Down By The River - Chapter 13 - Mildura & the Houseboat Day 9

DOWN BY THE RIVER

Chapter 13 – Mildura & the Houseboat Day 9

The fervour created by the white boards and flip charts from last nights have left all of us sleeping uneasily. There is an almost awkward expectation encompassing the houseboat this morning and having no internet is of absolutely no help. 

The spot we have is imperfectly perfect.

Whilst being a spacious nook in the river on the inner part of a bend encompassing the picnic area, at this time devoid of other revellers, where tracks into the bush allow for easy forays along well beaten tracks, the comforting of the messages “in the sky” are missing and there are things to be done. The suggested coverage by the telco’s suggesting they have a seriously high percentage of the country serviced does not include this spot and its frustrating where plans formulated in a frenzy of discussion are not able to be nurtured by planting the seeds of potential business growth into the minds and hands fo the staff who will eventually have to make it happen.

Having said that Maurice is up early not just for the break in the uneasiness of poor sleep, he wants to grab a few kilometres running through this bush before we up stakes and move. Me I am happy to sit and watch the sunrise over the side of the river that during the close of the day was resplendent in its ochres, greens and blues now hiding the rising sun in a silhouette of black, the sun towards the azure sky hidden by the screen for now. The carp are biting and their numbers are climbing in the repository that is the fire place in the picnic area.

As the sun peeks over the trees on the far side of the river, there is movement. Not just Maurice returning from his run but other movement. Birds, small, medium and large all are on the move. The Black Swans and ducks cruise the river seeking movement of the breakfast eating horde, nosing their way close to the houseboat in search of some bread. The sparrows, starlings and wrens bounce over the stern of the boat, looking to clean up the insect debris of the previous evening and the lorikeets et al keep their noisy banter going in the trees.

Paradise for those who only want to stop and smell the roses, but we are business folk. Not just that small business folk, all punching well above our weight and the monster needs feeding. 

First things first. Breakfast is required before we contemplate moving but there is a less than leisurely contemplation and then potential degustation of this repast. It is done quickly. Left overs, cereal and/or toast and we are ready to move.

Still sore from the injury – ribs take forever to heal it seems – Maurice ensures the houseboat holds its position far more strongly than normal to allow me to do my bit with as little stress as possible on my injuries. 

Back cruising the river proper we seek better internet coverage.

Lyn is set up with her computer relaying the strengths of signals from the back of the houseboat to us in steerage. For a moment the signal is strong, but disappears as we moor in a suitable spot. Unacceptable to the group of hungry internet seeking computers we try again.

Its odd that as soon as we get to the middle of the river signal strength is more than adequate but as soon as we move to the sides to rope up, it disappears. The skipper and I discuss the topographical aspects of this anomaly and weigh it up against the potential for weather intervention (the wind is blowing a bit today). Finally we find a spot that should maintain the signal, but as we thought the wind makes mooring difficult.

Maurice’s expertise with the tiller is well tested in the conditions as I struggle with the mooring ropes. Without the inconvenience of the sore ribs this still would have been tricky but unable to run and jump through the hoops the bush provides, I take an inordinate amount of time to get the first rope tied. The girls are doing their bit on the shorter ropes but until the long rope is secure their efforts simply are much.

We get it done and settle into the important matters at hand. The fishing lines are set, morning tea is served and of course the computers laid out and running.

Almost immediately I have a strong bite but the line becomes snagged. Checking the other line – same issue. We have parked over a large fallen tree. Snags will be much of an issue for the fisherman in the group while we are parked here. Perhaps its an amen suggesting more attention to business and the expansion of the ideas from last night are more the requirement just now. 

Bah Humbug to that.

The day whiles itself away. The high point, other than some “eureka’s” from my fellow business owners as they expand upon the former evenings ideas is a competitive speed boat screaming past in practice, skier in tow. The boat creating a massive rooster tail finishing well before the skier roars as the probably supercharged inboard engine screams its aggression into the tail shaft and the propeller. 

We are at a reasonable wide part of the river and they use this for a turn, heading back from whence they came. The skier whipped by the centrifugal force, his hands locking the tether between him and the boat behind him so as not to rip his arms from their sockets.

Water skiing is a dangerous sport. There have been many fatalities over the years. One of the races on the Murray – the Southern 80 – is notorious for injuries. The winding river and the need for speed a recipe for disaster apparently unparalleled by most the other races in the series.

There was a time when I lived, and managed, a water ski park. Once I saw a skier dislodged from his mount at about 90 mph. For a while he simply skimmed across the top of the water not unlike a barefoot skier might do, coming to an “irresistible force meets an immovable object” stop when one of his limbs “dug into” the water. There was a cascade of water, then no movement at all. By the time he had come to a stop the boat had all but returned to him, raising his limp body from the water and bringing him to shore.

He had been knocked unconscious for a moment but was lucid enough to climb out of the boat once they were back in. He was lucky. It was a weekday and there were no other boats around so they were using the middle of the river. Had it been a day when other revellers might have been using the water way, they may have been closer to shore and rather than the water stopping his momentum it may have been a tree or the shore itself. They are much less forgiving.

The speedboat comes and goes. There is little wake to contend with and the carp are unaffected, neither are the snags. Maurice chortles about the number of snags yet nothing for the BBQ tonight.

With the sunset comes the insects. I set the zapper and head inside and the war continues.

All worked out, the group are looking for an outlet and the Rummikub game quickly becomes the entertainment of choice, but not for long. Brains have been drained, everyone is tired and tomorrow we will all be at it again.