Paddling the Noosa River

The sun gets up early in Queensland. We rose at dawn, hoping to make the most of the morning stillness, but already at 5am there was a slight ruffle on the waters of Lake Cootharaba. It seemed we would miss the glassy reflections for which the lake is famous. So, after a leisurely breakfast surrounded by paperbarks and with a few campground wallabies standing sentinel, we carried our boats down to the gently lapping water's edge.

Lake Cootharaba is a broad shallow lake which forms the entrance to the Upper Noosa River. Despite a length of 10km and a width of about 5km, it is never much more than a metre deep. The winds that whip its surface, especially in the afternoons, make it a popular spot for sailing and windsurfing. A short paddle across the northern perimeter of the lake soon brought us to channels lined with mangrove swamps and scatterings of remnant rainforest. As we began to negotiate the twists and turns of 'The Narrows' we found ourselves transported to another world.

The river itself is a magical place of dark tannin-stained waters, reflecting the twisted paperbarks and bloodwoods which arch so gracefully over its reed lined banks. The sheltered waterways were calm and tranquil as our kayaks sliced through the black water. At times the reflections were so perfect I had difficulty telling where truth ended and imagination began. I felt as though I was flying, with the tops of the trees 50m below me.

Occasionally the stillness was broken by other groups of paddlers. Greetings were shared with foreign tourists in hired canoes, and blokes fishing from aluminium dinghies as they put-putted upstream. We were a novelty in our wooden kayaks. Every second person commented on our craft and wanted to chat about their construction. It felt like I was paddling with a celebrity - Joel, the wooden boat builder! And although offhand in accepting praise, I think secretly he must be pretty chuffed at all the looks of admiration.

We had intended a leisurely morning of paddling followed by an afternoon spent lazing in the hammock, but on reaching our turn-around point at 9am it felt as though the day had only just begun. We resolved to continue upriver for another hour or so and walk to the Cooloola Sandpatch.

Already feeling a bit stiff after four hours paddling, it felt good to stretch the legs again. Leaving the boats moored to a small landing, we wandered into the coastal heathlands separating the river from the sea. The loose sandy soil gives rise to a short scrubby kind of vegetation which readily draws blood if you happen to brush against it. We were thankful for a well marked path leading to the low sandy ridge and up towards the dunes.

On reaching the sandpatch we were greeted with a panoramic views extending from the sea to the mountains, taking in the lakes and meandering tributaries of the Noosa River. The huge sand blow-out shimmers like snow on a clear blue day and makes it virtually impossible to get a sense of scale. With the early afternoon sun beating down on us we were satisfied with a brief exploration of the dunes, before a welcome respite under blackbutt trees where we enjoyed the leftover rogan josh from last night's dinner. And thus, with a growing sense of urgency we realised that another 25km by foot and by boat separated us from the comforts of the hammock at Elanda Point.

Retracing our steps back down the ridge was quicker than expected and we gratefully cooled off in the tea-tree coloured waters. Without stopping to take photographs, the paddling distance seemed shorter too. Feeling strong, we were back at Kinaba and the entrance to the lake in less than two hours. A brisk breeze blowing off the ocean had picked up quite a swell on the lake by late afternoon. The surface was covered with whitecaps but I innocently wondered, how bad can it be? We soon found out...

Heading in a south-westerly direction we were tormented by a powerful cross-wind which tossed our rudderless boats in all directions. I knew it was only 4.5km to our lovely campsite. I knew that the lake was no more than waist deep and I could wade along the shore if needs be. But I didn't want to give up now. The waves were so close together that my kayak would sit in a trough with a crest at either end and appear to be completely stationary. It took all the power left in my tired shoulders to correct the line of the boat and keep it on course. Within sight of the sandy shore it all got too much for me and I succumbed to tears and fury. The blustery wind continued undisturbed by my frustrated cries and ineffectual paddle strokes.

Then, all of a sudden I entered the sheltered bay at Elanda. The breeze became gentler, the water smoother and my temper calmed. We made it! After dragging the boats up the beach I collapsed into the water, exhausted and happy. It was a much bigger day than I'd anticipated. In total, some 38km of flatwater paddling, a 12km walk, and memories of a wonderful day on the river. I was left with the well-earned pleasure of flopping into my hammock with a good book and thus enjoying the last of the evening light.

Christmas Canyons I

Summer canyoning in the Bluies is awesome to say the least. Combine that with good friends, good food and non-stop laughs and you've got the ingredients for a fabulous week away. Originally we planned to do a daytrip (what were we thinking?) but this soon stretched into three days of fun and frivolity.

The Cathedral campground was packed when we arrived. Thermal-wearing, bedraggled-looking canyoners swarmed all over the place. Amongst them we found our friends, and headed off to one of the less frequented Mt Wilson canyons, called Hobnail. We soon found out why it is lacking in popularity as we spent most of the day bush-bashing down a scrubby creek. There were a few pretty sections, but we never came to the mythical abseil, and hiked back up the hill thinking we probably wouldn't bother with that one again.

With a slightly larger crew, we headed out the following day to Newnes Plateau. The cool misty morning had discouraged most people from attempting a wet canyon so we settled on Tigersnake. There was virtually no flow at all through this canyon, so we avoided getting more than our feet wet. Mind you, as the day warmed up I would have gladly immersed myself in some cool canyon water.

The canyon derives its name from a tigersnake that was encountered by the exploring party in 1977, but it could equally refer to the way in which the canyon snakes a path through the Narrabeen sandstone. Long sections are so narrow we were forced to remove our packs and squeeze through the sculpted rock formations.

Several abseils later, we stopped for lunch on a large fallen slab of rock amongst tree ferns and flowering coachwood trees. Then, within fifteen minutes of starting up the exit track we accidentally split into two groups and lost each other amongst the complex landscape of rock pagodas. We knew where we were. They knew where they were. But it was more than half an hour before we knew where they were, and another half an hour of negotiating a convoluted maze of gullies and pinnacles before we were finally reunited. Rather embarrassing for a bunch of experienced bushwalkers!

I limped back to the car in volleys that were two sizes too small and discovered it was less painful to adopt the 'rogaine shuffle'. My secret weapon when I'm feeling tired and sore is a slow jog, barely lifting the feet off the ground. It's amazing how much better it makes you feel when the trees are moving past just that little bit quicker.

Dark clouds drew ominously close as we trudged out along the ridgetop. Finally, with a few dramatic claps of thunder, the heavens opened and we cooled off in a sudden downpour. Driving back to camp an hour later we were surprised by a snowy white covering on the roadsides. Luckily, we had only caught the edge of the bad weather on our walk out. Just a few kilometres away it announced itself as a massive hailstorm.

There was dissent amongst the troops the next morning. Eventually we set off again along the bumpy road to Newnes Plateau, while Devin's group headed for an easy day in Serendipity. At least, that was the plan.

Our destination, Banks canyon, had been at the top of my to-do list for several years and somehow remained there, unexplored. What a magnificent day it turned out to be! Well worth the wait.

The Bungleboori area is completely new to me, so I revelled in my first glimpse of this beautiful part of the Blue Mountains. A long walk brought us first to the mighty river, then up a narrow tributary delicately lined with moss and ferns. After popping over a ridge we immediately dropped into the main canyon which was narrow, dark and sustained. I'm usually quite content to follow others through a canyon, but we took the lead in turns. There's a magic feeling about being first down an abseil, or wading first along the clear undisturbed creek bed. Although in reality I'm following the footsteps of thousands who have been here before, it still feels like an amazing new discovery.

Depending on the time of day and time of year, sunlight creates different patterns on the water and rock walls. Orchids may be flowering or the debris from a flash flood may have recently been deposited. Yabbies and water dragons sometimes make an appearance and the environment is constantly changing due to variations in water level, or the proximity of a recent bushfire. These cool green rooms are home to an abundance of life and provoke in me a sense of pure joy and wonderment.

The canyon finished spectacularly with two longer abseils. One down a log, then a lovely freefall under a 15m waterfall. But the fun didn't end there. We completed the day with an hour of swimming, wading and rock-hopping up the gently flowing waters of the Bungleboori, followed by a slow traipse up the ridge and back to our cars. Another afternoon thunderstorm threatened, but it didn't have the power of the previous day.

An account of this trip wouldn't be complete without mentioning the fabulous dinners we had back at camp. Thanks to Aaron and Jacqui's marvelous camp oven we enjoyed a delicious lamb roast the first night, with baked vegies, gravy and steamed greens on the side. After a ten hour day, the long walk out of Banks had us salivating about the roast chicken Devin was cooking for us, and hoped that it would be ready soon after our arrival. So when greeted with a cold fire and no sign of the others it came as a big disappointment to our rumbling stomachs. This was soon replaced by a growing sense of unease as darkness closed in and concern for the whereabouts of our friends increased. We were just discussing whether to alert the authorities or mount a search party ourselves when a welcome line of shapes appeared through the trees and resolved itself into a bunch of familiar faces.

What should have been an easy trip of three or four hours quickly became an epic due to 'navigational challenges' early in the day and a decision to explore the lower reaches of the Wollangambe. Yet I was surprised to find the party emerge with nothing but smiling faces. There was relief all round that we could now focus on dinner instead of worrying about night-time rescues. Thus, allowing for some time to build up a sufficient heap of hot coals, we eventually satisfied our bellies with a scrumptious roast of chicken and vegetables while regaling each other with stories of our exploits.

Joel and I reluctantly left the following morning. The Bluies are a kind of spiritual home for me, and having lived up there briefly I always feel a yearning to stay longer. I felt refreshed and invigorated after those few days and know that it's a place I will always return to. At the very least I will endeavour to be back again this time next year, as another chapter unfolds in the tradition of Christmas in the Mountains.