March/April 1998
I have always wanted to experience the Franklin River, ever since I was swept up in the emotion and fervour that was the successful protest to save it from damming in 1983.
I was only about ten or eleven at the time, but I felt incredibly determined about how wrong it was to even consider devastating this unspoiled wilderness. The response from all over Australia and the World was overwhelming. When the Federal Labour Government stepped in to stop the dam, it ended up successfully defeating Tasmania in the Federal High Court and the Hydro was to withdraw and forego the twenty million dollars worth of damage it had already wrought on the environment.
I vowed that I would one day get to see for myself what all the fuss was about!
*Frankie is my little sand filled travelling companion frog.
*********
Tasmania is quite a small island (about 64,000 sq. kms) which I think is about the size of Ireland, and is quite distinctly different from East to West. Hobart is nestled on the Derwent River on the South East Coast, and has the second lowest rainfall of any capital city in Australia. The wild and woolly West Coast on the other hand, where the Franklin River flows, is the first place the Roaring Forties encounter after miles and miles of open ocean, and gets rained upon what I think is about 75% of the year. The unpredictable weather, dense forest and mountainous expanse, sees the area wild, unpredictable, and uncompromising.
*********
This story is a bit of, well, this is what I did, and a lot is also how I felt while I was doing it. (I’m just a big sop really. At times I've directly quoted my diary, which I wrote in furiously while I was there (in italics) … and the rest I've just embellished for effect! Oh. I've also tried quoting odd bits of history, which I have to admit are entirely from memory, which may have served me badly … so please excuse any wayward truths!
But first, I have to put this in. I've nearly finished 'Death of a River Guide' by Richard Flanagan, a Tasmanian writer, whose story is based around a river guide's ill-fated journey down the Franklin … and he describes it so well. The following is a passage in the words of the guide, who is drowning at the time ...
" ….. Then, breaking forth from a bizarre low angle, a ray of light shining up the gorge illuminating a world otherwise cast in darkness by the black rain clouds above. The water reflects a white brilliance ….. The Franklin River. A world pure and whole and complete unto itself. Neither rubber condoms nor rubber tyres nor tin cans nor dioxins nor bent rusting chrome reminders of the cars they once graced nor any of the other detritus of our world seem to abide here. This I an alien world. This is the river. Rising in the Cheyne Range. Falling down Mt Gell. Writhing like a snake in the wild lands at the base of the huge massif of Frenchmans Cap. Writing its past and prophesying its future in massive gorges slicing through mountains and cliffs so undercut they call them verandahs, and in eroded boulders and beautiful gilded eggs of river stone, and in beaches of river gravel that shift year to year, flood to flood, and in that gravel that once was rounded river rock that once was eroded boulder that once was undercut cliff that once was mountain and which will be again. And then I see them. At the top of the whiteness two red rafts, each bearing people, each person craning their eyes earnestly over the rapid, down which they are now to fall."
*******
I decided to go with Rafting Tasmania, who by all reports were the most experienced for these trips.
Our expedition would take 11 days to paddle the 120kms of the river.
I turned up at Paddy Pallin on Monday morning to meet the group, get my gear, most importantly the safety gear and a big rubber dry bag, which would keep my stuff nicely dry on the river. Mike and Jeff (1) were our guides, Jeff was also conducting research for his Honours in an Outdoor Education Degree, and Anna, a Nurse by profession, was along as a trainee guide. The 'punters' were Jeff(2) a South Australian Technical Officer for the Bureau of Meteorology, Jocelyn, a nurse from Sydney and Tim, previously an Occupational Therapist in Sydney, but just recently voluntarily unemployed on a journey to figure out what the hell it was he wanted to do with his life (gee, sounds awfully familiar!). None of us had ever seriously white water rafted before.
So, with dry bags all packed and introductions complete, we toddled on to our bus for the 4 hour bus ride to the Collingwood River Bridge. We were delayed this day, so we got to the bridge quite late at about 3pm.
Normally we'd have been setting off about midday. They say a good level to leave the bridge at is about 0.8m. It was only 0.65 which meant a much slower journey dragging rafts over rocks. We wouldn't make it in time. Grudgingly we made camp at the bridge, disappointed we couldn't set off straight away. The good news was that it was raining, which would no doubt bring the river up to a good level.
Fortunately, sitting at camp was barely a hardship given we had King Island Brie, biccies, chocolate and real fresh coffee. Not to mention the grilled fish and stir fry veg for tea, all topped off with fresh fruit salad.
We slept on our lilos under a tarpaulin strung between the trees … listening to the rain steadily beating down all night.
Next morning
Yay! The river is 0.8m … we can go!
We packed up, trudged all the stuff down the banks to the river to be steadily tied on to the gear frames. We got ourselves ready, with bathers, a thermal top, then a polar fleece, underneath a long john wetsuit, a spray jacket and life vest, as well as the woolly socks and the firm gripping volley shoes, and the helmet just to top it all off. Now we all looked just as stupid as each other, but cold we would not be.
A brief safety talk, then it was into the rafts for our practice paddling! Jeff and Anna were in our raft as guides, and my fellow paddler up front was Tim.
Our trusty guides would be calling in various tones of urgency throughout the trip, forward paddle, FORWARD PADDLE, back left, back right, back paddle, over left and over right (fortunately we both knew our lefts from rights, and which side of the raft were on!)
Wow, finally on the river.
I was feeling so expectant. I'd had such high hopes for the trip, and reading Bob Brown's account from 1976 and seeing Peter Dombrovskis' photos, I must say I was also slightly filled with trepidation on what would await me in the Great Ravine, a few days paddling away. The Ravine would reveal the "Glass Walls" that had echoed in Bob Brown's mind before he himself got to witness them. It was a fantastic feeling of expectation setting off that day .. with a whole ten days of discovery ahead of me.
Leaving the bridge with a twist in the river, we had entered an overwhelming new and wondrous world which would be our home for the next 10 days. No human population for miles and miles.
Contrary to popular belief, the Franklin trip is actually not full of fearsome rapids. Apart from the Great Ravine and a few other bigger rapids, it is mostly quite a gentle paddle, with pretty comfortable white water to bumble over along the way. Mostly it was just a wonderful time to soak up our surroundings, observe the rainforest and its bird life. I got to see the most gorgeous native Tasmanian trees: Huon Pine, Myrtle, Deciduous Beech, Native Laurel, Tea Tree and Tasmanian Pepper Berry trees! These lovely rosé robins were often along the river bank, and when rain was upon us, we could see the yellow tailed black cockatoos in flight, warning us of what was to come.
Our first days padding ended with a slightly more challenging rapid to 'bumble' over! Our first 'big' rapids, we were well warmed up by now, and being the last rapid before our campsite, Jeff shouted, 'go guys, lets have some fun!' We flew down the rapid with yahoos and big smiles on our faces, it was great fun, until…. (italicised bits are my diary entries from the river)....
"…. We wrapped our raft around the cliff on river right … the whole left side submerged with the river pouring all its weight into the raft, and we all had to cling to the forward right hand side with the river swirling around our waists.
We clung there for quite a while … the raft stuck fast to the cliff, and I noticed Mike throw us a line from his raft. The rest was such a blur!! I was flung from the raft into the water but almost immediately I could feel a strong hand pull me into the raft. It was all so sudden.
I remember looking around worried and saying …. "Where's Tim?" I looked down river and I couldn't see him … but then I realised he'd been pulled into the other raft. Our raft must have been under the water for about 30 seconds?? Or a minute, but it seemed like ages.
We limped over to an eddie and I clung onto the cliff with my fingers while the others bailed, almost shivering with excitement! Jeff worried that I was cold, but I was just pumping with adrenalin, and had a huge smile on my face!
Har har … 'this is the adventure I paid for! Thinks me..
I'm in love with this whole thing…. It's fantastic. It's been one day on the river so far and I'm already wondering how I could be so in love with the city when this is on my doorstep. I'm sure it could pass, but it's like .. hmm. I could stay and get a raft guide qualification! It's so tempting… but I've come at the completely wrong time of year.
Phew
Irenabyss (named by Bob Brown and is Greek for Chasm of Peace) was the most incredible place just below where we wrapped the raft. A dramatic chasm enclosed by sheer quartzite cliffs and deep deep black water. The water is a tea stained colour from the tea-trees which line the river banks along its length. These trees also emit a kind of natural detergent, which sees swirling white foam and bubbles etch out the patterns of the river as it descends along its journey.
Feeling proud of ourselves as we'd made up two days rafting in one, we camped right above the river, as we would every night. Tim and I went for another swim which was refreshing to say the least.
Once again, we were treated to gastronomic delights of such I had never expected to be enjoying on a wild river trip! … but the true highlight of this campsite was definitely the place you got to go and have your poo!
Being World Heritage and a delicately balanced environment, we carried all of our waste out with us. The lucky receptacle for this task was called the 'Groover'. A rectangular shaped ammunition box with a portable plastic toilet seat to help you avoid those nasty groove marks in your back side.
It seems to be the ultimate challenge for each guide to find the grooviest spot. This time, a ridiculously long trek in the dark across the slippery cliffs, to a precarious spot RIGHT on the edge, about 5-8 metres high?, off which one would fall straight into the river below. But wow, what a perfect view of Irenabyss!
Definitely one of my more scenic poos to date!
But more observations ….
The Franklin has a personality all of its own, and its moods can change so quickly. Its energy seems to take form from its incredible surroundings, and the urgency with which the water is flowing. Heavy rains can see the river rise to phenomenal levels over night and each twist and turn brings something new to the most experienced guides. Rapids change significantly according to the water level, and who knows where logs may have newly lodged themselves during the last flood ready to surprise the unwary.
New day ….
Today we paddled into The Great Ravine. My expectations were surpassed. We were to spend this afternoon and the next day resting at the perfect campsite at a rapid called the Coruscades. It marks the end of an incredibly long stretch of flat and tranquil water called 'Serenity Sound'. The sun came out for us, at which point we all turned into reptiles and baked ourselves in the sun on the rocks, to warm up our chilled bones from the cold and wet paddling of the previous days.
Next morning …
Here I lie … perched on a huge rock, below me thundering rapids. Could I begin to describe them eloquently, profoundly, dramatically? Why am I at a loss for words to describe this place? I do feel as though I belong here … why? It's the first time I've been here.
Maybe it's me subscribing to the wild woman theory … and feeling un-tamed and free spirited as I tumble down the rapids in a tiny rubber raft? I feel so happy and content here it's just so far away from the world we have created … a greedy man-made mess of straight lines, careers, WANTS, pleasures,… aspirations, ambitions … you just don't need any of that out here … but to get here you need to be in the machine.
And why do I appreciate it so much out here? Because of the polarity between the every day 'reality'.
Jeff was talking about Reality and the wilderness as a catalyst for people taking on new roles new personalities, acquiring new skills, a new way of seeing the world. It's so true … the way you behave changes so dramatically depending on who you're with, where you are .. your role in that situation, established relationships with people … established and familiar patterns of behaviour. Wow … I am such a different person, particularly when away from Home and my family, being a particular case in point as I'm finding this whole home-coming experience all consuming and overpowering.…
interruption… Jeff just asked me if I'd like to attempt to climb the very high peak just opposite me … hmmm…. I'm keen! Let's go.
To be continued.
Next day (Saturday I do believe)
Lying under the tarpaulin at Rafters Basin. I feel so emotional… today has been incredible. Yesterday the climb up a steep ravine in an attempt to reach the summit challenged me in a way I haven't really ever been challenged. Sure, I've been bushwalking, snow skiing, waterskiing and all sorts … but I took to them quite easily.
So, to be mentally and physically challenged is new lately. We climbed through thick forest, bushy barky soft embankment and then sheer quartzite cliffs. First real sort of rock-climbing experience and I felt really quite confident ... until I had to come down … where I lost a bit of confidence … but managed to competently descend. I really hate needing help from people … I really have to get over this! … anyway .. we all felt an incredible sense of achievement, picking a path and achieving probably three quarters of the ascent.
I slipped … well my foothold gave way near the top. I slid possibly 1/4 to 1/2 metre down .. and it was quite a steep dangerous slope … but plenty of dead trees to break the fall. It didn't spook me at all … surprisingly … but after that Jeff decided to turn back. He reckoned it was the time factor and weather .. but I wonder.
Whatever … I felt so energised. I haven't challenged myself, like that for such a long time. On any level, but particularly physically.
I had lost enthusiasm for bushwalking because I find it a little boring. I love being out in the bush, but with this stuff you get that AND challenge yourself physically and mentally. (Maybe I just haven't undertaken a really challenging bush walk!).
Hmm…. I think I've fallen in love with the Franklin. I feel like I belong and that it is the most beautiful, spectacular place I've ever been. The Great Ravine was just enchanting, inspiring, immense, and sooo peaceful .. but with such an energy. It has been there for thousands of years .. it does its thing .. it flows free, it is wild and untamed and so powerful … and only the likes of a major scale development could kill it … people can pass through but never really make a significant impact .. just appreciate it and enjoy it.
After our satisfying climb … we all hopped on a raft and paddled backwards to the rapid at the entrance to Serenity Sound where we were camped. We saw the plaque left by John Hawkins' crew in 1959 … 3/1st actually! … saw the caves where you can sleep .. and the dusk light brought the subtle oranges and pink tones out in the rocks just beautifully … the colours of the forest … the deep blackness of the river ….
Later when back at camp I joined Tim on the rocks nearby .. overlooking the rapid at Coruscades (site of my previous diary entry!) … but we chatted so freely and easily about our experiences of the place. We both felt so inspired and motivated by our own possibilities and the enjoyment of both the adventure and challenge of the river and its immense beauty and wildness.
Wow
We both felt so carefree …. Like nothing else in the world mattered. All the problems and decisions facing us at home had really melted into insignificance. Even when I try to think of stuff that gave me such grief before the trip it just had no significance at all.
Now for today's adventure.. We had to portage* 3 rapids … no 4 today. The one at the campsite (Coruscsades), then sidewinder, boat stuck on the rock, Thunderrush.. nearly wrapped … Couldron .. whoa and the 'Wild Thing'."
(* Portages occur when a rapid is too dangerous to run. If the water is a good level, everyone gets out and strategically place themselves along the rapid and get the boat through with ropes. If the water level's too dangerous a high portage is undertaken requiring the whole raft to be unladen, stuff carted around high, narrow tracks, to be put back in to the rafts below the rapid. We didn't have to do any of these higher ones, and fortunately, because they take 5-6 hours and lots of hard work!)
2 days later
God I wish I wrote the rest of that while it was fresh …
That would have to have been one of the most emotionally charged days in my life! We left the most dramatic and consuming area in the Ravine where we'd been camping .. having been truly inspired and relaxed and … for a day of hefty rapid negotiation. I knew it was a big task … but nothing had really prepared me for what I'd experience.
The water level was moderate .. and we had to portage four … all because they were potentially fatal with hidden snags, under cuts and goodness knows what else ….. Pretty intense. We stopped at a wonderful campsite for lunch .. the Crows Nest which overlooks .. can't remember … BUT .. witnessing the enormity of the rapids .. everywhere we went was the sight of huge rocks and big water, and the engulfing, overpowering sound of crashing water Seeing how carefully they needed to be negotiated … the whole scene was all rather humbling. It was the Cauldron though that really got to me.
Apparently because we seemed to be a particularly competent group, they took us through the portage , which involved getting to river right, and pulling up on a rock before it thundered down an incredibly dangerous rapid. The rock on which we were standing, Mike took great pains to emphasise, had water rushing under it. We were all to assist in heaving the boat up and over several rocks and to be sure of our footing.
So, in between assisting the portage, I stood on the rock and watched the water rushing under the rock in front of me. I stood there imagining the horror of falling in, being sucked under the rock and stuck, with my head just able to stick out between rushes of water … get air and signal for help with my arm. Being stuck tight. A large group assembled in an attempt to save me … lines thrown … but to no avail.
Then I tried to imagine being one of those people on the rock and the feeling of powerlessness and absolute sorrow at watching someone die before your very eyes, them in reach with no way of helping.
I snapped out of it, but when I went up to assist with the manouvre, I had to tell Tim what I'd been thinking about. He looked at me as if I was a bit strange for thinking such morbid thoughts. Not much time to dwell though, because what we were about to do involved some pretty hairy stuff!
The rock I'd just been talking of actually had a large flat platform, with a gap between it and the high vertical rock face to its side. The water gushed under this ferociously. The drop to the water would have been 2.5-3 metres. Carefully, the boat was tied to a fastening at the meeting of the rock we were on and the cliff face, and dropped into the water carefully (fully laden remember) and left strung to the rock, thrashing about in the thundering water underneath. We all then jumped off the rock the couple of metres to the boat, took position, thrashed around a little longer, and released the line, being careful to aim ourselves into the safer part of the rapid. That was called 'The Wild Thing'.
A short time later; after a long day, Jeff and Mike both spoke of the weight lifted from their shoulders as we exited through the lower 'gates' of the Great Ravine. It is a huge responsibility for them to get us through safely.
Now, there is a remarkably different landscape, more subtle, with gentle rapids.
Then Jeff told us of the river guide who died at the Cauldron,
His name was Julian, a river guide who had streaked across the rocks to try and save a customer who had fallen in. He slipped and became trapped himself under the very rock I had stood and stared at for so long. The guy I'd spoken to and who runs these trips was at the neighbouring camp site when it happened waiting to go though. He heard the cries for help, and led the rescue attempt. Which failed.
I was mortified. I couldn't believe I had stood there and visualized the scenario so vividly, and it was true.
"...I felt so emotional. After our rest day at the Coruscades the previous day and the overwhelming sense of peace, spirituality being carefree, relaxed and that sense of belonging, to this physically, mentally and emotionally demanding day. I'd also had a fright at one of the rapids earlier in the day when it looked like we might wrap again, but this time falling out meant falling down quite a dangerous rapid. The story of Julian just topped it off and I really had to choke back my tears. The urge to cry didn't go away all night either, and when talking of that day with Anna today, I could feel the emotion well up again."
By the way, the customer he had slipped trying to save, made it through safely.
CAMP AT RAFTERS BASIN AND RAIN NON STOP ALL NIGHT
So, next day, a very steep ascent up Mt McAll, to say our good-byes to Tim, get more supplies, and greet three newies. Strange feeling, our cosy happy group had lost a member with whom we'd all shared an incredible journey, and with whom we now had an ease of communication. Now we had heavier boats with five in ours now (we'd also picked up a heavy, deflated stashed raft to paddle out with us). Such a totally different feel, people (lovely as they were) who had no concept of what we'd all just been through, and the task of building new relationships and experiences lay ahead. The river was also almost in flood. 'Big Water' so Jeff described it. Rapids normally negotiated carefully were completely swamped with water, making the route quite different, such a different feel. The slightest ripple sent water into our boat so most of the time we were up to our knees.
A late start from Mount McAll, and two careful portages saw our light starting to fade, and we had to make it down some pretty hairy rapids before the campsite … which we'd heard was the nicest one on the river, so we all wanted to get there.
Newlands Cascades, the longest run of rapids on the river, and today, BIG! But safe. They looked almost as scary as the portages, but apparently if you fall out you won't die! So, pepped up "We'll probably flip the boat, just hang on to the raft, remember if you can't do that, assume the swim position, on your back, feet down river and go with it. Me thinking … aaarrrghhh … I don't want to fall out of the raft ☹ ….I'm NOT going to fall out of the raft …
So, we went. Our boat first. I had to snigger at that, as Mike had always gone first on the other days! Feeling like sacrificial lambs we head forth, our paddles firmly gripped in our hands, looks of fear and determination on everyone's faces …
MY GOD
I don't know why Jeff bothered calling any commands, FORWARD HARD, BACK PADDLE, BACK LEFT, OVER RIGHT ……
I don't think our paddles were going to make the slightest fucking bit of difference
We just fell into these humongous 'holes', ginormous walls of white water were all I could see. I had no concept of where we were on the river, I had no concept of what everyone else was doing, except the calls Jeff was making over the deafening roar of the water, trying to gulp some air between waves, and see what was over that next wall of water! I think all the other raft looking on would have seen were 5 brightly coloured helmets bob up, because it's for sure the raft wasn't anywhere to be seen, even though were all actually still in it!
BY THIS TIME JEFF’S COMMANDS HAD CHANGED TO …. HAAANNNNG ON …… FUCK …. FUUUUUCKKKKK PADDLE PADDLE HAAAANG ONNNN ARRRRGHHH
I so nearly came away from the raft a few times, but I hung on tight to that gear frame and managed to stay in.
I did so well. I'd hung on for grim death and not fallen out until the last hole in the rapid. And as Byron said in his Virginian accent "you were outa there! I don't know how you stayed in that boat, you were just hangin' on by your toe nail!". And it was true, god knows how I stayed there, because my toenail was the only thing in that raft!
I also lost my paddle. Jeff made an attempt to get it but then he called out to everyone …"BACK PADDLE", paddle HARD., we're going to miss the camp site! The water was running so fast we had to get over river right before being swept further downstream and a walk back up the river to our camp.
Jeff laughed later at his account of the rapid .. he remembered swaying around in the back centre with one hand on me and the other on Byron trying to keep us in.
Everyone made it though, and no one fell out, and we were BUZZING. Everyone was jumping around the campsite on pure adrenaline.
Stuff getting changed, dry and warm, I just want to dance around on the rocks and humm!
Phew.
Copped lots of stick about the paddle. ☹ I can't believe I made it right to the end and then just lost it.
The campsite soon compensated though. It was wonderful. No need for artificial shelters, it was a long overhanging cliff, with lots of little hidey holes, ledges and caves to tuck your sleeping bag into. If it rained (which it did next day) we were completely protected, with the rapids we'd just thrilled ourselves on, right in view.
This spot and the Coruscades in the Great Ravine were my favourites on the river, and we had a rest day at each to enjoy them.
We sat among the cliffs the next morning, me having had the best sleep on the river, eating our banana pancakes and marvelling over the rapids, which had so successfully hurled ourselves down the day before. They were looking so tame now as the river had dropped. So much so Anna was begging for volunteers to run it again with her!
Lots of diary writing that day, but we managed a lovely rock hop up the along the river to a place called Rock Island Bend. The scene of the famous Peter Dombrovskis photo of the Franklin. We actually stood on it and looked up to a rapid called the Pig Trough, which had required careful portaging the day before.
The Pig Trough was named so because just nearby was a small opening with a waterfall, at the bottom of which is a large pool where convicts used to be sent to bathe during the pining days.
Lots of jokes around the camp stove (no fires allowed anywhere in World Heritage areas….), and getting to know our new companions a little better … Byron, Sarah and Simon.
Called it a night quite late (9.30pm! a whole hour and a half after dark!) … and awoke in the middle of the night to a stiff breeze blowing straight into the cliff, and the sound of pelting rain. We were all safe and protected, but waking in the morning light to look out at the river, steeply enclosed on each side, and sheets of sheer horizontal rain whipping past was exhilerating.
We all got up to a BIG breakkie and tried to prolong the wet wetsuit experience as long as possible … you'd think we'd be used to it by now …. Not.
Into the rafts, the next two days would be quite leisurely. Particularly for me as I no longer had a paddle. Feeling quite glum about this I kept my eyes peeled along the river edge to see if my paddle had 'eddied out' along the way.
Until then I was chief bailer ☹.
The lower section of the river is so tame compared to the upper section, but beautiful all the same. The limestone formations contrast with the previous quartzite, and are sharp and spiky… the erosion much more evident. The river banks also showed layers and layers of pebbly sediment (Jeff happily described the geological phenomenon that caused that … which I promptly forgot)… but speccy all the same.
We were treated to the coldest day of our trip so far, (even better if you can't paddle to keep warm!) and as if that wasn't enough to keep us wishing our feet wouldn't drop off into the icy water they had to sit in all day, it hailed on us too. Hip hip fucking hurrah.!
But about an hour or two into the day, SUCCESS! There was my faithful little paddle, having taken the longest solo journey that either Mike or Jeff had seen before, waiting for me in an eddie on the side of the river. I was overjoyed, and promised my paddle faithfully that I would never leave it to face the river on its own again!
I must say I did agree with Jeff over the fact that the Franklin is much more beautiful in mist and rain, but this day was a bit much. Boy did we enjoy the hot coffee that night. We all had to huddle under a tarpaulin with double beanies and thick socks to try and keep dry and warm. It rained constantly.
BUT … it was a big day for my travel companion frog, Frankie. She's not rated much of a mention so far, but she had been happily enjoying the trip and was perched at the bow of the boat, keeping an eye on things. Today was the day the Jane River would enter the Franklin. Ladie Jane Franklin is the woman Frankie is named after.
As a bit of background, Sir John Franklin was the governor of Tasmania (in the 1830s??) and set out on an expedition to explore possibilities for an overland pass from Hobart to Strahan, as an alternative to the long and treacherous sea journeys around Tasmania's south cape. Lady Jane accompanied him.for this demanding trek, in the face of much controversy over a 'woman' doing such a thing back then (ok ok, if I'd known at the time that she actually had 18 convicts along for the trek to carry her many many bags AND a chair for her to sit and be carried on, maybe I wouldn't have found her such an inspiring woman to name Frankie after. I've also read other not so inspirational stuff about the woman ... but that's another story ….)
What they found anyway was almost impassible forest and coming across the river and its steep ravines, blew out their time frame by weeks.
Consequently, the rivers were so named the Franklin, and the Jane.
Frankie now has a proud photie on the raft with the Jane as a backdrop.
This night we were camped amongst some of the biggest trees I've ever seen.
Early night, but a bloody cold one. My sleeping bag and lilo were wet, and I was chilled to the bone. I was also lying under a very strategically placed drip from the tarpaulin which landed right on my cheek if I lay on my back. The only bit sticking out between my sleeping bag and my beanie. Arf. Couldn't move either cos Jeff w as on one side, and the tarpaulin underneath us ran out on the other side.
We were awoken in the middle of the night … by Jeff and Mike jumping up and down on the rafts. The river had risen so much with the rain, that the rafts were beginning to get wedged under the overhanging trees where they'd been moored . We only had half as many steps down a different bank to get to the rafts the next morning though.
Our last day of paddling, our rafts were tied into a freight train arrangement, with all the gear at the back and all of us, very socially, in the front.
Jeff and Mike couldn't believe how high the water was… never seen it so high. Islands were completely submerged with just the tips of trees sticking out, and caves completely submerged.
We stopped at the famous Kutakina Cave, where remains of Aboriginal habitation at the time of the last ice age 21,000 years ago have been found. An absolutely beautiful cave, we sniggered at stories of the schemes dreamt up by the Hydro in their damming mission to cut it out and move it to higher ground (like they'd done with Abu Simbel in Egypt), or the other, to seal it in some sort of perspex/glass viewing enclosure and descend from the flooded waters above….
MmmHmm!
Back on the 'big' water, the one rapid we would have had to portage called 'Big Fall' just ended up being a call from Mike at the back of the raft 'see this little ripple we are now happily surfing over? This is the rapid that has caused the death of two rafters and should normally be avoided at all costs. It would normally be a 2 metre drop into a dangerous stopper (is my newly found white water lingo serving me correctly?) where water will recirculate and churn the unwary paddler around and around with no chance of release.
The funniest one was double fall though, that had turned into a more than bumpy ride, just lots of big waves, but because we'd all been put in one raft, and were connected to the back raft, Mike commented that he'd never seen a raft completely air borne before, and all I could do for the run of about six or seven waves was fall flat on my back and laugh uncontrollably cos I couldn't regain my balance! .. I was sitting so far back on the edge of the raFt with the cross seat under my knee that I couldn't get my foot back far enough to anchor myself up! Everyone else was wondering how someone could cackle so loudly and for so long!
My sides hurt.
Soon we entered the Gordon River. Sad to say goodbye to the Franklin and the amazing journey it had offered, but also looking forward to the next day, when we would sail in comfort out of the Gordon and into Macquarie Harbour, to set sail for Strahan.
First though we were amazed at the difference in water temperatures. We'd turned right at the junction, but if we'd turned left, we would have eventually met the Gordon Dam, and the waters ran unnaturally, deathly cold.. The Franklin, although cold, was not THIS cold.
It was sort of a spooky reminder of just how lucky we'd been to experience the river as we had.
We set up camp on the jetty at Sir Johns Falls, the spot where many cruise boats make their way to from Strahan. Stormbreaker arrived at about 3am in the morning, ready for us to jump on board after a bit more sleep and a pack up.
The weather had turned it on for us. Blue skies with a spot of cloud.
But this day, I managed to challenge myself yet again.
A 75ft mast with a crows nest at the top was the stated challenge. Not many people make it up there, but I was determined to try. I didn't think I could do it at first. The first bit was easy, big wooden steps with sturdy wires to hang on to. But once on the first cross bar, the next two thirds of the ascent is a mast, and tiny tiny metal rungs (probably 4-5cm deep and 10-15cm wide?). Hmm, not much leverage in that. So proclaimed to Mike who'd come up for moral support that I couldn't go any further, and he said, just stand here and chat for a while. Bloody good view … absolutely incredible. The Gordon River with its own twists and turns, and the miles and miles of forest on either side stretched for as far as the eye could see. The wind started blowing, but we were still in the mill-pond waters, so the boat was steady.
Then it just clicked and I started the climb. The trick being to put the sides of your feet on the rungs, rather than your toes.
Easy peasy japanesey! I made it and into the Crows nest, no probs. Getting into the crows nest when that’s as far as it goes was interesting. Trying to grip the back side of the circle and lift your feet high enough to get over and in … hoping my hips would fit through the hole!!! It’s like the shape of a giant bucket on the top of a very big pole …
I was so glad I made it. The most incredible view. Took heaps of photos … and reluctantly came down when it got just too cold to stay there any longer.
Didn't even panic on the way down either!
Tee hee
Next was a debrief with Jeff, our guide who was doing research into peoples experiences of the Franklin trip for his Honours thesis. That was a really good opportunity to debrief and hone in my experience of the trip … and yes, I still got all teary at the thought of that spot at the Couldron.
Funny about that. Reading back through what I've written an overwhelming sense of mortality radiates from the page. Several times I've mentioned hair raising deadly rapids, dangerous portages, raft wraps, high and dangerous climbing up ravines and masts, and of course the incident at the Cauldron.
I suppose these things were worth mentioning because of the exhileration they brought. Drawing strength in proving my ability to face these things (death??) head on and succeed. I wasn't thinking about this consciously … we were just DOING IT, and having exhilerating fun at the time. But the feeling of achievement in retrospect has a lot to do with the risks involved. For me that empowerment also came through my re-inforced sense of respect for the elements, the wilderness, and just how insignificant I really am in the whole scheme of things.
I didn't go on the trip for the thrills and spills, I hadn't really thought them through, I had only focussed on what I wanted to do, which was see, touch, smell, taste and feel The River and to know some of what the world really used to be like before we plagued it. I'm so lucky because I got to be awed by that, as well as pig out on the thrills and spills more than I'd thought.
Thrillseeker me. This stuff pales into insignificance for all the REAL outdoory types!
Sigh ….
We docked in Strahan and puddled around. I'd decided to go on the overland track (the most renowned walk in Australia they say) with the South Australian Jeff on the trip … so had to rush off to buy food. We piled on the bus and began our journey back home. Jeff and I were dropped off at Lake St Claire, and it was with a real come down that I waved goodbye to the bus. Us standing there all forlorn, in the bitingly cold evening air, trying to see positives in the next 5 cold, wet, muddy days out amongst it!
I wished momentarily that I could go straight back to the Collingwood Bridge and start all over again!
I had read that it was the best 14 days of Bob Brown's life when he first paddled the Franklin, and it was a similar experience that I had hoped I would enjoy.
It rates amongst the best days of my life so far.
I'm already dreaming of the day I will return.
But now for my next adventure ……….
Stay tuned!
POST SCRIPT
Quite a bit later: I have now finished Death of a River Guide, and keep marvelling at how wonderful it is to read about a journey I have actually experienced. His book is based around a river guide who drowns saving a 'punter', based on the same event at the Cauldron.
I had picked up the Death of a River Guide before going on the trip, but reading the back cover and discovering it was about someone who had drowned on the river, decided it may be better reading for my return! Maybe that's what planted the seed for my 'vision' (?). I don't know, I hadn't read the details …
Oh … AND I have to leave off with a quote from the Tasmanian Premier at the time of the Dams battle and his opinion of the river at that time:
“The Franklin River is just a leach ridden ditch.”
Dam it.
