Kayaking the Katherine

By KAREN GOA

The kayak is shored up against a log in the middle of the river. I'm hunched under a branch, stuck like an ungreased pig. Squealing, "I'm not falling into this river!", I lean into the log instead of away from it - I do remember this one rule - and pin myself in place.

Our guide, Jenn Child, is swiftly on the scene - "Rudder left ... forward on the right!" - till I untangle myself.

This is not my first bit of buffoonery on our trip down the Katherine River. Nor will it be the last.

The Katherine springs from its headwaters in Arnhem Land, Northern Territory, and winds across the state to join the Daly River, which flows into the Timor Sea south of Darwin at Ansom Bay.

We're not paddling the entire distance, only about 20km daily down the tropical savannah river system, which is leafy and subtly exotic, canopied by paperbark trees and pandanus palms.

It's a relief to be on the water after a day's hot drive from Darwin to Katherine town. The river is wide enough for several kayakers to paddle side by side, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies to investigate along the way.

Once I stop using the paddle like a soup spoon and get a feel for the stroke ("turn your torso from side to side to save your shoulders"), I forget about the strains of self-propulsion and enjoy the ecosystem.

Several small "freshies" sun their skins on logs or riverbanks. Child assures us that these 2m freshwater crocs - "little guys" - are no threat, and their larger saltwater cousins aren't interested in human snacks either, but we should swim only where we can see the bottom.

In the shade of the paperbark trees an Aboriginal boy has caught a flapping catfish, several girls are in for a swim and their mother is holding out a tin of sausage and beans. "Can ya open a tin?" she calls. The ever-obliging Child paddles over to help.

With partner Mick Jerram, Child runs Gecko Canoeing, our hosts on the trip. Child is an experienced canoeist, a thorough and careful instructor and a dab hand in the outdoor "kitchen". At midday we sip billy tea boiled over a campfire, munching a sandwich lunch produced from her oversize canoe.

On the way back to my pink kayak, named Pebbles, I pratfall messily down a muddy slope. Good thing our bottoms are self-washing in the kayaks.

Further downstream the people are fewer and the fauna more plentiful. A plate-sized turtle slips its snout above water. A golden tree snake drips from a branch. The sapphire flash is a blue-winged kingfisher chasing a dragonfly, and hordes of sulfur-crested cockatoos squawk like sports fans. There's also a reeky pong and a cranky whining in the afternoon air.

Child spins a compelling yarn about a bat plague two years ago. Twelve million bats descended on west Katherine town and stayed for six months. Bats covered the trees, screeched all day and dropped guano everywhere. Finally the council chopped down all the trees. The bats grumbled off, leaving treeless streets. But in the next growing season everything grew back like mad - the bats' parting blessing.

I'm too spellbound by this "bats out of hell" tale to worry about the first of several small rapids we're about to shoot.

"Helmets on," says Child. We strap on our yellow "pots" while listening carefully to instructions. Rudder left, forward on the right. I mix up my left and right, but manage to avoid sticking Pebbles to a log or tipping myself out.

Our reward for all this paddling is the night's campsite at a sandy oasis rimmed by freshwater mangroves. These look like good drying racks for wet gear, but Child warns us off - beware the itchy grubs. The river bottom is also a little murky, so swimming's out.

While we're staking out a sandy spot to lay out the swags, Child and her trainee guide, Sonny Fejo, a local Aboriginal teenager, plunder the magic canoe. They set up folding tables, director's chairs, a surfboard-shaped kitchen bench and a canvas waterbag.

It's all pretty posh and ecologically unobtrusive. All rubbish is packed out and fires are carefully managed. Ablutions must be performed at least 100m from the river - "Big Darryl" the shovel is offered for our convenience.

Our campfire dinner is spaghetti with an Aussie twist - kangaroo-mince bolognaise sauce - then it's a soothing cup of paperbark tea and off to bed.

Darkness falls early at this latitude. Unwashed and bone-weary, I sink into sleep under a slipstream of stars, undisturbed apart from some wallaby ruckus in the night and the odd mozzie.

The next day is bright, hot and lovely and you'd think I'd have improved my paddling technique after a night's sleep, but no. I spend half my day magnetically attracted to submerged objects or ricocheting like a go-kart off riverbanks.

When my kayak isn't going downstream backwards, I notice logs and chunks of metal caught high in the trees. The Katherine floods during the wet season and in 1998 it rose 21m, flung flotsam into the trees and submerged most of Katherine town. It's hard to believe that all these trees live part-time underwater.

The next challenge is just ahead - a larger rapid than any we've paddled yet and, as Child explains, it has a little twist at the end.

When my turn comes, I grip the paddle and stroke like fury. Pebbles bucks over the rough water but shoots down the desired left side. We scoot sideways, just missing some rocks, slide to the right through the moving water - and pull off a perfect valet park under the pandanus palms.

I can breathe again, release my white knuckle grip and relax, bobbing in just a few inches of water. Time for another cup of tea.

* Karen Goa flew to Australia with Qantas Airlines. She was hosted by the Northern Territory Tourist Commission and Gecko Canoeing.