For the first time in two months, an alarm jolted me awake. An unwelcome change from waking to birdsong, this synthetic din felt intrusive. Nevertheless, Day 57’s 12-hour, 65km lake crossing between Wellington and Goolwa demanded a 4am start and a healthy dose of open-water daring.
This ambitious traverse was the closing chapter of a 2,350km journey kayaking the world’s third-longest navigable river. While drifting through the Murray River’s farmscapes, eucalyptus forests, and estuary networks, spanning over 40 First Nations lands, the expansive Lake Alexandrina occupied my thoughts. Its coastal swells have a notorious reputation, and since entering South Australia, I’d quickened my strokes to arrive in Ngarrindjeri Country with favourable conditions.
Hustling out into the frosty, fog-draped night, I loaded my boat and wheeled my way through the caravan park toward the lake’s inlet. My only witness was the resident cat, whose fleeting glance quickly returned to the fluorescent glow of the kiosk fridge.
By the time I slid into the frigid waters and floated metres downstream, the low-hanging haze had congealed into a thick pea soup, swallowing my surroundings with me interred. My headlamp did little to pierce its whispy veil, and I faded into the abyss.
After 20 calamitous minutes grazing snags and overhanging branches, I conceded bulb-lit navigation was hopeless and flipped off the beam. Cold and alone, I weighed my options. With dawn still two hours away, I’d need to keep moving to arrive in Goolwa before dusk. As my eyes adjusted to the gloaming, the solution came into focus.
Gazing above the fog, the Milky Way shimmered iridescently across the sky, its ethereal glow backlighting silhouettes of the riverbank’s ghostly willows. This shadowy treeline would chart my course through the darkness.
Paddling on, the haze gradually lifted, unveiling a celestial reflection on the water’s glassy surface. The heavens had descended to meet the river, and I felt as if I’d drifted into the immensity of space. Constellations twinkled around me, creating a tunnel of starlight that enveloped my kayak, each stroke pulling me deeper into the universe.
As first light met the horizon, the atmosphere shifted to muted pastels, lighting my path out of the ever-widening inlet. The river soon flared dramatically. I’d entered the expansive Lake Alexandrina.
With improved visibility, I skirted the reed-fringed shoreline, steering toward Point Pomond, the designated launch point for the crossing. Assessing the conditions from the headland, I was ready. After months of paddling, I’d tapped into a primal sense of wind direction and speed, refined by constant exposure to the elements. With a mild easterly tailwind nudging me on, I’d timed my run perfectly. I pushed off.
Much like my pre-dawn journey into the void, the voyage ahead was a test of blind faith. The lake’s impressive volume meant the horizon blended water with the sky in all directions. Without guiding landmarks and only a few startled pelicans to ask directions, I was left to trust both my internal and magnetic compasses.
Hours passed, but slowly, the rugged contours of the Narrung Peninsula emerged in the distance, its bulrush-studded wetlands and low-lying cliffs becoming increasingly distinct. Relief washed over me. I was on course; now, I had to stay on schedule.
Piercing a gap through the marshland, I maneuvered my kayak onto a sandy cove for a quick bite. Shortly after opening my tuna sachet, a brood of equally peckish Black Swans descended on the bay. Feeling outnumbered, I gulped down in double time and returned to the water.
A bluster of southerly crosswinds stalled my rhythm past the remote Rat, Goose and Goat Islands. Eager for respite, I sidled up alongside the sheltered Hindmarsh Island for the final passage into seaside Goolwa.
I’d made solid time until another sky show stole my attention. Sunset’s honeyed flames fanned across the massing clouds, rendering my arms and timekeeping skills useless. A fitting finale for any long-distance expedition. My surroundings eventually muffled to black, and, not for the first time today, I had to navigate by twinkling lights; this time, from the shoreline.
Sliding into the harbour, I plunged my paddle into the water’s edge, sprinkling a deluge of droplets into the air. The spray whipped across my forehead, trickled around my nose and seeped into the corners of my mouth. I’d inadvertently swallowed Murray water most days of the trip, but this was my first taste of brine—it had the distinct, salty tang of the finish line.
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