24th – 26th July 2018
I found myself with some free time this week; my wife away on a TAFE trip so I figured I would use it as an opportunity to have some guilt free time away in the wilderness, alone.
I was hoping for an ocean going trip but a week of strong wind warnings meant the conditions were very uninviting. Looking inland the weather was much more favourable, even warm! And I suspected I might even get a windless night or two.
So I loaded up and took the 4 hr drive over the border to explore an isolated section of the Murray.
The drive to the Murray in this region is very dry and at times an empty landscape. But as you turn off the bitumen and head north to meet the river you soon meet black box forest, then red gum forest and then after a few glimpses the forest gives way to the Might Murray. It’s always magical to see it silently winding through the forests, with no one around.
Although it’s July, the first thing that hit me when I hoped out of the car was the smell and the warmth. It was like spring was already waking up, and it brought a refreshingly light feeling to my soul.
I entered the bottom end of the backwaters which opened up a stunning hidden world. The bird life was abundant, the waters were protected from the day’s winds, and the presence of people was non-existent.
After a few hours paddle I spent a good while deciding upon the best looking campsite, which is often my way – Indecision for the fear of not having THE best location to spend my night. In the end I was happy with my choice, I set up camp, got a fire going and began to write in my journal
There are many nostalgic thoughts for me associated with the region, both sad and great as I’ve retreated to the area for different reasons.
Much like the Flinders, there is a timelessness and stillness here, only that the waters of the Murray can support much more life. Silently and patiently the waters make their way. Already I’ve experienced the joys of nature here, but once again as expected my mind encounters a dark voice that carries with it a cloud of fear. I should give it a name, as I’m sure it is not the last time we meet. On every solo adventure I have taken, this spirit like presence of fear comes to me as the sun sets on the first night. It challenge me, “What are you doing here alone? You’re alone. If you leave now you could still make it back home, back to your comforts.”
What is this voice afraid I’ll discover?
If the past is anything to go by the voice will burn away with the morning sun, its golden rays fill me with light. Just like a still mornings’ fog which burns away in the sun, so does the presence of the voice.
Day 2, 25th July
A balmy 12 degrees overnight thanks to a thick blanket of cloud provided by the heavens.
The smoke from the fire rises straight up, unhindered by any form of breeze.
I’m awake and up in the dark at 0500, compliments to falling asleep at 2000. There were some rather strange noises through the night. One was a bird I suspect, who sounded like a child throwing a screaming tantrum. Another sounds similar to a barking dog. As the shrill scream tears through the silent night, it forces me into a battle to keep fear and all of its thoughts from taking over. The mind can conjure up a vast array of terrible illogical possibilities if you don’t take control.
Finally dawn is beginning to show signs that this very black morning will indeed come to a pass. Before then you cannot help but entertain the thought of “what if the sun doesn’t rise today?”
Sure enough that presence of fear is burnt away in the light.
I’m so happy the wind has stopped, the magic of these waters is always amplified by a lack of wind and glassy waters.
Overall I think the worst bit about winter is simply how long the nights are. So much time in darkness, it’s something that we don’t notice back at home with electric lights.
At the “cahh, ahh, ahhhhhhh” of a raven the night was declared over. It was as if the call was to tell all the other birds that the night’s noise ban was over and everyone can sing once again. There is one particular bird I am eager to hear; the song of the butcher bird through the stillness of the morning.
Paddling on glassy waters is mesmerising. The Kayak cuts perfectly silently through the water and a pure reflection is cast before you. With help of the imagination you can feel like you’re gliding through the sky.
What stood out most this morning was the smell.
A combination of moisture and iron, maybe even the hinting’s of spring. I did notice some of the cooba wattle trees beginning to flower.
Wallpolla creek and its adjourning creeks were a tranquil delight. I’ve loved how many loops and options there are to take and not have to backtrack.
35km covered today. I’ll need much more paddle fitness to cover a 70km day, but I imagine the struggle to endure will take place more so in the mind rather than the body, although greater body fitness will ease the burdens placed on the mind. I’ve been inspired once again to use more of my time that’s not tied up in work to paddle the islands of South Australia.
The surprise of the day was the family of Wild Boars happily digging up the banks of the Murray. I’d always seen their destruction, but never the culprit. I got quite close, but once noticed they ran off in a frenzy.
The bird life has been quite impressive, here is the list as far as I’ve been able to identify: Australasian Darters with their creepy croak, egrets, black and pied cormorants, Heron, Grey Shrike Thrush, Piping Shrike, Mallee Ringneck, Butcher Bird, Welcome Swallow, Swift, Sulphur Crested Cockatoo, Galah, Corella, Pelican, Raven, Eastern Rosella, Whistling and Black Kite, Wedge Tailed Eagle, Swamp Hen, Wood and Pacific Duck, the Australasian Shelduck, White Winged Chough, Currawong, Yellow Eared Minor, Kookaburra, Golden Whistler, Magpie and many small birds to fast to tell. After some research I discovered that the screaming noises I had heard during the night were likely to be the masked owl. That’s exciting because they are an impressive bird with supreme hearing and hunting abilities but is listed as un-common to rare on mainland Australia.
That night as I gazed in to the fire, a rustling noise began nearby. It continued to come closer and closer. I conjured up thoughts of the boar I’d seen that day. After being frozen still trying to listen as to who my new guest was, the adrenaline had built up enough that I charged at the noise with a loud yell and clapping. I stopped, and the rustling had stopped but I didn’t hear it run away. Who was this brave thing? I scrambled for my head torch but couldn’t find the culprit! Not until I peered onto the other side of a nearby log and discovered a very spikey creature trying to bury its head in the dirt. “Oh, it’s just you! You scared the s*** out of me mate!” I’m sure if the echidna could talk it would have said a similar phrase. Knowing the world was safe again it was time for bed.
After a lazy start to the last day, I made my way onto the water to paddle back to the car. I took my time packing up and paddling because the morning was just magical. I realised I was taking my time because I didn’t want to leave yet. The red glow of sunrise, not a breath of wind, all the birds singing all made it very hospitable.
The only taint on the trip was having phone reception. I love having my phone for the camera and the GPS tracking of my trips, but I think being totally out of contact with the world will enhance the experience.
There is a quote that I find to be true for the most part, “Our Joy is not complete until shared with someone else.” And that is my battle every time; do I go away solo? And reap the rewards that only alone time in wilderness can offer? Or do I bring a companion with whom I can share a wonderful experience with, enhancing my joy.
Both are good, and both should be done. However I think if you’re alone, then remain out of contact with the world. Embrace the disconnect from people. Go through the motions of isolation, because in that space lie some of the treasures you haven’t yet found about yourself.
I’m alone, but not really. I’m not lonely. There is me and the River, the Birds and the Trees
An outdoor blog 
That was magical….made me want to try it although my solitary time is more commonly spent in pine forest with my horse. My Mum was telling me about the Japanese “tree bathing” tradition. It might pique your interest too.
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