Swimming in Chocolate Milk

It was a beautiful day for bicycling, so we followed the Encounter Bikeway along the river from North Goolwa toward the sea.

We started at the beginning, on the premise that this was a sensible place to start.  Or finish, depending on which way you were going.

Back in November a whole heap of rain fell in western and central NSW, causing troublesome flooding and then progressing slowly down the Murray all the way to the sea via the barrages downstream of Goolwa.  The peak of the floods had gone but the river was still high, benign and blue in the morning sunlight, ruffled by a gentle breeze.  Little jetties punctuated the riverbank and in the distance small boats puttered under the Hindmarsh Island bridge, heading out in hopes of catching a fish or two.  Summer, having theoretically ended on the 28th of February, showed up just for the day.

At Goolwa we passed the Cockle train  pulled into the station at the Goolwa wharf, preparing for the first of three return trips to Victor Harbor for the day.  Our grand plan was to get to Victor Harbor in time to catch the last Cockle train back to Goolwa, thereby saving ourselves the tedious task of pedaling back along the Encounter Bikeway to the car.  The Cockle train itself is a story to tell, but that will have to wait for later.

Cockle train on the left, bikeway in the middle, river on the right.

Looking upriver, back toward the wharf and the bridge to Hindmarsh Island.

 

 

 

 

We left the river at Goolwa South, heading over the hills toward Goolwa Beach with exploration of the barrages planned for another day.

Much as I would love to boast of pedaling up and over the hills, we didn't.  We went around them, which was much flatter and more congenial.

The sea, when we met it at Goolwa Beach, was at first glance its usual clear, blue, and sparkling self.

As we moved along the beach the effects of the Murray river floods became evident.  Drifts of fish lay on the sand and filled the crevices between rocks, killed by the sudden injection of silt-laden fresh water into Encounter Bay.  Cappuccino froth topped waves the colour of chocolate milk in the shallow waters of low tide.

No pebbles on this beach, just ripples of fish kill.  It smelled like fish kill, too.

Surfers surfed and children swam in the chocolate-milk waters.  We watched for a while: nobody seemed to be too worried about the colour of the water or the drifts of dead fish. No silty water or fish kill was going to diddle any South Australian out of enjoying being at the beach on what could well be the last proper day of summer.

After all it's good clean silt.  Just don't step on any dead fish...

We left the chocolate sea with it's eau de dead fish behind us without regret, and detoured inland past the ruins of stone farm buildings and one defiant cow.

I made a friend.  I like cattle.

By the time elevenses rolled around we were in Port Elliot and Roger, who had raved for the last year about the Devonshire Tea at the Port Elliot Post Office, had the chance to try it out all over again.  Which he did (and I joined him) and it was every bit as good as advertised.

Scones just out of the oven, cream just whipped, jam made on the premises.

Forget the fancy bakery where all the tourists go: this is where the good stuff is.  Heads up, the scones come out of the oven around 1100.

The last 7km to Victor Harbor were covered at a slower pace, preoccupied as we were with digestion and diverted by the Cockle Train as it passed us by. 

The train gets the best views, the bike path a close second.

With a comfortable couple of hours to while away in Victor Harbor before the train left for Goolwa, we wandered out across the causeway to Granite Island and climbed to the top of the hill.

The causeway was new and boasted a rubberised, low-impact track for the horses who pulled the tram across to the island and back again, loaded with tourists who didn't wish to (or couldn't) trouble their own legs to walk the distance.

From the top.

The waves on the seaward side of Granite Island put on their own show, reminding us that the southern ocean, even on a proxy summer day, should always be treated with caution.

Watch out!  A wave will get you.  Silly boy.

Having safely negotiated the dangers of horse-drawn trams and potential large waves, off we went with great anticipation to catch the Cockle Train back to Goolwa.

And I'll tell you about that in a minute...