Outer Edge Magazine

With record rainfall levels being recorded across summer and autumn, even seasoned kayakers are having to relearn how to ride some of our swollen rivers.

As I stood there on the bank of the swollen river, watching the speed of the current flow past, I would have to say I was scared. Six months ago when planning to paddle downstream from Albury there hadn’t been any real rain flowing into the Murray River in years. But, as summer 2010/11 drew to a close, Northern Victoria had seen some of its worst floods since 1974. The concept of paddling over 500 kilometres to Echuca was designed to be a personal challenge, both physically and mentally. But, I hadn’t planned to take on something that could see me become a statistic.

Months of preparation and research had been done – data had been checked and maps and charts studied. I’d spoken to countless people to get as much information as possible. I had given myself every possible chance of success. But, now it was judgement day and only one question remained unanswered. Was I going be able to paddle this flooded river, unassisted for days on end? I had no idea of just how flooded it was or whether I even had the ability to control my boat. Maybe a more experienced kayaker would have known the answers just from standing on the bank, but I had never done anything like this before. The only option was to get in and have a go.

I stopped mid-river to look back at my wife and kids who waved from the bank and then, in what seemed like a heartbeat, the current had taken me around the bend and they’d slipped out of sight. It was only then that the enormity of the challenge hit home. I was attempting to paddle solo down the Murray River, in a boat that I’d only just bought and with very little training or experience. The river was swollen and I was on my own. On my own! Was I mad? Even now I still can’t really answer that question. I certainly felt slightly insane paddling off into the unknown.

Stroke after stroke I paddled into the rain. The water ran down the sides of my hat and down my neck. It wasn’t cold and the trees hung perfectly still against the grey and foreboding sky. A blue and white sign glided past and declared “2194”. These markers indicated the distance to the river mouth and were strategically placed on the New South Wales side of the bank at two kilometre intervals. I had already travelled three kilometres on the speed of the current.

I decided to stop for lunch on the inside of a left-hand bend where the bank sloped gently upwards. It looked pretty safe and the water seemed to be flowing much slower. Looks can be deceiving. I turned the boat hard left to point it at the bank, the plan being to paddle up onto it. The current was far stronger than it seemed. I started to float backwards - out into the middle of the river. Panic! Paddling furiously towards the bank. Relief when both feet were back on dry land.

The emotional torment of the first day was quite intense. I’d become very unsure of what would make a suitable place to get out. The sun was beginning to set and it was time to get off the water. Rounding a bend, what looked like an okay camping spot loomed and the bank looked low enough to get out, with only about 30cm sticking out of the water. Inexperience was about to get the better of me. I expected the water to be knee deep, but sank up to my neck instead. It was the life jacket that floated me up on to my back. I flailed around wildly grabbing on to the side of the boat and dragging myself onto the bank. Then I noticed all my stuff was in the water. I had to go back in and get it quickly before the current took it away. Wading back into the fast flowing river was bloody frightening, but I couldn’t let my stuff float away on the first day.

Eventually I found a place to camp, on a plateau, high above the water line. I was concerned that the river may rise in the night. The thought of waking up in the pitch black to find myself floating away was more than enough encouragement to camp on higher ground. I had invested in a trolley so that I could pull the boat far enough away from the river so it wouldn’t float away either. There was plenty of evidence to suggest that the river had been considerably higher than its present level. Twigs and small branches had been deposited far up the banks.

Upstream of Lake Mulwala, much of the low lying ground was still under water and I found it impossible to tell what the normal river level would be. There were still plenty of trees partly submerged, especially on the inside of the bends and I could clearly hear the rushing water as it passed over branches sticking out of the river. Bending and flexing, casting moving shadows on the surface.

There were many fallen trees, some quite large that lay across nearly the full river width. Negotiating was a challenge until I’d learned the correct way to combine paddle action with rudder control. I don’t think I’d have been able to control the boat so loaded up with gear without a rudder. The current was just too strong. The flow would swirl dramatically around the submerged snags creating massive eddies that would suddenly cause the boat to change direction and I would have to compensate for that. My ideal technique was keeping a steady rhythm going with the paddle while using my feet to steer the rudder.

There was one section, where the Ovens River flows into the Murray, that would have been very difficult to navigate without my charts. Numerous little islands and tributaries that flow in from all directions made picking out the main channel impossible. The excess water in the system had created a flood plain that had removed any extra flow that the river might have had under normal conditions. My concern was that heading up the wrong channel would eventually result in the need to turn around and I wasn’t confident in being able to do that easily in a boat that measured over five metres. 

I had purchased the set of river charts from murrayrivercharts.com.au and laminated them, so I could read as I paddled. They were invaluable. I was able to follow progress down the river and prepare for any potential hazards ahead. They were very accurate.

Paddling Lake Mulwala became a massive mental challenge because once started there was no exiting the boat until the lake was paddled. I had no idea how long that was going to take. Deciding to stay within the four knot zone to avoid waterskiers, I snaked my way through the forest of dead trees for over five hours. I ran out of accessible food and water after four and battled a head wind most of the way. I finally reached the Mulwala caravan park at about 4:30pm and although my body was pretty much spent, my mind was alive with triumph. I had conquered the lake and could now look people in the eye and tell them I was a kayaker. It took every ounce of strength to get that boat up the ramp, but it was the proudest moment of the trip and I rewarded myself with a hot shower and a cold beer.

The lake’s waters are held back by the Yarrawonga weir and the level of the river seemed slightly lower in this section. The flow however, was still relatively the same and I was still managing to paddle an easy 10km/h - completing 50 to 60km a day.

The lower water level meant much nicer camping areas and knowing that the flow was being controlled made me relax a little. A few glorious nights were spent between Yarrawonga and Tocumwal camping on beautiful beaches. Evenings spent listening to the wildlife as the sun set before watching the stars come out. This was the truly Australian experience.

I pressed on until I reached the little town of Barmah. It had been a long, two day slog from Tocumwal through the Barmah State Forrest. The surrounding land was so flooded it was almost impossible to find a safe spot to pull up and rest. What wasn’t under water gave way to near vertical banks. In one section, the water stretched as far as I could see through the river red gums, as the Barmah and Miora lakes joined together.

The previous night had been spent in the company of some generous fishermen who’d treated me to the most magnificent Murray Cod. But now, sitting in my tent in Barmah listening to the rain and looking at the 48 hour forecast, it was time to call it a day.
With 70mm forecast for the Echuca region over the next 24 hours, there were serious concerns about being downstream of the Campaspe River if that amount of water potentially flowed into the Murray. Besides, I had nothing left to prove. I had been on the river for ten days and paddled just under 500 kilometres. This had been a journey down one of Australia’s most iconic inland waterways in a time of flood not seen in a generation. I could go home without regret.

Having witnessed such lush vegetation and prolific wildlife, I can’t wait to do it again next year and make the inevitable comparisons. Hopefully, I’ll be able to travel further and go through the Gunbower State Forrest and maybe even all the way to South Australia and the sea.

Story & images Danny Chetwynd-Brown