The banks of the Murray

Ah, the Murray. It seems to have a hold on both of us, similar to one I once experienced from Uluru. We can’t help looking at it: the flowing muddy water, the twisted roots supporting huge proud trees and the dusty eroded banks all have a magnetism to them.

Amber and I prepared for our visit here by watching The Rivers Run, an old mini-series about a couple plying these waters on a paddle steamer. The romance of that rendition was catching and we could both camp here on the banks for months.

Southerners are far different than Queenslanders when it comes to camping. We like to get up with the sun, and go to bed with it too.  Perhaps it’s the cold, but at 9am this morning Amber and I were the only people up. (We had only been up half an hour, but whose counting?).

Today we chose to stay put, rather than drive into Echuca, and I am glad we did. The day started with a paddle upstream while Amber hid herself in the tent with one of her books.

Then we both jumped on our bikes and explored our surroundings. Downstream we found tracks following the river and rode for about an hour, twisting and turning and eventually returning to camp. Sitting on a carved log overlooking the river together was something I will always remember.

Lunch and laundry done and we boarded the kayak together and paddled upstream again. Amber insisted on climbing out on every tree root and large snag and we weaved our way between them. She even found a rabbit amongst some of the roots. We rushed home with the river, then headed for the pool to enjoy the only hour that could remotely be called hot. Amber swam, I chickened out.

Now we sit by the campfire Amber lit a few minutes ago. She is drawing and I am tapping. Most of the ski boats are tied to the bank and the rustle of trees and screeching of cockatoos is dominant. The light at the river is starting to subdue and  I wish I was a painter.

Soon I will warm up dinner and the games will begin... Mastermind tonight, I reckon!