ADVENTURE INTO WILDERNESS

by Sue Jenkins

It is amazing the way the human brain can block out the unpleasant experiences we make our bodies endure, like pain, hunger, cold and exhaustion. When I think back on a weekend in late July I remember the spectacular sheer sided gorges, pristine rainforest lining the banks of the river, platypus feeding in the dim light of dusk, crystal clear water cascading over huge rocks into deep bottomless pools, the scurry of night animals around our sleeping bags and the teamwork of four paddlers out for an adventure. The only problem was, we were not bushwalking, but overnight whitewater exploring an unknown section of the rarely paddled South Johnstone River. Its cousin, the North Johnstone on the other side of the ridge is fairly easily accessed and well traversed by rafters and canoeists. The river we were on is much more isolated, smaller in volume and unknown.

Five years ago a group of us dragged, carried and rope lowered our kayaks through the rainforest to the same river, but it took five hours of extremely hard work to get there. Lured by the promise of an easy get-in (the river is crossed by a forestry track 8 km upstream) we set of for the unknown. The only information we had was a group of paddlers about 15 years ago had attempted it and walked out half way. The first waterfall/slide only 500m downstream of the get-in was greeted with wonder and amazement at the length of the drop, the spectacular rocks and the tricky portage ahead. Excitedly we helped each other over the slippery rock slabs, lowered the boats down to the water and executed a "do or die" ferry-glide across the base of the falls.

I was trying out my brand new "Invader", Jeff Watson wearing in his "Vortex", Peter McAulay in his slightly modified but trusty "Alpha" and Murray Friswell in his "Dancer". Little did we know how worn in my boat would look by the end of the weekend.

The next six hours of portaging and then paddling only 20 metres and sometimes as much as 50 metres was a blur as the gorge became steeper, the rocks bigger and the bodies wearier. The river in most places either disappeared into a sieve of rocks, poured over a shute onto rocks or was blocked by house-sized boulders. The first few hours were still enjoyable, the last few exhausting.

In many sections the river rocks were covered with a wiry plant growth which made them very sticky when it was shallow and the boat touched them. Sometimes this was to our advantage if we were required to slow down, but in many cases it was more dangerous as the kayak would stop on the rock, the current could then catch the nose or tail and the boat would be caught sideways. That happened to me on one occasion and after unsuccessfully trying to pull body and kayak off the rock (by my arm) Jeff managed to save me disappearing down a undercut slot by hoisting the tail of my kayak backwards. Thanks I owe you one Jeff.

At 4 p.m. after having decided to camp on the rocks Jeff and I set about collecting firewood and unloading the kayaks. Peter and Murray, not satisfied with our choice of campsite scouted further down and declared their spot better. Being in no mental position to argue (what a change!) I carried my gear over the rocks while the others paddled down. Our campfire was well needed for warmth as we had only minimal clothing in order to keep weight down in our boats. Unsure of how far we had come we jokingly mentioned putting aside some of our food for another night in the bush. By 7.30 p.m. we were all sound asleep with the river roaring in our heads and the promise of a big day ahead. If we had known how big we might have stayed in bed!

7.30 a.m. we were portaging again. Thank goodness our team work was getting better. A quick scout around was all that was needed. Hand signals indicated where and how to portage and we silently went to work lifting boats, attaching carabiners, tying on paddles, pulling endloops and saving kayaks from disappearing into the foamy depths below. This part of the river proved much more able to be paddled with several small waterfalls and chutes speeding us along the river. On one particularly enjoyable grade 3 rapid Jeff became sideways pinned and with a huge effort I managed to haul his kayak off the rocks. (We're even now!)

More portages of infinite variety and we came across a nasty rapid which Jeff described as, "You could paddle it....but I'm not" It finished with a innocent looking 1.5 metre drop with a large pool below. The tell-tale bubbles rising 4-5 metres downstream were only a hint of the bite it held. Jeff followed Peter's advice to go from the right to the left and was followed by, "Is he through?" and then a sighting of his paddle as kayak and paddler fought to stay upright. A cold, exhausted and very soggy Jeff swam to the rocks as Murray assisted with the rescue of the kayak being recirculated in the strong current. We all paddled like "#*!@" !! to negotiate the same drop without incident. Nothing like following the rapid probe.

Downie Creek was 8 km downstream of the start (we had hoped that it would take 3-4 hours to reach it). We finally passed the mouth at 12.00 noon on the second day! Another forty minutes on and Binda Falls (the last major portage) was reached. This was the get-in for our previous two day trip, we knew that it was at least 6 hours paddling from Binda Falls to the get-out point and after a short lunch it was 1.00 p.m.!! But at least after one and a half days we knew where we were!!

Being on familiar territory was a big relief and we began to put some distance behind us. It was only 32 km from Downie Creek to the get out point, would there be enough time? The water level was quite low as several of the rapids were unrecognisable in-between the huge boulders. Log jams made the going difficult once again and the final portage was performed silently and efficiently. The teamwork and camaraderie a machine so well practised and perfected we could do it in our sleep.

The remainder of the day remains a blur of a beautiful river, the desire to linger in its deep calm pools while platypus ducked and dived around us and the urgency to speed to our destination in the little light that was left. Bend after bend in the river revealed more rainforest, thick with vines and steep hills. Constantly scanning the riverbanks the wait-a-while fronds began to look like banana leaves as images of the plantation we were looking for flashed through my numbed brain. The water in the river was quite cold and although I was wearing a thermal top and cag my legs were covered in goose bumps. As darkness descended upon us the chill of the night air heightened our discomforts. With screaming muscles we pushed on through grade two rapids that were distinguished only by the white shapes and rocks that were invisible until the kayak became lodged on one. The other paddlers faded into the gloom and at 7.00 p.m. a banana tree was spotted on the bank and we knew we had made it!

With a huge sigh of relief we eased our bodies out of our boats (we had been in them for five hours without a break) and devoured some food before hauling our ever increasingly heavy boats through the banana plantation. With a rope around my waist staggering and slipping in the mud in the pitch dark I mused about how a work-horse must feel.

Will we return? Maybe when the memory of the difficulties we had fade somewhat. Next time I decide to go bushwalking I'll take a pack and leave the kayak at home