FOLLOWING THE FLOW
Rafters Basin. Eagles Nest. Irenabyss. On the Franklin River, every place has earned its name. Over the years, explorers like Dean and Hawkins, Bob Brown and even the early colonists have all left their mark, literally, on the map. With so many special places named along the river, you would think that one of the most important parts of the Franklin—the start—would have one. Well, to my surprise it doesn’t. I suppose that means I could be forgiven for driving straight past it…right?
“I think that was it back there,” said Louie. “Yeah me too,” chimed in Andrew, who sat in the back of the car with Mick; both were buried under an avalanche of gear. We were pulled over beside the Lyell Highway, in a rare place where the thick, southwest bush gave way to the road.
While we were talking a small, red car trundled around the corner and pulled up beside us. In it sat the other members of our group—Jason, Tom and Mark. Having rafted the river eight years ago, Jason was our go-to for all things Franklin (even if his memory was a bit fuzzy). So, after he confirmed our suspicions, we swung the cars back around in search of the elusive put in.
Granted, the put-in for paddlers is not even on the Franklin itself. It’s on the Collingwood River, and it sits below a featureless bridge somewhere between Lake St Clair and Queenstown. No signs mark the turn off or name the river being crossed. The only way we knew we’d finally found the right place was a registration book with this warning written above it: “This is not the place to learn whitewater skills.”
As I stood beside the book, looking at the gently flowing Collingwood, it was hard to imagine that just a few kilometres downstream, large rapids loomed. I tried walking further down river, but it continued to bend out
