While Victoria’s rivers bulged with drought breaking rain, the LUMC X-Treme Creek Team ticked the Darebin Creek (cough cough, “stormwater drain”). Alex, although not a Cave Clan member, has adopted this local creek/ drain as his own. He frequently suggests trips, checks the gauge on the way to work, posts related comments on the Paddle Australia forum, and undertakes related ambassador-like duties such as shopping trolley and truck tire removal, concrete slap polishing and water tasting.
It was inevitable that sooner-or-later Alex would guide us down his run, so one wet, cold and lazy afternoon at the beginning of the mid-year holidays, Claire and I agreed to a quick trip. We donned wetsuits, and under Alex’s tutelage put-in under the Bell Street Bridge where the gauge read 0.75 meters (and rising). We were served our first face-full of water by the little wave beneath the bridge. The rain persisted for most of the trip, and the increased volume of water in the narrow creek channel made for a surprisingly swift run.
We paddled past bemused joggers and cyclists, picked the odd flower from the bank, played polo with a washed-up basketball, ploughed through the wave trains and raced the ducks downstream. Claire scouted from the eddy above an interesting wave and we all filed down until a river-wide clump of willow trees blocked our path. The writhing mass of roots and branches could be negotiated via an almost non-existent trickle at either the extreme left or right bank. Claire and Alex remained in their boats and hauled themselves over the low-lying rocks. Instead, I passed to the right relatively unencumbered, tried waiting for the others, but was washed down the main rapid. Here the gradient dropped significantly (I was surprised), and the course widened. I bounced down a series of sketchy rocks, (concrete slabs?) and signalled to the others who were still struggling upstream. Claire ran the rapid like a pro but came unstuck in an easier section when she failed to anticipate the sturdiness of a shoulder height tree branch. The shallow creek bed preventing her roll, but even after a quick swim in the muck Claire was smiling. A little cold, but not deterred, Claire emptied her boat and set a cracking pace down to our next obstacle.
Concrete steps set into the creek bed allow park users to cross the creek when it is not in flood, and with the onset of rain these have the potential to form waves and holes. Our level was on the low side of runnable, so we faced a number of scrappy narrow rapids. The short, tight, and fast rapids required some interesting navigation and balance. Amongst the concrete obstacles a small footbridge appeared, so we carefully avoided it and after a little more paddling enjoyed two more ‘stepping stone’ rapids.
We were losing light rapidly, and by the time we passed under the towering Hurstbridge train line it was pretty dark. The creek became increasingly narrow and snaked its path at the base of residential properties. An interesting logjam required an unnerving duck under a felled tree, and the creek soon met the Yarra River at the slalom training site.
This run would have more potential at a slightly higher level, but was surprisingly enjoyable due to the fast moving water and unique narrow and turbulent sections of white/ grey/ brown? water. I was most impressed by the narrow one-sided gorge-like sections where a high rock bank accentuated the narrowness of the creek. The speed of the water was similarly impressive.
I always love paddling an unknown section of river. The uncertainty, anticipation and realisation of all this flowing water always provide a surprise or two.
Be sure to ask Alex about his next urban adventure.
Note: Darebin Creek flows past the western boundary of La Trobe Uni. If its raining heavily check the Melbourne Water website and carry your boat over. Putting in at Plenty Road would have you about 3km above the Bell Street put-in described above.
--Mikey
Showing posts with label paddling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paddling. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Wednesday, 2 August 2006
Paddling the Avon - July 2006
Every now and again the weather shifts from the predominately westerly patterns to that mysterious and magical easterly direction. Typically this upsets the applecart to the extent that it rains a lot in a place with unreliable rainfall at best – deepest, darkest Gippsland.
After experiencing moderate success on the Rubicon the weekend before (the rocks were well lubricated) I was fired up to hit up some (higher) quality, more voluminous water. It just happened that president Mikey was unburdened by his heavy course load on that day and could also come. So we hatched a plan. The plan would involve us driving to the Avon River, roughing it at the put in and paddling down to the Wombat road where a pre-placed bicycle would aid us in returning to Mikey’s van. Luckily I remembered that Monash Bushwalking Club member and all-round carnie (short for carnival-folk) Bron lived in Sale.
On the premise that Bron could come paddling with us if she let us stay at her house, we stayed in Sale that night. Mikey’s snoring was verging on spectacularly annoying before I found an alternative and we finally left Bron’s crib at the leisurely hour of 10am.
After dropping Bron’s four wheel drive beast (Ford Laser) at the Wombat road put out, we headed to Hugget’s crossing (the put in) in Mikey’s slightly less beastly van. With wheels spinning we bounced our way to the put in and got in to some latex and rubber.
Paul and Alex fit Mikey with a homemade deck
Suited up and ready to go, we were pleased to discover that unlike the weekend before, everyone actually had a full set of gear and we didn’t have to rig up a homemade-poncho-spraydeck. The river took on an initially gentle character, with the odd bit of moving water as the river snaked its way through a channel hemmed in by attractive native vegetation and was generally quite pleasant.
Perhaps thirty minutes in the rapids started to get more interesting, with a fun section of continuous class II for around 500 meters. From my previous adventures I knew we would soon reach the Avon river Channels, the crux of the river and most interesting set of rapids. Without much further ado, we reached the Channels and set about having a look.
Bron and Mikey on the Avon
The Channels is a 500m long ‘sub-gorge’ of sorts – the river channels (surprise surprise) down in to a mini-gorge that is perhaps five meters wide and boxed in by three meter high rock walls. The four rapids are linked by fast moving water and you would probably not be able to exit the river until you reached the end of the channels if you swam. With this in mind, and having scouted the entire channels, I positioned myself on one side with a camera (and a throwbag) while Mikey and Bron walked back up for a run.
The run was successfully executed, with Mikey and Bron both going deep on the third major rapid. Due to its continuous nature and the need to follow a line, the Channels rapid warrants a class III rating – both Mikey and Bron agreed it was the most fun rapid that they had run.
Buoyed by the success of their run, Bron and Mikey were motivated to carry their boats up the tricky banks for another run with me. This time Mikey was the cameraman (and chief throwbag technician) and followed us down when we had completed our run. Hats of to Bron, who wouldn’t know how to roll if her life depended on it, for successfully running the channels twice without swimming (Luckily Mikey knew how to roll).
Mikey on the Avon
After the excitement of the channels, everyone was pretty fired up, which in one sense is a shame as it doesn’t get nearly as exciting anywhere else on the river, though there are a bunch of fun class II rapids to contend with to the takeout. One of the nice things about the Avon, as opposed to most other Victorian rivers, is the fact that until the last 30 minutes of the trip there are no blackberry bushes or willow trees – hopefully it will stay this way!
Bron managed a swim on an uneventful rapid, but this was overshadowed by her achievements on the Channels, so we gave her less crap than usual. By this stage, owing to the strange paddling style I engage in (canoe or C1), my knees were fairly fucked and I would have jumped at the chance for an above the knee amputation. To counter this I swapped Mikey’s pleasure cruiser for my mobile torture chamber and had a relaxing, pain free 20 minutes until Mikey wanted to swap back.
Tim and Bron on the Avon
Three hours after starting out we reached the put out and Bron’s car. Loading the boats on after getting changed, we made the drive back to Hugget’s crossing. Shortly after dumping the boats at the top of the final hill (we didn’t think the laser would make it down with the boats on) we bumped in to a random/space cadet called Kel who, in response to questions about whether or not he thought Mikey’s van would make it up the hill told us the van would “shit it in” and that “it’s grippier in the wet” though he had doubts about the Laser.
As it turned out, the Laser, despite being front wheel drive and having no clearance made it with little trouble. The same could not be said for Mikey’s van. Whilst being rear wheel drive and having lots of clearance is about as close to 4WD as you can get without being 4WD, we had some serious traction issues. After a bit of mucking around, we decided that, given the van was perched precariously on 3 wheels with no hope of driving up the hill, we’d seek some outside assistance.
Bron had a contact in the Sale CFA who would be able to help, but they could not get there for a couple of hours. Luckily we found a farmhouse that had a Toyota Hilux (i.e. Proper 4WD) and they were only too happy to help us out of our little predicament and even provided us with tea and biscuits afterwards which was very civilised.
All in all it was a fun adventure, made more so by the fact that we didn’t roll Mikey’s van and aside from me hitting my head on the Hilux’s door, free of injury...
---Timmy
After experiencing moderate success on the Rubicon the weekend before (the rocks were well lubricated) I was fired up to hit up some (higher) quality, more voluminous water. It just happened that president Mikey was unburdened by his heavy course load on that day and could also come. So we hatched a plan. The plan would involve us driving to the Avon River, roughing it at the put in and paddling down to the Wombat road where a pre-placed bicycle would aid us in returning to Mikey’s van. Luckily I remembered that Monash Bushwalking Club member and all-round carnie (short for carnival-folk) Bron lived in Sale.
On the premise that Bron could come paddling with us if she let us stay at her house, we stayed in Sale that night. Mikey’s snoring was verging on spectacularly annoying before I found an alternative and we finally left Bron’s crib at the leisurely hour of 10am.
After dropping Bron’s four wheel drive beast (Ford Laser) at the Wombat road put out, we headed to Hugget’s crossing (the put in) in Mikey’s slightly less beastly van. With wheels spinning we bounced our way to the put in and got in to some latex and rubber.
Paul and Alex fit Mikey with a homemade deck
Suited up and ready to go, we were pleased to discover that unlike the weekend before, everyone actually had a full set of gear and we didn’t have to rig up a homemade-poncho-spraydeck. The river took on an initially gentle character, with the odd bit of moving water as the river snaked its way through a channel hemmed in by attractive native vegetation and was generally quite pleasant.
Perhaps thirty minutes in the rapids started to get more interesting, with a fun section of continuous class II for around 500 meters. From my previous adventures I knew we would soon reach the Avon river Channels, the crux of the river and most interesting set of rapids. Without much further ado, we reached the Channels and set about having a look.
Bron and Mikey on the Avon
The Channels is a 500m long ‘sub-gorge’ of sorts – the river channels (surprise surprise) down in to a mini-gorge that is perhaps five meters wide and boxed in by three meter high rock walls. The four rapids are linked by fast moving water and you would probably not be able to exit the river until you reached the end of the channels if you swam. With this in mind, and having scouted the entire channels, I positioned myself on one side with a camera (and a throwbag) while Mikey and Bron walked back up for a run.
The run was successfully executed, with Mikey and Bron both going deep on the third major rapid. Due to its continuous nature and the need to follow a line, the Channels rapid warrants a class III rating – both Mikey and Bron agreed it was the most fun rapid that they had run.
Buoyed by the success of their run, Bron and Mikey were motivated to carry their boats up the tricky banks for another run with me. This time Mikey was the cameraman (and chief throwbag technician) and followed us down when we had completed our run. Hats of to Bron, who wouldn’t know how to roll if her life depended on it, for successfully running the channels twice without swimming (Luckily Mikey knew how to roll).
Mikey on the Avon
After the excitement of the channels, everyone was pretty fired up, which in one sense is a shame as it doesn’t get nearly as exciting anywhere else on the river, though there are a bunch of fun class II rapids to contend with to the takeout. One of the nice things about the Avon, as opposed to most other Victorian rivers, is the fact that until the last 30 minutes of the trip there are no blackberry bushes or willow trees – hopefully it will stay this way!
Bron managed a swim on an uneventful rapid, but this was overshadowed by her achievements on the Channels, so we gave her less crap than usual. By this stage, owing to the strange paddling style I engage in (canoe or C1), my knees were fairly fucked and I would have jumped at the chance for an above the knee amputation. To counter this I swapped Mikey’s pleasure cruiser for my mobile torture chamber and had a relaxing, pain free 20 minutes until Mikey wanted to swap back.
Tim and Bron on the Avon
Three hours after starting out we reached the put out and Bron’s car. Loading the boats on after getting changed, we made the drive back to Hugget’s crossing. Shortly after dumping the boats at the top of the final hill (we didn’t think the laser would make it down with the boats on) we bumped in to a random/space cadet called Kel who, in response to questions about whether or not he thought Mikey’s van would make it up the hill told us the van would “shit it in” and that “it’s grippier in the wet” though he had doubts about the Laser.
As it turned out, the Laser, despite being front wheel drive and having no clearance made it with little trouble. The same could not be said for Mikey’s van. Whilst being rear wheel drive and having lots of clearance is about as close to 4WD as you can get without being 4WD, we had some serious traction issues. After a bit of mucking around, we decided that, given the van was perched precariously on 3 wheels with no hope of driving up the hill, we’d seek some outside assistance.
Bron had a contact in the Sale CFA who would be able to help, but they could not get there for a couple of hours. Luckily we found a farmhouse that had a Toyota Hilux (i.e. Proper 4WD) and they were only too happy to help us out of our little predicament and even provided us with tea and biscuits afterwards which was very civilised.
All in all it was a fun adventure, made more so by the fact that we didn’t roll Mikey’s van and aside from me hitting my head on the Hilux’s door, free of injury...
---Timmy
Tuesday, 13 December 2005
Wilson’s Prom - 10 – 12 Dec 2005
(Alex, Megan, Shaggy, Mikey, Dave, Sarah, Alicia, Clare, Sofia, Corey, Kurt)
Saturday – Enormous death waves of doom
We’d secured a campsite late on Friday night, after driving down from Melbourne. I woke up alone in my little blue tent on Saturday morning, and felt compelled to get up and check out this place. I’d never been to the Prom before, despite many plans being made. I wandered out across Tidal River with my camera, and did a loop up and over to the Norman Bay lookout, then down back to camp, worried I’d be late, holding the others up. No such problem, a few people were beginning to get out of bed, most of them were still asleep.
Mikey the grim paddling reaper
Much time, and sorting things out. Finally the hikers left, off to do the Prom classic loop. The kayers – me, Alex, Mikey, Dave and Shaggy – were looking dubiously at how windy it was. The surf was going to be too high for us to do our planned overnight trip. We decided to haul the boats down to the beach and test out this whole sea kayaking thing. Mikey and Dave in one double, Alex and I in the Dagger double, and Shaggy in a single. The surf looks enormous; we just jump in the boat and start paddling. Huge waves keep breaking on me – stuck out the front of the double, my deck is crushed in on me. I start taking on water, as my deck flops around helplessly. I can’t stop paddling for long enough to put it back on. It’s intense, the waves are huge, even when we’re out past the breakers, we’re going up and down so far, the front of the kayak rises me up and then dumps me down again, to be faced by another huge wall of water. Shaggy was dumped by the surf a few times, and couldn’t make it out. The guys in the other double are out here too though. We decide to go back to shore.
David and Mikey setting out again
Alex doesn’t want to head straight back in though. The waves are huge, and he’s worried about dislocating his shoulder again if we get dumped. Instead we take the dubious ‘easy’ option of finding a place to park the boat on the rocks. After a failed attempt that nearly sees us being smashed onto the wrong rocks, we ease ourselves into a relatively quiet spot, and jump out, pulling the boat out of the ocean’s reach. I feel the wind as soon as we get out, and pretty soon I get cold, as I’m soaking wet. I find a spot to curl up in the sun, Alex finds the other guys to bring the boat back in – neither of us really feel like it now.
So, no kayak touring. We head up Tidal River instead, to see what is there. Mangroves mainly, and then a dead end. Back to camp, we collapse on the grass, before deciding to hike over to Squeaky Beach for a boulder. We finally return to camp, cook dinner, drinking port, beer, cider. Alex and I sleep out on the grass, it’s a nice night.
Alex's disembodied head lying on a granite slab
Shaggy's pseudo crack-jamming
Sunday – Surf and sun
The next morning the wind is hardly there. I wake up gradually, with the German children from the campsite nextdoor curiously wandering over and asking their family questions about what on earth we’re doing outside in our sleeping bags. The guys get up, we breakfast, and we decide to head out and play again – the idea of doing an actual tour is raised, but the wind forecast doesn’t look great for the afternoon. So, we go through the routine of hauling the heavy boats back down to the river again, then down to the bay.
David and Mikey playing in the baby surf
The surf is pleasantly small, and we all get out without a problem, then spend some time surfing. Well, Alex and I only ride one wave in, then he doesn’t want to play that game anymore, and I take photos of the others surfing. We retire to a sunny cove for lunch, then drive over to Whisky Bay for a quick boulder (and geocache).
Shaggy and Megan playing jellybean challenge
We drive back to camp at 5, and discover the hikers are already back, with mango all over their faces. Time passes, the weekenders leave, and the rest of us (Alex, me, Alicia, Sofia, Kurt, Corey) go up to the lookout to cook dinner as the sun sets.
Sunset dinner (L-R: Kurt, Sofia, Alicia, Alex, Corey)
Monday – Afternoon strolls in Victoria
Monday morning is windy. Everyone sits around trying to work out what to do. Eventually the hiking crew decides to head up Mt Oberon, I talk Alex into walking across to Sealer’s Cove at least. We’d been thinking about doing the full Prom loop, but Alex kept complaining about his sunburnt back, and it being too late. We drive up to the Mt Oberon carpark, and set off through the burnt bushland by midday. The wind isn’t warm, but as we hike we warm up, even running a few sections – although as we’re just wearing Chaco’s, the running doesn’t go for that long. In no time at all, we’re at Sealer’s Cove. The decision had pretty much been made by then – we’re going to do the full loop. We walk across the beach and up, arriving at Refuge Cove by 2.30pm – two yachts are moored there, but it isn’t looking much like a refuge at the moment, the wind is making it thoroughly choppy. As we draw closer to Waterloo Bay, the bush is burnt again. The view down to the ocean shows orange rocks and blue ocean, peeking out between black trunks and green regrowth. We don’t stop at Waterloo Bay, instead keep hiking to the east, on an unpleasantly sandy trail that makes walking difficult.
Alex heading through rebuilt boardwalk in a burnt section near Waterloo Bay
Sections of bridge through swampland have been burnt by the fires, and recently replaced. Flies swarm all over us – it’s the first time they’ve made an appearance. We keep walking, up onto a sand dune ridgeline, then finally to a junction, and start the final 7km back up an unexciting 4wd track back to the Mount Oberon carpark. By now the Chacos aren’t feeling quite so comfortable – there are a couple of chafe spots, and the distance seems to take a lot longer to cover. We keep hiking up and up. But finally, the car. 35km and 7 hours later, we’re back.
Megan with the Roaring Meg sign :)
Back at camp, we find the Mt Oberon crew is still here – we’d got a text message from them saying they were going to go home, and not stay for Tuesday – the weather forecast wasn’t looking very good. We all decide to leave, but first, a shower, filthy feet are washed, and we load up the boats. Then a long drive back to Melbourne.
--Megan--
Saturday – Enormous death waves of doom
We’d secured a campsite late on Friday night, after driving down from Melbourne. I woke up alone in my little blue tent on Saturday morning, and felt compelled to get up and check out this place. I’d never been to the Prom before, despite many plans being made. I wandered out across Tidal River with my camera, and did a loop up and over to the Norman Bay lookout, then down back to camp, worried I’d be late, holding the others up. No such problem, a few people were beginning to get out of bed, most of them were still asleep.
Mikey the grim paddling reaper
Much time, and sorting things out. Finally the hikers left, off to do the Prom classic loop. The kayers – me, Alex, Mikey, Dave and Shaggy – were looking dubiously at how windy it was. The surf was going to be too high for us to do our planned overnight trip. We decided to haul the boats down to the beach and test out this whole sea kayaking thing. Mikey and Dave in one double, Alex and I in the Dagger double, and Shaggy in a single. The surf looks enormous; we just jump in the boat and start paddling. Huge waves keep breaking on me – stuck out the front of the double, my deck is crushed in on me. I start taking on water, as my deck flops around helplessly. I can’t stop paddling for long enough to put it back on. It’s intense, the waves are huge, even when we’re out past the breakers, we’re going up and down so far, the front of the kayak rises me up and then dumps me down again, to be faced by another huge wall of water. Shaggy was dumped by the surf a few times, and couldn’t make it out. The guys in the other double are out here too though. We decide to go back to shore.
David and Mikey setting out again
Alex doesn’t want to head straight back in though. The waves are huge, and he’s worried about dislocating his shoulder again if we get dumped. Instead we take the dubious ‘easy’ option of finding a place to park the boat on the rocks. After a failed attempt that nearly sees us being smashed onto the wrong rocks, we ease ourselves into a relatively quiet spot, and jump out, pulling the boat out of the ocean’s reach. I feel the wind as soon as we get out, and pretty soon I get cold, as I’m soaking wet. I find a spot to curl up in the sun, Alex finds the other guys to bring the boat back in – neither of us really feel like it now.
So, no kayak touring. We head up Tidal River instead, to see what is there. Mangroves mainly, and then a dead end. Back to camp, we collapse on the grass, before deciding to hike over to Squeaky Beach for a boulder. We finally return to camp, cook dinner, drinking port, beer, cider. Alex and I sleep out on the grass, it’s a nice night.
Alex's disembodied head lying on a granite slab
Shaggy's pseudo crack-jamming
Sunday – Surf and sun
The next morning the wind is hardly there. I wake up gradually, with the German children from the campsite nextdoor curiously wandering over and asking their family questions about what on earth we’re doing outside in our sleeping bags. The guys get up, we breakfast, and we decide to head out and play again – the idea of doing an actual tour is raised, but the wind forecast doesn’t look great for the afternoon. So, we go through the routine of hauling the heavy boats back down to the river again, then down to the bay.
David and Mikey playing in the baby surf
The surf is pleasantly small, and we all get out without a problem, then spend some time surfing. Well, Alex and I only ride one wave in, then he doesn’t want to play that game anymore, and I take photos of the others surfing. We retire to a sunny cove for lunch, then drive over to Whisky Bay for a quick boulder (and geocache).
Shaggy and Megan playing jellybean challenge
We drive back to camp at 5, and discover the hikers are already back, with mango all over their faces. Time passes, the weekenders leave, and the rest of us (Alex, me, Alicia, Sofia, Kurt, Corey) go up to the lookout to cook dinner as the sun sets.
Sunset dinner (L-R: Kurt, Sofia, Alicia, Alex, Corey)
Monday – Afternoon strolls in Victoria
Monday morning is windy. Everyone sits around trying to work out what to do. Eventually the hiking crew decides to head up Mt Oberon, I talk Alex into walking across to Sealer’s Cove at least. We’d been thinking about doing the full Prom loop, but Alex kept complaining about his sunburnt back, and it being too late. We drive up to the Mt Oberon carpark, and set off through the burnt bushland by midday. The wind isn’t warm, but as we hike we warm up, even running a few sections – although as we’re just wearing Chaco’s, the running doesn’t go for that long. In no time at all, we’re at Sealer’s Cove. The decision had pretty much been made by then – we’re going to do the full loop. We walk across the beach and up, arriving at Refuge Cove by 2.30pm – two yachts are moored there, but it isn’t looking much like a refuge at the moment, the wind is making it thoroughly choppy. As we draw closer to Waterloo Bay, the bush is burnt again. The view down to the ocean shows orange rocks and blue ocean, peeking out between black trunks and green regrowth. We don’t stop at Waterloo Bay, instead keep hiking to the east, on an unpleasantly sandy trail that makes walking difficult.
Alex heading through rebuilt boardwalk in a burnt section near Waterloo Bay
Sections of bridge through swampland have been burnt by the fires, and recently replaced. Flies swarm all over us – it’s the first time they’ve made an appearance. We keep walking, up onto a sand dune ridgeline, then finally to a junction, and start the final 7km back up an unexciting 4wd track back to the Mount Oberon carpark. By now the Chacos aren’t feeling quite so comfortable – there are a couple of chafe spots, and the distance seems to take a lot longer to cover. We keep hiking up and up. But finally, the car. 35km and 7 hours later, we’re back.
Megan with the Roaring Meg sign :)
Back at camp, we find the Mt Oberon crew is still here – we’d got a text message from them saying they were going to go home, and not stay for Tuesday – the weather forecast wasn’t looking very good. We all decide to leave, but first, a shower, filthy feet are washed, and we load up the boats. Then a long drive back to Melbourne.
--Megan--
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