A deep seeded resemblance of Deliverance

Sometimes things don’t always go to plan.

For example:

Like that night spent in Melbourne Airport freezing cold and under dressed after a freak occurrence happened and my flight was hit by lightning.

Maybe the time a 34 inch rear wheel hurtled past the passenger side window after some nuts came loose. The car was travelling at 110kmh at the time and we came to a very sudden stop!

Same trip, this time the radiator cracked 180km from the closest bitumen road and further still to the Overlander road house.

Did I mention my finger had also been accidently sliced through the operating thermo fan in a feeble attempt to repair the damaged car?

Then there’s the more recent trip where a hose leading into the radiator burst, leaving us stranded in the desert on a 40 degree day with no tools or water. Just a big blue esky full of beer.

Or when my tent zipper burst open when a drunk Juice fell through the door. Who then proceeded to get out of his wet clothes only to fall asleep a little uncovered and wake up midway through the night with a severe inching condition.

So with all these little mishaps under my belt some could say I was really prepared for this weekend’s short comings. Well you would think anyway and as my last post indicated I was busily preparing myself for a weekend on the high river paddling down some rapids and often long stretches of calm water. There was very little time for trip preparation as it’s been hectic between work, friends and weekly expeditions. It wasn’t decided until late Thursday night where we would attempt to paddle. We, being a friend from work who was also keen.

Opting to go budget for this trip I decided to dig out what I can only describe as an old medieval style polo yak. Sitting about five feet in length, it was a rather snug fit for a 100kg, 6” bohemian like myself. My father, whose judgement at times is rather ill, assured me it’s a good little rig and shouldn’t be too hard to handle. Huge oversight.

Friday afternoon rolled around, so James and I set off straight from work. We had arranged to meet my father in a small country town just out from the desired drop point. I was sick of being starved for the past few weekends hiking so I opted for a lavish weekend of food and booze instead of the carry what you got deal. A support crew was essential, so Dad opting to take the reins for this trip instead of paddling with us which seemed okay by me. So he had a loaded trailer with all the vital items, THE BIG BLUE ESKY being on top of the list.

We then decided being the type that we are, that we could probably handle a short night paddle before pulling in for some more zesty beverages and peppered steak. Simple I concluded on Thursday night, Dad had been to the pickup point before he claimed, and wouldn’t have any trouble getting the car in. I should let you readers know here, that I had never paddled this section of the river, which is much higher up than the mellow flats I’m accustomed to. I should also admit that I had never paddled this medieval creation either. And just to add some topping to an over balanced cake, I’d never paddled at night!

We arrived close to seven o’clock, by which time the sun had settled and the quarter moon was glimmering in the distance. We headed down to the water, which rushed hastily through the fallen paperbarks and off into the bleak darkness. The scene was horrific really but this only heightened our enthusiasm and the adrenaline started thumping. Impatiently we necked another oat concoction and suited up in our wetties. Appropriately named I will conclude. We then insured we had all the right equipment aboard. Beer. Then whatever else that wouldn’t weigh us down.

The water felt cold, but not as bad as I had expected thankfully. We gently set ourselves up in the shallows, with my arse incredibly snug between the hips. We pushed off with our paddles and instantly I was letting on water as the unstable beast avoided control. The small nimble medieval craft did it’s best to buck the sailor so to speak and I exploded into a ball of profanity as I tried to gain some balance with some swift strokes with the paddle. This just pushed me further in the rapidly moving water.. I was off like a whippet on crack, bashing through the bushes and deeper into the night. I was out of control, when I realised this craft was going to win this battle and I was over thrown. I struggled in the busied water to release my clenched cheeks. It was difficult getting in, never mind getting out upside down, in dark icy water! I gasped for some air then went under.

All the paddling lessons came back to me like one hasty kick from a horse. Foremost the one which involved taking a quick plunge into the icy depths before setting off on any expedition in cold waters. The body can shut down from the shock of the water they enforced at the time. I remember I was busy throwing some rocks at my friend.. But this time it was for real, and I was under water. Everything was dark save for the dim beam my head light eliminated. I set to the task of escaping my cell, but it was proving harder than expected. I pushed hard at the sides of the yak, feverishly trying to free the butt. Thank the lordies I practise my breathe hold regularly for free diving or I would be in a serious pickle! I surfaced awakened by the chill of the water and grabbed at the first tree I saw as the water swept me further along. Somehow I had managed to hold onto the yak and paddle up to this point, but things were getting much harder as the yak started sinking with the weight of the water and the push of the current. James meanwhile was having his own shaky start, and he tried to manage his barge through the fallen trees. I urged him to help take hold the raft before I lost my strength (figuratively of course). It was an impossible request though, James having enough difficulties was in no way able to assist, and I had to make a decision soon.

I released my sturdy* grip of the tree trunk, opting to stay with the craft hoping the rapid would expire into deeper waters soon. It was apparent though that this would be some time before I was able to get out of this predicament as the yak levered itself against yet another underwater snag. I’ll inject at this point I should have let go and let the craft do its own thing.. But I didn’t. I dove down and let the current do the rest, under the snag we went. I glared into the glowing murky water unable to see what to expect, but eventually I surfaced with enough to avoid some more tree branches. James was keeping up with me, trying his best to push me towards the bank.

When we finally reached the bank, I was feeling pretty exhausted and instantly started having terrible thoughts as it looked doubtful my beers would have made the epic voyage. Almost tears. But my friend’s, good news was on the horizon as the water started receding from its containment. The distinct sound of bottles clashed at the toe of the raft. Happy days, it would seem. I proceeded to reposition my craft for second takeoff, it would take more than a little spill to buck this cowboy dear avid readers.

The craft was as unstable as a journalist leaving the pub. Twisting up every stoke of the paddle and started letting water in again. A splash deck may have helped here, but again it was the CHEAP option. We battled for some time until we come into a clearing which I thought would be easier. The fight was not over though as the yak sat heavily in the water making it difficult to keep up to the likes of the dagger. We pushed on still until we started into another serious fight with the paperbarks. At this point James offered to make an attempt to ride this bitch out, which I gratefully accepted. But this was to be to no avail, as he instantly found himself in the same predicament as I was a few minutes earlier. But this time, he dropped the paddle and argued loudly as he watched it float away into the night. I chased the paddle leaving James stranded against the tree.

I was standing on a fallen tree, paddle in hand when I caught sight of James floundering along. He was sitting on the capsized vessel surfing in down the river like a cat in a pool. I pulled the crafts to the bank exhausted, ready to accepting defeat. But accepting defeat still didn’t put us in warm clothes or food in our bellies. Actually defeat only put 13km between us, and that which we could only dream about. Sigh. We weighed our option, and quickly decided that the foot falcon was up for a burn. Only problem, no shoes! My trusty set of flip flops were gone too, obviously sailed off with the high tide when we were busily trying not to drown.

I had some idea where I might be able to find a walking trail I walked a few weeks ago and set off up the hill. It wasn’t hard, and we soon found ourselves heaving down a dark single track through overgrown eucalypts. It was a canter of sorts, running until it hurt to breathe or the need to gulp some more beer came, usually the later. We were making good time I thought, but no matter how you look at it 13 clicks barefoot is a long way even if you weren’t wearing a cold wet wetsuit (You can’t just unzip to have a piss!).

We talked about a lot of things, but mainly about the peppered steak and some warm clothes. The joke was growing old quickly and we were starting to crave some comfort. But little did we know, this was only the beginning and it was starting to have a deep seeded resemblance of Deliverance.

to be continued...