North Murray Gorge

June 1981

"Roll up the map of Europe", William Pitt exclaimed. It would have been more efficacious if he had unrolled it to find a small hamlet in Belgium whose name became so famous that every schoolboy now knows - Waterloo: or he might have spread Mercator's sheet to have a peek at a tiny island in the Atlantic - St. Helena.

We chuckled as we strode forward, (even our rucksacks we made light of - "Not as heavy as Federation", our last back-pack) for, not only had we found a shady 3-day resting place for Bessie, but, just beyond the end of the barbed wire, a well-worn path that actually ran in our direction. Where we had expected a bash through spear grass and burrs, a path that beckoned us towards our objective, the start of the North Murray Gorge.

The beginning is dramatic. A high cliff falls into the deep waters of what I am going to call Long Pool - it must be 200 m. long and perhaps 25 m. across. June is not my month for swimming, so up and over it became. From above we could see the full length of long Pool to its head, where a tinkling brook and the rush of the North Murray foams down cascades before submerging into the dark green depths.

A round-stone walk now, but, after a kilometre or so, cliffs appeared, and we had to cross the chilly water. Granite boulders now for another 2 kilometres, gradually getting bigger and more awkward. Then they stopped. Opposite a cliff on the south side, a flat section that even had some sand, the threshing river pausing on its way, with a definite bend in the way ahead. We sat and ate; little did we know what was round the corner.

The whole character of the "creek" changed. In a trice we were climbing sheer walls, hanging on roots or turning "sticky" corners, whilst the waters thundered through a small canyon before seething its way down a 15 m. fall into a deep quiet pool. No place for laden rucksacks: we had already docked them, and struggled on. When the going became difficult we crossed and re-crossed the foaming waters, but, wet as we were, we could not help being jubilant at the glorious scenery. For here the Gorge justified its name, and is breath-taking in both senses of the word.
We decided to return to our rucksacks and set up camp on the small patch of sand. (In this steep-sided gorge the rain forest grows well down to the river, so camp-sites are few and far between, and, as the banks run somewhat N & S, the full moon gives little light to its deep recesses).

Next morning we were all agog to again take on the challenge round the corner, which, though we knew that it would "go", was only slightly less exciting than that of our previous day. Strenuous though it was, we hoped the route would maintain its high standard, but after a kilometre the impasses subsided, the steep walled canyons rarer and, by the time we reached turn-back time, became a somewhat ordinary creek.

Before our camp-fire we ruminated on our findings - the abundance of birds (Two Turkeys at the camp) that we rarely saw, a beautiful black and gold beetle, and never a sign of a furry animal. We were concerned about the limitations of the map, Kirrama 1-100,000, for its disregard of the twists, convolutions and contours that evolve in this river; but what whetted our curiosity was that for several kilometres above where we ventured, it depicted the Gorge and river in an almost straight line. Who knows, perhaps someone, fleeter of foot than us, could find another fairy-like grotto in its upper fastnesses?

On the following day we were soon at Bessie, mainly because we found the longest-ever "secondary", (we were beginning to have doubts) which quickly brought us to the head of Long Pool. Another expedition over, and, unlike Pitt, we invite you to unroll the map, but not to believe everything thereon, for, only by being there can one unravel the delights and wonder of this lovely land.

J & H.