After arriving in Wellington Thursday afternoon, I had to wait until Monday for an appropriate weather window to cross the Murray lakes. Lake Alexandrina is one of Australia's largest inland water bodies and can become treacherous, even with a small amount of wind....

I had set up just in time for a powerful front to charge through bringing heavy rain and intense wind, my tarp, that I was sheltering under flapped like it had been loosely fitted to a trailer flying down the highway. Pegs were flung out of the ground and I scrambled around trying to maintain my shelter.

At Morgan the river turns south, leaving its general westerly heading that it has been following for thousands of kilometres from the river’s headwaters in Kosciuszko National Park. Tectonic activity millions of years ago caused the river to be diverted south along the Morgan fault.

From Renmark, I began to travel further into South Australia, and this was reflected in the landscape. The sandstone cliffs of ever-varying earthy tones continued appearing along the edges of the water; often pinballing the river from side to side off ancient river valleys.

I would often drift away from the putt putts, losing myself in thoughts and awe as the rugged and beautiful bush flowed past my eyes. I would then round a bend and be confronted by sheer cliffs of desert red and brown earth, crumbling with countless years of erosion and sun scorching.

A rare barista coffee and bagel started my day in Swanhill, before launching my boat and paddling away from this urban landscape. Feeling clean and fueled by town food, I set out paddling solo and eager to return to the sparsely populated river realm I had become accustomed to.

There is a lovely feeling about paddling in the rain, the water drops falling from the sky bounce off the surface tension and the movement of air cast patterns across the water. It is peaceful and the solitude increases, the veil of water that now surrounds you holds you present to the place. 

From Goulburn Weir (the dam that forms Lake Nagambie), the River that flows out, I refer to it as the Lower Goulburn, whether this is technically true, I’m unsure. However, there is a distinct change in character; the banks are much higher, the water swirls slowly around snags, flowing down the constantly meandering riverbed and the trees on the banks are old and gnarled with age and weathering.

Arriving at Murchison East, I found Leigh camped by the river, in amongst some young river red gums, with a hammock strung up and his feet all muddy. This was to be the state of our feet for the next little while as a release from the weir had covered everything by the banks in silt. We embodied our inner mud gremlin.