This has been our second day at Simon's house, perched high above the Burnett River (I prefer to think of the river as the great grey-green Limpopo, courtesy of Rudyard Kipling). In spite of the driest spell on record, the river is high and Simon is concentrating on keeping his increasingly waterwise garden alive. He had planted a multitude of grevilleas and other bird attracting shrubs and trees. His firepit and paved seating area hold pride of place. Birds fill his garden with colour and sound. Young honeyeaters and magpies amuse us with their antics. I would have to admit, that as an alternative to our beloved Goldfields, his home is pretty close to paradise.
This afternoon we donned togs, shirts, hats and sunblock and prepared to re-enact "Swallows and Amazons" on the Burnett. Almost as an afterthought, we asked Simon for a couple of life vests. As an experienced canoeist, he didn't see the need for one himself.
Down the steep steps to the river. Cleverley concealed in the undergrowth were Simon's stash of canoes. We chose to try the double canoe, which may have been rather too ambitious on our first nautical adventure together.
Taking several attempts to negotiate ourselves into the aforementioned canoe, we wobbled our way up the river. After a couple of close calls, I really felt we were getting the hang of this canoeing caper. Oh, the foolishness of smugness.
I had just been delighted by the sight of a freshwater turtle and congratulating ourselves at our prowess when we lurched first one way, then the other, backwards and forwards until the inevitable happened and disaster struck. The canoe capsized and we were in the river.
Thank heavens for our life vests. I didn't have to worry about buoyancy whilst I was laughing so hard. Fortunately, we were relatively close to the shoreline, so after swimming the upturned canoe to standing depth, we righted it and prepared to board again.
Easier said than done. Twice, I manoeuvred my bottom into the front seat. Twice, Michael tried to step in and seat himself. Twice more, we ended up in the drink. Eventually, I staged a mutiny and ordered Michael to embark first. I wiggled my way into the vessel and struggled with all the elegance of a landed whale to become upright in my seat.
Once settled, we set off back down the river, Michael now in the front driving position and me behind him. I practised my paddling and actually became rather enthused with my improvement. My only real issue was the strength of my right arm as opposed to my left arm. Periodically, I had to concentrate on veering right so we wouldn't end up snagged on any obstacle closer to shore.
As we crossed the river for the Final Push towards our starting point, the water was becoming quite choppy. Michael insisted on providing the horsepower. I become a tad apprehensive as I was just starting to warm up again after our previous dunking in the waters of the Burnett. Imagine my relief as we closed in on the bank and I grabbed the trunk of a submerged tree to steady us.
I believe the fault was all Michael's. He was driving and supposed to be stopping. The canoe tipped. Again. I clung to the tree with all the perseverance of Wylie Coyote attempting to stave off catastrophe. All in vain. The canoe rolled and we were in the water. This time, Michael swallowed half the river. This was totally out of character for him as I am usually the one with my mouth open. After recording our latest mishap for posterity, Simon helped us right the canoe and we clambered gratefully onto the river bank.
Have these dunkings put us off? Absolutely not. Tomorrow, I hope to launch forward once more, this time solo. So, when I do capsize (note the word "when"), I will be unable to blame my fate on my beloved Michael.
Hi ho, hi ho...
Before mayhem ensued...
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