Showing the kind of
preparation that makes them unfit to work in the Public Service, the boys
packed the trailer the night before so we were set for a quick departure. We
almost succeeded too. The Wombat picked up Dave in town, before heading out to
Kingston to pick up our mascot and I. We had the trailer on in no time and were
on our way out the drive before I decided I didn’t have enough muesli bars.
Even so, we were off shortly after eight, taking a scenic drive to the town of Huonville. The morning showers quickly cleared and soon there was blue sky above (at which point I agreed I was willing to actually paddle). Here we met Cap’n Sam, who followed us as we took a right turn and paralleled the Huon River out to the Judbury Bridge.
We got out and unloaded the trailer, before the Wombat and Cap’n Sammie took the cars back to Port Huon, while Dave and I moved the gear down to the water’s edge. Being summer there wasn’t as much water as we might have liked, but the wide river still poured past at a fast rate. Its surface was covered in ripples (I said ripples- I know it rhymes with something else but that isn’t what I said) showing that the riverbed was more uneven than our tax system. It also had less depth than the Fast and the Furious movie franchise, with patches of rock breaking the surface here and there.
The far side of the river had been identified as looking to be the deepest, but the question was whether we could get across before being swept downstream into a bridge support or to run aground in the shallows. I decided to go for a test paddle and immediately regretted not bringing appropriate footwear. I discarded my thongs and began wading into the water tiptoeing carefully, like a politician around the gay marriage debate. Once in the water I found the current was quite manageable and took the chance to scout around a bit. After a bit of showboating (no pun intended but I didn't hate it), I came back and reported that it seemed OK, then I started eating again (I do that a lot).
A short while later (but not as short as you might have expected), Cap’n Sam and the Wombat returned, denying any suggestion they had stopped for a quick bit of nookie. Cap’n Sam had decided the upper reaches of the river were too shallow for her carbon fibre kayak so she would paddle up from Huonville, meet us and then come back with us from there. This turned out to be a wise move as some sections were as unavoidably shallow as the American music industry.
The mascot and I were the first to launch again, pushing hard upriver and across to where we could wait at a little private jetty. The Wombat went next, scraping just past the bridge support without crashing or falling in and made his way to the other side of the river where he waited for Dave who was the last to launch. We set off a little nervously to begin with. The current was pushing us around like a prospective mother-in-law and neither Dave nor the Wombat had been in a Kayak for some time. Our mascot was perched ‘safely’ in the front of my lifejacket. I use the term, ‘safely’ with some trepidation as my wife knows just how little guarantee there is that my lifejacket is going to stay dry, plus I swim like water buffalo.
We hit the first set of major ripples once we were just below the bridge (couldn’t say ‘under the bridge’ for copyright reasons). It was disconcerting to begin with, as the boat wobbled like Chrissie Swan walking up stairs (at least the first couple before she stopped).
We all got through unscathed however and paddled on into some clear water where we could relax and admire the spectacular green scenery that enclosed us on either side, but we quickly became aware of the sounds of rushing water ahead of us (once Dave stopped talking), signifying another set of rapids. This became a bit of a pattern for the first hour or so. We would paddle easily for five or ten minutes in this kind of water, before having to negotiate an exciting little set of rapids. Our biggest concern with the rapids wasn’t so much falling out, but hitting something. As well as the numerous rocks that were almost hidden by the churning water, there were also more half-submerged logs than you might find in the toilet bowl after a heavy night. Every now and then the river, would be divided by a small island rising up in the middle of it and we would choose which side to go around.
After half an hour with no misadventure greater than scraping the bottom of our boats on rocks, our confidence had risen. Another island rose, while the water dropped away steeply to either side, forcing us to choose sets of rapids to the left or right. I went to the left, but as I got closer to my chosen route, I realised I had overestimated the depth of this section. I could see so much rock coming towards me it was as if I was about to be stoned (and not in the good way). I paddled backwards furiously to slow down, gliding to a stop on the rocks. I noticed that the water was deeper five metres away, but the only way to get there was to carry the kayak. Once again, I regretted my choice of footwear.
The Wombat and Dave had a look the other way, but surmised that it looked too shallow so decided to portage their boats around. This was a slightly tricky job and took a little bit of time. They had just finished when the much larger Huon River Cruises boat roared up the river and went straight through the section we had thought was too shallow.
I have to say the Huon River Cruise looked spectacular. The boat zigzagged across the river erratically, making me initially assume Tim Ellis was driving. Then I realised it was done in a much more controlled manner, whipping in close to the bank and then zipping away just in time and pulling tight 360 spins where the river was wide enough. Apart from the waves of their wake, they were very considerate of those of us in kayaks too.
After a few more sections of rapids we could feel the river starting to get deeper and wider. Despite protestations that we had only been going an hour and I had been eating stuff during that time anyway, I really had to stop to get sandwich and a snickers (cash for comment anyone? I wish) out of my dry bag, while the others paddled on.
By the time I caught up to them, ten minutes later, they had met up with Cap’n Sam, relaxing in the shade of some trees, in her impressive white craft, which looked capable of taking her to Valinor itself (nerd alert- that was a Tolkien reference). This was thought to be a good spot for morno’s, so Dave got out his soggy savoys and Wombat invited everyone to put their hand in his nutbag. I remembered I had been sweating like Joe Hockey at budget time and decided now would be a good time to lose the thermal top I had been wearing. Soon we were all ready to keep going and we set off again.
The river continued to widen and we picked up speed as a wind blew from behind us (a la Ron Jeremy). Soon we rounded another bend and the bridge at Huonville came into view. We cruised enviously past the floating fish and chip restaurant and pulled in at the boat ramp. I was very impressed with the riverside area of Huonville. It had clearly had more recent (and useful) work than Nicky Minaj, with play equipment and a well-sheltered BBQ site, as well as clean public toilets. I ate another sandwich and muesli bar (you might have thought I’d be running low by now- you’d have been wrong) while the others stretched and had a drink.
We could have quite happily stayed longer but knew we still had a way to go. Originally we had intended to finish in Franklin, but inspired by Campbell Newman and the Queensland government's radical slash and burn approach to public services, we decided we could also go further than anyone anticipated. So soon enough we were back in the boats and paddling again. Like 21st century immigration policy, the river turned sharply to the right after Huonville and we suddenly found ourselves paddling against a strong headwind. "I love working against a strong headwind," said no one ever, but our intrepid adventurers continued without pause. Compounding the challenge was the fact that we were now paddling against the incoming tide, so would have to work a lot harder than earlier in the day. Everyone except Cap'n Sam, who appeared to be able to move her boat using only the power of her mind, slicing through the water effortlessly as the other three thrashed away.
Despite the conditions we were still making good progress (apart from when the wombat was on the phone). Even with the road following the river on our left, the hills rising to each side still made for lovely scenery.
Things started getting harder as we approached the first of the Egg islands (not a joke- that is their name) we would pass on this stretch. The wind had already been strong, but now it started blowing harder than the Spice Girls. White-capped waves battered against our boats as we fought through to the shelter of the island.
Once there, the waves and wind abated slightly, but not as much as one might have expected, with the wind changing its mind about where it was headed more than Nick McKim
We paddled on for another hour or so. We saw the odd boat, but that was the only sign of habitation we would see for some time. I was glad to see that everyone was looking well-balanced (I would say comfortable but I probably have ADHD so I never look comfortable when I’m sitting) and in no danger of capsizing, even with powerful gusts of winds that were swirling around. I didn't want anyone falling in and having to swim while we were this close to Egg Island (you know what happens when swimmers get too close to the egg).
Even so, we were off shortly after eight, taking a scenic drive to the town of Huonville. The morning showers quickly cleared and soon there was blue sky above (at which point I agreed I was willing to actually paddle). Here we met Cap’n Sam, who followed us as we took a right turn and paralleled the Huon River out to the Judbury Bridge.
We got out and unloaded the trailer, before the Wombat and Cap’n Sammie took the cars back to Port Huon, while Dave and I moved the gear down to the water’s edge. Being summer there wasn’t as much water as we might have liked, but the wide river still poured past at a fast rate. Its surface was covered in ripples (I said ripples- I know it rhymes with something else but that isn’t what I said) showing that the riverbed was more uneven than our tax system. It also had less depth than the Fast and the Furious movie franchise, with patches of rock breaking the surface here and there.
The far side of the river had been identified as looking to be the deepest, but the question was whether we could get across before being swept downstream into a bridge support or to run aground in the shallows. I decided to go for a test paddle and immediately regretted not bringing appropriate footwear. I discarded my thongs and began wading into the water tiptoeing carefully, like a politician around the gay marriage debate. Once in the water I found the current was quite manageable and took the chance to scout around a bit. After a bit of showboating (no pun intended but I didn't hate it), I came back and reported that it seemed OK, then I started eating again (I do that a lot).
A short while later (but not as short as you might have expected), Cap’n Sam and the Wombat returned, denying any suggestion they had stopped for a quick bit of nookie. Cap’n Sam had decided the upper reaches of the river were too shallow for her carbon fibre kayak so she would paddle up from Huonville, meet us and then come back with us from there. This turned out to be a wise move as some sections were as unavoidably shallow as the American music industry.
The mascot and I were the first to launch again, pushing hard upriver and across to where we could wait at a little private jetty. The Wombat went next, scraping just past the bridge support without crashing or falling in and made his way to the other side of the river where he waited for Dave who was the last to launch. We set off a little nervously to begin with. The current was pushing us around like a prospective mother-in-law and neither Dave nor the Wombat had been in a Kayak for some time. Our mascot was perched ‘safely’ in the front of my lifejacket. I use the term, ‘safely’ with some trepidation as my wife knows just how little guarantee there is that my lifejacket is going to stay dry, plus I swim like water buffalo.
We hit the first set of major ripples once we were just below the bridge (couldn’t say ‘under the bridge’ for copyright reasons). It was disconcerting to begin with, as the boat wobbled like Chrissie Swan walking up stairs (at least the first couple before she stopped).
We all got through unscathed however and paddled on into some clear water where we could relax and admire the spectacular green scenery that enclosed us on either side, but we quickly became aware of the sounds of rushing water ahead of us (once Dave stopped talking), signifying another set of rapids. This became a bit of a pattern for the first hour or so. We would paddle easily for five or ten minutes in this kind of water, before having to negotiate an exciting little set of rapids. Our biggest concern with the rapids wasn’t so much falling out, but hitting something. As well as the numerous rocks that were almost hidden by the churning water, there were also more half-submerged logs than you might find in the toilet bowl after a heavy night. Every now and then the river, would be divided by a small island rising up in the middle of it and we would choose which side to go around.
After half an hour with no misadventure greater than scraping the bottom of our boats on rocks, our confidence had risen. Another island rose, while the water dropped away steeply to either side, forcing us to choose sets of rapids to the left or right. I went to the left, but as I got closer to my chosen route, I realised I had overestimated the depth of this section. I could see so much rock coming towards me it was as if I was about to be stoned (and not in the good way). I paddled backwards furiously to slow down, gliding to a stop on the rocks. I noticed that the water was deeper five metres away, but the only way to get there was to carry the kayak. Once again, I regretted my choice of footwear.
The Wombat and Dave had a look the other way, but surmised that it looked too shallow so decided to portage their boats around. This was a slightly tricky job and took a little bit of time. They had just finished when the much larger Huon River Cruises boat roared up the river and went straight through the section we had thought was too shallow.
I have to say the Huon River Cruise looked spectacular. The boat zigzagged across the river erratically, making me initially assume Tim Ellis was driving. Then I realised it was done in a much more controlled manner, whipping in close to the bank and then zipping away just in time and pulling tight 360 spins where the river was wide enough. Apart from the waves of their wake, they were very considerate of those of us in kayaks too.
After a few more sections of rapids we could feel the river starting to get deeper and wider. Despite protestations that we had only been going an hour and I had been eating stuff during that time anyway, I really had to stop to get sandwich and a snickers (cash for comment anyone? I wish) out of my dry bag, while the others paddled on.
By the time I caught up to them, ten minutes later, they had met up with Cap’n Sam, relaxing in the shade of some trees, in her impressive white craft, which looked capable of taking her to Valinor itself (nerd alert- that was a Tolkien reference). This was thought to be a good spot for morno’s, so Dave got out his soggy savoys and Wombat invited everyone to put their hand in his nutbag. I remembered I had been sweating like Joe Hockey at budget time and decided now would be a good time to lose the thermal top I had been wearing. Soon we were all ready to keep going and we set off again.
The river continued to widen and we picked up speed as a wind blew from behind us (a la Ron Jeremy). Soon we rounded another bend and the bridge at Huonville came into view. We cruised enviously past the floating fish and chip restaurant and pulled in at the boat ramp. I was very impressed with the riverside area of Huonville. It had clearly had more recent (and useful) work than Nicky Minaj, with play equipment and a well-sheltered BBQ site, as well as clean public toilets. I ate another sandwich and muesli bar (you might have thought I’d be running low by now- you’d have been wrong) while the others stretched and had a drink.
We could have quite happily stayed longer but knew we still had a way to go. Originally we had intended to finish in Franklin, but inspired by Campbell Newman and the Queensland government's radical slash and burn approach to public services, we decided we could also go further than anyone anticipated. So soon enough we were back in the boats and paddling again. Like 21st century immigration policy, the river turned sharply to the right after Huonville and we suddenly found ourselves paddling against a strong headwind. "I love working against a strong headwind," said no one ever, but our intrepid adventurers continued without pause. Compounding the challenge was the fact that we were now paddling against the incoming tide, so would have to work a lot harder than earlier in the day. Everyone except Cap'n Sam, who appeared to be able to move her boat using only the power of her mind, slicing through the water effortlessly as the other three thrashed away.
Despite the conditions we were still making good progress (apart from when the wombat was on the phone). Even with the road following the river on our left, the hills rising to each side still made for lovely scenery.
Things started getting harder as we approached the first of the Egg islands (not a joke- that is their name) we would pass on this stretch. The wind had already been strong, but now it started blowing harder than the Spice Girls. White-capped waves battered against our boats as we fought through to the shelter of the island.
Once there, the waves and wind abated slightly, but not as much as one might have expected, with the wind changing its mind about where it was headed more than Nick McKim
We paddled on for another hour or so. We saw the odd boat, but that was the only sign of habitation we would see for some time. I was glad to see that everyone was looking well-balanced (I would say comfortable but I probably have ADHD so I never look comfortable when I’m sitting) and in no danger of capsizing, even with powerful gusts of winds that were swirling around. I didn't want anyone falling in and having to swim while we were this close to Egg Island (you know what happens when swimmers get too close to the egg).
Eventually the road to Franklin appeared on our right and we began to see more boats and buildings. We were passed by an old-style sailing ship that seemed to have some sort of party in full swing. We looked curiously at the people playing instruments, dancing and drinking- it looked a bit like a scene from a G-rated movie about pirates (but obviously not a scene in which they were actually boarding a ship- just what some directors would have you believe pirates get up to in their spare time. We paddled in past the rowing sheds and found a boat ramp near the footy oval, where we got out for another break. We thought about a quick pint at the lovely old pub there, but decided to push on. We met some nice locals with a dog, which was playing by the jetty, and obviously I ate another muesli bar.
Although we were starting to tire and I was getting hungry, we didn't rest for long. We pushed away from the shore like a woman confronted by Robin Thicke (and Robin, in case you are reading this, overuse of hashtags is stupid), paddling hard into a tough headwind. Well most of us did- the Wombat found a sheltered little stretch protected by a small island and stayed out of the wind for the first while. The rest of us weren't sure if it was a dead end so battled the wind instead. The Wombat's instincts proved correct and, like most bands after their farewell tours, we were back together soon enough.
The second of the Egg islands extended away from us in a straight line to our left, whilst on the right the land curved away in a series of scalloped bays. As tiredness set in, the distance between paddlers began to grow as everyone settled into their own rhythm and speed. After forty minutes or so, I almost ran aground in the middle of the river. Looking more confused than a climate change sceptic on the Pacific island of Kiribati, I eventually picked the furthest possible course around the shallow water, but managed to avoid doing it again, even as the other three just went straight and never had a problem.
Like Australian belief in the anti-vaccination propaganda, the wind dropped noticeably (and by the way, thank you Australia for becoming less stupid- ether that or anti-vaccination believers are being killed off by preventable diseases in a neat example natural selection) so we had a quasi rest whilst still afloat, knowing that the last section was going to be harder and longer than ... Now how to complete that simile?
We had now passed the Egg islands and after the next headland the coast to our right curved away from us as well. Consequently, the river quickly widened and the wind returned with force (that is normal force not Star Wars force- sorry geeks), blowing diagonally from the right and the waves rose again. We bravely plunged into the widest part of the river and slowly the shoreline opposite crawled closer. It took 30 or 40 minutes of battling before we reached the point where the wind began to help us. Like the Murdoch press, it was still coming strongly from the right, but now slightly behind us and no longer retarding our progress (ok maybe not totally like the Murdoch press). The coastline was starting to curve back towards us, so the drift the wind caused was now to our advantage. After a long day paddling, group feelings towards the activity were starting to sour (a bit like public perception of Prince Andrew).
Beyond the next headland, another jetty came slowly into view and The Wombat stated that was the jetty he was getting out at, even if it wasn't the one where the car was. Luckily his wombat-sense (it makes as much sense as spider-sense and Marvel have been getting away with that for decades) was right again and we rather thankfully cruised into the Port Huon jetty. Once again I was struck by how well set up this part of Tasmania was. The campsite was clean and spacious with beautiful views of the water. The jetty was new and there was also a large fenced play area with plenty of equipment.
As we had now been paddling for most of seven hours, we didn't waste much time packing up. The boats were on the trailer and everyone was dressed in a matter of minutes. We all jumped in the Wombat's ute and headed back towards Huonville, where Cap’n Sam’s car was. I produced a packet of shapes, offered everyone one each and ate the rest in three minutes. Dave was keen for a counter meal at the Lady Franklin, but everyone else was ready for home. Now sometimes when Dave outvotes people 1-3 he thinks he has a mandate (no that isn't a tinder thing), but today he rather magnanimously agreed that going home would be fine. So that is what we did finishing the adventure with a beer and a snag in my driveway as we washed the kayaks.
Although we were starting to tire and I was getting hungry, we didn't rest for long. We pushed away from the shore like a woman confronted by Robin Thicke (and Robin, in case you are reading this, overuse of hashtags is stupid), paddling hard into a tough headwind. Well most of us did- the Wombat found a sheltered little stretch protected by a small island and stayed out of the wind for the first while. The rest of us weren't sure if it was a dead end so battled the wind instead. The Wombat's instincts proved correct and, like most bands after their farewell tours, we were back together soon enough.
The second of the Egg islands extended away from us in a straight line to our left, whilst on the right the land curved away in a series of scalloped bays. As tiredness set in, the distance between paddlers began to grow as everyone settled into their own rhythm and speed. After forty minutes or so, I almost ran aground in the middle of the river. Looking more confused than a climate change sceptic on the Pacific island of Kiribati, I eventually picked the furthest possible course around the shallow water, but managed to avoid doing it again, even as the other three just went straight and never had a problem.
Like Australian belief in the anti-vaccination propaganda, the wind dropped noticeably (and by the way, thank you Australia for becoming less stupid- ether that or anti-vaccination believers are being killed off by preventable diseases in a neat example natural selection) so we had a quasi rest whilst still afloat, knowing that the last section was going to be harder and longer than ... Now how to complete that simile?
We had now passed the Egg islands and after the next headland the coast to our right curved away from us as well. Consequently, the river quickly widened and the wind returned with force (that is normal force not Star Wars force- sorry geeks), blowing diagonally from the right and the waves rose again. We bravely plunged into the widest part of the river and slowly the shoreline opposite crawled closer. It took 30 or 40 minutes of battling before we reached the point where the wind began to help us. Like the Murdoch press, it was still coming strongly from the right, but now slightly behind us and no longer retarding our progress (ok maybe not totally like the Murdoch press). The coastline was starting to curve back towards us, so the drift the wind caused was now to our advantage. After a long day paddling, group feelings towards the activity were starting to sour (a bit like public perception of Prince Andrew).
Beyond the next headland, another jetty came slowly into view and The Wombat stated that was the jetty he was getting out at, even if it wasn't the one where the car was. Luckily his wombat-sense (it makes as much sense as spider-sense and Marvel have been getting away with that for decades) was right again and we rather thankfully cruised into the Port Huon jetty. Once again I was struck by how well set up this part of Tasmania was. The campsite was clean and spacious with beautiful views of the water. The jetty was new and there was also a large fenced play area with plenty of equipment.
As we had now been paddling for most of seven hours, we didn't waste much time packing up. The boats were on the trailer and everyone was dressed in a matter of minutes. We all jumped in the Wombat's ute and headed back towards Huonville, where Cap’n Sam’s car was. I produced a packet of shapes, offered everyone one each and ate the rest in three minutes. Dave was keen for a counter meal at the Lady Franklin, but everyone else was ready for home. Now sometimes when Dave outvotes people 1-3 he thinks he has a mandate (no that isn't a tinder thing), but today he rather magnanimously agreed that going home would be fine. So that is what we did finishing the adventure with a beer and a snag in my driveway as we washed the kayaks.