Alone on the Fitzroy
Lachie Carracher makes the first solo descent of the Fitzroy River in the Kimberley
The blood-red sun fell rapidly from the vast open sky. I had spent most of the day thinking I wouldn’t make it Sir John Gorge, but thankfully extra water at the confluence of Hann and Fitzroy rivers accelerated the current, carrying me with it. Despite this assistance, due to extreme exhaustion I could hardly keep my boat straight; I lay as far back in my kayak as possible, my weak arms slapping the water with my paddle – I could have gotten more power out of teaspoons. I had made it to Sir John Gorge in the nick of time.
Sir John Gorge marks the start of the Fitzroy River. It had taken me three days to get here, culminating in today’s 11-hour paddle – without doubt one of the hardest of my life. As a general rule you can double the straight-line distance on a map to account for the twists and turns of a river; I had paddled 70 kilometres as the crow flies. That morning I had told myself, as I gripped my paddle with heavily blistered hands, ‘Eighty kilometres Lachie, easy – you got this buddy.’ In reality I knew I was going to face at least 100 kilometres of hard paddling. The tree-filled flood plains of the Kimberley are horrific. It’s not just flat water, it is very technical flat water. Crocodiles inhabit the many channels and the countless spiders hanging from the tops of trees force you to zig-zag around the river like a fly caught in balloon. But when the heavens align you can get a four-kilometer-long flat lagoon that makes it possible to paddle in a straight line.
Emerging from my boat I could barely walk. Cramped in the kayak my legs had stopped working at least six hours earlier. I dragged my heavily-loaded kayak as high up the majestic sandstone gorge as my body would allow and collapsed on a rock. The previous night I had seen that rain was on the way. The Fitzroy can easily triple in volume overnight with rain. Thus it had been crucial for me to make it to the Sir John Gorge before it hit. I much preferred to be exhausted and tucked away safely high above the river to waking up at 4am on a flood plain in rapidly rising water. Somehow I picked myself up off the rock and put up a tarp. I unrolled my sleeping pad and with no energy left, passed out cold.
In the middle of night I woke to heavy winds. I had had enough experience in the Kimberley during the wet season to know what this meant: thunderstorm! Jumping up to ensure the tarp was tied down tightly, I moved my kayak to within arm’s reach and checked that my gear was safely packed away in dry bags inside. There was nothing left to do but sit it out. Crack! A bolt of lightning exploded no more then a 100 metres away and another in the other direction. The rain doesn’t fall: it pours all night, leaving me wet and exhausted. I was on one of the most remote and heavily flooded rivers on earth – and I was alone.
You can read the rest of this story in Wild no 123
