‘She just slides along, the old Wolverine, doesn’t she?’ says Shine, as we steer around blocks of concrete so big they must’ve been carried here by another civilisation. ‘Like time itself, the current beneath our keel moving us on towards the distant coasts of life. Onward, Peter, ever onward.’
Where the hell did that come from?
‘Yikes!’ yells Shine. ‘Look out, Pod! There’s a dead cat here the size of a flamin’ lion! Oh, no it’s not. It’s a shagpile toilet floor mat with a smiley face pattern. Man, that’s a relief. We used to have one just like it. Except ours was a little bit more yellowish.’
We paddle on, me thinking about Virginia and Jodie, and how we’re all going to meet up at Williamstown to celebrate our epic voyage.
‘You know Virginia and Jodie?’ I say. ‘One day we should go out on a real date with them. Like, to the movies, or to tea. Since they’re the best girls that we’ve ever known.’
Shine paddles thoughtfully. ‘Yeah. For sure. Perhaps we could get them along to the Centenary Exhibition of One Hundred Years of Professional Wrestling in Australia? There’s old wrestling tights and everything. You can even buy the capes. I bet they’d love that.’
‘I, er, bet they would,’ I say. ‘Hey, how good is this?’
The creek has slowed and flows out into a wide marshy lake surrounded by head-high reeds and healthy-looking trees. Suddenly Sockby seems a long way away, and as we paddle along, I can actually hear a frog, although it might just be a novelty horn beeping out on the highway. No, it’s a frog.
I look around. ‘It even smells good, Shine. Like real dirty dirt and real watery water. We’ve actually discovered something. I never knew this was here.’
‘Neither did I.’ Shine glances at a small group of trees that look to be sneaking up on the lake, as if they can’t believe it’s here, either. ‘You see, Poddy? Disobeyin’ your parents is educational.’ Shiny looks up at a tiny bird that hovers and twitters like a melodic maniac. ‘And that noisy little ratbag is known as a meadow lark because –’
‘You’ve got the Sugar Bix Birdwatchers Companion,’ I say. ‘I saw it next to your mum’s Sugar Bix Extra Short Bible for Extra Busy People.’
‘That’s right, bro.’ Shine paddles confidently on. ‘The whole family’s into it, Pod. We’re livin’ the Sugar Bix lifestyle. It gives you the perfect work-life-school balance.’
‘But what about your dad, Shine?’ I ask. ‘He hasn’t got a job.’
Shine flicks a clump of brown weed off his paddle. At least, I hope it’s weed.
‘Yeah, but me mum’s got three. So that’s where the balance comes in. Now, Poddy, it’s time to point the old Wolverine down Sockby Creek, to where we’ll meet the dangerous and dirty waters of the hellish Yarra River.’
‘I’ll check the map.’ I stash my paddle, and take the map out of my backpack. ‘Right. Now the Sockby Creek splits into two about a kilometre away, and I think the safest way to go is –’
A sudden gust of wind snatches the map and flings it high over the wall of reeds. And it’s gone, just like that.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ says Shine. ‘Maps are too hard to read anyway. All those stupid squiggly little lines, and north’s always the same on every map, which can’t be right. Let’s just get goin’ and hope for the best. As usual.’
We do, and twenty seconds later almost get swept into the wide-open mouth of a flooded quarry.
‘Power on, Poddy!’ Shine yells, as the Wolverine scrapes along a black nest of cables that look like a family of Loch Ness monsters fighting over the remote control. ‘If we get caught in there, we’ll drown like rats!’
We paddle hard, digging deep into the dark water, the Wolverine rasping her way free. Then we are out into the main stream of the current, cruising along, a flight of ducks honking good wishes as they fly past. Something wet and white splashes into the water close beside me.
‘That dirty duck nearly pooped on me!’ I say. ‘Another metre and I would’ve got it right in the eye. I could’ve been blinded!’
Shiny rests, paddle across his knees.
‘They saw your jacket, Pod. They’ve got long memories, ducks. Like elephants. And they’re smarter than homing pigeons, too. Except they don’t have homes to go to. Or not what a pigeon would call a home. So they’re a little stuck with that piece of the puzzle.’
I take two vanilla slices from my lunchbox and hand one to Shine. Hopefully that might give him time to think about what he just said, and not say any more.
‘Oh, man, Pod!’ Shine takes a big bite. ‘These things are awesome. Did you know that the Sockby Ye Old Pie Shop has competed in the Vanilla Slice of the Year contest for the last fifty years, and has only come last sixteen times?’
‘No, but it doesn’t surprise me,’ I say. ‘Anyway, let’s paddle. The creek forks soon, where there’s some rapids. And then it meets up with the Yarra River, I think. According to the map we used to have.’
‘Forget the rapids, Pod!’ Shiny grabs his paddle. ‘Waterfall ahead! Go left! Go left! Go LEFT!’
Chapter 10
The waterfall isn’t really a waterfall, it’s an outfall pipe spewing bright green liquid from a factory that is operating, and operating full-speed ahead.
A flying torrent smashes into the Sockby Creek from five metres up. If we go under that, we’ll sink in two seconds flat.
‘Hard left!’ Shine digs in on the right side of the canoe while I use my paddle as a rudder to turn us as quickly as possible. ‘That’s great, Poddy! We’re gunna make it!’
There are waves going in all directions. The air is hazy with pale green mist and spray. And through it all the Wolverine bucks and rocks, water crashing on board, but not enough to sink or stop us. We’ve made it!
‘Pshwah!’ Shiny spits, shaking his wet head. ‘That tastes like my mum’s chicken soup!’
It does a bit, but there’s no time to worry about that.
‘Look out for the backwash, Shine!’ I yell. ‘We gotta meet it bow-first! Or we’ll tip!’
Waves come at us side-on, bouncing off a concrete wall where another drain pours into the creek.
Shiny turns, water coursing down his cheeks. ‘Which end is the bow again, Pod? Because if we were heading backwards upstream, it’d be different, wouldn’t it? And I get confused because –’
‘Your end!’ I shout. ‘Paddle harder on the right!’
We paddle like madmen, the Wolverine meeting the waves, slicing through them. And once again we roller-coaster our way through danger, and on down the Sockby Creek, witnessed only by a bloke taking his three attack dogs for a walk.
‘Nice goin’, boys!’ he calls out. ‘But look out for the whirlpools that are just near the big –’
At that moment the dogs go mad and I miss the last bit.
‘Just near the big what?’ I ask Shine. ‘Did you get that?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be near the Big Prawn.’ Shine shakes his head. ‘Because that’s like five thousand K away. Or the Big Apple, because that’s in New York. And it wouldn’t be the Big Bosoms, because they’re still on the drawing board –’
‘Forget it, Shine,’ I say. ‘I’m sure we’ll find out whatever it is pretty soon.’
Shiny nods. ‘Like the results from those scholarship exams we did. D’you reckon we’ll get one, Poddy?’
‘Er, no,’ I say. ‘Not unless someone made a really serious mistake.’
Chapter 11
We paddle along a quiet stretch of the creek, kept company by a school of purple ice-cream containers. I try to ignore the new houses, the footy grounds, the toilet block, and imagine that we’re out in the wilderness. Then, suddenly, I reckon I can see the big thing that guy was talking about.
‘Man, scope that bridge,’ says Shine. ‘It is giganti-mega-normulous.’
The bridge stands about twenty metres high on huge concrete supports, and carries six lanes of cars from one side of the valley to the other. The creek flows beneath it into cold s
hadow, where two huge drains pour water into a man-made pool that looks deep, dirty, and treacherous.
‘I can’t see any whirlpools,’ Shine says. ‘Let’s just go for it. I mean, what could a whirlpool possibly do to a full-sized canoe? Did you ever see Titanic, Pod? Boy, that was a grouse movie. And they didn’t worry about whirlpools, did they?’
I stop the canoe by paddling backwards. ‘Let’s look before we leap, Shine. It’s better to be safe than sorry, as my mum says. You know, patience is a virtue.’ There. That should slow him down for a minute, at least.
‘He who hesitates is lost!’ Shiny starts paddling like a wind-up monkey, the Wolverine heading off downstream. ‘Always stand under a tree to avoid lightning! And never swim until you’ve eaten a really huge lunch!’
Shiny has the current on his side. There’s nothing I can do to stop the canoe, and in seconds we’re under the bridge, where drains unload tonnes of water, a series of whirlpools spinning like tornado-flavoured milkshakes.
‘Yee ha!’ Shiny yells as the Wolverine skids sideways. ‘Go baby!’ Shiny spits into the centre of a whirlpool. ‘Give us what you got, creek! Ramp it up! Bring it on!’ We wobble and sway through water that slides curling, grasping fingers along the canoe’s sides. Suddenly Shine lurches sideways. ‘Prepare to abandon ship, Pod! We’re goin’ down!’
The Wolverine dives into the middle of a whirlpool, but her curved bow refuses to go under, and then we are out in the sunshine, Shine waving his paddle like a victory flag.
‘You see, Poddy! Explorers don’t have to think. They just go for it. How do you reckon they discovered what head hunters do? Or how people make jungle pits full of spikes? Not by asking, or thinking about it, that’s for sure. They just bowled right on in. Too easy!’
‘Hey, speaking of explorers, Shine,’ I say. ‘Whatever did happen to great, great, grand-Uncle Trevor after the Burke and Wills … expedition.’ I was going to call it a disaster, but Shiny might have taken offence.
He shrugs, paddling smoothly.
‘That’s the funny thing, Pod. Grand-Uncle Trev went off to sell cooking pots to these friendly cannibal tribes, and never came back. Years later, his diary was found. Full of weird recipes, it was. None of them vegetarian. Although there was one final note that said everything tasted like chicken. It was probably rabbit, though, I reckon.’
There’s not a lot I can add to that – so I don’t. Instead, I keep a sharp look-out for navigational hazards. Dead ahead, the creek forks, falling away in two streams that shoot over rocky rapids then disappear between tall, grassy banks.
‘Which way, Poddy?’ Shiny paddles backwards, keeping the canoe still. ‘Right or left? Flip a coin or what?’
From memory, the right-hand fork looked longer on the map, so in theory it should be less steep, and not as fast-flowing.
‘Go left,’ I say.
‘Right!’ says Shiny.
‘No, freakin’ left!’ I yell.
‘Right!’
‘Oh, whatever,’ I mutter, as the Wolverine makes its own mind up, and veers straight towards thirty metres of jagged rocks, sheets of leaping spray, and a deadly tangle of shopping trolleys. ‘Hold onto your hat, Shine! We’re goin’ in!’
And in we go.
Chapter 12
The Wolverine leaps into the rapids and bangs off a slimy black log before sliding down a chute of water that is smooth and clear – apart from a low branch that will knock our heads off if we don’t duck.
‘Look out!’ I yell, as the canoe slides beneath it. ‘Duck!’
Shiny springs up, paddling hard to avoid the jagged jaws of a rusty steel barrel.
‘Compression!’ he shouts. ‘Dead ahead, Pod! Paddle left! I mean, on the right!’
I do what Shiny says, even though I don’t know what a compression is – then we are weaving fast around upside-down shopping trolleys and toothy-looking rocks. The Wolverine, caught up in the rush of the water, scrapes over an old suitcase, skids around someone’s dumped letterbox, then shoots out through seething brown froth onto a slow river that’s forty metres wide and looks deep.
‘That was so cool!’ I say, my heart thumping. ‘We did that really well.’
‘Yer damn straight,’ says Shine. ‘That was definitely a Sugar Bix Maxi Moment that deserves a Sugar Bix Super Dooper Sucrose High Kilojoule Reward. Here, Pod. Munch on this.’ Shine tosses me something that looks like a Rubik’s Cube made from crushed lollies and broken glass. ‘There. That’ll challenge your back teeth.’
Only if I eat it.
The river bank rises toward three-storey houses that hide among old trees. It’s as if we’re in a private valley, away from the worries of the world, and the dull streets and dead factories of Sockby.
‘Oh, man,’ Shiny says, looking around. ‘This is so nice. Look, that place’s even got its own wine farm.’
Shiny’s right, in a way; there is a little vineyard, the grape vines hanging from wires in straight, beautiful rows, their leaves red, gold and yellow. And there are houses with private jetties, wooden boatsheds, and gardens with white chairs and tables where you could sit for hours, just watching the river go by. It seems impossible that Sockby is even in the same state.
‘Big city dead-ahead, Poddy,’ says Shine, as we drift around a long bend. ‘We’re closin’ in.’
Ahead, like giants getting to their feet, silver-grey buildings stand tall over the soft green tops of trees. Seeing them, I do feel like an explorer, or an adventurer – I feel braver, anyway. Quietly, I slip my Sugar Bix Cube-thing into the river, thinking that I’ve got all the reward I need without adding half a kilogram of sugar. Sorry, fish.
The river straightens. There are bike paths and little bridges along its reedy edges, and a freeway curves past, cars flashing by. But I really like this slow paddling. It gives me a chance to see things I’ve never seen before.
‘We should’ve brought some beads and tomahawks to trade with the locals,’ Shine says. ‘That footy ground over there’d be a good bet.’ Shine points to a massive concrete stadium about fifteen storeys high. ‘You know, Pod, once great, great, grand-Uncle Trev swapped his last pair of pants for a stuffed hippopotamus, but its tail fell off, so he had to leave it in Africa. Pity. It’d be worth a fortune these days. That’s a true story, Pod. A true story.’
Chapter 13
We’re in the middle of the city, and it’s amazing. There are thin wooden racing boats like insects, with oars for legs, and clumsy sight-seeing ferries that remind me of caravans caught in a flood. Occasionally, a little old-fashioned steamboat toodles by. One toots at us with its whistle.
‘Grand-Uncle Trevor had one of them a hundred years ago.’ Shine watches the tubby timber boat chug off, brass portholes shining. ‘He put wheels on it, but unfortunately wrote it off in the Simpson Desert. Evidently he was trying to avoid someone’s cat. The good news, Pod, is that no one got hurt. Yes, you can fix a car-boat. But cats are more difficult. Especially if they’re dead.’
Shine is a very imaginative boy, that’s all I can say.
Around us, buildings take up most of the sky, and people by their hundreds sit in cafes lined up along the bank. I think of Virginia and Jodie, and hope they’ve made it to Williamstown, which should only be a few hundred metres across the bay from the mouth of the river.
‘Be seeing the girls soon,’ I say, tired now, my arms and shoulders aching. ‘We’re in the home straight, Shine.’
‘Mr Beanland would be proud.’ Shine nods with satisfaction. ‘We’ve taken the canoe out twice and haven’t sunk it once. Look out, Pod! There’s a rubbish catcher dead ah – damn!’
We’ve paddled straight into a big plastic boom-thing that’s filled with millions of disposable coffee cups, plastic bottles, sticks, tennis balls, plastic dolls, and a blow-up whale. People on shore start to laugh and clap.
‘I bet this never happened to great, great, grand-Uncle Trevor,’ I mutter, blushing as we do our best to back out of twenty square metres of rubbish.
‘Funny you should say that, Poddy.’ Shiny flips a red football sock off his paddle. ‘Because Uncle Trev did get bogged in a tip. Apparently Burke and Wills sent him down to dump some junk after their garage sale flopped, and his wagon got caught in a hole full of convict ladies’ old undies.’
Why do I find that so hard to believe?
The sound of the city is amazing, like an orchestra tuning up but never playing; noise coming from cars, trucks, trams, trains, boats, helicopters, people, cafes, and from the river itself, which makes a million little splashes and slaps.
Now it’s widening. And the boats using it are getting bigger and bigger.
‘Better stay out to the left,’ Shine says. ‘And keep out of everybody’s way. These fishing guys mean business.’
A steel fishing trawler comes up the middle of the river, pushing out a bow wave like a bouncer charging through a crowd. The crew don’t even look sideways, and suddenly the Wolverine seems out of place, riding unsteadily, her timber sides like eggshells compared to the hulls of all these other larger boats.
‘Do you get the feeling, Poddy,’ Shiny asks, ‘that maybe we’ve paddled into the wrong neighbourhood?’ He looks around at the widening river, the warehouses, building sites, and concrete wharfs. ‘And maybe it’s only gunna get wronger?’
‘We’ll be cool,’ I say, not very confidently. ‘If we’re careful. You can swim, can’t you?’ I mean this as a joke; in summer Shine and I spend so many weeks at our local pool that our boardies fade to grey and our ears never need cleaning.
‘Well, sometimes I forget really important things in an emergency,’ Shine says. ‘Once Grandpa Jack got stuck on the toilet, and I forgot where the crowbar was. Then I rang 911 instead of 000, and got an American lady who wanted to send in the US Special Forces and a spy camera.’
Really Nearly Deadly Canoe Ride Page 3