Friday 26 May 2017

BACK TO THE KIDMAN WAY - THE TOWN OF HILLSTON (10 -12 APRIL 2017)

In 1817, when passing through the Hillston area, the famous explorer John Oxley described the country as "uninhabitable and useless for all purposes of civilized man."  Well, history has proved Oxley to be both right and wrong. More of this shortly.

We decided to make Hillston a three night stop-over for two reasons....firstly to give your ageing scribe a towing break after a couple of hard days in the wind and to also allow us the time to 'get this town under our belts'. And, of course, as we learnt long ago, a tour on 'Shank's pony' not only provides much needed exercise, it also allows us to take in all we come across.





So with the weather now fine and bright, off we went, initially through the car park off the reserve right next to our caravan park









where we found exercise equipment for those who are either fit or aspirational, 














and the crystal clear waters of the more than acceptable town swimming pool where indeed I would have made my mark were it open.









Water is indeed a feature of this end of town. Beyond the pool and the picnic reserve the vast expanse of Lake Woorabinda, developed in 1972, provides a venue for swimming, water skiing and bird watching and is surrounded by a walking trail for those who prefer to remain dry whilst enjoying the locale.



The discovery of this aquatic playground provided something of a taste of home for us. Implausible as it may seem, the Adelaide Hills also boasts a Lake Woorabinda. This too, is a man-made lake which was initially constructed as a water source for the old steam trains, but now forms a feature of a local nature reserve. What odds could one offer in betting that there could not possibly be two Lake Woorabinda's in Oz....but there are.

Hillston is built along the banks of the River Lachlan, and actually began life as a stock crossing. Like so many other country towns, a pub and store followed, and the town expanded. Mind you, the first publican only lasted a few years before dying of, as was reported at the time, "exhaustion from intemperance". I think these days we would say he had been drinking the profits!

The town has had something of a chequered history. After WW1 much of the surrounding land was taken up under the soldier settlement scheme, and there was an upsurge of optimism and endeavour. Sadly, Oxley's observations proved correct in this instance. The marginal nature of the land and the rainfall meant that the 'settlement' blocks were too small to viably support the families who settled on them, and after some years of struggle, many gave up and left the district. Hillston suffered an inevitable decline. Round one to Oxley!

But this is far from the picture today. Hillston is now a thriving service town of about 1,500 residents which is surrounded by a flourishing and diverse agricultural industry, and it's all down to the wonders of water, in this case water drawn from the Lachlan River through an extensive irrigation system.

The introduction of irrigated cotton in the late 1990's proved a game changer. The local gin now turns out over 70,000 bales per annum.

And the "useless" land of Oxley's report has bloomed under irrigation. Livestock, grain, citrus, fruit and vegetables now flourish, including, of all things, large cherry orchards. The orchards, vineyards and massive fields of potatoes stand in stark contrast to the desiccated, brown land which surrounds them.



This one shot, taken as we were heading out of the town, does rather poorly show one of the large orchards past which we travelled. Oxley...exit stage right!




When we first arrived in Hillston, we were a bit nonplussed by the extent of itinerant worker accommodation we found, not only at the caravan park, but elsewhere in the town. This particular complex was quite close to our park,










and further into the town we came across another, the 'Hillston Backpackers' lodge,












complete with its set of dongas along the side and collection of very 'used' vehicles at the front, most of which would be marginally roadworthy at best.







But the backpacker accommodation prize goes to the Hillston Motel












where a lack of space has not deterred the inventive owners from making the most of what they have. Double storey dongas no less!












And what better than to spend pay night at the on site 'Shamrock' restaurant.....just what one would expect to find in (almost) outback Australia! 







Many of the agricultural ventures around Hillston are seasonally labour intensive which answered our initial question about the extent of backpacker accommodation. What did surprises us, however, was the news from Renee that things really hot up in Hillston during the cherry picking season......cherries in this part of the country?  Who would have thought it? We have always associated cherry orchards with cool climate country.....not so, here they are flourishing. And of course, there is no easy way to pick these tasty little red morsels.....it's labour intensive.





But enough of industry, those it employs and thumbing our noses at John Oxley.....let's take a quick look at the town's main street. A pretty little footpath took us past the end our our caravan park





to the short road which allows access to the adjacent town oval which actually shares a common boundary with the caravan park. We were disappointed that we were not here for a good old country footy match....we could have set up our chairs at the fence, picked a team, and had a good shout.






This is definitely the sporting end of town. Abutting another boundary of the oval are the very well kept rinks of the Hillston Bowls Club, 












where the members and guests share facilities with those of the Hillston Ex-Services and Citizens Club.





'Ex Services and Citizens'.......this struck us as an odd name, and the first we had come across in our travels. Fortunately, a plaque at the front of the building provided the story, one



which demonstrates that the good folk of Hillston have not been slow in grasping an opportunity and working together as a community. To me, this is also a rare example of members of an RSL Sub-Branch recognising social reality and responding with foresight and common sense, something which could well be a lesson for a few of the current members of the this august body in South Australia.





A little further along the way we came upon this colourful building, 'The Shed on Lachlan', one of the town's several appealing looking cafes. This particular establishment is perched on the bank high above the waters of the Lachlan River.



Steps behind the cafe led down to an odd little platform at the water's edge. It hardly seemed large enough to allow for riparian dining (and let's face it, this is not a startlingly attractive river setting), so we rightly or wrongly assumed that this is a landing platform to accommodate those who may be boating on the river. I'm  little embarrassed to admit that I didn't take the time to go in and enquire....not like me at all really but here you are....we are all still in the dark!







Beyond 'the Shed' we wandered along the paved walkway through this pretty little park











and soon found ourselves at the northern end of the tree lined main drag,










where this very colourful local butcher's shop presented a domestic challenge. Apart from the products one would expect to find in premises such as these, this fellow advertises homemade smoked small goods and a vast range of other tempting viands. 




I was like a dog begging for a biscuit as the 'keeper of the purse' sharply reminded me that our freezers were full and we had no need for additional supplies. Needless to say, the leash remained taut.....we walked on!





It soon became apparent that the fluctuating fortunes of the town had taken its toll on some business ventures, as evidenced by this empty commercial shell, but we were pleased to note that these were in the minority.











The town's IGA store was well stocked and booming, 












and even had some local competition in the form of this quaint and decidedly 'non-supermarket' venture at the other end of the street.











For those with an artistic bent, one end of this gabled building












is home to the very aptly named community gallery, with its adjoining cafe........of course, 












whilst on the other side of the street this far more formal building houses the Hillston library.  It too rubs shoulders with an 'eatery',




this time the local bakery where I was again challenged as we passed and the enticing smell of freshly baked bread and plump pastries wafted enticing tendrils of scent, Siren-like, across the footpath. We progressed empty handed. Ah, what will power....and unlike Ulysses, I was not tied to a mast, or was I...perhaps a verbal one. "You can't possibly be hungry....we've just had breakfast". "Yes, dear". At times like this it is consoling to know that one cannot buy a good old pasty in NSW.


Fortunately my thoughts of food were soon deflected as my natural curiosity about the manner in which the local 'boys and girls in blue' are housed took over. Here in Hillston the Police Station and Court House complex is solid looking indeed.





As are the two pubs. Our favourite was the Tattersalls, located at the south-western end of the CBD. We did spent a very pleasant hour or so here cradling a refreshing beverage or two whilst chatting away to the more than amiable and highly informative owner.



To our utter astonishment, told us that she had found herself behind the bar of this Hillston pub only because her husband had bought it on a whim! Now that's a 'sea-change', but we are both agreed she has fallen on her feet....she is a natural behind the bar and a most capable 'mine host'. More importantly, the business is thriving. 





We were less impressed with what we found behind the imposing but sadly dreary facade of the town's Club House Hotel. So after but one quick drink, we were again on our way.













As we made our way back towards camp we stopped briefly to admire the Hillston 'centenary' clock, erected (obviously) to celebrate the town's milestone of 100 years of existence. 












We did linger longer behind the gates of the Hillston memorial park









where this pathway past the tribute to the fallen continues all the way through the lawns and trees to link the main street with the banks of the Lachlan River.










Speaking of which (the Lachlan that is) we did also take the time to detour off the main street to the swing bridge which crosses the river.












Here a charming local hostess stood welcoming wayward wanderers and obligingly opened the gate.











As I mentioned previously, editorial honesty prevents me waxing lyrical about the splendour of the Lachlan as it meanders through the town.











The same could be said for the nearby Desathalon Park, where a stroll across the swing bridge brought us, but there can be no denying the extraordinary benefit these muddy looking waters have brought to the district even if this stops short of riparian grandeur. 







So let me conclude our Hillston hop with a couple of random and completely unassociated observations of life in this lovely little town, beginning with the outwardly unremarkable home of the local ambo's. But it's amazing what a closer inspection reveals.











What a solid beast this is.... an ambulance which could tackle any road conditions, and out here, probably has to!










And if ever you were seeking a gift with a difference, go no further than the main street shop occupied by the local quilting group. Ah....an emu......just what we have been looking for all thee years!










And finally, with Easter nigh, one shopfront made it very clear that some of the worthy Hillston inhabitants take this festival very seriously.












I must apologise for the wretched reflections in these photos, but I'm sure you can get the gist. How utterly charming, and dare I say, clearly the end result of considerable effort.






And whilst on the subject of Easter, we have learnt this can be a difficult period for those who live on the road as holiday makers cram each and every available spot in caravan parks throughout the country. We had chosen to spend the first period of the four day break in Nyngan, another of those Australian towns through which Liz and I have travelled on occasion but never stopped. Our booking enquiry had been met with the reassurance that we would have no trouble finding a site, and that if we arrived in good time, a choice river bank spot could be ours. We have heard things like this before......all will soon be revealed.

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