I Saw The Murray Princess

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 The sun had barely reached for the snooze button when someone in the factory on the hill turned on loud music and starting banging things. Then the kookaburras joined in and everyone in Bowhill had started the day, whether they wanted to or not.

I started the day by cross-training up the hill and riding along the top of the cliffs.

Up in the Mallee it was hot, humid, and unseasonably green.  The road, while not as bouncy as yesterday, had sufficient up and down to keep me awake. Then along came a sign exhorting me not to bring any fruit or vegetables into the mid-murray agricultural area, and I had to stop at the top of a hill and dutifully eat my banana. I'm glad I did: two road trains roared past while I was snacking.

After 11km I went back to the river at Purnong, and crossed on the ferry. I was the sole passenger and Peter the ferry man was most enthusiastic about my trip. He even stopped the ferry in the middle of the river to allow the best photo opportunities .

"Hold on, let me line it up just right!"

He had captained all the ferries bar Lyrrup, Morgan, and Waikerie, and Purnong was his favourite. "It's not too busy," he said. "I don't like Mannum. It's crazy."

No crazy here.

The ride from Purnong to Cuarnamont was stunning, sandwiched between reedy lagoons and the main river channel. Gnarled and twisted river gums echoed the fantastical patterns and shapes of red, yellow, and ochre in the cliff. 


Pelicans cruised in formation and all manner of shacks clustered around jetties on the water's fringe. Many of them were new, rebuilt on spindly legs after the destruction of the last flood.

Creative shack building.

There was a hill then. Of course there was a hill. And then I slogged along white, hot gravel fringed with mallee. Away in the distance the river was hidden, only hinted at by the irrigation sprinklers in some of the paddocks. As all good hills should, this one finally ended with a glorious descent in to Walker Flat, with a fine display of colourful cliffs and a swathe of bright green lawn opposite the general store. 

At Swamp Hen Reserve I indulged in some polite manoeuvring to wrest a shady spot from under the noses of grey nomads who were attempting to bags the shade and the picnic table for their not-here-yet friends. Silly them, I could fit a tent where a caravan couldn't go and I was more than willing to cede the picnic table for my waterfront shade. I tell you, it's a cut throat world in the free camping zones along the Murray.

Home for the night: Swamp Hen Reserve, Walker Flat.

And then the highlight of my day... as I was victoriously laying out my tent along came the Murray Princess. I got all excited and dropped my tent and ran down to the waterfront to take photos. My neighbours thought I was mad.



That was it for the day then. Apart from a running battle with a bull ant, which I won because I have bigger feet and can stomp.

He was willing to argue the toss, though.

I'll leave you with one last picture of the evening sunlight on the cliffs.



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