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KAYAKING THE WARBURTON CREEK
AND TREKKING LAKE EYRE
AND TREKKING LAKE EYRE
| Ben and Tim are currently editing together a documentary about this journey. It is expected to be completed in early 2005 and will be screened as part of several presentations around Australia. Dates and venues will be posted on the homepage of this website when they have been finalised. |
In January and February 2004 the normally parched channel country of western
Queensland received heavy rainfall. The resultant floodwaters flowed towards Lake
Eyre in north east South Australia via the Diamantina, Cooper and Georgina river
systems. The Diamantina and Georgina Rivers converge some 250 kilometres
northeast of the lake to form the Goyder Lagoon. From here the floodwaters flowed
onward as the Warburton Creek. By the middle of March water had begun spilling
into Lake Eyre for the first time since 2000. It might not flow down the Warburton
again for another 8-10 years.
In early April, Tim Jarvis and I drove more than a 1000 kilometres north from
Adelaide to meet the Warburton Creek where it flowed through a sheep and cattle
station known as Kalamurina. We prepared to launch kayaks not far from
Kalamurina homestead, at a point almost 200 kilometres upstream from the
Warburton’s Lake Eyre mouth. Our final destination, however, was the
southernmost point of Halligan Bay on the western shore of Lake Eyre, about a
hundred kilometres southwest of where the Warburton emptied into the lake. We
anticipated the journey would take us eight days.
Queensland received heavy rainfall. The resultant floodwaters flowed towards Lake
Eyre in north east South Australia via the Diamantina, Cooper and Georgina river
systems. The Diamantina and Georgina Rivers converge some 250 kilometres
northeast of the lake to form the Goyder Lagoon. From here the floodwaters flowed
onward as the Warburton Creek. By the middle of March water had begun spilling
into Lake Eyre for the first time since 2000. It might not flow down the Warburton
again for another 8-10 years.
In early April, Tim Jarvis and I drove more than a 1000 kilometres north from
Adelaide to meet the Warburton Creek where it flowed through a sheep and cattle
station known as Kalamurina. We prepared to launch kayaks not far from
Kalamurina homestead, at a point almost 200 kilometres upstream from the
Warburton’s Lake Eyre mouth. Our final destination, however, was the
southernmost point of Halligan Bay on the western shore of Lake Eyre, about a
hundred kilometres southwest of where the Warburton emptied into the lake. We
anticipated the journey would take us eight days.
At Kalamurina the Warburton was 30 metres wide
and flowing at about 3 kilometres per hour. From
the staining of riverside foliage we could see that
the water level had dropped more than two metres
from its peak. Where they had been inundated the
riverbank sediments had turned to mud.
It was early afternoon by the time we'd packed the
kayaks to our satisfaction and pushed off from the
bank. Equipment filled the compartments at the
bow and stern of each kayak and was also
strapped tightly to the deck. As we paddled past
riverside stands of Eucalypts and Melaleuca, there
seemed little to distinguish the Warburton from
rivers to be found in the wetter regions of Australia.
On that first day we paddled beyond the fall of
darkness and continued for another hour by the
light of the rising moon, savouring both the
seclusion and a sense of great privilege.
and flowing at about 3 kilometres per hour. From
the staining of riverside foliage we could see that
the water level had dropped more than two metres
from its peak. Where they had been inundated the
riverbank sediments had turned to mud.
It was early afternoon by the time we'd packed the
kayaks to our satisfaction and pushed off from the
bank. Equipment filled the compartments at the
bow and stern of each kayak and was also
strapped tightly to the deck. As we paddled past
riverside stands of Eucalypts and Melaleuca, there
seemed little to distinguish the Warburton from
rivers to be found in the wetter regions of Australia.
On that first day we paddled beyond the fall of
darkness and continued for another hour by the
light of the rising moon, savouring both the
seclusion and a sense of great privilege.
Next morning, when we tried switching on the fully dried out device, neither of us was
surprised to find that it emitted not the faintest flicker of life. Our EPIRB (emergency
beacon) remained in perfect working order, but from that point on we would be
unable to communicate with our support team and keep them updated on our
progress. It meant that we had to make it to the pre-arranged pick-up point, the
southern end of Halligan Bay, on the day we had predicted we would. Gone was our
option to bring forward or push back the rendezvous date depending on how quickly
or slowly we progressed down the Warburton and across Lake Eyre.
surprised to find that it emitted not the faintest flicker of life. Our EPIRB (emergency
beacon) remained in perfect working order, but from that point on we would be
unable to communicate with our support team and keep them updated on our
progress. It meant that we had to make it to the pre-arranged pick-up point, the
southern end of Halligan Bay, on the day we had predicted we would. Gone was our
option to bring forward or push back the rendezvous date depending on how quickly
or slowly we progressed down the Warburton and across Lake Eyre.
We committed
ourselves to long days
on the water. On
average, we would be
away by 7:30am and
nudging shore around
6:30pm. The Dagger
Edisto, which I had
borrowed from Scotch
College in Adelaide,
ranks as the first kayak
not to give me pins and
needles in at least one
leg after several
ourselves to long days
on the water. On
average, we would be
away by 7:30am and
nudging shore around
6:30pm. The Dagger
Edisto, which I had
borrowed from Scotch
College in Adelaide,
ranks as the first kayak
not to give me pins and
needles in at least one
leg after several
minutes of sitting in the cockpit. The only time we needed to get out was for filming,
photography or to go to the toilet. For rest and lunch breaks we simply positioned
the kayaks side by side and drifted downstream. Even with the loss of one to two
hours of paddling time per day to camera-work, Tim and I still managed to cover
more than 50 kilometres in an 11 hour period.
At the site of our launch, the relative absence of birdlife had been noticeable. But this
quickly changed as we progressed downstream. Several times each day we would
spot the long neck of a darter lunging snake-like through the water before
disappearing below the surface to continue fishing. Galahs and mulga parrots
supplied splashes of colour to logs and other dead wood. Small insectivores
twittered amongst the tangle of lignum. And black kites regularly circled the sky
above or else could be seen perched in the coolibahs and river red gums, vantage
points from which they would occasionally swoop to snare an unwitting fish in their
talons.
photography or to go to the toilet. For rest and lunch breaks we simply positioned
the kayaks side by side and drifted downstream. Even with the loss of one to two
hours of paddling time per day to camera-work, Tim and I still managed to cover
more than 50 kilometres in an 11 hour period.
At the site of our launch, the relative absence of birdlife had been noticeable. But this
quickly changed as we progressed downstream. Several times each day we would
spot the long neck of a darter lunging snake-like through the water before
disappearing below the surface to continue fishing. Galahs and mulga parrots
supplied splashes of colour to logs and other dead wood. Small insectivores
twittered amongst the tangle of lignum. And black kites regularly circled the sky
above or else could be seen perched in the coolibahs and river red gums, vantage
points from which they would occasionally swoop to snare an unwitting fish in their
talons.
Flashes of orange-brown between the riverside
foliage signalled the hasty retreat of dingoes,
timid creatures that were frightened by our
passage. At one point, however, a family of
them dog paddled across the Warburton, just
metres in front of our kayaks. But perhaps the
most enchanting interlude with local wildlife
involved coming face to face with a southern
boobook owl, one that was attempting to roost
discreetly in a shrub shaded beneath an
overhang of hardened clay sediments.
foliage signalled the hasty retreat of dingoes,
timid creatures that were frightened by our
passage. At one point, however, a family of
them dog paddled across the Warburton, just
metres in front of our kayaks. But perhaps the
most enchanting interlude with local wildlife
involved coming face to face with a southern
boobook owl, one that was attempting to roost
discreetly in a shrub shaded beneath an
overhang of hardened clay sediments.
On the flipside, the Warburton Creek harboured the densest and most aggressive fly
population that Tim and I have ever encountered. They molested us from before the
sun’s first rays had licked over the horizon until well after dusk. I refused to wear
mesh netting on my head most of the time because I didn’t like my view of the
surroundings obscured in any way. The penalty for this was to swallow or half choke
on a couple dozen flies per day. Whether it was the flies or the breakdown of the
satellite phone that drew the louder angrier curses from us I cannot say!
population that Tim and I have ever encountered. They molested us from before the
sun’s first rays had licked over the horizon until well after dusk. I refused to wear
mesh netting on my head most of the time because I didn’t like my view of the
surroundings obscured in any way. The penalty for this was to swallow or half choke
on a couple dozen flies per day. Whether it was the flies or the breakdown of the
satellite phone that drew the louder angrier curses from us I cannot say!
Left of the Warburton the
pale, tussock sprinkled
dunes of the Tirari
Desert extended
unbroken and
undisturbed all the way
to Cooper Creek.
Moving away from the
banks the transition
from verdant to barren is
incredibly rapid. Only
along a very narrow strip
either side of the
waterway can the
pale, tussock sprinkled
dunes of the Tirari
Desert extended
unbroken and
undisturbed all the way
to Cooper Creek.
Moving away from the
banks the transition
from verdant to barren is
incredibly rapid. Only
along a very narrow strip
either side of the
waterway can the
Pelican flocks increased in size as we approached the mouth of the Warburton. At
the mouth itself, we were greeted by a flock over one hundred strong. Just prior to
spilling into the lake, the channel had attained a width of more than a kilometre.
Even out in the middle of it, the blade of a paddle could easily touch bottom. For the
first time we had a good sense of the depth of the turbid water about us. Here too,
the epic scale of the landscape suddenly became acutely fathomable. We could
see great distances in every direction across the flat expanse of the lake. To the
west and east, the crests of faraway uplands (nothing more than higher than
average sand dunes) hovered above a band of shimmering emptiness.
the mouth itself, we were greeted by a flock over one hundred strong. Just prior to
spilling into the lake, the channel had attained a width of more than a kilometre.
Even out in the middle of it, the blade of a paddle could easily touch bottom. For the
first time we had a good sense of the depth of the turbid water about us. Here too,
the epic scale of the landscape suddenly became acutely fathomable. We could
see great distances in every direction across the flat expanse of the lake. To the
west and east, the crests of faraway uplands (nothing more than higher than
average sand dunes) hovered above a band of shimmering emptiness.
The Warburton Groove is a
linear depression averaging
two kilometres in width,
which extends south into the
lake for a hundred
kilometres. It inherits the
Warburton Creek’s flow.
The Groove must
completely fill first before
water can start spreading
out over the vast remainder
of the lake’s area.
linear depression averaging
two kilometres in width,
which extends south into the
lake for a hundred
kilometres. It inherits the
Warburton Creek’s flow.
The Groove must
completely fill first before
water can start spreading
out over the vast remainder
of the lake’s area.
In the short term, finding firm solid ground on which to make camp loomed as our
biggest problem. By the evening, however, there was nothing to be done – the water
in the Groove was bordered on both sides by soft mud. Fortunately, the mud was
only ankle deep at this point and apart from prompting a cautious approach to
where we placed items of equipment, it didn’t cause us any real issues. In fact, the
mud made for a very comfy sleep. Sleeping mats were used only to shield us from
the moisture that seeped through the floor of the tent.
Next morning we dragged the kayaks back out into deeper water and continued. We
tracked a course down the middle of the Groove, keeping well away from the
shallower edges. The GPS showed that we were 15 metres below sea-level. And if
the knowledge that we were approaching the lowest point on the continent wasn’t
enough to make the heart beat a little faster, the apparently seamless merger of
water and sky guaranteed an overwhelming sense of eeriness. As we paddled
south, only the occasional gull-billed tern, head down and scanning the Groove
water for a meal, could shatter the illusion of us having been swallowed up into
some kind of void.
biggest problem. By the evening, however, there was nothing to be done – the water
in the Groove was bordered on both sides by soft mud. Fortunately, the mud was
only ankle deep at this point and apart from prompting a cautious approach to
where we placed items of equipment, it didn’t cause us any real issues. In fact, the
mud made for a very comfy sleep. Sleeping mats were used only to shield us from
the moisture that seeped through the floor of the tent.
Next morning we dragged the kayaks back out into deeper water and continued. We
tracked a course down the middle of the Groove, keeping well away from the
shallower edges. The GPS showed that we were 15 metres below sea-level. And if
the knowledge that we were approaching the lowest point on the continent wasn’t
enough to make the heart beat a little faster, the apparently seamless merger of
water and sky guaranteed an overwhelming sense of eeriness. As we paddled
south, only the occasional gull-billed tern, head down and scanning the Groove
water for a meal, could shatter the illusion of us having been swallowed up into
some kind of void.
Since the mouth of the
Warburton, the water
depth had rarely eclipsed
more than half a metre.
There was some
variability, but by the time
we’d paddled 20
kilometres down the
Groove, it had diminished
to a level whereby the
belly of each kayak was
consistently scraping
against the muddy
bottom.
Warburton, the water
depth had rarely eclipsed
more than half a metre.
There was some
variability, but by the time
we’d paddled 20
kilometres down the
Groove, it had diminished
to a level whereby the
belly of each kayak was
consistently scraping
against the muddy
bottom.
At about the same time as Tim and I began discussing how prudent it would be to
continue tracking the Groove, a light aircraft flew low overhead and dropped a small
package. The package contained a two-way radio, from which we learned that the
now circling aircraft contained an officer of the South Australian Police, based in
Oodnadatta. In what was unmistakably a tone of concern, the officer informed us
that the water dried up completely about five kilometres further south of our present
position. Although I daresay the police officer considered that he now had two
‘stranded’ kayakers to rescue, for us the news he relayed merely confirmed that the
water did not deepen again further on, and vindicated the decision to head across to
the edge of the Groove and initiate the trekking phase of the journey. We thanked
the officer for his concern, and made it clear that we had always been well aware
that at some point we would have to stop padding and continue our journey on foot.
We made it clear to him that we were well prepared for this: we had plenty of water
and food, an EPIRB, maps and a GPS, and were both fighting fit. Above all, we
insisted that in no way had our plans gone awry and we did not need any help.
continue tracking the Groove, a light aircraft flew low overhead and dropped a small
package. The package contained a two-way radio, from which we learned that the
now circling aircraft contained an officer of the South Australian Police, based in
Oodnadatta. In what was unmistakably a tone of concern, the officer informed us
that the water dried up completely about five kilometres further south of our present
position. Although I daresay the police officer considered that he now had two
‘stranded’ kayakers to rescue, for us the news he relayed merely confirmed that the
water did not deepen again further on, and vindicated the decision to head across to
the edge of the Groove and initiate the trekking phase of the journey. We thanked
the officer for his concern, and made it clear that we had always been well aware
that at some point we would have to stop padding and continue our journey on foot.
We made it clear to him that we were well prepared for this: we had plenty of water
and food, an EPIRB, maps and a GPS, and were both fighting fit. Above all, we
insisted that in no way had our plans gone awry and we did not need any help.
Always central to our preparations for the journey had been the fact that there was
not enough water filling Lake Eyre to allow us to paddle all the way to where our
support vehicle would pick us up from. Water was restricted to the Warburton
Groove and the depth of water in the Groove was always going to be an unknown.
Though some of the locals we’d spoken to suggested there would not be enough to
float our kayaks at all, others, including the local scenic flight operator (who’d I’d
spoken to in the days leading up to our departure) claimed that the water would be
deep enough to allow us to paddle far south enough to be level with the pick-up
location. It didn’t really matter. Even in the event of this best case scenario coming
to pass, it would still be about a 20-odd kilometre trek across mud and salt crust to
reach the western shore of the lake. The performance of the equipment we’d
brought with us to negotiate the mud, bull dust and salt crust between Groove and
lake shore would be the same whether for a 20 kilometre trek or one five times that
distance. As it turned out, we were faced with trekking 90 kilometres to reach our
goal.
not enough water filling Lake Eyre to allow us to paddle all the way to where our
support vehicle would pick us up from. Water was restricted to the Warburton
Groove and the depth of water in the Groove was always going to be an unknown.
Though some of the locals we’d spoken to suggested there would not be enough to
float our kayaks at all, others, including the local scenic flight operator (who’d I’d
spoken to in the days leading up to our departure) claimed that the water would be
deep enough to allow us to paddle far south enough to be level with the pick-up
location. It didn’t really matter. Even in the event of this best case scenario coming
to pass, it would still be about a 20-odd kilometre trek across mud and salt crust to
reach the western shore of the lake. The performance of the equipment we’d
brought with us to negotiate the mud, bull dust and salt crust between Groove and
lake shore would be the same whether for a 20 kilometre trek or one five times that
distance. As it turned out, we were faced with trekking 90 kilometres to reach our
goal.
Without the weight of our bodies in them, the
kayaks could float in water that was only
several inches deep. We donned sled-
hauling harnesses and pulled them
westward at the end of a rope and
carabiner. But the water depth gradually
lessened, so that by early afternoon a
combination of the mud’s stickiness,
suction, and the lack of foot grip made going
any further with this configuration physically
unsustainable.
kayaks could float in water that was only
several inches deep. We donned sled-
hauling harnesses and pulled them
westward at the end of a rope and
carabiner. But the water depth gradually
lessened, so that by early afternoon a
combination of the mud’s stickiness,
suction, and the lack of foot grip made going
any further with this configuration physically
unsustainable.
It didn’t take us very long to realise that the
trolleys we’d brought with us for the purpose
of carting the kayaks overland would be
completely useless. Even had the wheels of
trolleys we’d brought with us for the purpose
of carting the kayaks overland would be
completely useless. Even had the wheels of
a fully loaded trolley been unlikely to sink up to and beyond the axle, the amount of
mud sticking to each wheel after just a few rotations would render any further
rotation an impossibility.
This realisation signalled the end of the line for the kayaks. We would have to
come back for them at a later date, preferably when the mud dried out. Plan B now
came into effect – Tim and I would drag a full 20 litre jerry can of drinking water
behind us, which would supplement the five litres we carried in packs on our back.
In the event that they might be called upon for such a task, we had, prior to leaving
Adelaide, coated the sides of two jerry cans with fibreglass. This effectively
thickened the surfaces of the container that would be in contact with the ground. It
was a countering strategy to the abrasiveness of the salt crust that undoubtedly lay
up ahead.
mud sticking to each wheel after just a few rotations would render any further
rotation an impossibility.
This realisation signalled the end of the line for the kayaks. We would have to
come back for them at a later date, preferably when the mud dried out. Plan B now
came into effect – Tim and I would drag a full 20 litre jerry can of drinking water
behind us, which would supplement the five litres we carried in packs on our back.
In the event that they might be called upon for such a task, we had, prior to leaving
Adelaide, coated the sides of two jerry cans with fibreglass. This effectively
thickened the surfaces of the container that would be in contact with the ground. It
was a countering strategy to the abrasiveness of the salt crust that undoubtedly lay
up ahead.
In the weeks preceding the trip, we’d consulted widely on the nature and extent of
the Lake Eyre mud. However, neither the locals nor notable Lake Eyre explorers
such as Warren Bonython were able to tell us in definitive terms what we could
expect to encounter. We therefore had to allow for the possibility that the mud might
extend from the Groove more than halfway (8 km) to the lake shore, and that we
might be sinking in it up to our waists. Negotiating the mud, therefore, even without
the drag created by the kayaks, had always loomed as a hugely demanding
exercise. For this too we had developed a contingency measure. We would cross
the strip of mud using snow skis. Back in Adelaide we had screwed a simple type
of cross-country binding onto each ski, bindings into which a hiking boot could be
rigidly secured. Our hope was that by spreading our weight over the length of two
skis, we could reduce or even eliminate the prospect of sinking.
the Lake Eyre mud. However, neither the locals nor notable Lake Eyre explorers
such as Warren Bonython were able to tell us in definitive terms what we could
expect to encounter. We therefore had to allow for the possibility that the mud might
extend from the Groove more than halfway (8 km) to the lake shore, and that we
might be sinking in it up to our waists. Negotiating the mud, therefore, even without
the drag created by the kayaks, had always loomed as a hugely demanding
exercise. For this too we had developed a contingency measure. We would cross
the strip of mud using snow skis. Back in Adelaide we had screwed a simple type
of cross-country binding onto each ski, bindings into which a hiking boot could be
rigidly secured. Our hope was that by spreading our weight over the length of two
skis, we could reduce or even eliminate the prospect of sinking.
Our plan for the trekking stage of the journey
involved doing most of it during the coolest
part of the day. It was not yet even mid-
autumn, in a region regarded as being the
hottest in Australia. The reflection of the sun
off the salt crust pushed mid afternoon
temperatures into the mid to high 30’s. We
set off in the early evening. As hoped the skis
significantly aided our progress over the shin
deep mud. We moved slower than was
possible without the skis, but more
importantly we conserved our energy. More
than the frustration and the potential for injury
through slipping, walking through that mud on
the edge of the Warburton Groove sucked
strength from the legs. In itself, just making
preparations to leave the site where we had
decided to abandon the kayaks required an
immense effort.
involved doing most of it during the coolest
part of the day. It was not yet even mid-
autumn, in a region regarded as being the
hottest in Australia. The reflection of the sun
off the salt crust pushed mid afternoon
temperatures into the mid to high 30’s. We
set off in the early evening. As hoped the skis
significantly aided our progress over the shin
deep mud. We moved slower than was
possible without the skis, but more
importantly we conserved our energy. More
than the frustration and the potential for injury
through slipping, walking through that mud on
the edge of the Warburton Groove sucked
strength from the legs. In itself, just making
preparations to leave the site where we had
decided to abandon the kayaks required an
immense effort.
Shuffling forward on the skis wasn’t fast, but we managed to stay on top of the
mud. The hiking staffs we wielded in each hand helped us to haul our bodies
forward. After about a kilometre and a half the depth of the mud had lessened
considerably. Another half a kilometre and the skis began to crunch through the
first visible salt crystals. The salt crust gradually thickened and the lake sediments
beneath it firmed to a point where it was possible to walk without the boot sinking
down more than a centimetre or two. We jettisoned the skis, marking their position
on the GPS as we had done with the kayaks. The moon rose orange over our left
shoulders, then cast a ghostly glow across the lake’s surface. We kept walking
until 2am, before bedding down on the salt for a few well earned hours of sleep.
Much of the surface of Lake Eyre is clay pan or fine particulate bull dust. In areas
where a salt crust does exist, it is typically not as thick and as hard as that found on
other large salt lakes like Lake Gardiner or Lake Torrens. The heavy jerry cans
therefore did generate a significant amount of drag. But of course, the further we
walked, the lighter each of them became.
In the late morning, a familiar looking plane flew low over our heads. It was the
Oodnadatta police once again, but onboard this time was a different officer from the
one we’d spoken to the day before. Without any sort of introduction and minus a
request for information as to our status, this officer instructed us to head directly to
the western shore of the lake, to coordinates where he could land the plane and
pick us up. When we asked “Why?”, the instructions were merely repeated. For a
second time then, we had to explain that everything was under control. We again
thanked the police for their concern and again stressed clearly that no help was
necessary.
mud. The hiking staffs we wielded in each hand helped us to haul our bodies
forward. After about a kilometre and a half the depth of the mud had lessened
considerably. Another half a kilometre and the skis began to crunch through the
first visible salt crystals. The salt crust gradually thickened and the lake sediments
beneath it firmed to a point where it was possible to walk without the boot sinking
down more than a centimetre or two. We jettisoned the skis, marking their position
on the GPS as we had done with the kayaks. The moon rose orange over our left
shoulders, then cast a ghostly glow across the lake’s surface. We kept walking
until 2am, before bedding down on the salt for a few well earned hours of sleep.
Much of the surface of Lake Eyre is clay pan or fine particulate bull dust. In areas
where a salt crust does exist, it is typically not as thick and as hard as that found on
other large salt lakes like Lake Gardiner or Lake Torrens. The heavy jerry cans
therefore did generate a significant amount of drag. But of course, the further we
walked, the lighter each of them became.
In the late morning, a familiar looking plane flew low over our heads. It was the
Oodnadatta police once again, but onboard this time was a different officer from the
one we’d spoken to the day before. Without any sort of introduction and minus a
request for information as to our status, this officer instructed us to head directly to
the western shore of the lake, to coordinates where he could land the plane and
pick us up. When we asked “Why?”, the instructions were merely repeated. For a
second time then, we had to explain that everything was under control. We again
thanked the police for their concern and again stressed clearly that no help was
necessary.
Just after midday we
stopped for another
extended break from
trekking. We pitched the
tent and for the next five
hours took shelter from
the sun, first inside it,
then in the lengthening
shadow it cast.
Anyone who thinks that
the Lake Eyre salt crust
could not possibly
sustain life would be very
much mistaken.
stopped for another
extended break from
trekking. We pitched the
tent and for the next five
hours took shelter from
the sun, first inside it,
then in the lengthening
shadow it cast.
Anyone who thinks that
the Lake Eyre salt crust
could not possibly
sustain life would be very
much mistaken.
us unstuck now was a strain induced by either the repetitive walking motion or from
the jarring ability of the hard unyielding salt crust. The pair of Olang boots I wore
had already risen to the task; they were sturdy, light weight and exceptional at letting
my feet breathe in the hot conditions.
By mid morning of day 8, we had trekked to within a couple of kilometres of the
mouth of Umbum Creek when the scenic flight pilot flew overhead as promised.
He informed us that no one had heard from our support crew since their departure
from Adelaide early the previous day. Naturally, Tim and I speculated on whether
this might mean that something had happened to them en route. And aside from
our concerns for their welfare, we considered what it would mean for us if no one
was there to meet us at the original pick-up point if we continued that far. Despite
still having in excess of 15 litres of water and another day's worth of food, more than
enough of each to sustain us over the remaining 20 kilometres to the original pick-
up point, we realised we had little choice but to accept the subsequent offer of
assistance extended to us by the scenic flight pilot. We waited at Umbum Creek for
a vehicle he said he would arrange to come pick us up. Several hours later, a
Channel 7 News helicopter arrived…….
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the jarring ability of the hard unyielding salt crust. The pair of Olang boots I wore
had already risen to the task; they were sturdy, light weight and exceptional at letting
my feet breathe in the hot conditions.
By mid morning of day 8, we had trekked to within a couple of kilometres of the
mouth of Umbum Creek when the scenic flight pilot flew overhead as promised.
He informed us that no one had heard from our support crew since their departure
from Adelaide early the previous day. Naturally, Tim and I speculated on whether
this might mean that something had happened to them en route. And aside from
our concerns for their welfare, we considered what it would mean for us if no one
was there to meet us at the original pick-up point if we continued that far. Despite
still having in excess of 15 litres of water and another day's worth of food, more than
enough of each to sustain us over the remaining 20 kilometres to the original pick-
up point, we realised we had little choice but to accept the subsequent offer of
assistance extended to us by the scenic flight pilot. We waited at Umbum Creek for
a vehicle he said he would arrange to come pick us up. Several hours later, a
Channel 7 News helicopter arrived…….
Back to 'Journeys'
Eucalypts and Melaleucas survive the long periods between flows.Nevertheless,
having grown up with a prevailing vision of the Australian Outback, it is hard to
reconcile your mind to the fact that a waterway exceeding the width of the Murray
River in places is flowing through the driest region in the country.
Camp four was just a few kilometres shy of the Warburton mouth. The water here
had developed the faintest hint of brackishness. But with the wind blowing from the
south next morning, in effect pushing water back upriver from the lake, we feared that
it might soon become too salty. At this point then, we filled our four 20 litre jerry
cans, gathering the water stocks that would need to sustain us until we reached the
Halligan Bay pick-up in four days time. Neither of us doubted, that even in the hottest
and most rigorous conditions, a ration of ten litres of water per person per day was a
generous amount.
having grown up with a prevailing vision of the Australian Outback, it is hard to
reconcile your mind to the fact that a waterway exceeding the width of the Murray
River in places is flowing through the driest region in the country.
Camp four was just a few kilometres shy of the Warburton mouth. The water here
had developed the faintest hint of brackishness. But with the wind blowing from the
south next morning, in effect pushing water back upriver from the lake, we feared that
it might soon become too salty. At this point then, we filled our four 20 litre jerry
cans, gathering the water stocks that would need to sustain us until we reached the
Halligan Bay pick-up in four days time. Neither of us doubted, that even in the hottest
and most rigorous conditions, a ration of ten litres of water per person per day was a
generous amount.
But those contented smiles were soon to be wiped off our faces. As we pulled the
kayaks up the steep bank towards hard flat ground, a stream of water could be
heard pattering against the mud. It was coming from the very stern of Tim’s kayak,
from a hole in the plastic. Although the hole was tiny, five hours of paddling had
given it more than enough time to allow water to fill the rear, normally watertight,
compartment of the kayak almost to the brim. Among a host of other items that you
should avoid getting wet, this compartment also held our satellite telephone. It had
been stored inside a dry bag, together with GPSs, batteries and other electronic
equipment, however such bags are not designed to cope with being inundated for
more than a few minutes, and the phone subsequently emerged dripping.
kayaks up the steep bank towards hard flat ground, a stream of water could be
heard pattering against the mud. It was coming from the very stern of Tim’s kayak,
from a hole in the plastic. Although the hole was tiny, five hours of paddling had
given it more than enough time to allow water to fill the rear, normally watertight,
compartment of the kayak almost to the brim. Among a host of other items that you
should avoid getting wet, this compartment also held our satellite telephone. It had
been stored inside a dry bag, together with GPSs, batteries and other electronic
equipment, however such bags are not designed to cope with being inundated for
more than a few minutes, and the phone subsequently emerged dripping.
We shared that dry desolate expanse with organisms that happily call it home. Ant
hills were commonplace. Large grasshoppers could be seen on a regular basis.
And of course there were the omnipresent flies. Throughout our afternoon siesta a
legion of grasshoppers squatted on the salt crust around the tent, all facing
towards us, perhaps waiting for us to die. A few of them, either impatient for this to
happen or else fooled by our dozing, crept close enough to sink powerful
mandibles into our flesh and make us jump a mile.
As we readied ourselves to set off again, a local scenic flight operator flew over.
Due to the lake's partial filling, he was conducting several flights per day. During
the chummy conversation that followed, he told us that there was a more
convenient location for our support crew to access the lake. This was Umbum
Creek, at the northern end of Halligan Bay, roughly 25 km away. Being regularly in
our vicinity because of his flight commitments, he offered to act as go-between –
messages between us and our support crew would go through him.
hills were commonplace. Large grasshoppers could be seen on a regular basis.
And of course there were the omnipresent flies. Throughout our afternoon siesta a
legion of grasshoppers squatted on the salt crust around the tent, all facing
towards us, perhaps waiting for us to die. A few of them, either impatient for this to
happen or else fooled by our dozing, crept close enough to sink powerful
mandibles into our flesh and make us jump a mile.
As we readied ourselves to set off again, a local scenic flight operator flew over.
Due to the lake's partial filling, he was conducting several flights per day. During
the chummy conversation that followed, he told us that there was a more
convenient location for our support crew to access the lake. This was Umbum
Creek, at the northern end of Halligan Bay, roughly 25 km away. Being regularly in
our vicinity because of his flight commitments, he offered to act as go-between –
messages between us and our support crew would go through him.
As with the previous
night, we walked until
very late, grabbed a
few hours of sleep
under the stars, and
were on the move
again before first light.
Throughout it all I
continued to pay close
attention to the
condition of my
muscles and joints,
especially those from
the waist down.One
thing that could bring
night, we walked until
very late, grabbed a
few hours of sleep
under the stars, and
were on the move
again before first light.
Throughout it all I
continued to pay close
attention to the
condition of my
muscles and joints,
especially those from
the waist down.One
thing that could bring
