The Murray

I grew up swimming in the River Murray (you remember the naming convention from the River Torrens post, yes?). Most weekends and countless afternoons after school were spent by, on, and in the river. It was the social hub of the town for youths.

We'd camp by the river - either getting to the spots by foot, by car, or by boat. One of my favourite memories of growing up on the river was camping by dinghy, travelling a day or so up- or downstream, rolling out swags and kipping for the night. A simple and simpler time.

We had our spots. If you wanted to find someone and they weren't at school, at home, or working, you'd try one of the spots - usually with good luck. Most spots had at least one good jumping tree. Somewhere to sit. A fire pit. A flat area to roll out some swags if you wanted, or needed, to stay the night.

Then there was yabbying, fishing, skiing.

I sometimes joke that my bloodstream is part Murray water.

At the moment it feels like the Murray water concentration in my bloodstream is dangerously low. I've not visited enough in the last years. Life gets in the way, and you opt for closer swimming spots (and then go to very-far-away swimming spots instead when you do have life-space).

This isn't a post about a specific place on the River Murray. If you want to go for a swim in the Murray, spend some time listening to the river and the nature around it. A spot will be reveal itself for you.