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Two Thousand
Five Hundred Kilometres in under 21 Days
an average of 120kms
per day
The Murray River Descent
1990
As I stared into the rainstorm camped
next to the Murray River, I reflected on my epic journey since
leaving Perth 8 months earlier. I had kayaked 850 kilometres
on the ocean from Augusta to Geraldton, 800 kilometres from
Cooktown to Cape York and paddled some shorter trips around
Hinchinbrook Island, Whitsunday Islands, Fraser Island and
into and out of Sydney. I had also walked 1,600 kilometres
across the Great Sandy desert on the Canning Stock route,
450 kilometres across the Simpson desert and backpacked 900
kilometres from Wilson's Promontory through the Victorian
mountains to Mt Kosciusko. To link these remote and unique
areas together I had cycled 3000 kilometres on dirt tracks
and over 5000 kilometres on bitumen roads and I still had
10,000 kilometres of my trek to complete.
I was starting my epic 2500km paddle
about 13kms from the highest mountain in Australia, Mount
Kosciusko, at a locality called Tom Groggin. Because the Murray
River for the first section was classed as grade 3 & 4
and was running high due to summer rain storms I decided to
hire two local guides Gezza and Carl to join me on this first
dangerous section. Another paddler Frank Bakker also came
along for the ride.
Originally, I had planned to paddle
the Murray River, to the ocean, at a leisurely pace. But when
I found out there was a record for paddling this river, my
leisurely pace thoughts vanished. I now had a much more exciting
and ambitious plan; to establish a new distance record and
beat Mick MacManus's record of 16 days and 16 hours from Hume
Weir to Goolwa, on the way. Realistically, the odds were stacked
against me before I started as I hadn't been in a kayak for
3 months, I had been walking and cycling so I wasn't paddle
fit, and I didn't know the river, or its exit and entry points.
But that didn't matter; I thought I would give it my best
shot anyway.
Tom Groggin 13kms from Australia's
highest mountain, Mt Kosiusko;
In the early morning, the severe storm suddenly stopped and
we were able to continue our breakfast in a more comfortable
and civilised manner, talking about the rapids which had grown
even larger in the night. For the last few months, I had started
each day with a huge bowl of muesli, but this morning after
so much talk, I could hardly eat a thing. What was waiting
ahead, I really didn't know. I could see that Gezza wasn't
completely happy with the extreme conditions and talk of putting
the trip off filtered towards my ears. When a very excited
Frank Bakker, another experienced kayaker, arrived, I was
relieved when we all decided to take the plunge.
Frank, me, Carl and Gezza
ready to take the plunge
I was eager to get away, so after securing
safety gear in our kayaks, we had a few seconds to warm up
before Tim Fry, my support person, started the countdown.
At 8.15am precisely we left the Tom Groggin picnic area. 'Oh
what a feeling,' only 2500 kilometres to go! But what if I
capsize and get injured on this section? It could mean my
whole trip to paddle, backpack, walk and cycle around Australia
had failed! Should I have planned to take on this dangerous
section when so much was at stake? A few days earlier before
the rain, the river had been powerless; a tiny stream threading
itself through and around the river's bouldery bottom.
But after 3 days of heavy
rain it was now a raging torrent and capable of tossing us
around like a compost tumbler. Only minutes into our trip,
a small waterfall blocked our path. I approached it with caution.
On a short practise run the previous day, and being a little
rusty, I had capsized, and been forced to roll in its mangled
mess of turbulence. But today my determination was high and
I shot it without incident. A few kilometres downstream of
the waterfall, we had to portage a concrete bridge. Then we
forged on, working our way down the river, pushing through
the easier grade 2 rapids and pounding through some grade
3s. Carl, enjoying himself, had a constant grin on his face,
especially when a larger rapid approached.
Carl dropping into a
hole at South African Swim
I was now becoming more familiar with
my borrowed kayak, and my confidence began to soar, as we
threaded ourselves around large boulders, deep holes and giant
'stoppers'. Suddenly our progress came to a halt as we approached
one of the bigger rapids, 'South African Swim'. It was a technical
rapid, so we paused to check the big stoppers and bottomless
holes, and posted rescuers with throw bags at strategic positions.
One slip on the top rapid, one slight mistake sliding down
the next drop, could mean a capsize, a swim or even worse,
an injury. After a faultless run down SAS, our concerns were
eased and we didn't bother checking any more rapids, we took
them as they came. At times, when the paddler in front dropped
out of sight I knew that a special surprise was waiting at
the bottom of the drop. As Carl led down 'The Thing', he suddenly
disappeared over the last drop and failed to surface. A few
moments later, still no Carl. It looked like a rescue attempt
would have to be put into operation, but after a roll Carl
finally surfaced with a cheesy grin across his face. Then
it was our turn to face the drop!
Frank taking on one of
the big rapids on the Murray River in the summer floods. Having
not paddled for three months and over 18 months since I had
paddled white water, I had to paddle grade 3 & 4 classed
rapids before being able to paddle the flat water further
downstream.
As we moved down the river, blasting
through 'stoppers', standing waves and holes, we manoeuvred
skilfully as a team. There were few mishaps, but we had our
moments...Gezza got plastered against the wall at 'Easy Over',
and I capsized between two giant holes on 'Roller Coaster',
which resulted in a quick roll. Carl did a few tail stands
and other uncontrolled stunts, and Frank had great fun in
his high buoyancy kayak sliding down backwards, sidewards
and treating the rapids as if they weren't there. By the late
afternoon, we had conquered the most dangerous grade 3 and
4 rapids: Sharks Tooth, Head Beater, Hole in the Wall, South
African Swim, Himalaya Wrap, The Thing, The Wall and many
more. And I was still in one piece. How good was that!
Having paddled a lot
of slalom helped me to weave my way down the big rapids
At the end of the rapids
and after saying goodbye to Frank, Gezza and smiling Carl,
I hopped into my racing kayak, the 'machine' that was to get
me to the end much quicker, and headed towards Tintaldra 60
kilometres away.
As I threaded my way around dozens of
weeping willow trees which the storm had battered the evening
before, I also had to watch out for barbed wire fences that
jutted out into the river. By the second night, I was heading
across the Hume Dam with a strong wind blowing. In the darkness
it was difficult to cut through the rough waters, let alone
see the dead trees that once lined the river bank. My midnight
finish at Hume Weir would turn out to be the earliest stop
in the next 20 days.
I soon realised that to achieve my goal
I had to paddle into the night. This didn't seem too much
of a problem at first, but when I started averaging 3-4 hours
sleep a night, it was difficult to stay awake. By 11pm my
eyelids were beginning to droop. The strain of looking into
the darkness was overwhelming as the river snaked and slithered
across the dry burnt country. Trees that had crashed down
on bends were like giant antlers rising up out of the muddy
waters, creating dangerous hazards which were difficult to
see in the blackness. At every twist in the river, I chanced
being speared by the snags if I ever took too much of a short
cut.
When I looked upward into space, I could
see the bright stars and constellations and a world alive
with shooting stars and satellites. Back on earth, trees continued
to flank the river, silhouetted sometimes against the brighter
sky. As the river narrowed, the sound of the current cutting
through the snags increased my anxiety, as I had no idea if
I was heading into them. I often thought of Mick MacManus
who held the record. Why did he set such a high target, forcing
me to paddle at night, and why was I so convinced that his
record could be beaten when I hadn't paddled for so long?
Probably because I felt I was at my prime at 39 years old,
I had been enduring extreme physical challenges for the last
8 months, although not all paddling and I had done many other
tough paddling trips.
I made the lightweight
kayak for a 24 hour marathon but it got well used on this
trip
Paddling till 2.00am, sometimes later
and sometimes completely through the night, became a regular
pattern. Three to four hours sleep was my maximum relief which
kept me on target to beat the record. Night paddling was hazardous.
As well as all the snags protruding from the water, I couldn't
prevent myself from dozing off. Then there were the shadows!
Trees created shadows. Shadows created problems, extra problems
I didn't need. I saw shadows as objects; objects that I thought
were logs, trees and rocks. Startled, I would flinch and my
heart would leap into my mouth when I thought I was going
to collide with these imaginary solid things in front of me
but which were only shadows.
After my first week of paddling, the
circulation in my toes became partly cut off because of the
long hours I spent sitting in the kayak. That meant that three
toes on my right leg tingled with numbness. I changed into
sandshoes and cut out the toes to see if that would help and
to allow them to fit into the kayak. It didn't help and I
just hoped there weren't going to be any long term effects
after I finished the paddle.
The days flew by and at night, the moon
became my only friend on the river. It rose like a giant guardian,
brightening my world and giving me a glimpse of the river
outside of my own imagination. This new insight made me feel
happy and content, as I watched the huge glowing sphere move
slowly across the sky. But every time I glanced up, wanting
to observe its mysterious craters some 384,400 kilometres
distant, my balance became shaky. Since beginning my trip
around Australia 8 months earlier, the moon had become a very
special companion, and the full moon became one of the highlights
of the month. It was so great to have a full moon when camped
in the wilderness or when paddling at night or sitting by
my tent alone, looking up and thinking about life. Eventually
its reflected light would finally fade leaving me in the dark
or it would merge into the day, but it gave me inspiration
and I was always eager for its return.
Eleven days on the river averaging 140
kilometres a day since leaving Tom Groggin I was on target
to break the record but paddling became a nightmare day and
night, as I couldn't prevent myself from dozing off and I
often woke up with a wet arm, after automatically doing a
support stroke to prevent myself from falling in! Many times
at night, tiredness forced me to stop for catnaps. I would
run my kayak up the bank or into a place that would support
it. Then I would slump forward on the deck, clutching my paddle
in one hand and using the other hand as a pillow. This uncomfortable
position didn't allow me to sleep for long, maybe a minute,
a few minutes or only a second or two, I never really knew,
but it was enough shut eye to allow me to continue for a while
longer.
For much of the day, I would relax my
whole body and fade into my own dream world. The warmth of
the day would make me feel content, secure and drug me into
a feeling that I could paddle for ever. It was my way of meditating
in the kayak and it was such a beautiful feeling. But as the
hot summer days dragged on, the sun also became my enemy.
The glare and heat made me drowsy, weary and often forced
my eye lids to close. It was so hard to keep awake even when
there was so much beauty around me.
My methods of keeping awake were not
entirely successful. I carried several pieces of fruit and
'vegies' that I ate continually to keep my jaw moving and
I sang all the songs that I knew at the top of my voice, so
I repeated three songs all day!! When this failed, I would
wet my head and face, but even that didn't meet with much
success. Paddling wasn't a problem, keeping awake was!
Parts of the river were
very scenic
So my journey continued;
passing pumping stations, the occasional bridge, a few houses,
some river boats, and people who witnessed my passing only
briefly. At night, when I became too drowsy to be safe, I
had no choice but to sleep wherever tiredness took over. I
carried nothing more than a tent fly sheet, food and an extra
jumper, and slept anywhere, except in the long grass as I
had seen several snakes in and around the river. I used the
tent fly as a ground sheet, my buoyancy aid as my pillow,
my jumper as my sleeping bag and the cold mornings as my alarm
clock. I slept on nothing but the hard ground, and by 4.30
am without fail the cold would wake me and force me to rise
and paddle on to get warm again.
Never before had I seen so many days
and nights blend into one. I was paddling at sunrise and sunset.
I watched the stars ease across the sky throughout the night,
I saw shooting stars by the dozens and I experienced the coming
of dawn and eventually another perfect sunrise. Not only was
I trying to beat a record, I was experiencing continual changes
of the day and learning so much about myself. I was in a world
of my own, and only Tim had a vague idea what I was going
through.
February 11th 1990
Before I stopped for the day I had only paddled 101kms which
was much shorter distance than other days but I had been fighting
the wind and I was tired. I didn't cherish a 4.00am rise but
there was little choice if I wanted to keep on target. Breakfast
was eaten hastily in cold and blustery conditions. Once on
the water though, I became warmer, although it was again difficult
to see in the dark. I felt tired as the morning developed
into light just before my first stop at Hogwash, a lovely
beach on a left hand bend of the river. Tim was waiting with
a chair set up on the sand. I sat while he handed me a Milo.
Within moments I was dozing. The world was spinning and my
energy supplies had been completely sapped from my body. Could
I go any further? I had tortured myself for fifteen days and
my body was at its lowest ebb, not only of the paddle trip
but at its lowest ebb of the whole trip since leaving in May,
and I had been pushing myself on every different leg of the
24,000km journey.
45 minute rest time -
Having spent eight months paddling, cycling and backpacking
I hadn't ever been as tired as I was here but I couldn't give
up
My appearance epitomized how I felt,
my face haggard and wrinkly. I wore stripy thermal leggings,
a short sleeved paddling jacket, an old jumper, my PFD and
sand shoes with holes in the toes. I looked more like a tramp
than a paddler. I just sat there asleep in the warmth of the
early morning sun. My body had come to a temporary halt. For
a moment I thought I would not have the will power and drive
to move any more that day, but after a 45 minute break, Tim
pulled me to my feet and I slowly paddled off, heading downstream
to somewhere.
At 11.35am the river turned from a westerly
to a southerly direction near Morgan, once a great South Australian
river port. The change in direction indicated that I was getting
closer to my goal and my final fling to the ocean. The river
widened and spectacular cliffs became more numerous. Unfortunately,
as the river turned south I had to fight even stronger southerly
winds which continued to slow my progress. I couldn't afford
to lose any more time though, but the strong afternoon breeze
that also blew through the night, frustrating my final push
towards the ocean. Not only that, night paddling became more
of a worry; the wind whipped up large waves on the wider exposed
river, making it increasingly difficult to balance the kayak,
especially in my drowsy state.
I battled on against the wind doing
less kilomtres than the day before, knowing that the record
was now at risk, but I stiil knew if I kept up my average
pace over the next four days I could still break it. Since
starting this part of my journey, I had thought of nothing
but breaking the record. I had pushed my body close to its
limit and survived on so little sleep, but despite all that,
I had really enjoyed the paddle and learnt an amazing amount
about my own abilities.
My diet since leaving Perth eight months
ago had consisted mainly of cereal, fruit, vegetable, stew
and lots of rice pudding. In fact, every day for the last
eight months my diet had virtually been the same, although
when in the deserts and remote places I had no fresh fruit,
so I relied on dried fruits instead. Despite the monotonous
diet, it was working well. I couldn't have felt any fitter.
I had only eaten meat about twelve times in the last eight
months but I didn't crave for it.
By the time I reached Blanchetown, I
had paddled 2200 kms down rapids, across lakes, through forests,
by swamps, through and around locks and passed beautiful high
cliffs. As I approached the Blanchetown bridge, a huge semi
trailer was crossing it, the first I had seen for 2000 kms.
Paddling the cliff lined
river was awesome
Disappointingly the windy conditions
continued, and my milage over those last few days had dropped
considerable and when I battled on across the wild and windy
Lake Alexandrina I only managed to paddle 26kms in day light
hours and it was too risky to paddle at night. I knew then
that the record had slipped my grasp and I finished up being
two days behind the record, however I had established a longer
distance record, which included the rapid sections before
Hume Weir which most paddlers don't attempt because of the
rapids.
Despite not breaking the Hume Weir
to Goolwa record I was very happy with my performance under
the trying conditions, especially considering my lack of paddling
before starting out on the river.
On Friday 16th February at 12.33pm South
Australian time, my only well wisher in Goolwa apart from
Tim was Frank Tuckwell, the manager of Signal Point, River
Murray Interpretive Centre and an official for the Inland
Rivers National Marathon Register. Although Goolwa is where
the records are officially finished, I still had to battle
12 kilometres against a gale force wind to achieve my ultimate
goal, the ocean at the mouth of the Murray River.
Frank Tuckwell waiting
to see me arrive at Goolwa and to enter my little trip in
the Inland Rivers National Marathon Register
Finally I reached the mouth of the Murray
River and what a spectacular sight! Furious waves were breaking
out from the river mouth for several hundred metres out to
sea. Finally, I really had arrived.
After my 2500km voyage had sunk in,
the kayak went straight onto the roof rack, leaving me with
15km run back to Goolwa before starting my next leg of cycling
1000kms along the ocean road to Melbourne, then to walk and
cycle around Tasmania and a cycle back to Perth from Melbourne
via Augusta where it all started completing 24,000kms and
one year on the road.
Since 1990 I hear the record below the
rapids has been broken. From Tom Groggin though, where I started
I think it is still intact. It would be great to do the whole
thing again, but this time having trained for such a challenge.
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