The Murray river. Winding through eucaplytus forest. Willows hanging over banks concealing ducks. Magpies and cockatoos squeak and squawk in the trees. Egrets and herons in the shallows.

In the distance a 250 horsepower hum. Now a 250 horsepower roar. A ski boat zips by at 40 kph. The passengers wave. The skier waves. Now they're gone around the bend.

In a moment the waves hit us and our boat is tossed about and some water splashes over the gunwhales. Then the waves strike the bank with a surprizing violence - CRASH CRASH CRASH.

I'm trying to come to grips with the water skiers. I don't want to hate them. I don't like to be full of rage.

We met a fellow on New Year's eve named Brent. He's a physical education teacher that works with troubled students. He often takes them on river trips down the Murray for therapy. He considers floating down the river is a spiritual event.

If it's spiritual to float silently with the current and watch the birds and trees pass by, to admire the tree stumps and burls and roots exposed by erosion, to stop and swim when you want, to have little schedule except the sun and your stomach, then it is spiritual. At any rate, we float down rivers as often as possible so you could certainly call it a religion to me. We always offer tobacco and alcohol to the river gods before we embark on a trip.

I think people in the small fishing boats also enjoy the spiritual quality of the river. Unlike most of the boats with 50 times the horsepower, the fishing boats often slow down as they pass up, aware that they are a disturbance and doing their best to minimize it. We in turn give them a lot of space so as not to scare the fish.

This courtesy seems rather senseless when a moment later a 100 decibel ski boat roars past.

Today as we loaded our canoe at the Echuca boat ramp, someone launched a speed boat beside us. The speed boat, called "God's Gift" in huge glistening cartoon like letters, consisted of no more than an enormous engine with lots of chrome pipes and tubes sitting in a long skinny pointy piece of fiberglass. The care with which they launched and the obvious attention to every detail of the boat made it clear that the owner cares a lot about this boat.

God's Gift is the loudest thing I've heard on the river in 300 miles of paddling. It sounds a bit like a Harley Davidson motorcycle mixed with dragster. At the moment I though to myself, "that guy needs to get a life." What an absurd machine. What could it possibly do but be loud and fast, the two most annoying attributes I can think of in a boat going down the Murray?

God's Gift reminds me of a motor home owned by an old friend. He spent 2 years reomodeling and rebuilding it after his wife died. It had everything including a closed circuit TV so he see behind him when backing. He called the motor home Genesis. Working on it proved spiritual and therapeutic for him.

Perhaps God's Gift has a similar story. I should not judge this man.

I've decided to look at it this way. The power boaters don't see the river as anything but a water playground. They don't care about the silence they destroy or the wildlife that shuts up and hides when they pass. The skiers like to jump the waves they make. With this attitude, God's Gift would be the most fun boat of them all.

I cannot dislike someone just for having fun. Yet their activity destroys mine like a chainsaw in a church while my activity has no effect on them whatsoever. Today a skier deliberately splashed us. A young man, he does not comprehend that the river has purposes other than fun.

It is something we will have to live with. The skiers will surely tell us, "go paddle somewhere else if quiet is what you want." We hope downstream we can get some peace. Perhaps someday large sections of river can have low horsepower and speed limits.

next: A good day on the river and Kangaroos

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