Houseboat holiday on the Murray River

Well, yes, you're right, boys. Problems are prone to arise if the captain is incompetent. 

So, let's turn the clock back three hours and see where it all went so wrong.

We had successfully moored our three-bedroom houseboat, Shannon – hired from Mildura operator, All Seasons Houseboats – on the Victorian riverbank well before 5pm, when all houseboats on the river must be tied up.

The place we'd chosen had been carefully selected: hidden away in the river gums, well away from other boats, opposite Trentham Cliffs on the NSW riverbank. 

(And, as we all know, most of the Murray River, however it meanders and moves, is part of NSW until it reaches South Australia. The oldest border in the country used to be down the middle of the river, but that proved too difficult for law enforcement, not just relating to fishing licences but also boating accidents.)

With everything secure, we'd spent half an hour soaking in Shannon's rooftop spa, then set off in Shannon's runabout dinghy for the Gol Gol Hotel, an hour downstream, where we had been told they do decent pub grub. (We'd eaten the last of our barbecue provisions for lunch).

As we'd set off for Gol Gol, life had seemed perfect. Mid-January, mid-Murray: who could ask for more? Yes, it was bloody hot, but the river was at its incomparable best. Cool, tea-coloured water that invited you to jump in, once safely moored. Impossibly picturesque scenes that looked as thought they had been painted by a modern Tom Roberts or Arthur Streeton around every corner. Families of water skiers throttling by us, making the most of the aquatic pleasure ground with their mono skis, learner bars and doughnuts. Meanwhile, determined anglers sheltered under the shade of the river gums, hoping to catch one of those prehistoric-looking Murray cod. 

As we'd tootled to Gol Gol in the runabout at a sedate six knots, my two sons – aged 12 and 10 – had taken turns steering, while I'd kept a hand hovering just above the tiller. They'd loved the independence, the feeling of responsibility, knowing that whenever another boat or human in the water appeared, with the minuscule risk of collision, they'd have to immediately relinquish command.

I remember pointing out the dead gum trees, bleached snow white by the relentless sun, lining the river banks, or, even more dramatically, partially submerged in the river itself. "Don't they remind you of the ancestral spirits of Aborigines," I'd asked my sons. "They might be deceased, but they're still here. Not just part of the Murray landscape, but proud totems that remind you how old this most ancient of lands is."

"Dad," they'd said, "what are you talking about?" 

There'd been an awkward silence for a couple of minutes before they had pointed out we were passing Bruce's Bend, where perhaps 30 houseboats were crammed close together like a floating Cambodian village. 

"Why are all those houseboats moored so near each other," they'd asked? "Losers," I might have said. "Our houseboat is hidden. We're isolated. We can get back and play Sheppard or 5 Seconds of Summer as loud as we like. 

"Some people think there's safety in numbers. But what can go wrong? We're almost at Gol Gol. And we've got our trusty runabout to get us home."

We reached the Gol Gol wharf about 5.45pm, tied the runabout up and walked the 100 metres to the pub, which has won all sorts of awards for its food. (For the record, both kids' meals were good, but my warm scallop salad special was neither fish nor fodder.)

By the time we'd finished eating, the clock was about to turn 7pm, so we'd decided to head back to the runabout so we could enjoy dessert back on our hidden houseboat. What a lovely evening ... and then?

Oh calamity! The dinghy's engine refused to start. If I hadn't left my mobile phone back on Shannon, I could simply have called the All Seasons helpline. No doubt, they'd have told me how to replace the safety catch (which, it later turned out, I'd inadvertently pulled out when we tied up).

Having owned boats before, I stubbornly tried to get the engine started for 45 minutes, knowing I was probably flooding the engine. In the meantime, my sons begged assistance from anyone who passed. Surely, those water skiers knew how to start an engine? Or those riverside locals walking their dog? Or that guy at the Gol Gol Hotel who served Dad that warm scallop salad special?

Nothing worked. And it was getting late. We had, at most, an hour of daylight left, so I did the only responsible thing left open to a houseboat skipper on a river cruise. I went back to the Gol Gol Hotel and called a cab.

The bemused taxi driver arrived 10 minutes later, on the NSW side, clearly baffled by our instructions about getting back to our houseboat on the Victorian side. But he was a hero. We gave him the vaguest of directions: "We have a houseboat called Shannon. It's moored opposite Trentham Cliffs. Yes, we know that's in NSW, but we're on the opposite side of the river. Please get us back there as soon as you can."

And he did. He took us over the Murray, from Gol Gol to Mildura, then through a network of back roads until we reached a cobweb of dirt tracks. By then, we were weaving our way through the gum trees of the flood plain. Look, isn't that Bruce's Bend, where all those houseboats are tied up sensibly near each another so they're very visible and reachable by taxi?

Our driver trusted his instincts as we came to each fork in the dirt. And my two sons proved surprisingly good at remembering things they had seen on our runabout cruise to Gol Gol. Me? I began to realise it's a lot easier to find a houseboat from the water than from a forest. 

By then, it was getting dark. I was about to call off the search and ask the cabbie to take us back to a cheap motel for the night when both boys shout in unison. "Dad. That's it. There's Shannon! We hid it well, didn't we?" 

Sure enough, we were back home – safely. We gave the cabbie a healthy tip and walked the last few metres back to the houseboat, disturbing a mob of kangaroos as we did so. We climbed aboard, whooping with delight at being reunited with our old friend. A few minutes later, we were on the roof deck as if there'd be no crisis, admiring the spectacular night sky that is part of the Murray River's unpolluted light experience.

Please don't let our unexpected adventure put you off hiring a Murray River houseboat. It was totally my cock-up – I didn't pay  sufficient attention when we given the half-hour hands-on briefing at the Mildura Wharf before our three-day, two-night voyage. 

Shannon suited us and I suspect it would suit most Australian families. She's easy to steer, highly manoeuvrable and comes with a decent barbecue, oven, fridge, microwave and several TVs (vital during the Australian Open). There's also one bathroom and a head (that's a toilet, landlubbers) and that rooftop spa.

But let's get back to the river. By the time the Murray reaches Mildura, it has been tamed. The days when it could rise 30 metres in a flood are gone. A series of weirs and pumping stations push the water to where it is needed to grow produce: this is Australia's pre-eminent food bowl, after all.

We could have gone downstream, through Mildura's Lock 11 (completed in 1927), but we took All Seasons' advice and chose the more picturesque journey upstream. 

Given our time constraints, the furthest we could get is Red Cliffs, perhaps 20 minutes away from Mildura by car. But when we reached the distinctly ochre-coloured, mini-escarpment that must be Red Cliffs and turned Shannon around, we felt like true adventurers.

The mighty Murray and its equally mighty siblings – the Darling, Goulburn and Murrumbidgee​ – are still the geographical and symbolic left lung of the Australia, breathing sustenance into the nation. (Look at the Murray-Darling on a map and you'll see the relevance of the lung reference).

Visit it and see how far-sighted our Australian ancestors were with their respect and management of the river system, while having a bloody good holiday. Just one word of advice: check you know about the safety catch on the runabout before you leave your houseboat.

TRIP NOTES

MORE INFORMATION

See murrayriver.com.au.

GETTING THERE

Allow six hours to drive from Melbourne to Mildura via the Calder Highway. From Sydney, allow 10 hours and 30 minutes via the Hume and Sturt Highways. 

Alternatively, Mildura Airport has daily flights from Sydney and Melbourne. See qantas.com.au; virginaustralia.com; rex.com.au.

CRUISING THERE

There are four Mildura-based companies that hire houseboats. We travelled with All Seasons Houseboats, which is a Victorian Tourism Award winner, see allseasonshouseboats.com.au.

DINING THERE: 

Mildura has some of the finest restaurants in rural Victoria, including the renowned Stefano's. For a comprehensive list of culinary options, see mildura.com.au.