Rafting the Franklin - Days 5, 6 & 7
Mar. 5th, 2012 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapeofthings[Here be parts 1, 2 & 3]
I apologise for the delay in getting part 4 up here. I had a draft half-finished but lost it a few weeks ago when my hard drive died. I need to buy a new computer, but in the meantime I've resuscitated an ancient lap top and got it working well enough that I have no more excuses for not posting. Ok, ok, I'll get on with it!
Day 5: Now where was I? Ah yes, camped at Coruscades and enjoying an early morning on the river. Slowly the rest of the camp stirred and people joined me out on the rocks, watching the sunlight slowly slide it's way down into the deep gorge. Brett, our trip leader and normally the first one up, remained steadfastly in bed, putting off the day ahead as long as possible. At loose ends, the rest of us read books, wandered about, went back to sleep or settled down on a convenient boulder to soak up some sun.
Coruscades upstream: ah, the serenity!
Eventually Brett found the motivation to get up and we packed all the gear and carried it a couple of hundred metres downstream down a pretty winding path, to wait while Brett and fellow guide Jim brought the rafts down through the tricky section at the top of Coruscades rapids. We then loaded up the rafts and finally paddled out around midday to see what the last day of 2011 would bring us down the River.
Coruscades downstream: somewhat less serene!
Not far downstream the River brought us to the Faucet, one of the most fun rapids of the trip (and not just because no portage was required!). Pure rushing water joy!
Running the Faucet
The Faucet behind us, we hit the major portages of the day and worked out why Brett had been so reluctant to get out of bed: Sidewinder, Thunder-rush and the Cauldron. The waters were tricky and we unloaded and re-loaded the raft many times. As the day wore on I wore down, feeling sicker and sicker as my choice of left-overs for breakfast decided to disagree with me. There's no room for resting on the River, however, so we all just got on with it and eventually my guts ceased grumbling and I made the most of our last proper day on the water.
Brett investigates...
...then negotiates yet another portage
Once past the portages of the Great Ravine the river opened out, giving us a gentle paddle through the forested green slopes, spotted with the white blooms of flowering leatherwood trees and the red shoots of fresh summer growth from the myrtles. We saw a family of endangered Tasmanian white-bellied sea eagles watching the world drift by from a branch over the water, a pair of wedge-tail eagles circling their territory high above and a party of great cormorants startled several times by our appearance up-river. They were happily added to our wildlife tally for the trip, including two platypus sightings, some devil scats and suspected quoll tracks.
We paddled in companionable quiet, stopping here and there to explore a creek joining the river, cool off with a quick drink or just to admire the view until we made our unhurried way to camp at Rafter's Basin, around 8 pm .
My now-familiar rafting view
The strange slice of rock known as the Biscuit (photo by J)
J takes a drink from a convenient spout (photo by Brett)
Exploring a little side canyon
Once camped we settled ourselves down to see the New Year in, making quick work of what little booze had survived this far down the trip. Young Sam begged iPods from those who had them and a set of portable speakers from Jim and declared himself DJ for the night, doing a decent job of mixing classics, decent indie tunes and the odd dance track. We chatted, sang along and got to know each other a little better as the clock ticked towards twelve.
Those of us over thirty were much amused when Sam boasted about being into the dance music scene and reminisced about our own misspent youths and the days of acid house (the Scottish half-brothers having been in the UK when the "scene" first kicked off. At one point I demanded that Sam back up his raver claim by showing us some Melbourne shuffle moves. He responded by busting out the most ridiculous running man I've ever seen. My laughter and derision was met with a challenge and so I found myself drunk, in thongs, in the middle of the wilderness pulling out some dance moves I haven't used in a very long time. I felt utterly ridiculous, but by popular consensus I was deemed winner of the dance off, and I believe I drank to that.
Not long after the clock finally struck twelve - though it felt totally irrelevant out there in the forest - and we made our slightly-swaying ways up to bed.
Rafter's Basin in the morning light (photo by Es)
Day 6: The next day was a rest day. Our camp location was only a little way upstream of where we'd be leaving the river at Mt. McCall, so we had a full day to relax, explore and enjoy the serenity. I had planned to make the most of it, hiking up the creek that ran through camp or perhaps taking a kayak out for a paddle. Instead I spend a lazy day reading, scribbling notes about our journey into my little notebook (without which these entries would not exist) and doing my laundry. You know you're getting older when the thought of clean, dry clothes is more appealing than another day of adventure! So I hung around camp, listening to the guides chatter and learning more about life on the River.
At one point Brett and Jim mentioned they had one spare berth for the rest of the journey, and did I want to take it? Sorely tempted though I was I demurred: I had Es to accompany and was starting to fantasize about a proper shower and a night in my own bed. Instead I took my final bath in the river, luxuriating in the warmth of sun-heated rocks on my skin, in sharp contrast to the chill of the water. For one long, blissful moment I was free and wild, one with the cool, dark waters, the vaulting sky and the timeless glory of it all.
Evening, January 1st 2012 (photo by J)
The sun set on our very last evening with a brilliant blaze of colour, but by then I wasn't really up for soaking in the splendour of our surrounds. As evening fell so did my spirits as I discovered that something I had eaten was disagreeing with me quite violently. Oh dear. I believe I mentioned the toilet arrangements down-river back on Day 1, and I can tell you that having a severe case of the runs under those conditions is an extremely unpleasant experience. I have spent way too much time contemplating the quality and robustness of freezer bags under strenuous conditions. Still, I got to spend a lot of time that evening in contemplation, gazing at a sky so astonishingly full of stars,
Day 7: After my dramatic night this day was never going to be stellar: I was tired, tender, under-slept and horribly de-hydrated, but there was no time to sit around feeling sorry for myself - we had a long day ahead of us, going home.
Despite an early wake-up we talk too much over breakfast and get onto the water a little late. We're not going far, just a few hundred metres upstream to where all of us except N are leaving the river and a new party of punters are coming down for the last 3 days down-river to the junction with the Gordon. Brett is uncharacteristically cranky with the delay (turns out if we're late for the pick-up he has to pay the 4-wheel drive connection people more money, and Brett really doesn't like spending money) and rushes us down the River.
Breakfast and conversation before we leave the River behind (photo by J)
Initially it's an uneventful trip, but then we reach a rapid that Brett needs to line the raft through. He's rushing and makes a wrong move and suddenly the raft is pinned against a rock and quickly going under. The gear rack carrying our river bags, left unsecured in our hurry to depart (after all we weren't going far and we'd just need to untie it again) slips off and threatens to escape downstream. There's much cursing, scrambling and throwing of ropes and eventually we get the raft free, but now Brett's really in a foul mood. We hurry on, past the junction with the Andrew River, to the haul-out point at Mt McCall.
When the Hydro Electric Commission was set to dam the Franklin, construction started at 2 of the 3 planned sites: the famous Gordon-below-Franklin site and here at Mt. McCall. All that remains at Mt. McCall now is a very steep track running along the old haulage-way and some slowly rusting rails and pulleys, abandoned to the rainforest. The track connects to a rough old road, traversable now by 4-wheel-drive only, and eventually leads out to Lake Burbury and the highway up to Queenstown. The track is seriously steep, the day fiercely hot (temperatures well above 30oC) and despite being the first off the raft I'm second-last up (with Creepy Wayne bringing up the rear) and am seriously feeling the dehydration when I make it to the top, but there's no water to be had until Queenstown, an hour and a half away. At least the view from the top is pretty special.
The guides climb up with us to meet the new crew and load up on supplies for the end of the journey. We bid affectionate farewells (Brett having re-gained his composure), climb into the waiting 4-wheel-drives and begin the long drive back into civilisation. Well, something resembling a twisted parody of civilisation, at least. Queenstown is a frontier mining town renown for its environmental degradation and is a serious shock to the system after 6 days and nights in spectacular wilderness. Still, there's a corner store open and after downing 2 litres of water in a hurry I'm feeling a whole lot better.
(I wish I had photos of the Mr. McCall track or the stunning views over the Wild Rivers National Park as we departed, but I was hot, thirsty and exhausted and my camera was packed away, out of reach.)
The 4-wheel-drives depart and we pile into the mini-bus for the long drive back to Hobart; tired, grumpy and hot but triumphant. We had made it, 7 days in the wilderness on the River, and we had loved most every moment of it. The Franklin River will always hold a special place in our memories.
One week later I was still rafting it's waters in my sleep.
Home again, with prolific bruising telling the tale of my adventures (photo by Es)
I apologise for the delay in getting part 4 up here. I had a draft half-finished but lost it a few weeks ago when my hard drive died. I need to buy a new computer, but in the meantime I've resuscitated an ancient lap top and got it working well enough that I have no more excuses for not posting. Ok, ok, I'll get on with it!
Day 5: Now where was I? Ah yes, camped at Coruscades and enjoying an early morning on the river. Slowly the rest of the camp stirred and people joined me out on the rocks, watching the sunlight slowly slide it's way down into the deep gorge. Brett, our trip leader and normally the first one up, remained steadfastly in bed, putting off the day ahead as long as possible. At loose ends, the rest of us read books, wandered about, went back to sleep or settled down on a convenient boulder to soak up some sun.
Coruscades upstream: ah, the serenity!
Eventually Brett found the motivation to get up and we packed all the gear and carried it a couple of hundred metres downstream down a pretty winding path, to wait while Brett and fellow guide Jim brought the rafts down through the tricky section at the top of Coruscades rapids. We then loaded up the rafts and finally paddled out around midday to see what the last day of 2011 would bring us down the River.
Coruscades downstream: somewhat less serene!
Not far downstream the River brought us to the Faucet, one of the most fun rapids of the trip (and not just because no portage was required!). Pure rushing water joy!
Running the Faucet
The Faucet behind us, we hit the major portages of the day and worked out why Brett had been so reluctant to get out of bed: Sidewinder, Thunder-rush and the Cauldron. The waters were tricky and we unloaded and re-loaded the raft many times. As the day wore on I wore down, feeling sicker and sicker as my choice of left-overs for breakfast decided to disagree with me. There's no room for resting on the River, however, so we all just got on with it and eventually my guts ceased grumbling and I made the most of our last proper day on the water.
Brett investigates...
...then negotiates yet another portage
Once past the portages of the Great Ravine the river opened out, giving us a gentle paddle through the forested green slopes, spotted with the white blooms of flowering leatherwood trees and the red shoots of fresh summer growth from the myrtles. We saw a family of endangered Tasmanian white-bellied sea eagles watching the world drift by from a branch over the water, a pair of wedge-tail eagles circling their territory high above and a party of great cormorants startled several times by our appearance up-river. They were happily added to our wildlife tally for the trip, including two platypus sightings, some devil scats and suspected quoll tracks.
We paddled in companionable quiet, stopping here and there to explore a creek joining the river, cool off with a quick drink or just to admire the view until we made our unhurried way to camp at Rafter's Basin, around 8 pm .
My now-familiar rafting view
The strange slice of rock known as the Biscuit (photo by J)
J takes a drink from a convenient spout (photo by Brett)
Exploring a little side canyon
Once camped we settled ourselves down to see the New Year in, making quick work of what little booze had survived this far down the trip. Young Sam begged iPods from those who had them and a set of portable speakers from Jim and declared himself DJ for the night, doing a decent job of mixing classics, decent indie tunes and the odd dance track. We chatted, sang along and got to know each other a little better as the clock ticked towards twelve.
Those of us over thirty were much amused when Sam boasted about being into the dance music scene and reminisced about our own misspent youths and the days of acid house (the Scottish half-brothers having been in the UK when the "scene" first kicked off. At one point I demanded that Sam back up his raver claim by showing us some Melbourne shuffle moves. He responded by busting out the most ridiculous running man I've ever seen. My laughter and derision was met with a challenge and so I found myself drunk, in thongs, in the middle of the wilderness pulling out some dance moves I haven't used in a very long time. I felt utterly ridiculous, but by popular consensus I was deemed winner of the dance off, and I believe I drank to that.
Not long after the clock finally struck twelve - though it felt totally irrelevant out there in the forest - and we made our slightly-swaying ways up to bed.
Rafter's Basin in the morning light (photo by Es)
Day 6: The next day was a rest day. Our camp location was only a little way upstream of where we'd be leaving the river at Mt. McCall, so we had a full day to relax, explore and enjoy the serenity. I had planned to make the most of it, hiking up the creek that ran through camp or perhaps taking a kayak out for a paddle. Instead I spend a lazy day reading, scribbling notes about our journey into my little notebook (without which these entries would not exist) and doing my laundry. You know you're getting older when the thought of clean, dry clothes is more appealing than another day of adventure! So I hung around camp, listening to the guides chatter and learning more about life on the River.
At one point Brett and Jim mentioned they had one spare berth for the rest of the journey, and did I want to take it? Sorely tempted though I was I demurred: I had Es to accompany and was starting to fantasize about a proper shower and a night in my own bed. Instead I took my final bath in the river, luxuriating in the warmth of sun-heated rocks on my skin, in sharp contrast to the chill of the water. For one long, blissful moment I was free and wild, one with the cool, dark waters, the vaulting sky and the timeless glory of it all.
Evening, January 1st 2012 (photo by J)
The sun set on our very last evening with a brilliant blaze of colour, but by then I wasn't really up for soaking in the splendour of our surrounds. As evening fell so did my spirits as I discovered that something I had eaten was disagreeing with me quite violently. Oh dear. I believe I mentioned the toilet arrangements down-river back on Day 1, and I can tell you that having a severe case of the runs under those conditions is an extremely unpleasant experience. I have spent way too much time contemplating the quality and robustness of freezer bags under strenuous conditions. Still, I got to spend a lot of time that evening in contemplation, gazing at a sky so astonishingly full of stars,
Day 7: After my dramatic night this day was never going to be stellar: I was tired, tender, under-slept and horribly de-hydrated, but there was no time to sit around feeling sorry for myself - we had a long day ahead of us, going home.
Despite an early wake-up we talk too much over breakfast and get onto the water a little late. We're not going far, just a few hundred metres upstream to where all of us except N are leaving the river and a new party of punters are coming down for the last 3 days down-river to the junction with the Gordon. Brett is uncharacteristically cranky with the delay (turns out if we're late for the pick-up he has to pay the 4-wheel drive connection people more money, and Brett really doesn't like spending money) and rushes us down the River.
Breakfast and conversation before we leave the River behind (photo by J)
Initially it's an uneventful trip, but then we reach a rapid that Brett needs to line the raft through. He's rushing and makes a wrong move and suddenly the raft is pinned against a rock and quickly going under. The gear rack carrying our river bags, left unsecured in our hurry to depart (after all we weren't going far and we'd just need to untie it again) slips off and threatens to escape downstream. There's much cursing, scrambling and throwing of ropes and eventually we get the raft free, but now Brett's really in a foul mood. We hurry on, past the junction with the Andrew River, to the haul-out point at Mt McCall.
When the Hydro Electric Commission was set to dam the Franklin, construction started at 2 of the 3 planned sites: the famous Gordon-below-Franklin site and here at Mt. McCall. All that remains at Mt. McCall now is a very steep track running along the old haulage-way and some slowly rusting rails and pulleys, abandoned to the rainforest. The track connects to a rough old road, traversable now by 4-wheel-drive only, and eventually leads out to Lake Burbury and the highway up to Queenstown. The track is seriously steep, the day fiercely hot (temperatures well above 30oC) and despite being the first off the raft I'm second-last up (with Creepy Wayne bringing up the rear) and am seriously feeling the dehydration when I make it to the top, but there's no water to be had until Queenstown, an hour and a half away. At least the view from the top is pretty special.
The guides climb up with us to meet the new crew and load up on supplies for the end of the journey. We bid affectionate farewells (Brett having re-gained his composure), climb into the waiting 4-wheel-drives and begin the long drive back into civilisation. Well, something resembling a twisted parody of civilisation, at least. Queenstown is a frontier mining town renown for its environmental degradation and is a serious shock to the system after 6 days and nights in spectacular wilderness. Still, there's a corner store open and after downing 2 litres of water in a hurry I'm feeling a whole lot better.
(I wish I had photos of the Mr. McCall track or the stunning views over the Wild Rivers National Park as we departed, but I was hot, thirsty and exhausted and my camera was packed away, out of reach.)
The 4-wheel-drives depart and we pile into the mini-bus for the long drive back to Hobart; tired, grumpy and hot but triumphant. We had made it, 7 days in the wilderness on the River, and we had loved most every moment of it. The Franklin River will always hold a special place in our memories.
One week later I was still rafting it's waters in my sleep.
Home again, with prolific bruising telling the tale of my adventures (photo by Es)
