Mastering the Murray
Since 2003, southeastern Australia – through which the 2,476-kilometre Murray River flows – has suffered from the most severe drought on record. However, as I hiked away from the river’s boggy source in the remote Pilot Wilderness with snow falling thickly around me, I struggled to believe this statistic. I had stashed most of my kit in a mountain shack some 40 kilometres back along an old fire trail, and was relying on a light pack to hasten my progress to and from the source. On the walk in, the ground had been bone dry and the sky had been clear. But three hours after leaving the source, snow had begun to obscure the track. I was filming a documentary about my expedition, but hadn’t expected to be concerned about my camera getting wet until I reached the paddling phase of the expedition. Although I had originally questioned the need for a lightweight trekking umbrella, in true English spirit I had decided to keep it. The umbrella now proved its usefulness while I filmed solo pieces to camera.
By the second morning, the path was buried under half a metre of snow, and it took several days to return to my main stash of gear using a handheld Garmin GPS, before continuing down the valley to my kayak, which was stored in a farmer’s shed some 100 kilometres along the course of the Murray.
Five metres long, half a metre wide and boasting three spacious storage bulkheads, the kayak was now my home and means of transport. Although essentials could be bought en route, from the outset I was fully prepared for a 65-day paddle. It seemed impossible that all my gear could slot inside the kayak, but each item had a home in a specific order within either the bow, stern or day bulkheads.
Although the Murray’s course along the southern edges of the Australian outback is dotted with towns, once on the water, the longest stretch I spent travelling between settlements was five days. The foot section in the mountains was certainly the most remote, and I had kept an Iridium satellite phone to hand in case of an emergency. Gladly, despite the harsh weather, it remained unused.
My main concern was that everything on board remained dry and usable even in the event of capsize. The length of the boat and the overall weight (including kit) made Eskimo rolling near impossible, so before ‘putting in’ each day, I double-checked everything and fastened down the hatches with standard roof-rack straps. I think these are almost as handy as cable ties on a long expedition.
Gadget power
With a documentary to shoot and an extensive project website to maintain, my electronics inventory read like a Dixons catalogue: a 30-centimetre Samsung laptop with thick neoprene sleeve; a Nikon digital SLR and lenses; a JVC professional video camera; a smaller waterproof video camera (which lived on the deck of the kayak); two 500GB USB-powered portable hard drives; plenty of Secure Digital (SD) cards for recording video and photographs; and two spare batteries for each electronic item. Even with the extra cells, I couldn’t afford to be stuck in the middle of nowhere without the means to charge up the kit, so I used a clamshell solar panel that connected to an external battery pack. This device took four hours of strong sunlight to reach maximum capacity and, in turn, gave either one full charge to my laptop or about 24 hours of charge to my phone and iPod. One thing I could be sure of was that Australia wasn’t going to be shy with its provision of sunshine.
A Telstra Next G USB broadband modem gave me an internet connection on my laptop, assuming that a 3G signal was available (it was, most of the time, even in remote areas). Upload bandwidths using the Next G were often faster than wired connections in urban internet cafés, as rural Australia is yet to capitalise on modern broadband speeds. With charitable objectives as well as a need to promote the project’s aims, being accessible to the media was a prerequisite. A simple mobile phone with a clamshell design (chosen over non-clamshell or touchscreen models to take into account dusty and sandy conditions) served its purpose well.
I spent 46 nights of the expedition beneath the stars, camping on the riverbank. Several sections of the Murray boast sweeping beaches on inside bends, but mosquitoes are trained to attack in this region, which locals call the ‘Deep South’, so sleeping in the open isn’t recommended. Itching aside, southern Australia may be free of malaria, but Ross River virus is a very real threat. With this in mind, I packed a lightweight tent with its inner permanently attached to the flysheet. I was able to pitch the tent in 60 seconds – a skill that came in handy during a number of sudden rainfalls in the Murray’s upper section. I also carried two tarpaulins. One served as a groundsheet and the other was used as a cover from rain and sun. The tarpaulins lived on top of my kayak deck.
I’ve struggled with a bad back for a long time so always carry a tiny inflatable travel pillow, as there’s nothing worse than a sleepless night before 50 kilometres of paddling. A self-inflating Multimat mattress and a sleeping bag with sufficient insulation to protect me at freezing point completed my sleeping set. The latter remained in the kayak during the journey’s later stages, when heat waves took nightly temperatures into the high 30s.
Hot and cold
The Murray is the world’s fourth-longest navigable river. Although it’s considered one of the world’s slowest waterways, the Upper Murray, leading from the source to the Hume Weir near Albury, demanded items of kit and clothing that weren’t necessary lower down. Lightweight, breathable hiking boots for the walking section coped well in both dry conditions and heavy snow. Thermals, neoprene river socks and splash-proof trousers were essential to combat the cold and storms I faced during the first 260 kilometres of paddling – as was a hooded ocean expedition jacket, which also proved invaluable in the freezing temperatures during my walk to and from the source. Palm Multisport gloves warded off the cold at the start of the river and blisters towards the end.
After the swift descent of the Upper Murray, the river flattens out. The final 2,120 kilometres involves a drop of only 160 metres to sea level, and with summer approaching, I could safely post home bulky kit that I wouldn’t need in the imminent heat. Of course, there were a few things that I didn’t have the liberty of discarding. I carried a couple of identical Adventure Technology Ergo two-piece paddles. These devices feature fibreglass shafts and central joints that allowed for a slight extension of length and rotational adjustment to suit my paddling style and level of fatigue. The spare paddle nestled perfectly in the stern bulkhead and didn’t see the light of day throughout the journey. My Palm Kaikoura buoyancy aid was littered with splash-proof front pockets, which were ideal for carrying a tube of sunscreen, a multitool, my iPod and paddle snacks. Most importantly, the Kaikoura was fitted with a pouch and elastic loopholes to house a hydration bladder and tube.
Paddling 50 kilometres each day worked up an appetite. My Primus OmniFuel stove was remarkably cost-effective, and able to operate on almost any fuel I could obtain. One metal saucepan doubled as a bowl, and my Gerber Suspension multitool served me well for food preparation and as an eating implement during mealtimes.
Bare necessities
Always close at hand – usually in the day hatch directly behind my seat – were a few items that I never leave home without. These included a small bundle of cable ties of differing lengths, ten metres of string, two rolls of duct tape, sand pegs for the tent, a couple of retractable tent poles to convert a tarpaulin into a palace, and a small jar of Nutella.
The most important factor to consider when you travel in Australia is the sun, especially when you’re a fair-skinned, red-headed Pommy. I wore Clic sunglasses, which are polarised and designed with a twist: they pop together at the bridge of the nose thanks to a magnet. Sunstroke can hit in an hour under the ozone hole; a single piece of tubular black cloth with a neoprene peak provided protection from ultraviolet rays for my head and neck.
Rarely did a conversation about the journey start with a sentence other than, ‘How are your buttocks holding up?’ Thankfully, they remained blister-free, with prevention being much better than cure, thanks to the seat that comes as standard with the Wilderness Systems Tempest 170 kayak. The boat itself was extraordinary, coping with an overload of kit (some of which was strapped up high on the deck) yet still capable of slicing through the water. Having taken up kayaking just eight months before the expedition began, the exhilaration of being able to carry everything I needed inside a five-metre kayak never waned.
From source to sea – online activity on the murray
I spent months wringing my hands about putting together an expedition that didn’t smack of ‘been done before’. Unfortunately, I was looking at a route that had already been travelled many times. Then there’s charity fundraising. Wow, doesn’t everyone do that, too?
I’m not ashamed to say that I spent hours online each day building a website into a visual representation of my plans. It was a glorified checklist, but one with video and audio, striking images and maps.
I talked to schools during my journey, and the pupils turned to the internet to follow the rest of my trip.
As I floated along the Murray, I discovered how the river is slowly dying as more water is sucked out of it than enters in the first place. I shared what I learned online. Dragging the kayak up onto a sandbar, opening up the solar panel charger and updating the website as pelicans glided past reminded me that I wasn’t just having a holiday. After all, my boat was a floating headquarters.
Ten of the best
With weather ranging from heavy snow to searing Australian sunshine, mosquitoes, fatigue and a bad back to contend with, a documentary to film and a website to update, Dave needed a wide variety of outdoor gear and gadgets on his expedition down the Murray – but it all had to fit inside his kayak. Here are some of the items he found indispensable
Don’t forget…
… if you’re travelling on the water, dry bags are absolutely priceless. They come in a range of sizes and styles. Whatever type you use, always take an extra ten seconds to ensure that they’re closed properly
Dave Cornthwaite set the world record for travelling on a skateboard in 2007 when he skated across Australia. More recently, he swapped road for water. Find out more about Dave’s expeditions at www.davecornthwaite.co.uk
By the second morning, the path was buried under half a metre of snow, and it took several days to return to my main stash of gear using a handheld Garmin GPS, before continuing down the valley to my kayak, which was stored in a farmer’s shed some 100 kilometres along the course of the Murray.
Five metres long, half a metre wide and boasting three spacious storage bulkheads, the kayak was now my home and means of transport. Although essentials could be bought en route, from the outset I was fully prepared for a 65-day paddle. It seemed impossible that all my gear could slot inside the kayak, but each item had a home in a specific order within either the bow, stern or day bulkheads.
Although the Murray’s course along the southern edges of the Australian outback is dotted with towns, once on the water, the longest stretch I spent travelling between settlements was five days. The foot section in the mountains was certainly the most remote, and I had kept an Iridium satellite phone to hand in case of an emergency. Gladly, despite the harsh weather, it remained unused.
My main concern was that everything on board remained dry and usable even in the event of capsize. The length of the boat and the overall weight (including kit) made Eskimo rolling near impossible, so before ‘putting in’ each day, I double-checked everything and fastened down the hatches with standard roof-rack straps. I think these are almost as handy as cable ties on a long expedition.
Gadget power
With a documentary to shoot and an extensive project website to maintain, my electronics inventory read like a Dixons catalogue: a 30-centimetre Samsung laptop with thick neoprene sleeve; a Nikon digital SLR and lenses; a JVC professional video camera; a smaller waterproof video camera (which lived on the deck of the kayak); two 500GB USB-powered portable hard drives; plenty of Secure Digital (SD) cards for recording video and photographs; and two spare batteries for each electronic item. Even with the extra cells, I couldn’t afford to be stuck in the middle of nowhere without the means to charge up the kit, so I used a clamshell solar panel that connected to an external battery pack. This device took four hours of strong sunlight to reach maximum capacity and, in turn, gave either one full charge to my laptop or about 24 hours of charge to my phone and iPod. One thing I could be sure of was that Australia wasn’t going to be shy with its provision of sunshine.
A Telstra Next G USB broadband modem gave me an internet connection on my laptop, assuming that a 3G signal was available (it was, most of the time, even in remote areas). Upload bandwidths using the Next G were often faster than wired connections in urban internet cafés, as rural Australia is yet to capitalise on modern broadband speeds. With charitable objectives as well as a need to promote the project’s aims, being accessible to the media was a prerequisite. A simple mobile phone with a clamshell design (chosen over non-clamshell or touchscreen models to take into account dusty and sandy conditions) served its purpose well.
I spent 46 nights of the expedition beneath the stars, camping on the riverbank. Several sections of the Murray boast sweeping beaches on inside bends, but mosquitoes are trained to attack in this region, which locals call the ‘Deep South’, so sleeping in the open isn’t recommended. Itching aside, southern Australia may be free of malaria, but Ross River virus is a very real threat. With this in mind, I packed a lightweight tent with its inner permanently attached to the flysheet. I was able to pitch the tent in 60 seconds – a skill that came in handy during a number of sudden rainfalls in the Murray’s upper section. I also carried two tarpaulins. One served as a groundsheet and the other was used as a cover from rain and sun. The tarpaulins lived on top of my kayak deck.
I’ve struggled with a bad back for a long time so always carry a tiny inflatable travel pillow, as there’s nothing worse than a sleepless night before 50 kilometres of paddling. A self-inflating Multimat mattress and a sleeping bag with sufficient insulation to protect me at freezing point completed my sleeping set. The latter remained in the kayak during the journey’s later stages, when heat waves took nightly temperatures into the high 30s.
Hot and cold
The Murray is the world’s fourth-longest navigable river. Although it’s considered one of the world’s slowest waterways, the Upper Murray, leading from the source to the Hume Weir near Albury, demanded items of kit and clothing that weren’t necessary lower down. Lightweight, breathable hiking boots for the walking section coped well in both dry conditions and heavy snow. Thermals, neoprene river socks and splash-proof trousers were essential to combat the cold and storms I faced during the first 260 kilometres of paddling – as was a hooded ocean expedition jacket, which also proved invaluable in the freezing temperatures during my walk to and from the source. Palm Multisport gloves warded off the cold at the start of the river and blisters towards the end.
After the swift descent of the Upper Murray, the river flattens out. The final 2,120 kilometres involves a drop of only 160 metres to sea level, and with summer approaching, I could safely post home bulky kit that I wouldn’t need in the imminent heat. Of course, there were a few things that I didn’t have the liberty of discarding. I carried a couple of identical Adventure Technology Ergo two-piece paddles. These devices feature fibreglass shafts and central joints that allowed for a slight extension of length and rotational adjustment to suit my paddling style and level of fatigue. The spare paddle nestled perfectly in the stern bulkhead and didn’t see the light of day throughout the journey. My Palm Kaikoura buoyancy aid was littered with splash-proof front pockets, which were ideal for carrying a tube of sunscreen, a multitool, my iPod and paddle snacks. Most importantly, the Kaikoura was fitted with a pouch and elastic loopholes to house a hydration bladder and tube.
Paddling 50 kilometres each day worked up an appetite. My Primus OmniFuel stove was remarkably cost-effective, and able to operate on almost any fuel I could obtain. One metal saucepan doubled as a bowl, and my Gerber Suspension multitool served me well for food preparation and as an eating implement during mealtimes.
Bare necessities
Always close at hand – usually in the day hatch directly behind my seat – were a few items that I never leave home without. These included a small bundle of cable ties of differing lengths, ten metres of string, two rolls of duct tape, sand pegs for the tent, a couple of retractable tent poles to convert a tarpaulin into a palace, and a small jar of Nutella.
The most important factor to consider when you travel in Australia is the sun, especially when you’re a fair-skinned, red-headed Pommy. I wore Clic sunglasses, which are polarised and designed with a twist: they pop together at the bridge of the nose thanks to a magnet. Sunstroke can hit in an hour under the ozone hole; a single piece of tubular black cloth with a neoprene peak provided protection from ultraviolet rays for my head and neck.
Rarely did a conversation about the journey start with a sentence other than, ‘How are your buttocks holding up?’ Thankfully, they remained blister-free, with prevention being much better than cure, thanks to the seat that comes as standard with the Wilderness Systems Tempest 170 kayak. The boat itself was extraordinary, coping with an overload of kit (some of which was strapped up high on the deck) yet still capable of slicing through the water. Having taken up kayaking just eight months before the expedition began, the exhilaration of being able to carry everything I needed inside a five-metre kayak never waned.
From source to sea – online activity on the murray
I spent months wringing my hands about putting together an expedition that didn’t smack of ‘been done before’. Unfortunately, I was looking at a route that had already been travelled many times. Then there’s charity fundraising. Wow, doesn’t everyone do that, too?
I’m not ashamed to say that I spent hours online each day building a website into a visual representation of my plans. It was a glorified checklist, but one with video and audio, striking images and maps.
I talked to schools during my journey, and the pupils turned to the internet to follow the rest of my trip.
As I floated along the Murray, I discovered how the river is slowly dying as more water is sucked out of it than enters in the first place. I shared what I learned online. Dragging the kayak up onto a sandbar, opening up the solar panel charger and updating the website as pelicans glided past reminded me that I wasn’t just having a holiday. After all, my boat was a floating headquarters.
Ten of the best
With weather ranging from heavy snow to searing Australian sunshine, mosquitoes, fatigue and a bad back to contend with, a documentary to film and a website to update, Dave needed a wide variety of outdoor gear and gadgets on his expedition down the Murray – but it all had to fit inside his kayak. Here are some of the items he found indispensable
Start the slideshow (10 pictures)
Don’t forget…
… if you’re travelling on the water, dry bags are absolutely priceless. They come in a range of sizes and styles. Whatever type you use, always take an extra ten seconds to ensure that they’re closed properly
Dave Cornthwaite set the world record for travelling on a skateboard in 2007 when he skated across Australia. More recently, he swapped road for water. Find out more about Dave’s expeditions at www.davecornthwaite.co.uk
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