“Where's the bloody river this time?”

Yet another frustrated cry from Wayne, in the rear of the canoe. Yet another bank of 2 metre high reeds. As the bow occupant it was my job to jump out into the knee deep, muddy brown water and drag the Tub (as our craft was now affectionately known) in whatever direction I sensed there might be some water. This was the mighty Wimmera River in western Victoria and we termed our progress down it's choked waters 'uncanoeing'.

It was 21 days and 750km since we'd paddled down a somewhat more water infested Yarra River from opposite Flinders Street Station in Melbourne. It would be another 24 days and 1200km before we'd reach Adelaide by a somewhat contorted route taking in the best bushwalking, canoeing (well the Wimmera did have it's good points) and mountain biking between the two cities. No petrol powered transport along the way.

Whilst most of my previous City2City journey from Melbourne2Sydney had been alone, this time I was joined by Wayne Byard. Wildlife artist and ski lodge manager, Wayne was more than happy to escape the appalling 1998 season. In fact when skiing across a salt lake in western Victoria just before our Wimmera voyage, a comment was made that it was about as good a ski as we'd had all year.

3 days of enjoyable sea kayaking across Port Phillip Bay to Queenscliff had seen the skyline of Melbourne recede. Clear weather was a real bonus, particularly for the 15km open water crossing from Point Cook to Portarlington although things got a bit bumpy on the morning into Queenscliff. The location of the first of many changeovers but where was our trusty support team? An hour or so later, Mark and Sarah turned up with 'Sorry, we slept in' apologies. Our bikes took us to Bells Beach before a walk along to the Otways via the Surf Coast Walk. Remembered only for the fact that, after Anglesea, it didn't go anywhere near the surf and much of it was along boring fire trail with electricity pylons buzzing overhead. Beyond this, however, we had nothing but praise for the Otways Ranges and coastline.

Two cold, wet but very enjoyable days on the mountain bikes saw us climbing high onto the Otways up not so Gentle Annie Track and on towards Mt Sabine. It was bitterly cold when we stopped for lunch with the odd hail storm thrown in to douse us good and proper. Camp was made near Mt Sabine Falls. The wet weather with occasional sunray showers accentuated the lushness of the vegetation and the magnificence of the trees many locals are trying hard to protect from the chainsaw. Our descent to Marengo and sea level was 'interesting' and resulted in a pact for the rest of the trip never to say 'Oh I think we'll be there by lunchtime'. Dangerous thoughts! A couple of hours of head scratching and map studying, carrying bikes down beautiful fern choked, ankle deep mossy old tracks saw us finally hit the spot - the track down into the Barham Valley. Mark and Sarah looked smug in the van as we rode into the council campground at Marengo in pouring rain. Our filthy, wet appearance belying an inner happiness.

If you're ever looking for a challenging spectacular coast walk in this continent of magnificent coastline, I can well recommend the Otways. For the next 4 days we walked along deserted beaches, dodged pounding surf below the cliffs, scrambled precariously around and up these cliffs. All the while accompanied by 'change a minute' weather. Despite our best efforts at staying at sea level, we were forced to take to the cliffs three times before Blanket Bay. The worst of these was the last. Some five metres up a slimy black cliff, hanging desperately onto miserable little grass tufts, Wayne decided he could go no further. Some 2metres to his right I reckoned I might be able to go further but could certainly not reverse the climb. I watched as Wayne slipped off his pack, sent it tumbling down the cliff and followed it down in a slightly more controlled manner. I continued scrambling up. Luckily Wayne found another way up and we met up ahead of a thick bush bash to Blanket Bay and camp.

The following day would take us through to Aire River. On a beach before Point Franklin we almost walked on top of a camouflaged seal whose bark sent us both jumping out of our skins. Some great scrambling along rock platforms platforms, being caught out by the odd wave. Then up to Cape Otway lighthouse and ice creams at the kiosk along with the tourists diverting from their Great Ocean Road drive. In came the rain again as we followed an inland route toward Aire River. The pouring rain coupled with some appalling foot problems meant I was just glad to lie down in the tent at the very peaceful Aire River inlet.

I often wonder whether I walk to reach fine campsites or whether I camp to visit fine walking areas. The following night, at Milenesia Beach, was one of those very special camps. The end of a hard but rewarding day, a sky that turned from dark black to bright blue to golden orange in the space of 2 hours, a patch of grass by a clear creek on a deserted beach. Our first swim since Melbourne - a liitle cool. The walking had called for some careful navigation to find the easiest route across cliff tops. In places some new track marking helped - the result of work done by the Geelong Bushwalking Club with the help of a Conservation Alliance grant.

A full morning's walk took us to Moonlight Head to swap boots for bikes, to leave the Otways and ride via the Twelve Apostles, then inland via Cobden, Camperdown and Dunkeld to the Grampians over 3 days. Looking up on a freezing cold, grey morning near Dunkeld we saw snow covered summits. It was 27th October and we later heard this unseasonally late cold snap had destroyed much of the Wimmera wheat crop.

Our walk across the Grampians began at Jimmy Creek. It was my first visit to these mountains and I was impressed by the rocky ridges, sharp summits and views over vast plains. We followed the Major Mitchell Trail for the next two days with a camp at First Wannon Creek. Much of this was pleasant open walking with great views. Mt William, at 1160 metres, the highest point between Melbourne and Adelaide, was defiled by the great array of radio dishes and masts. A downside of satisfying our modern day communication needs.

The descent was hardly inspiring as our planned track had a sign indicating it 'was closed due to the unsafe nature of the track' so we followed the summit road. The climb up onto Mt Rosea was long but enjoyable as we ignored further 'track closed' signs with no dramas. Apparently this is all about the dreaded Fear of Liability disease sweeping the world. 25 tracks closed in the Grampians National Park 'in case someone has an accident and sues us'. How sad it will be if the only walking left available to us would be along concrete walkways with handrails.

The late afternoon sun, 360 degree views and solitude all made the 1009 metre summit of Mt Rosea a very desirable spot to spend a night. A patch of grass amongst the summit rocks just big enough for our tent decided it. An evening of brewing, viewing and photographing.

Down to the fleshpots of Halls Gap next morning and a taste of supposedly the winning 'Vanilla Slice of Victoria'. Suitably full we moved on another 10km to the Plantation campground.

Our last day in the Grampians was a long one; some 35km and 13 hours. A big climb up onto Mt Difficult, out across to Briggs Bluff, down to Roses Gap and across to Mt Stapylton and Hollow Mountain.

Stunning rock architecture lit up by early evening light caused us to dally in awe a bit too long on Mt Stapylton. Darkness fell and fun was had trying to found a route across and down Hollow Mountain. It was after 9pm when we arrived at the campground, full for the Melbourne Cup long weekend.

The next few days saw us ride to Mt Arapiles to bumble up a few easy climbs on the Organ Pipes and attempt a moonlit ski crossing of the salt Mitre Lake. Possibly the least successful activity of the whole journey. The salt sparkled under the full moon, the skis slid gracefully(!) across the salt/mud. However in the distance the wheels were heard spinning. The support vehicle had managed to get bogged in the mud on the edge of the lake. Wayne and I skied back to it and we spent the next 4 hours lifting, jacking, swearing, digging, unloading. Finally all this human power saw the van pushed free. The ski traverse was aborted and Wayne and I rode back to Arapiles probably more filthy than at any time on the trip.

And so to the Wimmera River at the start of this article. We launched onto the river where the Horsham-Natimuk road crosses it. For the next 3 days the Tub spent as much time being dragged through reed beds or through the bush as it did being paddled. We fell about in a heap as we considered how crazy it must have looked on occasions; two guys, towing a canoe with no sign of water anywhere . Sometimes the river would appear wide and deep but just as quickly it would disappear. In Little Desert National Park, around Horseshoe Bend, the water stayed with us all the way to the pleasant town of Dimboola and our next changeover 22 days since Melbourne.

Ahead lay some 500km and 6 days of mountain biking through the semi arid Mallee national parks of western Victoria; through Albacutya, Wyperfeld, Pink Lakes and Murray-Sunset. From Dimboola we headed north to camp by Victoria's largest lake, Lake Hindmarsh. The idea of a swim was abandoned after walking some 200 metres into the lake and still finding it only knee deep. The water in Lake Hindmarsh is the final resting place for Wimmera River water that has managed to escape man's clutches for irrigation and household use.

We were now following a series of dry creek beds and lakes: Outlet Creek, Lake Albacutya and into Wyperfeld. Tracks were rough and sandy in places, the weather was hotting up and we envied the kangaroos shading beneath the mallee trees. Riding on sandy tracks is like being in slow motion. Each movement must be steady and measured. Sudden twists or leans will see you stopped dead or worse.

We crossed over into Pink Lakes and Murray Sunset: along the Grub Track which suited our grubby, dusty appearances. The local national park ranger had kindly placed a water depot for us but luckily the heat was not too intense. Fast riding along Pheeny's Track took us onto the North-South Settlement Track. Riding along this I pondered on the hardships of settlement. Soldier settlers and others coming to this marginal land to take up their allocations. Fighting a war as hard as any they may have fought in. Against drought, heat and distance from market. And losing.

Our last night in the desert was in some old shearers quarters. The rain began. The kangaroos rushed to puddles to enjoy a rare drink. By morning it was pouring. It was only 40km to the Sturt Highway but what a nightmare. The mud clung so thickly to the bikes that it became impossible to ride or even push the bikes. We'd grasp handfuls of the stuff from wheels and chains and lift/drag bikes to the grassland 50 metres from the track. Hours later we hit the blacktop and what a sight we must have made to Mark and Sarah waiting for us.

The wet weather put paid to our plans to put on the Murray River on Lindsay Island - we'd had enough of bogged vehicles. Instead we rode across the South Australian border to Renmark for our first and last full rest day.

Time to rest the legs for a fortnight and paddle 600km of the Murray River down to the sea.

The Murray was a very special part of the journey. A combination of history, great camping and paddling in our sea kayaks. Also tinged with sadness as all the water pumps brought home once again how we take too much from the land and rivers in this dry continent.

Like the river, each day just flowed into the next and I find it difficult to break up the days. Did we see our first peregrine falcons on the third or fifth day? Where did the river banks change from redgums and woodland to sheer, sunlit, orange cliffs? Which was the camp where the kingfisher nested?

Apart from on a weekend lower down the river, we were surprised at the lack of other traffic on the river. Two other canoeists met in two weeks. We soon understood the moods of the Murray. Calm, warm mornings allowed for easy paddling with time to take in the sights. By afternoon a strong wind would invariably rise, generally blowing into our faces; creating choppy conditions and arm aching paddling. After 45km or so we'd find a spot to camp, lift our boats from the brown waters and cook a feast in the evening sunlight as the wind died down.

We paddled past tidy little towns: Loxton, Waikerie, Moorook, Swan Reach. Sometimes pulling in to seek out the bakery or milk bar. Occasional steamers paddled past us. A scare at Wellington, the last settlement before the Murrary empties into the vastness of Lake Alexandrina. Wayne climbed out of his kayak and bent double in agony in the knee deep water. He eventually collapsed on the bank, his face grimacing with pain. I thought he was having a heart attack or something but it turned out to be some muscle/nerve thing in his groin. He lay semi-comatose for a while and an hour or so later crawled into the tent. Surely he wouldn't have to abort with only 5 days to Adelaide? Luckily it seemed to be one of those inexplicable body happenings and he was right as rain in the morning.

From the confines of it's river banks, the Murray flows lazily into Lake Alexandrina. 40km and some 20km at it's widest, we'd heard many a story of how rough it could get. A souwesterly can whip up the shallow waters into a wild sea. There were a number of open water crossings to do as we zig zagged down the lake, but the gods smiled upon us.

We made a bit of our own luck by starting early on both days to try and cheat the winds. 10km across to Poltalloch and a landing to stretch the legs. Beautiful stone buildings, a little stone jetty. It felt like stepping back a century. Then hugging the eastern shore in increasing wind to finally battle our way to Point Macleay and our last Murray Camp. Point Sturt lay 7km away to the west and we were on the water before sunrise for the crossing. Safely across, all that remained was some hours paddling up the channel to Goolwa. We did our best for feral animal control by taking out a few carp with our paddles along the way!

The Murray had taken us into the last 100km from Adelaide. It was a very hot day for the ride from Goolwa to join the Heysen Trail near Mt Magnificent. This walking trail stretches from Cape Jervis up to the Flinders Ranges some 1500km north. 55km would do us to Mt Lofty. We both felt strangely tired - muscle twinges, sore shoulders from the packs. Perhaps it was the body starting to wind down. Just two more camps. At the penultimate one I mentioned to Wayne how lucky we'd been. Not too many hot nights, not too many mozzie or fly clouds, generally good weather. That night was a stinker, we hardly slept. We couldn't open the tent doors due to the mozzies. Then about 3am it started pouring with rain. I should have kept my mouth shut!

We walked along, reflecting on the past 45 days of the journey. One last camp in the Adelaide Hills. A couple of hours up to Mt Lofty, overlooking the city, for the final changeover and a fast downhill 'wind in the helmet' descent to the Festival Theatre in downtown Adelaide.

Total distance: 1940km


Total days: 45