Following Swainy, our fleet-footed guide, we clamber up an embankment which is dangerously slippery with loose stones. It feels like for every foot forward we slip back two.

Eventually we reach a plateau, punctuated only by a number of old box gum trees. Most of them are dead and their aging trunks, bleached from centuries of searing sun, resemble giant skeletons rising out of a long-lost graveyard.

To say it's not the most inviting place would be an understatement, but for thousands of years, according to Swainy, "this was a camp spot for the first people of the Monaro."

"Back then this would have been a Garden of Eden, a place of plenty with lush native pastures rich with bush food and the river teeming with fish, eels, swans and ducks," Swainy says, crouching on the ground and pulling tentatively at the top of a lone green plant growing in a rock crevice.

"Look here's a yam – this is one of the few left. The loss of topsoil here as a result of grazing in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries has dramatically changed this place."

Despite the site's forbidding facade we soon discover the ground is covered with a treasure trove of stone artefacts. After almost every step Swainy stops to pick up and show us tangible reminders of the old campsite, everything from axe heads to grinding stones. It's like we are walking through an open-air museum.

We are all finally getting a better appreciation of Swainy's earlier remarks that "this whole river is one big Indigenous site".

On the way back into our kayaks Mrs Yowie notices thousands of semi-submerged river stones arranged in a semi-circle.

"That would have been part of an ancient fish trap," explains Swainy.

"Look there's one!" hollers Sarah, our 10-year-old daughter, pointing at a small fingerling, which with impeccable timing, darts under the raft.

After half a day on the river it's surprisingly the first fish we've seen.

"The river is still in recovery, environmental flows have only been running for a few years and we need bigger ones," Swainy says. "When the water returns, so will the fish."

We all spend the next hour bemoaning the lack of water - hauling, bumping and scraping our kayaks and raft over rocks before navigating into deeper pools of water; each tiresome portage followed with the obligatory swim.

On the banks of one of these billabongs and in the shadow of a hill curiously called ''Where Dick Took Fright'' is our own camp site for the night.

While we're still fumbling through our dry bags for our tent poles, Swainy has not only erected his own, somewhat less salubrious shelter, but also set up up a covered common area, boiled the billy and is busy peeling vegies for the camp oven.

In one extract Hunt explains the origins of the name of the mountain, now silhouetted by the setting sun, behind us.

It appears that many years ago the flat country towards Ingebyra was taken up by one of the earliest settlers and used as a cattle run. This man had in his employ a native stockman called Dick. Dick had the reputation of being absolutely fearless and was a splendid horseman.

One day some cattle broke away from him and ran out on a spur. Dick rode hard trying to wheel them. He was galloping when he saw that the timber ended abruptly, and he pulled his horse into a slithering stop at the very edge of a precipice.

It was the only time Dick ever admitted to being frightened, and to this day the spur bears his name and is reference to the incident.

I wonder if Banjo Paterson had heard of Dick's terrifying ride before penning his famous ballad The Man from Snowy River, published in 1890. The mind boggles.

Swainy has his own yarns to tell, ones which date back much further. His favourite is the story of the beautiful Maleema (an indigenous siren) who not far upriver from here, at Wild Woman's Ridge, "has been enticing men into the bush for thousands of years." Apparently if you submit to her advances, you are never seen or heard from again.

However, some of Swainy's yarns will have to wait until tomorrow, for exhausted from a long day on the river, the girls can't keep their eyes open any longer.

They must be tired for they don't even ask for the obligatory game of shadow puppets in the tent. So it's to the gurgling sound of the river, and ever-present Brumbies neighing in nearby scrub, that we all drift off to sleep.

Dawn breaks early and with two kookaburras laughing at our partially collapsed tent (I'll blame the girls…) Swainy leads us on a short bush bash down river to another box gum.

Leaning gently against its gnarly trunk, he says, "this tree tells the story of modern and ancient Australia."

Not only are the roots of the tree exposed - "the topsoil washed away following erosion caused by grazing of hoofed-animals" - but this tree also bears a couple of older wounds.

"They've [first people of the Monaro] taken bark from this tree to make a canoe and at a later date, also several coolamons [baskets/dishes]" Swainy explains, pointing at two tell-tale scars at head height.

However, it's a square-shaped hole, strangely hacked into the hollow trunk, which catches Sarah's eye.

"That would have been used to smoke out a possum, whenever they were hungry they would have just gone to another tree to find another possum," Swainy says.

While Sarah is suitably impressed with the ad hoc history lesson, her little sister Emily is just relieved we're having bacon and eggs and not possum tail for breakfast.

Rafting the second day is much easier, more because we finally get into the rhythm of paddling, rather than any help from the river which still runs at barely a trickle.

"We are about to move to a different songline," Swainy announces , explaining to the girls: "Think of the songline as an ancient pathway, it's the map in your head that is sung to you by verse by your grandmother."

As if on cue, just around the next bend, a strong breeze brushes against our foreheads. "That's Koora Koorai, or the wind spirit, sending us a message that we were moving through from one area to another along this songline," Swainy remarks .

We were among the record number of fellow Canberrans who flocked to the recently closed Songlines: Tracking the Seven Sisters exhibition at the National Museum of Australia (surely their best temporary exhibition to date), but there's nothing quite like a hands-on, learning experience as you are personally guided along a real songline. Wow!

Within minutes the riverscape has changed, the scree slopes aren't as steep, and the river is wider and shallower. One thing that sadly hasn't changed are the omnipresent weeds and the ubiquitous brumbies, the excitement of seeing one gallop through the water now more than tempered by witnessing first-hand over the past two days the devastation they have caused in such a fragile environment.

I love horses as much as anyone, but just like other hoofed feral animals such as cows and pigs, from an ecological perspective they are out of place in this high country, especially in such significant numbers.

Despite the gentle flow of the river, we do get some adrenalin-charged moments - including taking on ''Wet Cheeks'', rated a grade 3 rapid when the water is pumping - just before our haul-out point at Half-Way Flat.

"It's so-named as you get both sets of your cheeks wet, your face and your bum," hollers Swainy, just before we hit the white water.

"Yah, that's even better than the slides at Big Splash [the pool near the Jamison Centre]," gasps Emily as the front of the raft bounces through the rapid — the ultimate compliment from a seven-year-old city dweller.

Back in 1937 Hunt described the same section of river we've just journeyed down over the last two days as "some the roughest country in Australia… a stretch that has practically warded off the attacks of both the old and present-day pioneers, and the only scars it bears are occasional tracks and bridle paths which wander into it, gradually to dwindle and disappear."

While grazing, feral animals, weed infestations and the disastrous effect of lower river flows due to the Snowy Hydro Scheme have left longer lasting wounds than Hunt could ever have imagined, our adventure down this iconic river is an enriching experience and one that has gifted us with memories we will cherish forever.

Wilderness Rafting Adventure: Alpine River Adventures and High Country Trails and Tucker have teamed up to offer family-friendly fully guided and catered Snowy River Rafting Adventures through the Byadbo Wilderness. Ex Jindabyne.

Prices vary depending on numbers (max 6) and dates dependent on water flow. Suitable for age 7 and above but with at least an average level of fitness, an adventurous spirit and an appreciation for remote wilderness travel. Paddling experience not essential.

More info: www.highcountrytrails-tucker.com and www.riverguide.com.au

Degree of difficulty: Medium-Hard

Congratulations to Penleigh Boyd of Reid who was the first reader to correctly identify last week's photo as the official residence of the Catholic archbishop of Canberra-Goulburn Archdiocese, located just off Commonwealth Avenue near Regatta Point in Parkes.

It was the first time for several years that more incorrect answers than correct ones were received, with the majority of readers mistakenly thinking the grand home was Government House, Yarralumla.

This may have been because of the open day held there last Saturday. Did you go? What a nice touch by His Excellency General the Honourable Sir Peter Cosgrove and Her Excellency Lady Cosgrove to personally greet so many who lined up in the heat for a tour of their stately home.

How to enter: Email your guess, along with your name and address, to timtheyowieman@bigpond.com. The first email sent after 10am, Saturday March 10, 2018, will win a double pass to Dendy.