DAY TWO:  28 December 1969 - Tocumwal to Picnic Point, 96km
Another countdown sent us on our way.  There seemed to be an incredible number of campers along the riverbanks.  No canoeist need feel lonely at such a time of the year and there was always plenty of advice, banter and offers of a cold can, which would have been disastrous had we succumbed!

This was Sunday the 28th December and the day developed into a scorcher.  At Seymour not so far away the temperature reached 111 degrees F.

Bret Wood drove his car that day and followed the convoy to Picnic Point.  Fred Shirwood was out ahead, but by 10 am had burned himself out and had to withdraw. He was good at 'sprinting' but the character of the Marathon was starting to make itself felt.

I was becoming increasingly concerned about my crewmember, Lee.  He was definitely slowing up and said later that he was plagued by an uncontrollable desire to stand up, which of course is quite impossible in a craft of this type.  Finally he admitted that he was just a hindrance to me and felt he was letting me down. 

I put Lee ashore with surplus gear at about 12.15 pm, where he could hail the support boat.  Thinking of my sponsors, I was back on the river about 2pm and then paddled solidly.

I knew the other Kayak was behind me, but had no idea as to how far.  Already there were so many surprises that it was impossibly to figure whether the rest of the group were hours ahead of me or that someone might be laid up around the next bend.  Seeking information from campers on the bank proved extremely unreliable.

Twilight was turning to darkness.  The support boat cruised up and took a position astern of me about 8pm, with Chris and Ian on board.  Ted was picking me out in his spotlight and as we approached camp he tooted a greeting.  According to people at Picnic Point the white canoe in the spotlight made a really pretty picture.  I was exhausted.  The day had been a killer yet somehow or other I felt in better shape than the previous day.

While Ted went off to phone a progress report through to Station 3DB, I climbed into my bunk.  I just hoped that someone would be awake in time next morning to prop me up in the canoe and say 'right, now Mark, PADDLE!'

DAY THREE:  29 December 1969 - Picnic Point to Echuca, 78km
By 7am next morning, Monday the third day, we knew that Fred Shirwood and Bret Wood were returning to Melbourne. 

Chris and Ian, although now out of the race officially, felt refreshed enough to paddle along.  I was continuing as a single and considered myself eliminated except for mileage sponsorships.  Philip Green and Barry McGuffie were starters, while Jim Hesselschwerdt and Trevor Whitehead had only to finish the course to win the doubles section.

The River was beautiful.  The current was still strong, there was no wind and for a start, it was cool.  Campers along the bank gave us an ovation, many from sleeping bags.

Suddenly it developed into one of those shocking days with high temperatures and a howling northwest wind, which blew dust and red sand from goodness knows where.  After 8 miles I was dropping behind but generally the blistering wind assisted as far as the Barmah Bridge, which was about the halfway point of the day's journey to Echuca.

Some ominous drops of rain heralded the cool change and the wind turned abruptly into a cruel blustering southwester.  My left arm was packing up - simply losing power.  I stopped and applied mentholatum, which seemed to improve it like magic, then resumed paddling. 

I was paddling into the teeth of the wind.  The extra strain caused the left arm to become useless and to cap it all I rounded a bend to see the longest straight stretch of water thus far, lying straight into the wind.

I was exhausted and pulled into the bank.  When my support crew noticed I was nursing my arm it was suggested I pull out.  The canoe was loaded on top of the Land Rover and I joined the crew on the support boat.

Later that afternoon, amidst canoes arriving, Mum buying provisions, doctor's visits and so forth Ted noticed that the untended Crusader was adrift from the jetty half a mile away and was making across the River downstream. Children had evidently slipped her mooring rope. A two-car dash through the outskirts of Echuca and through a park finished at the jetty to find that a speedboat had Crusader in tow and matters were restored to normal.

We returned to the town landing later to watch the final canoes come in and there were some tired competitors who needed no rocking to sleep that night.

DAY FOUR:   30 December 1969 - Echuca to Torrumbarry, 62km
It was a new experience for me to be on the bank to wave as the canoes left at 7am on Tuesday.  My arm felt O.K. until I raised it above shoulder height, but I planned to try it out in the canoe that evening at Turrumbarry Weir.

In the caravan the night before we had opened collection tins, the money from which was going to my "Trendsetter" funds.  Red Cross Headquarters was anxious about some progress report on fundraising and were pleased with the $90.00 worth of coins we had collected.

Next morning we headed for Turrumbarry Weir.  At one point we attempted to deviate to check on canoe progress.  We had directions from a woman on a station property and twisted our way through a maze of tracks for ages without even seeing the River.  We all returned to the highway none the wiser.

Arriving at Turrumbarry, the large banner which always marked the finish line was erected, contact made with the Local Red Cross Branch representatives and the usual rigmarole for making collections got under way.

We unloaded my canoe and as we eased into the water Ian Fraser of the Box Hill Rovers came over and offered to paddle with me.  They were a wonderful team of fellows.  I had a feeling that he was a little concerned that my other arm might give out as well and leave me stranded!

I was quite pleased with my arm and felt that I could manage the full day's padding on the final day to Swan Hill.   It was clear from the times that the competitors were taking this day's paddle rather easy, to the extent of about an hour and half behind form.

Later we learned that at about five miles from the Weir, Barry attempted a break from Philip who, with an hour of more aggregate time up his sleeve, was content to tag along.  Philip hung on and was only five seconds behind Barry at the finish.  Barry's time for Tuesday was 10h: 12m:35s with an aggregate of 39h:49m:55s.  Philip was 10h:12m:40s, aggregate 40h:31m:48s.

Barry's father had re-joined the party at Turrumbarry Weir and was in the convoy to Murrabit.  There was no alternative for them but camping in the car.  Barry, needing a good nights sleep, was installed in our van, massaged, bottom rubbed with spirits and asleep almost immediately.

I voiced my intention to paddle the next day with a young support crewmember and the Rovers in their kayak, meaning we could increase the field of three crafts to six.  Then a voice from the darkness offered to accompany me in my double.  It was Clive Thomas, a ground party member.  He had no real canoeing experience but was willing and so was I.  Again I wondered if they were prompted by concern for me. 

There was that happy atmosphere among the parties, which made it such a pleasurable experience.  The camp finally settled down for the night.

DAY FIVE:   31 December 1969 - Murrabit to Swan Hill, 76km
What a flurry and scurry there was this morning!  The two kayaks were to be first off with the Canadian type 15 minutes behind and the three singles in another 45 minutes.

Philip's margin of 67m:52s at Murrabit was too much for Barry.  Had Philip been unfortunate enough to capsize as Barry did on the third day things might have been different, but Philip had the edge on experience and a slightly more stable craft for the conditions.  Barry tried desperately, to the point of collapsing after the finish, but Philip was only 23 seconds behind.

Jim and Trevor brought in their double another 21 minutes later.  They did a fantastic job with their big craft, which is large enough to take camping gear and food for weeks on end. 

The pair had made up time by not stopping for rest pauses like the cramped single canoeists were forced to do and by alternating their paddling positions between sitting on their chair-high seats and cushions, kneeling on one knee and standing up while still using the big single bladed paddles in underarm action.  It was almost the old story of the tortoise and the hare.  They did not quite beat the singles, but it was an interesting performance.

Clive refused to stop all day except for a few minutes on one occasion and how he managed it I will never know.  My arm survived and we managed to cross the finish line first.

Officials, sponsors, public address technicians, press and TV cameraman started to arrive and the Mayor of Swan Hill was due at 3pm.  All the canoeists beat the gun, so to speak, but it gave them time to shower and spruce up a bit before the prizegiving ceremony.

Ted Madden said that he could see a great future for this Marathon as an annual event - the longest canoe race in the world.  He paid me a nice little tribute and I wish I could remember his exact words.  It was to the effect that few men today see a creative idea develop into something big and exciting and I was fortunate to have such an experience at my tender age. 

Of course it still has to develop but as a pilot venture it was certainly a success.  The Marathon captured the imagination and interest of the public and publicity for Red Cross resulted in donations coming spontaneously and freely, wherever collection tins were taken.

This year we tested a lot of theories and tried a lot of ideas with only three week's notice.  I have no doubt what can be done with enough time to organise a similar event and I hope Red Cross can take advantage of this and gain some real financial benefit from the Murray River Canoe Marathon of the future.

Final Results for 1969 were:
1st TK1 Philip Ball, 45:36:20
2nd  TK1 Barrie Mc Guffie, 46:43:50
3rd  TC2 J. Hasselschwerdt and T. Whitehead, 47:57:28