer of dead shrimp along the water’s edge. In this section of the Murray, the river runs from one weir pool to the next, it’s artificially high water level flooding billabongs. Though these areas are usually covered with water and so should not be a source of black water themselves, the lack of current exacerbates the condition when water which has been flowing through the firsts enters them. The situation may be quite different to the middle Murray, where I come from, because there are few flowing rivers that enter the Murray. Although on this paddle I have noticed that blackwater is patchy, that it tends to come from distinct areas and is soon diluted by the river channel, we may be seeing a cumulative effect. Every now and then the river flows through a snags which aerates it, or takes a cutting where two bends of the river near each other. These spots are lifelines for the big fish. People have told us stories of cod following the wake of their fishing boats, because the waves increase the oxygen content of the water, helping them to breathe, or hanging around snags in plain sight, when they are normally quite a shy animal. Much is assumed when it comes to working out how cod survive blackwater. The 2011 event is said to have been much worse than this one and yet the death of large cod shows that many survived. One can only hope that many find ways to survive this event also.

The river landscape continues to be a delight to paddle through. It looks wild, has thick understory shrubs in some places and grassy meadows in others. The old trees are generally recovering very well from the millennium drought - which cannot be said for many other parts of the river - and although there has been some tree fall, most of the older trees are still standing. It seems like we are coming to the front of the main rise. We are starting to see the kind of debris that floods pick up as they rise, sticks, duck weed and leaf litter. In places the river has not yet broken through its natural levees, leaving the areas behind them dry. In others the water can be seen rushing into the forests. There is another benefit to this... less mosses. At the beginning of this trip, I was paddling on a falling river. You know that your campsite is safe on a falling river, because levels are dropping, not rising, however on falling rivers, stagnant pools have had time to form and the mosquitoes are much worse.

Mosquitoes don’t like moving water, so now, being ahead of the main flow there are way less mosquitoes. Now that is a welcome change.

We continued to see plenty of whistling kites. There are more than when I was a kid and I wonder if there is a cooperative deal with fishermen. Their nests are large collections of sticks, high in the tallest trees. Occasionally you can see a young head looking out. No place for fear of heights - or strong winds. We saw a nankeen kestrel and a group of white breasted woodswallows huddled together on a branch of a dead tree. Ibis and spoonbills frequented the river shore. Galahs and little corollas screeched their presence to all who wanted to know and families of kookaburras used family chorus to do the same. In the heat of the day, when all else is silent, we often heard the beautiful whistling of butcher birds. Mudlarks defended their territories against all comers, whether they be marauding crows, or whistling kites who glide on the breeze. Willy wagtails flitted through the undergrowth and occasionally out over the water. Wattlebirds and honey-eaters quarrelled amongst the branches, and where the banks had broken away, we could often find rainbow bee-eaters with their soaring flight. Near older trees, swallows and fairy martins would fly out onto the water and circle us. Perhaps we stirred ups insects sitting on the water’s surface. It also seems like a greeting.

Today was our first real hot day. It was so hot that when Anna and I took a lunch break in the shade of an old box, our paddles were too hot to hold and the deck had softened. We cooled both down with water and hope that the food did not get too warm. Next time we will find a spot for the boats in the shade. A hot day meant impromptu water fights, including sneak attacks. It meant breaking out the serious marathon hats with the side and back flaps and using a sponge to wet ourselves down all over. We invented the armpit challenge. To do this you first soaked your paddling gloves and sleeves in the water and then put them straight up in the air above your head. The water runs ‘refreshingly’ down your sleeves and top. It usually involves some deal of shrieking - but then so too did the sneak attacks. :)

We travelled over two weirs today, lock 9 and lock 8. Lock 8 is one of the more isolated weirs on the Murray. Annabelle noted that we left a surprisingly sane impression on her, noting that this was often the case this far into this kind of journey. Paddlers are often scared of the lack of facilities in this area. There is little mobile contact possible (hence a text only entry tonight... I found a spot near an old tree where I have one bar of reception) and no chance to supply for three or four days. This is not an issue for us, we are able to filter our own water and have weeks worth of food. Tonight we have found a comfortable camp just downstream from lock 8 on a parking spot on the river road. It has shady black box and even a bench. Now that the day has cooled a little I am about to cook our evening meal on that. i have instructions from my wife Ruth to see how classy I can make this, so I am going to try... salmon on a bed of rice, with sautéed zucchini, onion, garlic and a slice of ginger, seasoned with freshly cracked pepper and murray salt (well I’m calling it that). I think we’ll let it cool before we eat it though :).

Around our campsite whistlers a red-lored whistler is proclaiming its territory. It may be hot out in the bush today, but it is still beautiful. Time to grab another wet towel and get dinner going.

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 35: Wentworth to Moorna Station

784 km Moorna Station 19th Nov 2016

Wentworth Weir - Quiet waters - Blue Sky - The Walsh Family - Flooded landscape

Our day began with discussions with our neighbours about how to go through the Wentworth weir. The discussion had begun the evening before when we registered with the caravan park owners. “Don’t go through the weir”, they said, “a bloke with a tinny lost his boat there a few weeks ago: he swam to shore but his boat was sucked under and only came up a few hundred metres downstream.” Others assured us, it was little more than a ripple. We had made friends with Richard & Leigh and Paul & Marg the night before at the Royal Wentworth Hotel. Both were travelling Australia in converted buses. Richard volunteered to take us down to the weir and have a look. Paul & Marg decided to go down there and keep an eye on us. In the end, everyone went. Approaching the weir I could see quite a bit of turbulence, which concerned me, and it wasn’t until I found the navigation markers for the safe passage that I felt good about going through. We got a good speed up, just in case and slid down the small drop over the weir. It was a safe passage, as the signs suggested and having this officially marked gave us confidence for future weir crossings. As we left the weir our friends photographed and cheered. Actually, it is them that deserve the cheers. Both retired couples, over the past three days they had explored almost 100 km of creeks, rivers and billabongs in the area by kayak. Not your average retirees. Their actions motivated us to take as much time as we could to get into these backwaters during our trip today too.

Travelling down a flooded river is an interesting experience. The river is much bigger in all ways. There is more water. it is higher, flowing through the forest wherever it gets a chance; and the currents and swirls they create are stronger too. The quietness of the river, a complete absence of traffic and even people along the banks, adds to the sense of being alone - which makes it feel bigger too. However, it is when you venture into the forest, between the trees, into the flooded billabongs and alongside the reeds that you see the true value of having a high river. When the river is high, it interacts with the landscape. Once in the forest, everything slows down. Often there is hardly any movement discernible in the water. Even air movement drops, which together with the towering gums, creates the most amazing echoes.

In one of our breaks from the main stream, we saw a pink eared duck, in another, how the old course of the river had shaped one of the ancient sand hills. Where the river once flowed is now a billabong, but it is still as wide and majestic as the river itself. The area is peppered with these river remnants. Long after the high river recedes, these places hold water and become important breeding sites for waterbirds, turtles, frogs and all manner of creatures.

We pulled into the Great Darling Anabranch for lunch. The Anabranch is a section where the Darling River splits in two for around 500km. When I last passed this way in 2012, it was little more than a creek. Now it looked like a major river, certainly larger than the Murrumbidgee was where it entered the Murray when I passed it a few weeks ago and with the kind of flow we expected to see in the Darling, before we found out that most of it is being retained in the Menindee Lakes to sure up the water supply of people living in and around Bourke. As we beached our boats, two goannas raced up the trees nearest to them. One of these was right in front of us. It sat there half interested in what we were doing and half concerned the whole time we had lunch. The other goanna was in a tree a bit further back. It was higher, pretending to be part of the bark: both would have been easy catches and a good feed, however we decided to stick to the contents of our tucker bags.

The sky was beautiful today. The river appeared blue too, as its smooth, dark surface reflected the colours above. Clouds moved through, changing shape and patterns. My need to take photos every 250m prompting me to look at them. They are so often ignored. We tend to look at our level, ignoring what is going on above us. The skies can be magnificent, and not just at sunset.

Around 4:30pm we arrived at Moorna station and waited on the porch overlooking the river for the family to return home. Moorna is a grand house, with high ceilings which hold the heat of the day at bay. From the porch there was an excellent view of the river. Moorna is set high above the water on the edge of one of the high sand dunes typical of the area. A well kept lawn bordered by rosemary and flowering plants runs down to a traditional country fence and a set of broad steps down to the river. Moorna was built before the Cobb and Co coach established its Mail run, when there were only bullock tracks and bush. How exciting must it have been to see the paddle steamers come up the river with supplies and company, and for the captains, or their guests to spend time in this outpost of western civilisation?

Moorna is run by Annabel Walsh. Her family views themselves as custodians of the land. They pioneered the use of fences which allow wildlife to pass, but not stock and are champions of the use of native perennials on farms, especially native grasses. Annabel is one of the driving forces behind 'Stipa', the Australian native grasses association. Native grasses make farms more drought resistant, because of their deep roots and adaptations to local environments. It was plains full of native grasses that led explorer Thomas Mitchell to declare the inland 'Australia Felix'. Paddle steamers provided the means of getting wool to the ports of Melbourne and Adelaide on a scale which brought prosperity to those early settlers. Moorna heralds from those times. Since then, Moorna has handed over most of the river frontage, which runs all the way to lock 8 to National Parks. Today this riparian landscape is managed by an aboriginal cooperative. Whilst she is glad to see that long association with the land continued, the bureaucratic processes involved have led to the fences becoming run down and the native grasses they planted being eaten out by an overpopulation of kangaroos. Annabel believes that local indigenous people still have the knowledge within them to manage the land back to health, and that she could provide them with tools and strategies, but is hindered by the complicated and distanced nature of management. She says that to improve the river, you need to look after its connection with the landscape. By planting native grasses, much of the organic material which is causing the current black water event can be assimilated into the soil, their roots anchor the soil and their tufted growth slows down river currents, protecting the banks. After the recent heavy rains that led up to this high river, the Murray ran red, the colour of the sandhills. Australia needs more people like Annabel Walsh and her family, and to respect and incorporate local expertise into the way we manage our river landscapes.

This has been one of the most diverse, resilient and impressive sections of the river so far. At low river, the beaches are river gold. Now, at high river, the focus is on the trees: no less impressive and with a longer story. The banks too, give hints about the changes that have happened in the past. The river was not always this shape, or ran where it does now. Its story is older than our habitation of this land, of anyone’s habitation, however it is what makes it all possible. For all of our sakes, it needs to be looked after.