Franklin River Drama

Anthony Coulson
Jul 9
8 min read

Updated: Aug 8

We meet many wonderful people providing services for rafting expeditions and other expedition transports. Being based in Queenstown is a huge strategic advantage for us. We soon got equipped and applied for a Parks and Wildlife supported license. This license allowed us to have our own gate key to what is known as the 'Mt McCall Track.' This track is the only existing route to the river that leads to Propsting Gorge, about halfway down the river.

The Journey to Propsting Gorge

An exciting 60-kilometre journey from Queenstown awaits adventurers. The last 10 kilometres require a high level of 4x4 off-road capability and skill. This often intrepid activity provides an alternate put-in or get-out for punters. It also offers assistance for those expeditions that may not have gone as planned. With this access and 4x4 capability, we have been able to help several groups out of difficulty. Mostly, these are minor issues and rather routine, such as:

Food or Equipment Drops

Sometimes, items are lost, run out of, broken, or forgotten. Even punters who have a craving are willing to pay for delivery.

Punters with Minor Injuries

We encounter individuals with upper body sprains and strains. Some have simply had enough, while others couldn't make the normal put-in due to travel delays. Some need to catch planes or attend to other commitments.

Then, there are the not-so-routine cases of rendering assistance that we classify as... Missions.

Midnight Stowaways

After days of worse-than-forecast weather, we received a Satphone call from Brett one night. "Got 14 of us that need to get out." My usual response to anything Brett throws at us is cool and calm: "Yes, of course, 11 am tomorrow at the gorge. Just leave it to us; we got this." Then we immediately go into a flat spin behind the scenes. We managed to transport 16 people and a bunch of gear out that afternoon and night.

We all got to our base, The Paragon Theatre Queenstown, and Brett casually waved toward two young guys, saying, "They're not ours," while he tucked into a bowl of pasta and a beer. Turns out they were two punters from Tasmanian Expeditions... Stowaways! LoL... Oh well, we were happy to help them out too. After what turned out to be an epic journey, we all made it to Hobart around 2 am. These two tired, wet, and cold young men were supposed to go to Launceston but found themselves in Hobart instead.

Franklin River Expedition 4x4 transport logistic

Thunder F$&ked (The Punters' Description)

After about four days of driving rain, I'm at The Paragon bar when a caller from Melbourne asks, "Can you get 10 people and all equipment from the Franklin River? It's not gone well." My usual reply is, "Yes, of course, happy to help." But I thought, "WHAT! We thought no one had gone on." I immediately call Brett and tell him, "Yeah, we got a mission on." After much supposing how they have gotten themselves into such a predicament, he just says, "Ahhh, fill me in later."

It turns out they were experienced rafters from NZ leading the expedition. Yes, that's all well and good but hold up, this is The Franklin, and going it alone without someone knowledgeable about this river is not recommended. They had done a crazily arduous high-level portage around, no, more like over a rapid set aptly named Thunderush, where one slip would have almost certainly resulted in death. After surviving this terror, they spent nine hours using ropes, pulleys, and carrying all their gear, including rafts, up the 300m gorge. This was an amazing feat of endurance. Afterward, they collapsed in a heap under a tarp and waited for us.

When we got there, the bunch of bedraggled soggy misery crawled out from under the tarp, waving raw chapped hands at us. Then came unashamed emotional tears as they devoured the sandwiches and hot soup we had for them. Clearly, they had come through a major ordeal! I said, "Wow, that's an enormous effort," as they told me how they managed to get themselves and all the equipment up the gorge. They replied, "That was the easy part." Hmmm, hard to imagine what these people had endured prior to that. Two 4x4s and the off-road trailer got them out.

Operation Thunder

Space Chook

Always at the ready every rafting season by now. Anytime we hear a helicopter, we check that it's not the rescue chopper headed to the river. We see the rescue helicopter from time to time, but it seldom goes to the river. All the professionally guided expeditions are safely run, and the need for that level of assistance is rare. I repeat, professionally guided. Trouble is likely when there are trips that are not so professionally or not at all professionally led.

The clear message at the Collingwood River put in

On the upper section of the river is a feature called Nasty Notch, which is just that: a narrow rock gap that one would not want to be forced through by a powerful water flow. It's best to safely portage this. A private trip with a boat being steered by a Mr. Space Chook somehow becomes wrong way up just before Nasty Notch, meaning that everything is going through. Well, unless you were a bit portly and didn't fit... well, let's not dwell on that. Thankfully, these skinny lean paddlers got away with minor injuries. Not minor enough, though, and the rescue 'copter had a busy day.

So where do we come in? We get a call from Abigail and Scotty. Abigail, an experienced guide I had met a year before, was unashamedly wearing a T-shirt with the classic NO DAMS logo on its front. Scotty, I had transported several times and learned he is a champion kayak paddler who has mixed it with the best in the world. Both of these most likeable people had been hired to lead another expedition to recover all the gear, and we were happy to provide our service.

Goin' with the Flow

Back at The Paragon, I get a message to call someone back about a McCall trip. It turns out it's someone wanting to "borrow" our key. AS IF! There are few things, if any, more highly valued and as closely guarded as our key to the Wild Rivers Wilderness. I say, "No, there will be no borrowing of our key, but we can help you." After a sigh, they say, "I need to get a couple of paddles, food, and barrels to the river," to which I reply, "Of course, happy to help," while thinking about what has gone wrong on the river.

One of the four commercial NBT (Nature Based Tourism) licensed operators on the river has had a slight mishap. They are guiding a trip when somehow both boats are flipped, and the whole thing turns into a giant canyoning expedition for a short time. One boat is quickly recovered, and everything possible is gathered up. In this one now very heavy boat, they continue. One of these two extraordinary guides swims after the other boat, finding it a considerable time and distance later.

Negotiating Trojans rapid: Franklin River

Nearly all of the food is lost, so a mission is now on to resupply and save the trip. With our NBT license, equipment, and key to the gate, it's what we do. We have invested quite a lot to do it well and are always more than happy to help.

Expedition support on route to The Franklin

I must say it was an impressive physical feat by these two guides that saved this trip. I can imagine the story the punters took home from this one. We love what we do and are proud of it. We do it because we love this environment and the fact that it is totally wild. We must all work together to safeguard it from development. Less is more. It is Wilderness—Let it be.

On a Trip to the Put In One Morning

I meet Klaudia's friend Jed, who sits in the front seat of the shuttle bus. I learn that Jed and his partner are getting out at the Frenchmans Cap track car park to walk in. Jed will climb the sheer face to the summit and proceed down to the River at Irenabyss. I was impressed enough with them walking into Frenchman's and down to the river, but to climb the face as well earns a WOW. But wait, there's more; he's gonna free climb it. That's right, no ropes. What The Actual?! Who is this guy!?

He doesn't talk and barely acknowledges anyone during the journey. He just dozes, rarely opening his eyes. This leads me to believe he had become immersed in some strange kind of meditative trance-like state, mentally preparing and steeling himself for the extreme challenge at hand. Yeah, nah, just turns out he's prone to travel sickness and gets squeamish. Seriously though, walking into Frenchmans, free climbing the face, descending to the River, and rafting out wins my admiration. He takes to rafting so well that he soon becomes a regular guide, and we become well acquainted.

Standing on Mt Jukes looking east to Frenchmans Cap. — Frenchmans Cap

It's Time. I Have to Do It

I cannot keep on talking the talk as an ambassador and advocate for the conservation of this environment without doing the whole trip. As the season comes to an end in early May, there is just one trip left on the calendar, and my name is on it. I'm prepped, fitter than I have been in quite a long time, and I'm excited to go. And then it rains... a lot. Klaudia calls me with the anticipated, "We can't go; it's too much."

I'm deflated. I was so ready, but the power of the River, with the gauge at Collingwood running over 1.6, must be respected. Then, it stops raining. The forecast for the week ahead looks steady, so there's a window, but the punters have already been called off, so I stop thinking about it. The next day, my phone rings... Klaudia... "We're going, day after tomorrow."

Right, I grab my stuff, service up the bus and trailer, and head off. Brett is not going, so it's Klaudia and Jed to guide five young climate change lawyer types and myself. So six punters, two guides, and we are the only group on the river (Perfect). I stayed the night with Brett and Klaudia in a room surrounded by rafting stuff. I was too excited to sleep, so I spent half the night fussing over my gear. Eventually, I get some rest. Loading up the next morning and getting to the river was a blur as I focused on the reality that I was going. It was everything plus more than I imagined, and the final video will show that much more effectively than me typing here. However, I will point out one moment.

Pigs Trough Portage

"When you get to the end of the portage, check out the waterfall on the right," they said, which I did. Then, turning to walk to the river, I found myself staring at the same amazing scene of Rock Island Bend that Peter Dombrovskis famously captured during the Blockade. I'm stunned for several seconds until comprehension registers of the enormously significant icon of Wilderness that I am now staring at. Memories from decades ago of the first time I saw a printed image of the scene before me cause emotion to bubble up from within. Knowing I'm alone, everyone else is at the waterfall behind me, I lose it just a little bit. Regaining some composure, I realize I'm nodding and saying to myself, "Well played, Klaudia and Jed."

The next day, Klaudia and I walk back up here from Newlands. Standing on top of the rock, we talk of nature as we bathe in the pureness of this magnificent place for a couple of hours.