Some places and events have characteristics that remain immutable. The serenity of a windless Lake Cootharaba and the efficiency of Ray's packing. The frogs popped like a Siberian work gang and lake remained glassy while Ray waited patiently for me to stuff the remaining gear into the hatches. The 25 - 30 knot W - SW change was a no show, unlike the shoal off Elanda
Point which is currently at a paddle blade depth a couple of hundred metres east off the white marker. Coming into Kinaba the floods have moved vast amounts of sands and large trees. Even kayaks do well to follow the channel.
Along the western bank around Fig Tree Point the rushes are burnt right down to the water line. At Harry's George's holler and a couple of toots on a whistle bought his son Scott down to the jetty. He happened to be camping with his family on the same weekend and was surprised at the good time we had made. The decision was made to meet tomorrow morning at Campsite One then walk along the Cooloola Trail to Wandi Waterhole. Just north of Harry's we came across what we had been smelling for a while. The bush was charred as were the reeds. The delineation and smell
suggested this was a recent back burn.
While we had missed out on the wind, it turned out the forecast rain was on the button. We pulled in at Campsite One with just enough light to make camp when the rain started. One of the main poles for the Macpac tent snapped and ripped a hole in the tent. Brilliant. Just what you want on dark when it is
raining. The other Macpac tent I have, a Celeste, is a delicate shade of it's former purple self, the fabric no longer keeps out the rain, the corner seams in base have worn through, the ends of the poles are flaring and starting to split. But after 25 years you get that. It seems that the reliability of some Macpac tents may not be immutable. My Citadel, was now onto pole break number two with lightweight use. Both sections have broken without being stressed beyond how the tent has been designed to be used. On closer inspection where the break happened, the ferrule appears to be missing an inner sleeve. Unfortunately the price was not immutable as you continue to pay a premium for what, at least in the past, has been excellent outdoor equipment. As for the so called "lifetime warranty", this will probably mean another instore debate as to the meaning of the the words
"warranty" and "lifetime". Macpac no longer makes the Citadel. Mmmm wonder why.
It was a cool wet night which bought out a couple of tent bullfrogs. In the morning the toot of a whistle heralded Scott, Alannah and Henry's arrival at the jetty. They had Harry's to themselves overnight. Heading off on an election weekend is a great way to escape the media hype, and it seems, everyone else too. Henry was snuggled up in a lifejacket and continued to sleep soundly. After a short paddle downstream, all of the boats were hauled up at the log landing on the opposite bank. With Henry tucked up in his carry pack we set off along the trail which had a few squelchy places and water running across the
track at the head of the Wandi Waterhole.
The wildflowers were starting to come out along the trail. The dominant form were the grass trees. Their spires were much smaller than those seen on Moreton Island and came in hues of green, brown and cream with the later attracting native bees and
ants to their nectar. The hakea had again failed to regenerate. Their woody skeletal forms and ruptured cones remaining as they had been for several years despite further fires. We hardly heard a peep from Henry who at lunch time was happy to sit with Grandad and check out the grass.
It was a beautiful warm day and after the walk plunging a sun warmed body into a winter river was not easy. The delicate musical chatter of lots of tiny birds interspersed with screeches
of black and white cockatoos and humans started at pre-dawn and faded after sunset when sky revealed the silent forms of bats flying across river. The air cooled quickly as we passed the bowls of nibbles and enjoyed a glass of red or white on the
jetty. After another canned heat and eat meal was sussed out and the washing up done we were surprised by the agility and boldness of a bush rat. It ran up the leg of a full size camp table, scurried around the dishes in full view of four headlamps before deciding to continue on over the side of the table, down the
opposite leg and off into the bushes.
The stars and moon promised a cold night so I released the green slug from it's tight confines. The Macpac down bag with single figure ratings, bought 25 years ago, unlike the tent is almost as good as new. It usually lives in the wardrobe but on a night like tonight it made a welcome appearance. Thanks to it we were nice
and toasty, and to a fly over the hole in the tent, dry. I was so
comfortable I didn't hear the resident bullfrog having a duel. It
took the aroma of freshly brewed coffee to make the warm bed worth abandoning.
As usual we took longer than most to pack so caught up with everyone at Harry's Hut. Waved on by Scott, Alannah and Henry we headed off and took a detour up Kin Kin Creek. The water in this wide creek is murky from silt rather than tannin. It is not a place to dip a toe. Being a perfect habitat for bullsharks little
wonder there is a bridge for the Cooloola Trail. We went as far as the remnant of the original swing bridge. George remembered that further upstream before the next bridge was choked with logs. By the amount of gouging of the banks, there was a
possibility that this was even more the case so we decided to turn around here, a point marked by a particularly realistic loggodile. Mark and I trailed as the other three made quick work heading first for Kinaba for lunch and then the canoe launching point. We had our sails up to invite the NE to blow a little
more, something it very nicely, 10 minutes after we had landed.
The Upper Noosa River is as lovely as ever, a welcome refuge from the media melee that climaxes with an election. Ironic, that on or return we find out that the song and dance might have another week to run.
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