This canoe ride takes you through some of Victoria's best scenery

The nose of our canoe wanders like a distracted puppy as I sit at the stern, dabbing my paddle left and the right in an effort to work out the key to making it behave. My teammate, meanwhile, is holding up her end of the deal with slow but respectably solid strokes at the bow.

There's nothing like sharing a canoe for getting to know someone. Most of our motley crew of six have only just met (linked by a common friend), and together we've rented three tandem canoes from Paeston Canoe Hire, in the township of Dartmoor, for a 2.5 day jaunt on the Glenelg River Canoe Trail in far western Victoria. The winding 75-kilometre route follows the river's lower end - the Glenelg originates in the Grampians, making it one of the state's longest rivers - just before it spills into the Bass Strait near the South Australian border.

Paeston dropped us off at Wild Dog Bend for the journey downstream, offering intel on the river and campsites but very little on actual paddling technique, making day one a voyage of discovery in every sense.

Thankfully, this is an adventure anyone can do. No major muscles, fitness, bravery or skill is necessary, and only a modicum of knowledge is required to make progress easier. Firstly, the person sitting up front is the driving force while the one at the back is in charge of steerage. After hours of wildly meandering experimentation and over-corrections, we also learn that the heaviest person should sit at the rear - it helps the boat track better.

Pace is inconsequential though when the scenery is this sublime. The Glenelg carves through national park where trees tumble into the water in a medley of greens and 15 kilometres of limestone cliffs intermittently squeeze the river. Cormorants air their wings, welcome swallows swoop low for insects, and ducks taking flight "run" across the water alongside us. Ultimately, it's the kind of river that is difficult to access unless you have a boat. Cue peace, solitude and unobtrusively close wildlife encounters.

Technically our overall goal is a 32-kilometre section of the trail though it's quite possibly double the distance once zigzagging is factored in. Four hours of paddling, plus breaks, get us to Battersbys camp, one of seven dedicated canoe campsites that ensure paddlers fall asleep to the sound of possums and the distant roar of the ocean rather than cars and generators.

Conveniently, all gear (tents, sleeping bags, food) can be carried onshore in just a couple of waterproof barrels - like a TARDIS, they hold way more than you'd imagine - and though campsite facilities are limited to toilets, water tanks and sometimes a shelter, the waterfront locations are unbeatable. Fishing for salmon, perch, mullet and bream is popular.

The last time I stayed at Battersbys I was hiking the Great South West Walk, a glorious 250-kilometre loop that shadows the Glenelg for a fifth of its length. I can't resist an hour's reminiscence, hiking through twisted eucalypts and grass trees to a high point overlooking the snaking river.

The sense of peace and solitude is powerful. It's an observation echoed by one of my new friends later. If there's nothing like a stint in nature for decompressing and recalibrating mind and body, paddling seems to achieve it in double time. "It's like mindfulness that you don't have to work too hard for," she observes as we sit around the campfire, twigs crackling in slow dancing flames.

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Maybe it's the hypnotic paddle strokes, the way water drips off the end of paddles and beads across the surface, the lack of people. Or perhaps it's the peaceful companionship of wildlife: black cockatoos skimming gum trees, koalas, kingfishers and kangaroos. Whatever, the country's stillness is like a tuning fork and we willingly align. "I feel calm out here," my new friend adds. "You know, like a snow globe when the flakes are settling."

Out here, the Milky Way is bright enough to see the dark emu within it, and cold mornings invariably lay a blanket of fog over the still river - all the more spectacular when illuminated by the rising sun's lemon beams. The cliffs become more pronounced on our second day - long bands of grey and white limestone pocked with holes and draped in foliage. The group spreads out and though my paddling-buddy and I feel like we've got our technique dialled, somehow the leading pair - despite what appears to be a near constant flailing in the air of paddles - remain far ahead. They're perfect scale models to illustrate just how high the cliffs are - in places, up to 50 metres.

After a night at Pattersons camp it's only a short paddle to reach our pull-out point at Sandy Waterholes where we're collected by Paeston and taken back to base.

With more time we could follow the river another 18 kilometres to the ocean, passing a jetty at Princess Margaret Rose Cave - tours underground show off its spectacular stalactites and stalagmites - and a string of overwater fishing shacks on stilts, some so dilapidated they almost slide into the river. We'd reach the tiny town of Nelson and then the river mouth where a beach of golden sand stretches for 50 gloriously remote kilometres.

One day I'll go back and do it all.

Getting there: The township of Dartmoor, in Victoria's south-west, is a 4.25 hour drive from Melbourne.

Getting there: The township of Dartmoor, in Victoria's south-west, is a 4.25 hour drive from Melbourne.

The writer travelled at their own expense.