Whitewater Rafting
Mitchell River National Park.
Leaving Wilson’s Promontory I had set my hopes on a night near The Lakes National Park.
Shortly after leaving Wilsons Prom I arrived in Yarram to restock on groceries for the next few days. It is the strangest town I’ve been in. It seemed like a normal town at first glance, but I missed the supermarket on the first drive through. Eventually I located the shopping precinct. It was a couple blocks off the main street. It looked like a run down warehouse. I parked and hesitantly made my way into the shopping centre. A few elderly people shuffled by. The entrance was dark. Towards the back I saw a light flicker – perhaps there is life here after all. There were no neat isles. Instead the isles were narrow and varying lengths. Some ended in dead end corridors. The place felt eerie – perhaps haunted. People continued to shuffle around with long faces. Eventually I located my needed provisions in the random corners and proceeded to check out.
It wasn’t until later I realized it was Halloween, but if I’d thought of that earlier I would have been truly worried by my shopping experience in Yarram.
It was mid-afternoon when I arrived along Ninety Mile Beach. There are about 20 designated free camping areas along the beach. I chose one and set up. A few minutes later I walked out to the beach.
It was just a beach.
I’ve been spoiled during my trip. A beach really needs to have a reef to snorkel like Ningaloo; small coves with lacey white beaches like at Cape Range; or even reefs and perfect beaches like Rottnest Island.
Instead it was just a long, yellow strand of sand with waves lapping the shore. A tall dune sepearated the beach from the campground.
Back at the camper I checked the map. If I don’t dawdle I can make it somewhere near the mountains tonight – perhaps Omeo.
Dawdling seemed to rule my day.
I drove past a sign – Historic Swinging Bridge. That sounds interesting.
I pictured a swinging suspension bridge similar to one in Brown’s Park, Colorado. Driving across the bridge a ripple or wave precedes the vehicle. Approaching the end it reversed directions jolting the vehicle as it passed back towards the other end. I used to have to take a fire engine across the bridge. Because of weight restrictions it was essential to empty the water tank on one side then fill it from the river once successfully across the swinging bridge.
With these memories floating past my eyes I turned around. Making my way along the old highway I came to the swinging bridge. Barricades prevented driving on the bridge. For over 100 years the bridge had served its purpose on the Gippsland Highway. The swinging bridge is really a bridge on a swivel. It sits on several piers in the centre of the river. A set of incremental gears allows the bridge to be turned with a hand crank allowing boats to navigate the river. Today barges and steamships don’t use the river so the bridge only operates on special occasions.
After a ‘brief’ stop I continued on my way. Omeo was still quite a ways away. Gloomy skies had replaced the afternoon blue. Rain started falling. Darkness was arriving quickly. Stopping to use the toilet at Providence Ponds Rest Area I reevaluated my afternoon plan. There was no way I’d make it to Omeo. Again I set up camp. A large truck rumbled by. I didn’t want to sleep with ear plugs.
Back to the map.
Den of Nargun.
That sounds interesting.
Mitchell River National Park.
Its only 30 minutes away.
I packed up and moved again. I meandered into Fernhook as the town’s half dozen children were trick-r-treating. I almost felt like a parade driving through the towns two blocks. If only I’d had treats. . . .
It was truly getting dark as I drove the final few kilometres beneath the tunnel of trees into the Den of Nargun. Wiggling into place I finally found something almost level. This would certainly be home.
Morning arrived with a profusion of birdsong. After breakfast it was time to discover the Den of Nargun – a special aboriginal site used by the women. The trail quickly dropped into a narrow canyon. The trees were draped with lichen. At the canyon bottom I rock hopped towards the canyons box end. Arriving there was a small waterfall (trickle) and a pool of clear water. Perfect for a morning dip. A few minutes later I was dry and walking out. There was a loop trail. I took the alternate route. Crossing the dry stream channel I looked upstream noting the arching trees. “That would make a good photo.”
I jumped on a rock. In front of me was a bear. At least that was my first thought. A dark brown wombat was ambling over the rocks below. I changed plan and chased the wombat for a few minutes. It eventually disappeared into the cracks between the river rocks. I returned to my first mission.
A few minutes later I was again walking the track towards the river. Maybe I’ll get another swim. A few minutes before reaching the river I could hear a rapid. This might be a real river. A large campsite graced the river’s edge. If only I’d known this last night I could have walked in and set up camp. There was even a pit toilet sans toilet paper.
Leaving the river I found Deadcock Den – another place of special significance to aboriginal women. Walking up the stream I soon knew why. Water dropped off a ledge a few metres above a rock ledge. Images of the pink cliffs, waterfall and trees were perfectly portrayed in reflection pools. I sat down, cross-legged near a pool’s edge to reflect on the past few months. Eventually I rose to collect a few digital memories then made my way back to the main trail.
I was surprised to see a group of wetsuit clad youth coming down the trail from the campsite. It was a school group from Melbourne on an end of year raft expedition. I was immediately envious.
It shouldn’t be long.
They’ll be running the rapid.
I scouted the rapid then found a good vantage for photographs. A few minutes later the leaders arrived to scout the rapid. It was a boney run.
After four rafts ran the Nargun rapid and I exchanged information with an instructor. They would like to have copies of my photographs: www.webshots.com/user/stealthranger
It had been a good morning. I felt light of step and nearly skipped my way to the gorges lip.
It was noon. Maybe I’d make Omeo tonight.
