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.

A QUICK REAL TIME UPDATE AND SOME UNWELCOME NEWS (22 MAY 2017)

We are currently in Gladstone, or should I say 'stuck' in Gladstone. We arrived here just under a week ago for the Cruiser to have one of its regular interim services (every 5,000 kms whilst we are towing).  We chose Gladstone on the basis of the fact that about this time last year, when we detoured off The Bruce to have a fuel filter problem rectified, the staff at Bill Robertston Toyota here in Gladstone were so obliging that we were more than comfortable to give them more business.

More indeed!  

Apart from replacement air filters (which did not surprise us), then came the nasty little revelations (which is precisely why we have these interim services done....it's a form of mechanical insurance) which have kept us here.

On Friday last our front right hand shock absorber was replaced, but that is only the beginning. The service inspection had revealed a suspicious oil leak at the rear of the engine. For those of you mechanically minded, I suspect you may have already guessed the problem.....our main rear seal is shot and must be replaced before we can safely continue further north.

So???  This task, for which the replacement part is a mere $95, will set us back nearly $800. What??? Sadly, to get at and replace this offending little circle of rubber, the engine and transmission have to be separated.  This is a two day job which will require over 7 hours labour!

And, with Murphy's law to the fore, our good friends at Gladstone Toyota just happen to be flat out at the moment. In fact we were lucky to have had the service done when we did. The upshot of all this is that, whilst they have most obligingly rescheduled some work, we'll not be out of here until Thursday next (25 May), so our planned two day stay has now morphed into nine!

But needs must, and the thought of having toddled off regardless to later come to grief somewhere north of Rockhampton does not bear thinking about. Towing the rig to the nearest place of repair would have been a distinct probability, a decidedly unpleasant prospect.

So here we are.  Having sat out the recent big rain which battered the better part of Queensland for a couple of days, and taken the opportunity to not only dry out but make some running repairs and alterations to the van (new carpets etc), we'll spend the next couple of days doing some serious Gladstone sight-seeing in the loan vehicle to be provided to us.

We are still on track to arrive in Bowen but a day later than planned and, after a week there shall be heading on to Forrest Beach (near Ingham) before making our way further north to stay with friends at Mission Beach and thence on to Kurrimine Beach for the 'winter'.

Our arrival date there remains unchanged at 12 June (at this stage!!!)

THE ROUTE OF 'THE CATTLE KING' - THE KIDMAN WAY - JERILDERIE TO HILLSTON (10 APRIL 2017)

Joy, oh joy......after some considerable fiddling and faffing about, your scribe has demonstrated computer skills well beyond his understanding and fixed the formatting problem. We can now proceed as usual!

Sir Sidney Kidman....a man of extraordinary determination, enterprise, and vision, personal qualities which saw him leave home in 1870 at the age of 13 with 5 shillings in his pocket, riding a one-eyed horse, and from these humble beginnings go on to become Australia's largest land holder. The area eventually taken up by his chain of cattle stations has been variously estimated to have covered between 220,000 and 280,000 square kilometres.

What is less know about Kidman is his incredible contribution to Australia's efforts in WW1. Kidman donated wool, cattle and even aircraft to the Government, ensured that all employees who enlisted retained their jobs when they returned, and even provided for the families of those who died whilst fighting. His knighthood in 1921 was well deserved.

And of course, his enterprise (as opposed to the man himself) is remembered today with the naming of the Kidman Way, a route which begins just north of Jerilderie and extends northwards through the major towns of Griffith, Cobar, and Bourke to Barringun on the NSW/QLD border. 

We had already covered the stretch between Cobar and beyond, but on today's journey to Hillston, we were to begin coverage of this highway at its southern end.

We left Jerilderie under continuing grey skies and made our way back out onto the Newell Highway into the flat grazing lands of the southern Riverina.

The Newell was not to be our highway host for long.....9.9 kilometres to be precise before we reached the junction which would see us turn left

and begin our journey north-west along the Kidman Way.

The highway skirts around the town of Coleambally (where we plan to stay on our next sortie through these parts) 

and, some 35 kilometres later brought us to the first of two junctions with major Australian Highways.

Here we turned left and joined the more than familiar Sturt Highway for a mere 500 metres or so before making the required right hand turn which took us through Darlington Point (another spot we have on our 'to do' list), across the Murrumbidgee River  

and northwards into 

and out of Griffith, a town well know for many reasons, some more savoury than others. We have spent a few days here previously, and left with mixed feelings...mostly negative but today we saw a different section of the town as we made our way past beautiful gardens and parks en route to the turn off to Hillston. 

With just over 100 kms left to travel we decided that Griffith deserved a second chance.....our 'to do' list gained another entry!

As we made our way out of the town this 'Goodbye' sign with its sub headings in four different languages, seemed a fitting reflection of the ethnic mix which is Griffith.

Some 50 kms to the north-west of Griffith the silo towering over the tree tops heralded our approach to the small town of Goolgowi

where we crossed the second of the two highways to which I have referred earlier. The Mid Western takes travellers east from Hay through West Wyalong, Cowra, Bathurst and on into Sydney. It is another of Australia's major routes with which we are more than casually acquainted, but today our engagement was fleeting.....all we had to do was cross it!

The even smaller town of Merriwagga, which we reached some 20 kms further to the north-west from Goolgowi, boasts a rather ghoulish claim to fame.

I'll let the Carathool Shire website take up the story:

"A visit to the Black Stump Memorial will provide visitors with details of the gruesome tale that gave Black Stump Country its name. A bullocky passing through the area in 1886 left his wife, Mrs Barbara Blain to make camp for the night while he tended to the cattle. The day was hot, windy and dusty, and while his wife prepared the evening meal, the camp fire raged and she was burnt to death. When people expressed their sympathy, the bullocky simply said "When I returned, my wife was dead, she looked just like a black stump". And so the Black Stump legend was born. Mrs Blain is buried in the century old Gunbar Cemetery.

Merriwagga has a visitor information centre, and is home to the Black Stump Hotel, with the tallest bar in Australia. The Memorial to Pioneer Women, a Ron Clarke sculpture, is also located in Black Stump Park. The Historic Merriwagga Public School has been transformed into basic accommodation for caravans and camping."

How many times have you heard that odd Australian expression 'beyond the black stump' as a reference to a remote area. Now you know the story. And the pub boasts the tallest bar in Australia....now that's a challenge. Our 'to do' list had yet another entry. 

We were still reflecting on the extraordinary things we find in the most unexpected places when this town sign signified that we had all but reached the end of today's trip of just under 250 kms.

From here it was a short drive through the town's tree lined main street

to the entrance to the Hillston Caravan Park at the far end of town.

Here 'mine host' Renee greeted us enthusiastically and 

invited us to pick a site in what was, at this time of the day, a virtually empty park. I chose one near the building which houses the more than adequate ablutions for two reasons. Firstly, despite the clear sky in this photo, the weather was still windy and cold on our arrival, and this building did offer some protection from the blast. Secondly, why walk further than necessary when tapped on the shoulder by a call of nature?

As you can see, here we found ourselves again on thick and well kept grass which is a feature of all the wide and flat sites here. The fact that it was also a drive-thu was an added bonus.








We had chosen to stay here on the advice of a number of Victorian acquaintances who travel north annually along the Kidman Way and who use this as a regular stop-over. Our relatively early arrival meant that we did initially have the place to ourselves, but this changed as the afternoon wore on as those in transit settled onto their sites. 


In fact, on our second day here there was not one of these drive-thru's to be had after 1500 hours. This particular influx included one moron who came in so close to us that I could hardly open our door. 

Needless to say this immediately prompted a short, sharp exchange of pleasantries, after which this chap suddenly (if begrudgingly) acquired some park manners, moved his van to its logical place on the site and restored a sensible distance between us. 

Oddly enough, we did not receive an invitation to 'happy hour' next door, but we did later have a few quiet ones with the park manageress who was even more outraged than we, given she had expressly told this idiot where to park, which did not include being in our lap!








The camp kitchen, seen here behind strips of bunting erected to protect grass under repair, 












can best be described as basic, but functional.









Apart from the delightful van sites, this smallish park houses quite a number of modest cabins, and these were well occupied. We learnt very soon after arrival that this is a town of itinerant (usually overseas) seasonal workers many of whom were in residence in the park cabins.








In fact, one of the local labour hire organisations had even set up what we suspected was a dining tent in the park for their clan.









A sly and slightly cheeky peek through the window whilst who dine here all were off in the fields confirmed our suspicions. I'll have more to say about this surprise Hillston revelation later.








But there was to be no field or any other kind of labour here for the Mobile Marshies. We did roam the streets of town as is our want, met a few of the locals in one of the 'locals' (as is also our want) and generally rejoiced in the return of fine and much warmer weather than that we had been experiencing prior to, and on our arrival.



As far as this park goes, we were more than happy with our decision to stay here for a couple of days and can well understand why our Mexican colleagues do the same. On the morrow we found that the town itself was equally pleasant.