Our trip from Blackall took us through Barcaldine, the town in which the Australian Labor party had its genesis as a result of the extended, and in some cases, bloody, shearers' strike in the late 1800's. As I later read in the Stockmans Hall of Fame, the devastating drought of that time resulted in a drastic reduction of demand for the services of the shearers. The pastoralists took full advantage of the situation. Men would travel for miles (and by now we could really appreciate the challenges this presented in itself) from shed to shed only to find that there was no work for them. Those who were lucky enough to join a team then worked 14 hour days for about a tenth of the pay they were receiving a few years previously. Understandably, a real schism between station owners and the shearing teams was the upshot. In some instances this resulted in personal violence and property damage. One example of this occurred at Dagworth Station, near Winton, where the shearing shed was torched. One of the suspected arsonists was later found dead at a nearby waterhole.
This incident gave rise to another very significant part of the Australian way of life but in a totally different way. Banjo Patterson later visited Dagworth with his 'lady' friend who was, in turn, a close friend of the station owner's daughter. In the course of this visit AB was taken to the same waterhole, where, it is said, a stripped sheepskin was found. Melding all these events with appropriate poetic licence gave rise to 'Waltzing Matilda'. The township of Winton now makes much of this as we discovered later.
We would have liked to have spent some time in Barcaldine, but a schedule is a schedule.
The approach into Longreach is dominated by the more than imposing tail of the Qantas 747 which sits majestically (usually....except when its nose wheel has sunk two metres into the collapsed cement pad on which it normally rests...as I have said before, it has been wet up here) at the Qantas Founders' Museum.
For reasons which I'll explain later, this sight was a real thrill for me. The Qantas Museum and the Stockmans Hall of Fame were conveniently both within walking distance of the caravan park in which we dropped anchor for a week and we did spent a deal of time in both.
Whilst my aversion to dust and its effects remains a constant, I am learning to cope. This is just as well now that we have left the mud of towns to the south behind us. Dry and dusty is the new order of the day.
Most sites at Longreach are well covered with gravel, and ours was no exception.
It is the roadways which create the problems, particularly when they are traversed by those who think 'walking pace' is 20 kph.
I have taken the occasional opportunity to express my displeasure about the antics of these park 'Fangios' (who is that you ask..research time) with mixed, but usually successful, results.
The Longreach 'Discovery' Park is huge. It provides over 300 sites, the 'Woolshed' restaurant and bar (which we did favour with our custom on night one), two spas (of highly doubtful clarity and cleanliness), a pool, a large office and store and several amenities blocks. Whilst it was never full during our stay, I estimate that there were many nights when we were sharing the place with at least 150 other vans.
In fact it was in Longreach that we realised we were part of what can only be described as a 'tsunami' of caravans heading north. In addition to those with us, another smaller town park accommodated 50 or so, whilst the nearby 'Long Waterhole' free campsite was constantly home to at least 80 -100 vans on any one night as the two shots below show.
We estimated that, including those in transit, the Longreach area was host to at least 300 caravans during any 24 hour period. Impressive! We also soon learnt that Longreach is a 'choke' point on the trek northwards, beyond which many alternative destinations see the spread of travellers along various routes. It struck me that there was an interesting similarity between the flow and spread of the travelling hoards and the behaviour of the many rivers and channels of the area which seasonally burst the confines of their defined banks and inundate the countryside.
Once settled, the pressing task of sourcing a new awning arm bracket presented itself. After unsuccessfully scouring the Internet, I resorted to ringing the chap from whom we had bought the van to find that I should have done this in the first instance. A visa debit of a mere $39.00 and the required part was on its way express post. Because of the impending Monday public holiday, we knew that it would not arrive until Tuesday at the earliest, so we extended our booking to a week and made our plans to 'do Longreach'.
Friday was spent engaged in the (by now) very necessary domestic chores of washing, cleaning and shopping. Our sojourn along Eagle Street, the main business precinct of Longreach, was interrupted when we ran into folk we had met in Charleville who were indulging in a coffee at the 'Eagle Nest', a bar on grill of some repute. This meeting was one of what was becoming a bit of a constant as we all 'hedgehopped' north, but the venue was fortuitous in that the owner of the establishment, one John Hawkes (don't you just love the play on words here) was a man we were tasked to look up. His mother is a patient at the physiotherapy practise at which Liz had been working for the past nine months. Need I say more?
The following day was devoted primarily to my literary obligations (trust me folks, these blogs take time) and a bit of general sightseeing......a necessary lay day which did include a visit from another couple we had also met in Charleville, who had just arrived in Longreach and with whom we made arrangements for happy hour the next day. This particular afternoon included a visit to our end of the park by the resident brolgas whose imperious manner and harsh calls for food were impressive but proved fruitless at the Marshies' site.
Later that afternoon we were on the bus to take us to the nearby Thompson River for a sunset cruise to be followed by a campfire dinner and bush poetry. I had been somewhat ambivalent about this but am now glad Liz was insistent. One the basis of previous recommendations we chose the 'paddle wheel' cruise rather than one offered on a modern vessel and it transpired that the advice received was salutary. A most entertaining evening.
I was somewhat initially taken back by the apparent size (or lack of it) of the good vessel on which we were to ply the Thompson, but despite my lack of faith in the tour host's ability to count, we all found a seat and
spent the next hour or so enjoying (BYO) drinks, (life can be tough on the road)
the sunset over the Thompson
and the very pleasant company of Lyn and Stephen Eleftheriou, yet another couple we had met at Charleville, and with whom we later spent time at Winton and Cloncurry before we headed off in different directions.
The subsequent campfire supper of 'drovers' stew', damper and sweets was very much to my liking, as was the pre-ordered vegetarian plate prepared for Liz, but the night belonged to the bush poet, Scotty.
Unfortunately this shot does not show Scotty's preeminent feature, his bare feet. His lack of footwear is apparently legendary in Longreach. I was cynical enough to suspect this may have been but a party trick but that thought was tipped into a cocked hat when we came across him two days later as we were walking to the Stockmans Hall of Fame. Trudging down the road towards us was Scotty, you guessed it, sans footwear. I couldn't help but wonder if he was on a training run!
Irrespective of his dress habits, his diminutive stature and rather gnome like features, Scotty was a gem. His choices of poems were delightful and his laconic delivery was the epitome of what one would expect from a 'bushie'. He ranged across all subjects, from the standard 'Man from Snowy River' to a poem (name forgotten) about a bloke trying (very unsuccessfully) to back a trailer. Needless to say, that resonated soundly with the vast majority of his audience.
Sunday....the Qantas Founders' Museum. How I had been anticipating this visit, not only from the perspective of aviation history, but also because of the fact that three of my very longstanding friends have had a direct association with, and input into, one of the prime exhibits, the Boeing 707.
Qantas Captains Warwick Tainton, Bob Small and Dick Hodder, with whom I have been friends since 1974, (long story) are all recognised on various displays for their involvement in the discovery in England, subsequent restoration and eventual return to Australia of the first 707 to bear the Qantas livery and see service with the airline. It was almost eerie to see their names so prominently displayed in such an iconic (think the word fits here) institution.
I'll not bore you with the details of the exhibits which I fully understand have appeal to only a limited section of the community (including Liz who dutifully tagged along, but did find some real interest in the exhibits relating to the provision of medical services to the outback many years ago) other than to comment that the Museum is a real testament to the vision and hard work of those responsible for its inception and development. 'Wok' Tainton, as a former, longstanding Chairman of the Board of the Museum, can justifiably retain much pride and pleasure from his involvement. It was all I could do from time to time to refrain from telling all and sundry nearby that 'that bloke is my mate'.
Let me leave QFM with a shot which demonstrates just how things have changed in the airline industry. Here we have Liz disembarking the pride of the Qantas fleet modelling the very latest in 'hostie' uniforms.
I find museum visiting very tiring, particularly when the quality, variety and standard of presentation of the exhibits demands full concentration in an effort to absorb as much as possible. QFM was no exception. We were both exhausted by the time we trudged back to camp. In fact, as I write, I am reminded of the ubiquitous ending of all primary school 'compositions'...invariably titled 'A Day At The Beach'..when all and sundry invariably returned home 'tired but happy'.
Forgive me, dear readers, but I must now digress from yarns of adventure and wonder to yet more 'Pete knows everyone' tales (all true).
I think I had forgotten to mention previously that our stay at Evening Star in Charleville resulted in a meeting with a chap, who campfire chat revealed was the brother of an NRM colleague of mine in Port Lincoln (with whom I had shared a drink as recently as 23 March)...but that pales into insignificance in terms of our next encounter.
Following our visit to QFM, Liz and I joined Sue and Noel Peck (yes, Charleville again) for happy hour (they had recently arrived in Longreach). For some reason which now escapes me, Liz had to return to our van (I suspect we had run out of the requisite happy hour supplies), the site alongside of which had been vacant when we left. She returned agog with a gasped out, "You are just not going to believe this". Indeed I almost didn't. Our recently arrived neighbour was none other that a bloke with whom I had played hockey for over 20 years. I had not seen Terry White and his wife Chris since they had been guests at Oleander Street a year ago (almost to the day) when Liz and I hosted a team reunion.
(it is always good to have full backs on the team who are seriously big buggers!) I suspect any attempt I make to suggest that I repaired to my cot that evening cold sober and unhappy would be met with universal derision from you all, good readers. (you would be right) As a small postscript, we ran into them again in Winton, where wisely our spouses took charge and the revelry was muted.
We took a 'brain break' the following day (mine remained somewhat foggy well into it), did some shopping and availed ourselves of the excellent facilities of the Longreach 25 metre indoor pool before hosting the Eleftherious for happy hour. Unfortunately I had recovered both mentally and physically by this stage, a state I set about reversing with similar gusto to the previous evening. Mission accomplished.....once I had served the hot bacon savouries...thank goodness I had had the foresight to have cooked our dinner requirements (an excellent honey lemon chicken) earlier that day. Ah, the wonder of the microwave.
Tuesday found us at the Stockmans Hall of Fame, an impressive building housing equally impressive displays and exhibits.
As with the QFM, any attempt to describe all we saw and did during this, and a subsequent visit the next day (both establishments very cleverly allow a return visit for the one admission price....it is impossible to to take everything in properly in one) cannot be reasonably accomplished in a blog format (so I'll not try). Suffice it to say, we both left Longreach very much the wiser in respect of the cattle industry, those who pioneered it and those who continue to work in it. I must add that this knowledge is very much flavoured with admiration.
In the course of this visit we did take in the show put on in a small enclosure to one side of the main building, where we were royally entertained by a stockman whose talents included impressive bareback horse control, the presentation of animal tricks (particularly by Alice the camel) and a staggering recitation of CJ Dennis' poem about a legendary bullocky whilst simultaneously fitting yokes to a team of six bullocks which had been previously herded into the yard by the three resident cattle dogs. He then proceeded to have the bullock team drag a large log up onto a dray with a chain attached to the yoke harness.
Given the confines of the yard, absolute control of the team was critical (they are not small beasts)
and his was consummate. Indeed his skill was such I forgave him the for the plethora of corny jokes and somewhat banal audience interaction (is this really popular or do folk laugh to be polite) with which he had interspersed his displays of animal management. Money well spent (despite my usual initial ambivalence...thanks Lizzie).
Our return was greeted with news of the arrival of the replacement bracket, which, to my relief was not only the precise part needed, but could be fitted without trouble by mechanically challenged persons such as your scribe. My only retained concern at this point related to the operation of the lever which allows the awning to be extended and retracted. This is achieved in the same way as a holland blind is raised and lowered, but as you might imagine, given the size of the awning on a van such as ours, the forces required to wind it in are considerable. In fact, Matthew, the chap from whom we bought the van and who sent us the new part, had been excitedly cautionary in relation to the potential danger of a malfunction of this device. Of course, this warning did not improve my mood or my sense of 'what the hell will I do if I can't get it back up?' I will confess to a somewhat sleepless Tuesday night (despite Liz's advice to only worry about it if it happens.....works really well if you do not have the ultimate responsibility!)
Wednesday dawned...our last day in Longreach. Our return visit to the Hall of Fame was followed by another trip to the pool where I tried unsuccessfully not to overdo things (a decent pool in the bush is such a rare thing). Pack up time...the moment of truth. I had by this time decided that if the awning would not retract, I would have to cut it away from the fitting by which it is attached along the top of the van, roll it up and then detach it completely from the van itself. This may sound somewhat extreme, but I challenge you to think of the last time you saw a van being towed with its awning extended (yes, Hens and Troy, I remember!...apologies to all but those two dear friends who are privy to that long story).
As I am sure you have gathered by now, given the absence of verbal wailing and the use of sack cloth and ashes, the operation was successfully achieved, not, however, without the tender administration of several love taps with my trusty rubber mallet. Amazingly, since then, the damn thing has never operated more smoothly so all plans to have to make our way immediately to Mount Isa, to the establishment of the only awning repairer within 500 kms, had been averted. How well I slept on our last night in Longreach.
Let me leave you with a few shots which, in our opinions, really capture Longreach, this cattle town which offers so much more.
And, finally, for all you feline readers who are gasping for news of Max, the ship's cat, let me put your furs (sorry, fears..forgive me..I've been at this too long) to rest. He has taken to life on the road with gusto. He is passing his time howling from his cage (between blessed naps) whilst travelling (we have nicknamed him 'Ultra Tune' in memory of that ad where they fixed 'that annoying noise in the back'), patrolling the site,
or just 'catching up' after a hard night's work guarding the inside of the van from one end to the other, leaping on and off the bed, paying numerous visits to his snack bowl and spending many hour staring out of the window to ensure his is in a prime position to repel boarders.
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