Tammit Station - Hattah Kulkyne NP
The night the thunderstorm hit.
Last night was one hell of a storm. The day had been rather muggy and although a chance of thunderstorms had been predicted, when rainclouds eventually appeared on the horizon they seemed isolated and rather harmless. Just for good measure I made storm preparations, closed and strapped the hatches, put the solar panel back on the boat with its straps, hammered my pegs into the ground, rather than just pushing them in, and tightened the tent fabric. Because it was so hot, I decided not to cook but to snack in my tent, where I could be away from mossies and flies. I set the tent door like a verandah, to let more air in and so I could see the sky. I didn't get to eat much before the wind picked up speed.
The sky turned dark. Suddenly 6pm was like 8 or 9. Sand began blowing through the tent. I packed everything I could in their water proof bags to keep the dust out and in case the rain was heavy, as I found that heavy rain forced its way through the seems and zips. Lightening began to flash all around. Counting the seconds between it and the thunder I knew it was moving closer. I read the last warnings on my phone and turned it off too. By now I had closed the tent door and moved everything to a safe, or useful place in the tent. The wind built in intensity steadily, not in gusts, like it normally does. I kept thinking that it could not get much worse, but it did, stronger and stronger, till it was like an angry beast, like a bull roaring down your throat, like dragon's breath. It was so strong that I thought it would blow my fully laden boat away and I felt certain my ultralight paddle had been blown away like a leaf on on Autumn breeze. I lay on the windward side, and put the heaviest things I had in the corners, so that the wind would not get under the tent so easily. For a full 15 minutes the wind threatened to flatten the tent like a failed pancake and would have done so had I not held it up. Fighting against the wind with one arm, the other braced on the tent floor and lying low to keep a low profile in case of lightening, or falling branches took all the strength I had. After 15 min, the wind eased and then came from the other direction, however no longer enough to crush the tent. In the calm I dashed out and finding my paddle still there, brought it into the tent. About 3 hours after it had all begun, the first nervous bird calls and insect chirping heralded the end. I don't know how the poles didn't break. Perhaps I was spared the worst because I had sheltered behind a single sturdy black box tree. Maybe it was the tree that saved my paddle. I count my blessings.
Thanks to all those people who texted to see if I was ok, or forwarded warning posts.
For most of the day, the wind was strong, but nothing like last night. It formed breakers in the water and threatened to turn my if I stopped to photograph for anything more than the minimum time. My boat handled the waves and things stayed dry, but by 1pm I was ready for a break.
I found a little island, formed by the river on one side and two flood channels taking water to a seasonal wetland on a farm property. On one side of the island was a canoe tree. I sat in a fallen branch eating my lunch and feeling like Robinson Crusoe. The extent of my decision making seemed to be, do I have a sleep, or explore the island? Sheltered from the wind the warm sun was making me dozzy. I was about to decide for the first option when a tinny and two blokes with cold beers and a purpose built boat esky turned up. Ryan from Prill Park Station and his mate Shaun were out for an explore. Although his family have lived in the area for 4 generations and said that high rivers like this happen all the time, he hadn't seen it in his lifetime - at least since he'd been old enough to drive a tinny. Ryan said that in the past, when the flood plains and wetlands would flood regularly, they could run 10,000 sheep, because the soil moisture would last almost the whole summer, now they could only run 3,000 - and that only by opening up additional land. He told me that when it does not flood, the creeks that connect the water holes don't flow and the old gums, many hundreds of years old have died. He said that people only see what is along the river, or in national parks. They don't know about the losses that are happening on private property as a result of river regulation. Ryan blamed water trading. He said that when water has a price, no one wants to let it run into the bush, or out to the sea.
I continued on another 14 km till I found what I hope is a sheltered camp at the base of a sand hill, amongst the box trees and saltbush. Outside the tent mallee birds call. The most beautiful is the smallest, a wren, or pardalotte sized bird with the vocal range of a lyre bird.
Tomorrow I make for Colignan. It is the last predicted day of high winds (50km W / SW).
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