Murray River Paddle
Paddling 2000km from Albury to Goolwa
Sept – Nov 2023
Murray River Paddle
A journey from Albury to the Murray Mouth
2200 km · 57 days · September–November 2023
Paddling the length of the Murray River is one of those ideas that lodges itself in the imagination of many Australians. It had been sitting quietly in the back of my mind for years before I finally made the commitment. In 2023, I decided it was time.
The plan was simple on paper: start at Albury in New South Wales and paddle 2,200 kilometres to the Murray Mouth near Goolwa in South Australia. I already owned a kayak, so I set about assembling the rest of the gear and planning the route — the enjoyable part. The harder work was training.
Most of my preparation took place criss-crossing Georges Bay at St Helens in Tasmania. Distances gradually built to 16–20 km per session, still well short of the 40–50 km days I expected to paddle on the river. At some point, faith had to replace certainty. She’ll be right on the day.
The Start — Albury [Blue 2200 km]
In mid-September I loaded the kayak onto the roof, crossed Bass Strait on the Spirit of Tasmania, and drove to Albury. An old riding mate, Norm, kindly put me up for the night and stored my car while I was away.
On the morning of 19 September, standing by the river, the familiar pre-departure doubts set in. Would everything fit in the kayak? Had I packed too much — or worse, forgotten something important? Where would I camp the first night? Getting started felt like the hardest part.
Soon enough, I was paddling downstream with that blend of excitement and trepidation that comes with any new adventure.
The river was flowing strongly and I settled into a steady pace of around 10 km/h. Every hour or so I climbed out to stretch aching joints and muscles. It was peaceful, and I deliberately slowed my mind to match the rhythm of the river. By the end of the first day I had covered 55 km, reaching Doolans Bend [Blue 2142 km], simply by taking my time and resting often.
Learning the Routine
Early on, much of the challenge lay in learning how to live on the river. Making and breaking camp was an art in itself: securing the kayak, unpacking smaller dry bags into larger carry bags, lugging everything up steep banks, setting up camp, and reversing the whole process the next morning. At first it was slow and fiddly, but after a couple of weeks I had a reliable system and could pack up in just over an hour without thinking too hard.
My body also needed time to adapt — long days of paddling, living at ground level, and sleeping on a thin mattress. The aches and pains were at their worst early on, then gradually settled into what I came to accept as normal 70-year-old aches and pains.
Along the river, blue distance markers count down kilometres to the Murray Mouth. I started at 2200 km, and watching those numbers tick down became a quiet daily motivation.
Camps and Characters
Finding a suitable campsite was a daily puzzle. The ideal spot had a safe mooring for the kayak and dry access up the bank. Early in the trip, recent high river levels meant steep, slippery banks and many submerged beach camps. Later, as levels dropped and banks dried out, camping became much easier.
At [Blue 2072 km] I met Dave from Alice Springs, rowing downstream in a canoe fitted with oars and rowlocks. He faced backwards, steering with the help of a small mirror. We leapfrogged each other for a while before parting ways, later reconnecting online as fellow river travellers.
Food parcels sent by Gaye were a constant highlight — real meals that lifted morale enormously. A good dhal after a long day made all the difference.
Through Victoria
The river widened and slowed as I approached Yarrawonga and Lake Mulwala. Channel markers guided me through drowned river gums, while wind and powerboats made for choppy conditions. Portaging around Yarrawonga Weir meant unpacking the kayak, fitting wheels, and hauling it about a kilometre to the downstream ramp — made more interesting by school-holiday crowds.
By late September, daily distances of 45–60 km became routine. Barmah Forest brought narrower channels and towering river gums, while long weekends added powerboats, jet skis, and tour boats to the mix. Rest days in places like Echuca and Swan Hill were welcome — good meals, showers, and the chance to rest tired joints.
Rain tested both morale and gear between Echuca and Torrumbarry Weir. One particularly wet day ended early at a picnic area, huddled in the tent while steady rain drummed down. Torrumbarry’s hot showers and camp kitchen were a luxury.
Settling In
By October, packing and paddling had become automatic. The riverbanks dried out, offering more reliable camps. I passed through my first locks near Euston, discovering an unexpectedly pleasant routine: a chat with the lockie, a short pause, then dropping gently to the next river level.
Wildlife was ever-present — snakes crossing the river, water rats darting past, and endless birdlife: pelicans, spoonbills, herons, cormorants. Evenings were often spent swimming, air-drying in the sun, and watching the river flow into dusk.
For more about locks: https://www.sawater.com.au/water-and-the-environment/south-australias-water-sources/river-sources/lockages
At Mildura [Blue 891 km], I took several rest days, met friends, and offloaded a few kilograms of gear. The lighter kayak was noticeably easier to push downstream.
South Australia and the Cliffs
Crossing into South Australia felt significant. The river began to change character again, winding between striking orange sandstone cliffs that forced sharp bends and offered spectacular camps. Places like Renmark, Booky Cliffs, and Wakerie blended short paddling days with long afternoons of swimming, reading, and watching the light shift across the rock faces.
The river stubbornly headed north for a time, despite my desire to go south. Finally, at Morgan [Blue 319 km], it turned toward the sea. From here, the sense of an ending grew stronger.
Headwinds became more frequent, sometimes whipping up whitecaps that demanded patience and care. Houseboats multiplied, often occupying the best beaches. My shoulders began to protest, and impatience crept in — a sure sign the finish was near.
Extra Pics
The End — Lake Alexandrina and the Mouth
Reaching Wellington, I timed my departure carefully to cross Lake Alexandrina in calm conditions. The lake’s shallow, open water can be unforgiving in wind. Early conditions were rough, but unexpectedly smoothed out further into the crossing, turning the day into a relaxed cruise across open water.
On 15 November, my final day, I was on the water by 6 am. Navigation across featureless water tested concentration, with only distant sand dunes as a visual reference. Passing through the Tauwitchere Barrage marked the transition from fresh to salt water — seals basked on the ramps as I worked the hand-operated lock.
Then came the Coorong. Calm water, sweeping sand dunes, and extraordinary birdlife provided a fitting finale. Soon the Murray Mouth appeared — white sand, rolling surf, and the end of a long idea finally made real
A passing couple kindly took photos of me striking a few obligatory heroic poses. From there it was a final 12 km paddle to Goolwa, where I was welcomed by members of the Inland Rivers National Marathon Register. After photos, paperwork, and conversation, I was handed a certificate — the 17th person to paddle the Murray that year.
Right on cue, Alison (Roadrunner) arrived to drive me to Adelaide for rest and recovery.
Reflections
Fifty-seven days.
Two thousand two hundred kilometres.
A huge thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged me along the way — especially Gaye. This journey was never just about distance; it was about rhythm, persistence, and letting the river set the pace.
And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.