10/02/2019
BY some standards, the Barrington River is really little more than a decent-sized creek.
The stretch of Barrington that I love and return to is so narrow I can lob a stone underarm from bank to bank with hardly an effort.
But what it lacks in size the river makes up in character: a stream of many moods that enchants, surprises and sometimes engenders awe.
In the colder months the chilly water chatters over gravel-races and shouts through rocky tree-lined rapids, sighing into calmness in broad deep green stretches where platypus play and kingfishers dart.
In summer the Barrington is like a long oasis in the cicada-chorused heat.
That’s when we take our folding chairs down to our favourite place beside the river, under an arched canopy of water gums and river oaks, and set ourselves up for hours.
It might be 40 degrees or more on the nearby dusty road but down beneath the trees the edge comes off the heat and you bask beside the stream, watching sunlight stream into the water and bounce off the rounded stones on the jumbled river bed.
We settle down with a cool drink, a snack and something good to read while the kids splash and play in the shallows, slide down “slippery dip rock” or ride their rubber tyres up and down the nearest rapid.
Noisy processions of canoeists pass on their way from Bindera or beyond to Rocky Crossing, some intent on their destination and talking non-stop to one another, others more laid-back and observant, taking in the ageless scenery of bush and stream.
Bell miners chime discordant and dollar birds swoop from high perches to catch insects on the wing.
Sometimes a snake swims across the stream and once we all sat quiet while a red-belly black slithered out of the water and calmly slid between our chairs into the bushes behind us.
Fish flash silver as they turn in their small schools and we snorkel among them: freshwater mullet, herrings, gudgeons and more.
Water dragons, eels and tortoises too. Once I snorkelled up behind a slow-paddling tortoise and caught him neatly around his shell, laughing at his reptilian bemusement.
Nature is what makes this river special. The old Scottish settlers didn’t make the common mistake of clear-felling all the way to the stream banks so – unlike many other tragic rivers reduced by erosion to lifeless muddy bogs – the Barrington still shelters a huge array of aquatic creatures.
Once we put a big round plastic fish bowl on the window sill and the kids set about catching specimens for a one-day display. Great big black mussels, quick little crustaceans, tiny fish and endless varieties of insect larvae had us marvelling at the sheer variety of life in this vibrant stream.
When we tire of splashing in the relative shallows of our favourite sitting spot we pilot our canoe into the river and head towards Rocky Crossing, alternately careering through tricky rapids – usually falling out two or three times – and paddling hard through the long quiet reaches.
At Rocky Crossing there’s a rope swing, a timber landing, a vehicle ford (with fish ladder) and the best deep swimming area for miles around. Locals and visitors flock there on hot days and picnic beside the river, yelling and bombing into the clean, fresh water.
Me? I’m floating on my back, feeling the cool water around me pulling me downstream against my slow kicking. I’m looking into the blue sky beyond the reaching branches of the tallest trees, watching an eagle lazily circling on an updraft of warm air.
And I couldn’t be happier, or more content.
