Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 42 Renmark - Booky Cliffs

 Day 42: 520 km Booky Cliffs 26th Nov 2016

Pike River Anabranch - Lake Alexandrina - Weir pools - Weekend visitors - Social experiments - Wilabalangaloo

I left Renmark around 9 am. A timely departure, seeing as my caravan park neighbours had just pushed off from the bank without their starter keys, and I was able to run these over to them. They told me that they had come from Goolwa, and that by the end of the millennium drought, there was so little water in the Murray Channel that a temporary wall was built from soil to make it navigable and to keep the salt from Flooding into the river. It was a contentious topic, with both long and short term residents split on what would be best. Many wanted the sea to be allowed into the lake as it naturally used to. Others thought this would kill off already weakened species. When the drought broke in 2012, it was removed.

Around the corner is the Renmark-Paringa suspension bridge. The road hangs from the framework above it. The lifting span is opened twice daily at set times. If craft want to go through at other times, they need to give two hours notice. A houseboat was approaching the bridge at full speed and continued to do so until approached by a tinny, who must have warned the occupants that they would not fit, because their turn was even faster. I thought I was going to see the span lift, as it was almost lifting time, however, no such luck. What did go under the bridge was a large clump of cumbungi, roots, leaves and all. I had heard that there were rafts of water plants floating, but this was the first one I had actually seen.

All the way along today’s stretch were campsites set aside for canoes and facilities for campers in general. It is certainly something that South Australia does better than both Victoria and NSW. Some of these were underwater, but the toilet blocks (thankfully) were always set up high. My camp tonight is one of those sites set aside for fishermen and canoe tourers. Set amongst bottlebrush and black box there are enough sites to cater for around 100 people. From my camp I was able to watch the last rays of the setting sun light the cliffs in front of me. There is no-one else here - perhaps the roads are cut off - just me and a family of red kangaroos. The camp is on a peninsula, with water and cliffs on three sides. Frogs are calling from amongst the reeds and the cicadas contribute to a low buzz in the air. At this end of the Murray one weir pool merges into the next, creating a flooded landscape. Old river channels carry water once again and billabongs are permanently filled. For canoeists it means that they can criss cross through the bush in a web of canals, getting up close to bird life and other wildlife. With the high water, some of those canals have got quite a bit of current flowing through them, which might be why I haven't seen too many people out and about.

Some of the canals are as wide as the river itself. Pike River (which runs along the base of the high ground within which the River Murray meanders), is really an anabranch. There are signs at both ends pointing to the real river. On the higher banks, campers in caravans and old buses were a common sight. It is the weekend and Murray is no longer so far from Adelaide. A dad in one boat had 6 kids with him, having the time of their lives.

I pulled over to Lyrup for lunch and a stretch and read a bit about the town history from an information board. Lyrup was one of those communities which was founded in the depression of the 1890's when there was very little work in the cities. Many were communes, social experiments. Most did not survive the test of time, but Lyrup is one of the exceptions. They recognised earlier than other communities that a single manager was more effective at making decisions than a committee, they had more clay in their soil, which was better for farming, and they allowed outside work and money to be used instead of coupons. The information board not only lists the names of the original settlers, but also everyone who left and why. Some left because they were dissatisfied, some married and some were expelled. The names of those who stayed have become street names; there is Bollenhagen Place, Tschirpig Lane and Olson Road. Today the irrigation is still managed cooperatively and the town is proud of its history. Lyrup is an example of how irrigation existed along much of the Murray long before its system of locks and weirs were built. It is proposed in some quarters that the drought of 1912 alone was not enough to run the river dry. Pumps along the river took what was left. These events were important drivers towards national agreements, and eventually federation.

A little further down the river is a station with just as impressive a name. ‘Wilabalangaloo’. It is registered with the National Trust. You can visit the property and walk around several kilometres of tracks along the cliff top and through the gullies that divide them. Seeking an opportunity to observe the river from a high vantage point, I found a place with enough of a sandy base for me to pull in and followed a track to the top of the cliffs. To get a little more height, someone had placed a wrought iron spiral staircase at the highest point: a stairway to heaven. Although I would really rather have stayed on the ground I edged my way up the stairs, testing each step to be sure it was solid. I did not want to test the rails too much,as they might not have passed that test and I was glad for what was still there. Seeing the Lower Murray from above highlights how different it is from the Middle and Upper Murray. The river is much wider, the bends are longer, (most are two to six kilometres long) and when the wind blows along those straight sections, or big bends, there is nothing to stop it.

It was nice to see people enjoying the river. The last 1700 km have been pretty quiet.

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 40 & 41 Headings Cliffs to Renmark Nov 25

Headings Cliffs to Renmark: 565 km

Blackwater - Flood frequency - Water quality - Floating logs - Renmark - Classic cars

For the last part of the day paddling from Custom’s House (South Australian Border) to Headings Cliffs and for the whole of today we did not see one dead fish. We also observed that even at the time we left our campsite, that there were no shrimp gathered at the side of the river. This means that the black water and the fish it has killed upstream have not yet reached Renmark. It is possible that the blackwater in the river has been diluted by flows from tributaries, like the Chowilla Creek and Rufus River (Lake Victoria) and that the worst of its effects will be avoided because of it. Time will tell. However, there is no avoiding the fish deaths. There are reports that bream have been seen dead around Mildura. There are many backwaters and places where the river flows over the land, rather than simply down the channel upstream of Mildura which will have caused locally intense blackwater, so the fish deaths are not surprising. That the bream are also dying is not a good sign, they are hardier than the cod. Today, the river had not yet exceeded its banks around Renmark, however with a 30cm rise still coming from Mildura, this should be expected in the coming week or two. The question is really, how far will the effect be transported downstream? It seems that no-one really knows.

Tragic as it is, the fish seem to survive, or recolonise areas lost to their species following these events. Their numbers bounced back from the 2011 events. They should following this one too. Here, the habit diversity of the river is the key. Each stream, each cutting and each snag, offers survival niches. Were the Murray simply a channel, the whole population could be lost by such an event.

We arrived early in Renmark today and did a car shuffle from Mildura, preparing for Anna’s departure tomorrow. Since there is no public transport between Renmark and Mildura anymore, I hired a car. The car was driven to the caravan park where I am staying by a fellow who is a few years older than me. He is 58 and has been in Renmark all his life. “You know”, he said, “we never used to have black water when I was younger, so what has changed?” I agreed. In my 52 years at Echuca, black water - at least on this scale, has only been a recent phenomenon. Like most locals, he could name the years that the river had flooded in his lifetime. “We had floods in 74, 75, and in the 80’s, then 92, 2011, and now, but it is only the last two floods that have created this issue. They are no higher than those earlier floods and they were around the same time of the year. The difference is flood frequency, the number of times that the river has been high enough to flow through the forest has been decreasing. Before Dartmouth Dam was built the Murray’s level changed dramatically every year, watering its banks and rebuilding its beaches. It also seemed to flood about every 5 years. when Dartmouth was built, it doubled the holding capacity of dams in the upper Murray, where 95% of the rain in the Murray Darling Catchment falls. Water which normally flooded the forests and washed away the litter was caught and kept for irrigation. Now these high rivers seem to happen only every ten. In some places, much less. Large areas of the Edwards-Wakool Forest had not flooded since 1992 (24 years ago). Because the backwater is produced locally, it is possible that some sections of the river have been skipped. That dead fish have been reported at Goolwa, but nothing in between, suggests that blackwater has formed ahead of the main flow and highlights the complexity and patchiness of these events.

Booking into our caravan park, the ladies at reception told me that the blackwater had scared away many of their customers. “People think that we are underwater,” they said; “we’ve had lots of cancellations.” There is a lot of fear around the high river. The black water is not poisonous. It is simply dark in colour and low in oxygen. If the river was low enough to expose the beaches, I would be swimming in it - mind you, not if there were a lot of dead fish around. Though dark, the water is actually clearer than usual. I can see my paddle to a depth of around 30 cm. When boat traffic picks up at this time of the year, I can usually only see about 5cm. I filter the water to drink it using a ceramic filter designed for the muddy water holes of Africa. The filter is fine enough to take out bacteria and viruses, but not colour and taste. Most evenings I filter three to four litres of water. I drink two during the day and use two for cooking, tea and water whilst I am on land. Surprisingly, it tastes as good as usual. Most houseboat businesses have closed, citing danger from floating logs and the blackwater. This is an overreaction in my opinion. There are hardly more logs floating than in a normal year and certainly much less for houseboat hirers to avoid than when the river is full of boats, swimmers and people floating down on pool toys. The fish deaths are not pretty, but they are still novel enough, that people count them, they are not everywhere. The blackwater itself makes the river reflect the blue of the sky. Despite its unfortunate initial effect, it feeds and will kick start the whole river ecosystem. Following this event, river life will boom, because it has now been fed. Witnessing the high water is an educational and beautiful experience. Its what a river does normally, before we began disrupting its cycles. People should get to know these cycles, not avoid them.

The paddle into Renmark was a pretty one. In the morning light, the orange and yellow colours of Renmark region’s cliffs stood out against the clear blue sky. Whistling kites hunted low over the water and between trees. Darters sat on their nests - some for the second batch of chicks already. Black swans lead us away from their young. Anna found that she could imitate their call and held quite a long conversation with one of the parents. Perhaps her call was like one of the young signets.

Renmark has an impressive foreshore. As a river town, it depends on tourist numbers from Adelaide. River towns have suffered enough from the blue green algae of last summer. They don’t need to have fear of black water keep people away from a (now) rare high water event. If you haven’t witnessed it, get out and have a look. Tell your friends too. Its pretty special.

In town, an event was taking place just for the locals. Renmark High School students were celebrating the end of year with a prom. Like a debutante ball, the young couple had gone to great lengths with their preparation, but unlike the deb balls I know, the street was blocked off and couples arrived in classic cars. Locals lined the streets and cheered as each couple arrived. Each car had a number. As they approached the red carpet area an announcer described the features of the car, a little of its story and who was driving it. The driver would then step out of the car, open the doors for the young ladies and then the couples would also be introduced. There was a whole array of vehicle types, from 1950’s rockabilly style coupes, Pontiacs, Cadillacs, Mustangs, Firebirds, Holden specials from every era and Falcon 500’s. The locals voted on which made the best entrance. One young fellow, in a successful effort to impress, was in a red Bathurst Torana escorted by three Harley Davidsons. What a great way to involve, develop and celebrate community!

Visit a river town if you can. The floods are part of their story. Get out there and discover it.

Day 41: 564 km Renmark - Rest Day 25th Nov 2016

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 39 Customs House - Headings Cliffs (near Renmark)

Day 39: 595 km Heading Rd. Renmark

Rain - Life in a tent - Natural splendour - River rising - Chowilla Woolshed - Kangaroos

It rained much of the night. It all began while we were cooking dinner. At first quite lightly, forming perfect circles on the surface of the water just beyond our boats. It was so light that we could more see the rain than hear it, but it was enough to begin taking short cuts whilst cooking dinner. Not long after we had all the ingredients in the pot, it began to rain more heavily. I suggested to Anna that she take shelter in her tent and I joined her once I had made things tidy and weather safe enough outside. With dinner on a slow burner we joked and told stories till it was ready. There is something very comfortable about a tent. Once you’re inside it is like your cocoon, your own bit of civilisation, a grown up sort of cubby house. The rain continued well into the night. In the early hours of the morning, when it stopped, the moon and the stars were so bright, the air so still that they are fixed in my memory. This is what camping in the bush is like. The night cooled off, so much so that when morning came, mist was rising and travelling in a layer above the water. Washing my face and hands in the water I could feel that it was warm. The mist continued to rise for the next hour. First it seemed to be driven downstream by the sunlight, but increasingly, as seems to happen in this part of the river, it was driven by the morning breeze.

There are so many birds here that I cannot put a name to them all. Perhaps because, like a big family at the dinner table, they are all trying to talk at once. The number of bird species reflects the diversity of landscapes that intersect here. Here the red gum and black box woodlands that have been part of the character of the Murray for most of its length are joined by mallee on top of the cliffs that jut into the river channel. Callitris pine grow on the steeper faces, grasslands and pasture on the gentler higher slopes and reeds form thick beds that stretch for hundreds of meters along the waterfront. We saw reed warblers singing so loudly they did not see us approaching, honeyeaters squabbling amongst the foliage, ring-neck parrots flying swiftly from tree to tree. Grass parrots investigating hollow logs, apostle birds moving as a group through the woodland. Spoonbills sat in their nests, messy imitations of the whistling kites, surprisingly close by. Young magpies practising their songs, somewhat shyly still. Nesting darters that looked like they were into their second sets of eggs. Whistling kites dived on fish swimming near the surface of the water. Herons picked at shrimps gathering near the water’s edge. More than once we were caught in eddies whilst starring into the trees and spun in the opposite direction to where we wanted to go.

The river is still rising here, not as quickly as the 4 inches a day that some people reported around Mildura, but steadily. It is now at the top of the lower banks and smiling into the forests beyond. When it does this, you can see that the river sitting within its natural levees, is actually higher than the forest - not as extreme as in the Gunbower-Perricoota-Koondrook Forest, but still higher than the land beyond. The nearer you get to Renmark the narrower the available land the river seems to have to travel within. Cliffs and high ground begin to appear on both sides. It was these cliffs that prompted the south Australian Government in 1968 to propose that a dam be built on the Chowilla Station that would back water up, all the way to Wentworth. The dam was eventually knocked back because of the amount of good land that would be covered, the number of towns inundated and the decision to build Dartmouth Dam on the Mitta Mitta River. Had the dam been built this most beautiful part of the river would have no longer existed.

Anna and I pulled into Chowilla Woolshed for lunch. The woolshed has group accommodation and caters for special occasions. They have pictures of wedding tables being set inside. Anna did not think this was a good idea. “You would all smell of sheep” she said. I tried to explain that they have a great atmosphere and are something completely different, which people are often looking for, however there was way she was going to get married in a shearing shed, she said. Chowilla, together with Calperum Station are part of the Bookmark Biosphere reserve. Both are functioning stations, but are run to preserve the cultural, historical and environmental heritage of the area. Rotary send school students to Calperum Station as part of a Murray Darling Basin Freshwater Research Initiative to expose secondary school students to issues along the Murray River. La Trobe University send their students there to understand the arid zone. The name ‘Bookmark Biosphere Reserve’ comes from the name of the original station in the area. Bookmark was later divided into Chowilla and Calperum. Now, they are working together to preserve our heritage, like so many other private initiatives and groups along the river. Inside the shearing shed were photos from the late 1800’s. One showed sheep being driven across a floating bridge, others showed paddles steamers loading wool. The people in the pictures looked healthy, but thin. They always wore their finest. In many of the photos they looked like they were on a picnic. They may have wished to show family how well they live in the bush, and how civilised their life is, despite the challenges. It was these challenges though, rather than the lace, that defined them. It comes through clear as day int he pictures that depict their daily life.

At Chowilla station a creek enters the river. it was not flowing quickly, but its contribution to the river was made more obvious by its colour. It pushed a brown cloud out into the dark Murray water. These flows dilute and aerate the blackwater in the river. It may be happening more often than we give credit. We noticed today that we had not seen any fish gasping for air. For the last week we have seen a small species of fish swimming near the river’s surface, mouthing at the water’s surface. We hadn’t seen any today. Like on other days, we saw quite a few dead cod, all yellow, showing that they had died some time ago. Putting these two things together, it seems that the cod deaths are happening upstream and the fish being transported down the river. This may change in the coming weeks, but seems to be what is happening here now.

We pulled into a campsite frequented by round Australia travellers on the downstream side of Heading Cliffs, about 30km out of Renmark. Here the steep cliffs retreat inland several hundred meters, allowing a river flat to form at their base. We gathered speed and launched our kayaks up on the shore, then, finding a spot between two black box, pulled up our boats and set up camp. Endangered white breasted tree-creepers flitted around us whilst we cooked and whistling kites practised their manoeuvres on the ever changing breeze. We walked up to the top of the cliffs to see the sunset, stopping to watch some young red kangaroos on the way. From the top of the cliffs, the sun set as an orange ball. Its light bathed the valleys between us in a golden light. The birds were quiet now. There was just the light. Over the river the sky turned blue and green. The swirls caused by the current picking up some of these colours on its otherwise dark surface as it continued its journey on to the sea.

Tomorrow we make for Renmark. It will be Anna’s last day with me. Having her with me has been a real highlight. It is not often that a father and daughter have a chance to do something like this together. When your daughter lives on the other side of the world, it is even more special. For Anna, it has been a real dose of Australia. Its wilderness, its isolation, the harshness of its environment and its gentle beauty. She has brought me within 600 km of the sea. Not long to go now.

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 38 Kulcurna Station - Customs House

Day 38: 636 km Customs House 22nd Nov 2016

Kulcurna - Customs House (South Australian Border)

Anna and I had a nice brekky at Kulcurna Station. No rush to get away today. With only 30 km to paddle we could take our time. Belinda Hansen, our host showed us old photographs of the area. The owner before the Higgins family had cleared all the trees and dug irrigation channels into the limestone. The cliffs too, were treeless, both on the face and at the top of the cliff. I assume they were cleared, however since the photographs were taken before weirs and dams were built on the Murray, perhaps the natural fluctuations in river height and frequent floods did not allow trees to establish along the cliff toe.


Now, with reliable water, trees have begun to colonise the water’s edge and black box are growing back on the plains where they once stood. Many are descendants of the 1956 flood.There were plenty of big floods before that according to Belinda. Not any more. Understanding how trees got to where they are puts their current condition into perspective. We can’t replicate big floods like the one that occurred in 1956, so we have to make choices. Should we try to maintain woodlands at all costs, or would grasslands, lignum, or mallee vegetation be more suitable to the area long term?Not long after we got going we passed Cal Lal police station. All that can be seen now is its old tin chimney and part of one wall. Its toilet, still standing when I went past in 2012, has fallen down. Everything has got to go sometime... even a dunny :)P.

A few kilometres later we paddled past Higgin’s Cutting. This is one of the cuttings which is now marked as the main river. Just before the cutting there is high ground close to the river channel. Quite a commodity in the times when paddle steamers were the main source of transport in the area.


On this high piece of land two tall palm trees can be seen. It was here that Belinda’s great grandparents, Irish immigrants, settled. With her husband often away for months working, Belinda’s great grandmother had to fend for herself. They bred them tough in those days. With less current flowing, the original channel is now beginning to silt up. Reeds grow on both sides and tree branches reach far into the channel.At 658km we found the border to South Australia, at least on the NSW side. On the Victorian side, it is 12 km later. The border is marked with a large sign mounted on a tall steel post. On the NSW side it is on top of a bank. For an unknown region it is actually in a swamp on the Victorian side. In this high river we were able to paddle up to both. Our clocks reset automatically, granting us an extra half hour (at least theoretically).


We paddled on to Customs house, the old border store and only chance to stock up on supplies in the area. It is the beginning of a canoe trail through the wetlands created by lock 7 and one of the few places that caters specifically for paddlers on the river. We set up our tents in one of the campsites down by the water’s edge and enjoyed a hearty, hot, one pot wonder, cooked up on our trangia and eaten inside Anna’s tent because it had begun to rain. There is something cosy about sitting in a tent while it is raining. They are a bit like cubby houses for grown-ups. Outside, it is dark. Birds are still singing - despite the rain. Pobblebonk frogs are in their element and there are no mossies: an almost unheard of situation on this trip. With the gentle tap of the rain on the tent fabric and darkness all around, it looks like it’ll be an early night. Two more short days on the run into Renmark. I’m hoping that tomorrow this means that we will be able to find time to explore some of the wetland canoe trails this area is famous for.

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 37: Lock 8 - Kulcurna Station

Day 37: 666 km Kulcurna Station 21st Nov 2016

Lock 8 - Memories - Being overtaken by a dead fish - Refuges - Erodion - Flies - Delvils Elbow

Lock 8 to Kulcurna Station

It had been a warm night at our campsite at Lock 8. The sun has a lot of strength this time of the year and sleeping on the ground was like lying on a hot plate. When we were kids, before we were told to be sunsmart, we used to lie on the concrete at the town pool. It was too hot to walk over, so we would splash water on it first and then enjoy the warmth from below and above at the same time. It was easy to fall asleep, but that didn’t matter. The goal was to be brown, all over, and we thought that you had to get properly sunburnt to get a good tan. However camp was no town pool and with the fast currents and amount of dead fish, not so appetising. I haven’t been for a swim so far on this trip - which is a first.

Today, we finally got ahead of the dead fish. The last couple of days have been shocking. We made macabre jokes about sticking flags in the bigger cod to see who made it the furthest in 24 hours: we had the speed, but the fish went 24/7. Being overtaken by a dead fish is not a point of honour. It seems that blackwater is worse at this end of the river and I wonder whether with each new input of organic matter from the forest, the levels in the river are accumulating. Upstream, blackwater was the result of water flowing through the forest and sitting in shallow sections long enough to soak up the organic matter - like a strong brew of tea. Patches were local and soon diluted by the main flow. Down here, where the river is wider and deeper, and where the river is only just beginning to break its banks and enter the floodplains on either side, the blackwater is clearly from upstream. Perhaps the levels of organic matter are more than the microorganisms can break down and so the effect is transported downstream. Belinda Hansen, manager of Kulcurna Station worries that here, the effect will be worse than in 2011. “Back then, it was all over in one slug, this looks like it is going to go on for months”.

Back in the Middle Murray, the cod survive by finding points of aeration behind snags, especially those with fine twigs. These aerate the water through waves and ripples. They are also know to swim up tributaries, like the Campaspe and Goulburn Rivers. I thought that no such rivers existed down here, but I was wrong. Today we passed by quite stately creeks; Carr’s Creek, Mungo Creek, Rufus River (the outflow from Lake Victoria) and Sharp Point Creek: each as wide as what we would call a river in Victoria and capable of creating their own flood events following heavy rain. There is diversity here that takes time to recognise, that takes time to understand. We tend to look for blanket solutions, when the answer is more complicated than that. “Complicated, but simple”, says Belinda Hansen. Complicated, because it takes time to understand local environments. Simple, because once you do, it makes common sense. Their key is to involve locals, especially those who have built up an understanding of their area over a lifetime, or in cases, much longer.

Every now and then the Murray of today, bumps up against its parent banks. The banks left when Australia was much wetter, our mountains kilometres higher and the river as wide as the great rivers created by the great rainforests and tallest mountains in the world today. It was kilometres wide and left banks that were 20 to 30 metres higher than today and bends that ran for 10 to 20 kilometres. Today’s river winds around inside this ancient river course, like a trickle. However, every now and then it bumps into one of these walls and, like a steady drip, erodes into it. When it does so, it reveals something of the past. Our lunch stop at the base of an enormous rise was an example. Erosion was rampant. Gullies had eaten into its face and had worked their way inland hundreds of metres, revealing multi-coloured, soft sediments. The ground was covered in saltbush and the kind of small round limestone pebbles that form in this area when rain dissolves the calcium in this ancient sea bed, growing crystals as it evaporates, much like lime does in kettles. It was hot and the kind of strong wind that heralds a change in weather, was blowing. We had a view over the dry land bordering this corridor of green, the ribbon of life that the river is to the areas it flows through. In the distance we were watched by red kangaroos, licking their forearms to cool down. On the old billabongs, dead trees stood sentinel, telling their story of the past.

Out on the water, there are few insects to bother you. Coming ashore they lept upon us. Too hot for mosquitoes, but not for flies. Our backs were covered in them and they were determined to find things to nibble on around our faces, including around our eyes. When Anna left the bank in a flurry of splashes and arm waves, all her flies came to me. Thanks Anna! They kept with me through the three thunderstorms that followed that afternoon. They somehow found places to hide in the heavy rain that fell. Emerging to sit on my hat, like dogs on the back of a ute. These flies wanted to travel down the river. It became part of a joke between us, especially when we came together for a break and the flies would swap people.

We passed four stations today. The first was Ned’s Corner, a former sheep station which is now run by Fund for Nature, as a wildlife reserve managed for endangered animals, which around here means not just limiting the number of cats and foxes, but also the number of kangaroos. University students from LaTrobe stay in dorm-like accommodation near the kind of big old shearing shed that is typical of the area, as part of their arid zone land management studies. We had planned to call in, but didn’t as we had word that the managers would be away on that day. You have to get supplies some time or other when you live in the bush. It seems that more and more stations are opening their doors to the public, providing an opportunity to see what life is like in this part of the country and sharing their love of the land they live in. Lake Victoria Station offers ‘Possum’s Riverboat Safaris’ as part of a ‘Murray Darling Holidays’. The homestead is set behind the ruined walls of the original limestone building and its owner, Paul Chors is an authority on local history. A little further downstream, Warrakoo Station, is impressively preserved and now run by the Mildura Aboriginal Cooperative. Perhaps because of its proximity to Devils Elbow, arguably the most impressive place on the river where the Murray erodes into its grandfather banks, creating a crumbling vertical face. Here there are clear layers of white sands and green clays. Books talk about the Parilla Sands and Blanchetown Clays. I wonder if these are them. Having the high river I was able to paddle right up close and look. I had to be careful though, as behind me I heard blocks break off and at the end of the cliffs was the most enormous whirlpool. Not far downstream of Devil’s Elbow is Kulcurna Station. If I was to choose one location as being quintessentially Australian on the Murray, it would be Kulcurna. Located at the edge of wetlands, nestled at the base of tall red cliffs, it looks out over red gum forest. This is my third time here. Something in my psyche, the image of what it is to be Australian is twigged here. It is a family home, with all its memories, and Belinda Hansen, our knowledgeable host, is its connection. I have written this post on the wired in veranda, over looking the river, listening to John Williamson’s ‘Galleries of Pink Galahs’. It almost seems written for this place.

After walking up to the top of cliffs to find reception to send this post we will move on. We have a short day today. We can explore, but we will need to rug up, the temperature is 20 degrees lower than yesterday with rain predicted.

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.

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 34 Mildura to Wentworth Nov 18

Mildura to Wentworth

Anna joins me - Long meanders - Dunes - Cowanna Bend - Royal Hotel

Today was the first day paddling with my daughter Anna. She has decided to join me for the 320 km stretch from Mildura to Renmark. Many say this is the quietest stretch of the river - at least from Wentworth down. It begins with the ancient rolling sand hills of the mallee, alternating with river flats and ends in the tall limestone cliffs of the Murray Gorge region.

The day began with a short chat with the captain of the PS Rothbury, who brought us up to speed on navigating the Mildura Weir. “It is easy”, he said, “there isn’t one - it’s been removed”. Mildura is the only weir on the river still on rails. Torrumbarry Weir used to be like this too, until a new type was built with gates that can be raised in the 1990’s. When the river rises weirs like Mildura can be pulled out of the river and replaced once it falls again. So there was no weir drop to worry about and with the level being the same on either side of where the weir used to be, there was no need to use the lock. As we passed the downstream side of the lock, we saw a team of workmen motoring slowly through the weir garden. No doubt they were inspecting infrastructure, but it just looked like they were having a good time and didn’t want to rush to get back to the office. It was the last boat we were to see for the day. There was no-one on the water for the next 50 km.

The biggest change between today’s river and that of the days before was the bends. Six to ten km long bends became the norm. Around Echuca, where I come from, if the river does not take a corner within a kilometre, we call that a long straight and there are legends about the winds that can blow along them and the battles we’ve had against them. Here we would be laughed at. The river runs in its ancient bed. No meanders within the meanders. This is the ancient river. How old must these banks be?
Around 15 kilometres downstream of Mildura we came across Mildara winery. Mildara is set at the top of a high sandstone cliff. The kind of formations built when the inland seas of 30 million years ago dried up and the sandy sediments were blown into big rolling dunes. Real mallee and gold once you put water onto it. The winery had built a solid set of steps from the top of the dune down to the foreshore where a barbecue was available for staff and visitors on the river bank. The effort put into making the steps was typical of the approach the Mildura community has put into making the river accessible to all. There are roads, picnic places, fences and a walking track which ran for at least 20 kilometres. The river charts we use suggest that this part of a whole Murray River walking trail. What a great thing that would be.

After 26 km we came across Cowanna Bend. This place was special. Cut off by an ever more permanent river cutting, it is virtually an island and by the looks of things, one on which there is no livestock. The diversity and richness of the understory was greater than any place I’ve seen on the Murray so far. I have been used to seeing black box woodlands with either saltbush, or grass, not the intricately patterned wilderness I was seeing here. The trees seemed healthy and wild, tangles of branches and thick canopies of leaves. Beyond the face of the forest, it appeared mythical and untamed. We drifted past this semi-flooded landscape, watching soaking in. On the NSW side were the communities of Coomealla, Dareton and Tucker’s creek. Houses set on high ground, or built on man-made islands of soil - the contrast could not have been greater. There was even a golf course around which people scooted in electric cars. Were they aware of the treasure across the river from them?
To get to Wentworth from Victoria you have to drive over two bridges. One at Abbotsford over the Murray and another over the Darling at Wentworth itself. Abbotsford Bridge is a single lane span lift bridge, designed to let the paddle steamers through. There were gates with stop signs either side of the span, which stopped the traffic when the span was about to be lifted. Wentworth Bridge uses hydraulics to lift its central span. No other bridge on the Murray has the same mechanism. Being between two major rivers, Wentworth is prone to floods. In 1956 when flood waters came down both the Darling and the Murray the town was only saved by the efforts of its farmers and the little grey ferguson tractors. The huge levee they built still surrounds the town, protecting it from future floods. The caravan park we are staying in is outside of that levee. Its vans and cabins are gradually being moved onto higher ground to avoid the rising river.

In the park, and later in the Royal Hotel we got to know two couples who were travelling around Australia. Both had spent the last three days kayaking on the rivers and exploring the streams and billabongs in the area. They too had explored amongst the flooded gums, seen kangaroos hopping to high ground, marvelled at the ancient trees and enjoyed the birdlife as their kayaks glid quietly through the trees.

I think Anna particularly enjoyed this aspect of the day. She photographed many birds, even a nesting tawny frogmouth. How she saw it I do not know. For me, having company was novel and refreshing. That company being my own daughter was special.

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Anna photographing a tawny frogmouth in an overhanging tree

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The rat is allowed to ride on the outside today, because we've got company. My daughter Anna has joined me for the 350 or so km to Renmark.

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Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 31 Karadoc to Mildura Nov 16

Mildura 885 km

Super moon - Alan - Gol Gol - Tree health - Bottle Bend

The evening had been a bright one. There had been a ‘super moon’, an exceptionally large full moon. I had watched it rise through the trees and it had lit my tent throughout the night. When I awoke the excitement of people and the urgency of conversations from the night before were but memories. I like that about mornings, there is calm. I packed, keen to be out on the water in the crisp morning light and to be in Mildura around midday, I had not taken much into my tent that night, so packing was easy. I was almost done when I saw Alan, from the cottage next door moving around. He offered me a cup of coffee and breakfast which I gladly accepted. Whilst sitting in Alan’s lounge chairs under his open veranda, overlooking the river, Alan told me more about his life, about his life in a small country town in the Mallee and of one of his adventures, a trip across the Simpson Desert, along the French Line between Dalhousie Springs and Birdsville in Little Grey Ferguson Tractors. He was the support mechanic. Steak and eggs was a luxury. Bryan the musician, who had left a copy of a song he had written about the Murray in my boat, turned up and accepted the offer of a coffee. Within the next ten minutes, the whole community seemed to be gathered around Alan’s fireplace. Subs, who owned the house boat they look after came down with a copy of the weekly newspaper. It had an article on blackwater he wanted to share with me. Accepting the offer of a cup of coffee before going off to work, he told me of his plans to take his houseboat up the Darling River next year. He would keep me informed. I was moved by the sense of community, support and care these river people showed each other and how they had taken me into it. Pushing off, I nosed the current into the fast flowing stream and was soon on my way again.

It was not long before I began to come across residential homes of Gol Gol. Stately homes, with landscaped gardens and terraced river frontages: a contrast to my hosts, simple accommodation. Some of the big trees which lined the river bank had been knocked over in the strong winds of the storm the previous week and were still in the process of being cleaned up. You could see the effect the weir pool had on their roots. Red gum roots will not enter permanent water, but form a layer above it. Where water is at a permanent high level, or young saplings grow on beaches their roots form a intertwined plate rather than penetrate deep into the soil. It is this plate that they balance on, but whilst they do not lack for water, they are vulnerable to falling over in high winds. The smooth water reflected the sky giving it a blue colour in my photos. In reality, it was the colour of dark tea from the tannins that had leached into it from organic material picked up from the forest.

Large areas of black box and river red gum were in the poorest condition of any I have seen on my paddle so far. They even seemed worse than after the millennium drought (the fifteen years of below average rainfall that finished in 2011) when I did my last paddle. Why had this section of the river been particularly hard hit and why had it taken so long to recover? I estimated from the branches of the dead trees that at one time 75% of the forest floor would have been shaded by black box; now it was more like 15%. Even if you accept drought as natural and its effect on trees as a natural thinning event, where the fittest and those in the best positions survive, it was still shocking. Along the river’s edge the red gums had also suffered. On some stretches one in three old trees had died and more had lost strength, cut back to a few young sapling-like branches which had grown since the drought broke 5 years ago. The root systems must cut back too. To be healthy, they need to be fed sugars from photosynthesis in the leaves. When I worked as a landscape gardener, we had a rule of thumb. Actually it had to do with replanting bushes and trees from one place to another. It was that the roots of a plant are as extensive as its foliage. What you see above the ground is what there is below the ground. When we dug out a bush we trimmed back its foliage to maintain a healthy balance. The leaf mass on these trees was only enough to support a tiny root system. With fungi attacking the abandoned roots and so little resources for such big trees, it’s no wonder they take so long to re-establish and no wonder that the younger trees show more vigour. All the more respect to those forest giants that manage to rebuild the spreading crowns that river red gum are famous for. If those trees die, it will be a hundred years before the river is lined with majestic gums again. It will not be something we see again in our lifetimes. I prayed for more good years and that we find a way and the will to help them recover.

Right at the beginning of my paddle, I took a detour into Bottle Bend. This billabong is infamous for having become highly acidic in the drought. People often comment on the smell of murray mud. It has its own peculiar smell. Living thing is the Murray get their energy from organic matter. Some is washed down from the mountain catchments, but in a long river like the Murray this is soon consumed. Some is produced by vegetation along the banks, this is one reason why overhanging trees and areas of reeds and rushes are so important - particularly if you like fishing, or observing birdlife. And some is brought into the river from the forests following floods. This organic matter supports a food chain that begins with micro-organisms that break it down, waterbeds and mussels that filter feed on these, shrimps, frogs, platypus, fish, turtles and birds, as well as land animals and insects that depend on the river as a food source. All use oxygen, but deep in the mud where the oxygen cannot penetrate are micro-organisms which use the naturally existing sulphur from the soil. Under drying conditions this can form sulphide gases, which is what gives the mud its strong smell. In some situations, the sulphide produced by these organisms becomes sulphuric acid. This happened at Bottle Bend. The water was so acidic, it would have dissolved a car body. The little water that was in the billabong was pink. It killed everything it came into contact with. There was concern when the river rose in 2011 that it would kill fish in the river downstream. Luckily it was such a high river, that like the blackwater in most cases this year (so far), it was diluted by freshwater, limiting its effect. Paddling into Bottle Bend 5 years later, it now looked like any other billabong. Young trees lined its shores. The water had the same colour as everywhere else. It had recovered.

Approaching Mildura, I paddled alongside the majestic Mallee Cliffs, 20 to 30m high red cliffs where the river has cut into ancient sand hills, exposing the geological story of past climates and landscapes. A fringe of red gum and river coobah (river myall) grew from sediments which had eroded from its face, the fresh green fringe a contrast to the ancient rock behind them. Planes flew into Mildura airport and jet trails from the flight path between Europe and Australia criss-crossed the sky. I could hear the rumble of traffic in the distance. There is something exciting about coming into towns and cities when having been out in the bush for weeks. There is such a contrast between the two environments, but there are also people.

I found a spot in the Buronga Caravan Park on the NSW side of the river. That afternoon I met with three other source to sea paddlers, Tim Williams who completed the journey round 10 years ago, Kia James, one of the few women to do the journey solo and the legendary Mike Bremers who has paddled both the Bidgee and the Murray and had just come back from a stint exploring sections of the Darling River. We talked all afternoon, after which Mike and I moved on to the pub for dinner and a few beers, where we swapped tales long into the night. Finally a pub that was open (and had beer)!

Day 32 and Day 33 were rest days in Mildura (see calendar)

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River landscape near Karadoc

Video: Black box woodland near Mildura still recovering from drought

Murray River Paddle 2016 Day 30 Mallee Cliffs (Nangiloc) to Karadoc Nov 14

Mallee Cliffs National Park: Nangiloc - Karadoc

Friggincharlies Hut - In search of the Big Tree - Sandhills - Blackwater - Tree deaths - Bryan the Muso

Sheltered though I was at Friggincharlie’s Hut, my camp was not far above river level. Driven by the wind, the water was surging back and forth like a mini tide. I set two sticks in the bank, one for the lower level and one for the upper. Before going to bed and once in the night I checked the levels. All seemed ok. I tied my boat to the tent and placed it right next to the veranda, so that if it began to move I would know about it. At first light I checked again. The water level had risen about an inch and a half overnight. The amount the water rises depends on how far it can spread out in a place, so a rise of 2 cm in the forest, might be a half a metre somewhere else. It plays to be cautious.

The strong winds from the previous days had dropped, making conditions much nicer for paddling. The sun even came out occasionally. Today’s paddle would take me past the, apparently, biggest tree on the Murray, Mallee Cliffs, Iraak and Colignan. I had missed this last trip, and given the heads up this times determined to try and find it. Once in location I paddled slowly past looking through the bush. When I had no luck this way I headed in amongst the trees. It was fun paddling in the flooded forest, almost surreal, but something I was not game to do on windy days. I had heard too many trees come down. First you hear their cracking roots, then gradually they begin to move. It is usually not as fast as you might think, more of a gradual thing, but with 30 m of tree coming down, you really don’t want to be anywhere nearby. Today was wind-still. In the shade of the canopy, there was a stillness, a silence that is not present in the rush of water in the river channel. I wove my way in and out of the trees, avoiding floating logs and low branches, but could not find the tree. I did find a ‘big’ tree which I photographed in place of the famous one and enjoyed the experience all the same.

With good current and no winds I made good time. I hit 14 km/hr once and averaged 10 km/hr for 20 km. After that I slowed down. After a few cuttings (which I did not take) the Mallee Cliffs after which the park is named came into view. Here the river has cut into the base of an old sandhill, leaving a sheer 20 m high sandstone face. on top, mallee gum can be seen. At the base river red gum and river myall grew. They run for almost two kilometres along the river, but way longer in the background. Cobb and Co coaches used to run along the top of the sand hills as they did all along the Murray - perhaps because the tracks would not get muddy - but it must have been hard on the horses. Where they descended onto the flats was a winding tack called the ‘devil’s racecourse’.

Just after the Murray Cliffs a gentleman called out to me from a houseboat. Not seeing too many people I did not want to waste the opportunity for a conversation. I turned around and pulled alongside. Joe and Margaret welcomed me on board for a warming bowl of soup and a big cup of coffee and told me about their river and life on board their houseboat. They would not swap it for the world they said and they were always having visitors. the grandkids in particular loved being on the boat. Both keen fishermen, they told me that although the shrimp were gathering at the side of the river for oxygen, in the 2011 blackwater they all died. This was not so bad - so far. There has been lots of talk of debris in the river. I hadn’t seen so much until the winds had picked up, however Margaret had photographed a big old tree floating down the river just the day before. I found it caught on another snag about 500m downstream. Interestingly the one inch rise I had seen, had been 4 inches for them. Note to self: set campsite a little higher than planned. Heartened by the soup and good company I set off for the last 20km of the day.

The sun had come out, making photography a pleasure. The sand hills and flats gave way to low banks and distinct zones of vegetation. I was surprised to find that there had been many more tree deaths in this part of the National Park. Not just on the water’s edge, but well into the adjoining planes. It seems that the millennium drought was too long for the trees to survive. Deaths were not limited to red gum, but occurred through the black box communities as well. Even if viewed as a natural thinning event, it was still pretty devastating.

Coming into Karadoc, I drifted past all manner of houseboats and even a paddle steamer. Numbers were down on usual as many people had taken their boats up the Darling River for protection from whatever the flood might bring down. As I was passing a figure ran to the rivers edge to shout encouragement. It was Bryan, musician and engineer, living the dream alongside his friend Alan, deckchairs and fire pits under the stars and next to the river. Looking for a place to stay, I took up Bryan’s invitation to camp on his block and in the process made two new friends. Alan used to be friends with John Williamson’s family. He used to do their accounts. Whenever he visited Mrs. Williamson would have a meal cooked and would not take no for an answer. Both were mallee boys. Their stories are those of the pioneer families, of blockies who began with ten quid in their pocket and worked hard. Who faced life’s challenges and had now found peace by the river. Bryan showed me a tawny frogmouth who sat in his tree. His mate was calling from across the river. With the setting sun building silhouettes of mallee gums against a background of golden red, I climbed into my tent.

Tomorrow I make for Mildura and a rest day. I look forward to that.

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