Narrandera to Carathool.

 

January 2024

Organising a calendar to allow  6 days remote paddling is a difficult thing, but in mid-January 2024 I was mostly able to do that and get back on the river at Narrandera and head down stream with the intention of heading for Hay.

Just out of town I see a black snake lying on the sand, half of his body in the water, as if to regulate its temperature. It does not register my slippery passing.

The first destination was Yanco Weir which is roughly 16km down the river. The weather hot but paddling was pleasant. The portage at Yanco in the heat of the day not so much, and I had to make several trips carrying all my gear and then put the canoe on wheels to bypass the gates and weir infrastructure.

It took about an hour and then I was back on the river with the intention of finding a campsite before dark, within paddling distance of Middle Beach near Leeton, which I figured was a good place to get reception to receive a call from Create NSW about a funding rejection my organization had received before Christmas. And yes, my calendar was not completely clear.

This time of year, many of the campsites were occupied but somewhere past Bikini Beach I found a patch of sand and pulled my kayak out of the water. I could see people had used it previously as there were several discarded broken folding chairs. There was a farm opposite and there were also several empty chicken eggs lying on the beach, perhaps purloined by ravens from its chickens. It was late in the day and I had just enough time to set up my tent, eat some dinner and crawl into bed before the mosquitoes attacked with a vengeance.

Just as I crawl into bed I hear a koala in the tree above my tent, and worry it will keep me awake. But except for calling a bit on dark it is quiet.

I also hear what I assume are gunshots, and they continue the next morning and grow louder as I continue. I eventually pass a series of irrigated farming and realise that is they reports are probably a gas gun to keep birds off fruit or similar.

In the morning I make it to Middle Beach, near Leeton, and with some reception wait for a phone-call that I have arranged for 9am but it doesn’t come through. These rest of the day, when I have a chance and service, I am sending messages about rescheduling.

As it is still school holidays, I see a lot of people (comparatively) the next day, with virtually every sandy beach occupied by campers.

I arrive at Gogeldrie Weir in the middle of the day. The water companies give no thought to how people can traverse their structures. I get out on the left, just near the yellow boom balls. Stupidly I step into deep water and fill the kayak with water. In the water I can not empty it, so standing waist deep in water I unload all my dry bags and throw them up onto the bank. Theen using a tiedown strap I haul the water-filled boat clear of the water, where I can tip it to empty it. Then put it in the trailer and load everything back in, and wheel it 500m to past the rocks on the banks where there is a small sandy beach from which to enter the water. The whole process exhausts me, and I know I still have to make as many kilometres as I can before camp to make less km’s to travel tomorrow to Darlington Point.

I camp on a beach and start early in the morning. It has become obvious that I am not travelling fast enough to get to Hay, and I have underestimated the distance. I send messages to tell my support people (partner) of this. Whilst on the beach, a young man pulls up and we discuss the flow. He says it is not flowing at Carathool, which is concerning, and worries that there is a blockage between there and here. Which then worries me. We discuss the agriculture of the area, and the irrigation. Later another guy pulls up in a ute, parks for ten minutes and then leaves.

In the morning another car arrives but drives along the bank to the west. When I leave they are fishing, and we chat briefly. They ask where I got in and I say, Narrandera, and then ask where I’m going, and I say Carathool, and one of them says “Shit, that’s a long way.” I nod and paddle past. Two hours later, but probably only ten kilometres along I see the same two men on the bank and say hello again.

On the river in the morning I see a pair of kingfishers, and a mum and bub swamp wallaby. The joey is trying to reach some leaves and doesn’t notice me, but mum does and turns and leaves, with the characteristic wallaby warning thump at which the joey quickly turns and follows after her. I see two grey kangaroos that watch me pass without alarm, and again I am taking with what a beautiful animal they are.

Coming into Darlington Point, I see a little eagle. There is a large property being added to, and other with a shipping container with a peace symbol painted on it and the word love. I stop at the jetty which looks like it was made in expectation of the Paddle Steamers coming back and walk up into the town. It is hot. I buy a drink and icecream at the shop. And sit in the park opposite and make some calls and answer emails. The pub is not open so my hope to have a quiet beer and charge my phone is quashed. I return to the water.

I push on, hoping to cover some kilometres before making camp to give me a shot of making Carathool. Just out of Darlington I stop on a small beach to reset and I can hear cars reving their engines and I see a 4WD ute  followed by an old commodore bashing through bush on the opposite bank. And then a small fishing flat-bottom dingy goes past. When I start again I go past the guys in the cars all standing around looking at the ute, and then pass the punt, which has pulled in by a large tree. Over the next hour we play leapfrog as they find new places to park and fish, and I keep paddling.

 The nature of paddling on the Murrumbidgee is that there are often great beaches when you are not thinking of stiopping, and then nothing for kilometres and that was the situation that evening. Eventually I met a fisherman and asked him if there was any good spots coming and he said I should look out for his ute. When I get there it was a muddy slide that he had obviously backed his trailer into. I landed and hauled my kayak up and to the stide of the access. I set up my tent. He suggested he had no plans and would probably sleep his ute.

Later, he came back up the river, but continued past. The mosquitos arrived and I crawled into my tent. Just on dark, he arrived again and I could here him pull his punt out of the water and drive off. Changed his mind obviously. 5am before even the kookaburras have woken I was woken to vehicle and it was the same guy. It took him ten minutes to be back on the water and off. I got up and was on the water at 6am. Didn’t even take time to have coffee or breakfast. I was conscious of how far I had to go. One of my sources suggested DP to Carathool was 80km, of which I had done maybe 20, but another suggested it was 127km, and I would not make it that day. My phone and batterries were all running down and I was worried I would not be able to communicate my pick-up needs.

Day 4: I wake up after dreaming about running an art festival in Riga, Estonia. I’m on the water by 7am. This is the most beautiful part of the day, and the light glints off the water. I think how at each point the combination of light and water is a language that I have learnt to read. It tells me where the river is running fastest, where the hazards are, which way to go into the next corner.

At some stage I saw an eagle being chased by some other bird. There are big houses along the river at key points. As I pass one I can hear the sound of a father and his kids splashing in a pool. Seems a world away from what I am doing.

As the day draws on the bad weather predicted days ago starts to form. The nature of being on the river is sometimes you are headed towards the building storm clouds and at other times away. Eventually the big black clouds are above me. The first thunderclap comes as I round a corner and hundreds of black kites take to the air, wheeling in the tempestuous air. They make a magnificent sight.

The lightning and rain start and I paddle under an old dead red gum, and shelter. I do the counting thing, trying to calculate how far from the lightening I am. Thinking it has moved off I do the same paddling in the rain. I only go about a kilometre and the storm is on me again and I beach the kayak and stand under another old dead redgum, operating on the assumption they are less likely to get hit again. I message my friend Julie who is going to pick me up.

The lightening is on top of me and I don’t think I have ever heard such loud thunder. I can hear trees splintering. I decide that being on the river is no more dangerous that hiding on the bank and take to the water again, paddling as hard as I can. I see a truck go past and think I must be close, but it is only a point where the Sturt Highway is close, and it was still ten kilometres of paddling before I come to the Carathool Bridge. I pull up to the muddy bank and start to move all my gear up into the picnic area. The storm is all around. The bank is so muddy that several times I crash heavily to the ground. After half an hour I have every thing in the car park. Another half an hour an Julie turns up and I load every thing into and onto my car.

On the highway we can see the storm clouds all around. At the AgConnex site there is a fire and the kites are wheeling in the air there.

I follow the storm all the way to Wagga.