Fighting the White Water in North Queensland

Standing at the side of a road, beside a fast-flowing river near Tully, in far north Queensland, I’m feeling a bit sheepish.

Around me are about 90 eager youngsters, the oldest of whom is probably half my age. Some are Australians and some are overseas visitors from Hong Kong, Japan, Europe and the United States. All are busily fitting rafting gear over their swimsuits, and are oblivious to the comic-opera appearance of the scene.

A few moments later, the group leader lets out a rallying cry and immediately I, too, have forgotten our strange appearance.

Raging Thunder

White-water rafting, popular for years in Canada and the United States, has suddenly become an exciting, increasingly popular pastime in Australia. The Raging Thunder company of Cairns is one of the leaders in this field, and is running white-water trips in the far north of Queensland between Cairns and Townsville, as well as in New Guinea.

While staying at Dunk Island, a lovely resort on the Whitsunday Passage opposite Mission Beach, a friend and I picked up a pamphlet on white-water rafting.

Disregarding our advancing ages, we booked on--and now, with adrenaline setting our blood pounding, we’re listening carefully to our group’s guide.

“We’ll be going through 12 to 14 kilometers of river containing some pretty hairy rapids,” he says, “and it will be critical that you memorize my commands. We’ll have a practice run-through of these when we get onto the river.”

While he is explaining this to his would-be crew (my party of two geriatrics, five young men who all seem to be built like Sylvester Stallone, and one strapping girl), the large rubber rafts, each costing almost $4,000 in U.S. funds, are being sent down the steep canyon wall on flying-fox wires.

Our group climbs awkwardly down the sharply angled river bank. Soon all the rafts are launched, we climb in, and the instructions begin in earnest.

Following Orders

“When I say row,” says our guide, a fighting-fit young man from Innisfail, “you all row as hard as you can. The order ‘back-left’ means that those on the left side will back-paddle and those on the right will keep rowing.”

Other commands and instructions follow, and he makes it clear that these have to be taken seriously. We are to squat, rather than sit, in the bottom of the boat when we hit the fast, boiling rapids. The barely submerged boulders over which our raft will be sliding can otherwise damage our spines. Paddles are to be kept outside the boat at all times so there’s no risk of hurting the rowers.

Direction control will be maintained by a combined effort between our guide-controller, who is using a slightly bigger oar as a rudder at the stern, and the side instructed to row.

We set off in deceptively calm water, a string of eight boats following each other down the canyon of Tully River.

Noisy Disappearing Act

By this time it is 10 a.m. and a glorious, sunny day. The banks of the river have that untamed, rugged beauty typical of north Queensland. But before I can really concentrate on it, I notice a strange phenomenon. The noise level of the river gradually increases as we row downstream, and suddenly the eight boats in front of us change into seven, then six, then five and so on at regular intervals.

They don’t just disappear. First, the body of the raft does, and for a moment you can only see the top torsos of the rowers above the waterline. Then another change in perspective and all you see is their heads and paddles.

Seconds later, these, too, are gone and the body of the next raft is disappearing. It’s as if the whole string of our boats is heading down a giant escalator, but we have not yet seen any rapids from our position toward the end of the string.

With the noise level increasing noticeably, the smooth water we are in now is accelerating rapidly.

Suddenly a boiling, roaring, spray-laden vortex of rocks and angry-looking white water looms ahead. Now we know why those other boats seemed to disappear just a moment ago. There they are ahead of us, miraculously missing giant boulders, tossing like leaves down a huge, watery stairway.

We are most grateful to have an experienced boat guide in control. He barks out the commands that we have learned to obey only a few short minutes ago, and we are responding with an efficiency bred of fear. Miraculously, he seems to know exactly within which rocks to guide our boat, and where the best passage for our raft will be in that boiling caldron.

One by one our boats reach the bottom of this group of cascades. Suddenly the water seems to lose its anger as we reach a flat, tranquil stretch. This is an opportunity to look around and see the magnificent Queensland rain forest that surrounds the river.

Blue and black butterflies, for which this area is famous, flutter around the river banks. North Queensland has some of the most strikingly beautiful scenery of this type in the world, and even the most blase viewer must find it quite sensational.

There is little time to relax, however, and our guide alerts us to the next lot of rapids that we are about to enter. This combination of excitement, relaxation and more excitement will continue for our entire six-hour trip.

After two hours of shooting rapids, it is midday, and at a flat stretch of water all the rafts pull to the side of the river for lunch.

The boating company has sent boxes of steaks, sausages, salads and other food down from the road high above the canyon. These, too, are lowered to us on a flying-fox apparatus. There are simply no paths or tracks, and the banks of the Tully River are too steep to do it any other way.

The crews are ravenous as they devour the barbecue lunch. Some of the rowers, who have shed their helmets and life vests so they can dry in the sun, decide to have a swim. One of the huge trees overhanging the river has thick vines trailing from sturdy branches.

Tarzan-like, some of the rowers swing off the steep banks on the vines, then drop with a huge splash into the river from a considerable height.

Soon we have cleaned up from lunch and are once again in our rafts. Amazingly, we have become a passably efficient crew. Each time we go through a series of boiling rapids, the raft half fills with water. Mercifully, it is the younger, fitter members of the crew who are asked to bail the interminable bucketfuls of water out of the raft.

Only too soon we reach our goal, about 14 kilometers downstream. We row into the side of the river to the only spot that has walking access to the road above.

Back on the Road

Boats are emptied, then hoisted above the crews’ heads, and soon we are back on the road where our bus and boat-trailers are waiting. A change into dry clothes, and we are heading back to civilization.

The bus buzzes with conversation as groups compare notes and exchange stories about their white-water rafting adventure.

The day’s activities have made it clear why rafting has captured the imagination and enthusiasm of so many people in recent years.

In an environment in which the comfort and smooth routine of urban life has become the everyday norm for most of us, white-water rafting is an exciting, nerve-tingling opportunity to return to nature and taste an aspect of life that contains new and never-to-be-forgotten experiences.

Be sure to take old tennis shoes, swimsuits, sunscreen and a change of clothes. If you have an underwater camera with a secure neck strap, you will get some memorable photos. Don’t even think about taking an ordinary camera.

The trip is strenuous, so don’t go if you are not in good health. Best time to go: anytime, year-round.

For rafting brochures and more details, contact Raging Thunder, 67 Grafton St., Cairns, Far North Queensland, Australia. A full-day trip costs $35.