NORMANTON (19 - 24 JUNE)

After a drive of some 200 kms through the savannah grazing plains of the southern Gulf region, a topography which in parts reminded us both of much that we had seen from the Ghan last September, we arrived in Normanton planning to spend a week here with possibility of a few days on the Gulf itself in Karumba, some 70 kms further to the north-west.  This was to be contingent on two things...site availability and a recce.  A day trip to this so called fishing Mecca of the southern Gulf saw off any need to check for a possible spot in one of the three caravan parks it boasts (a word not used lightly).  But more of this later. 

We had chosen to stay in Normanton for a couple of reasons.   Firstly, the park we selected is complete with a hot, artesian spa and a 25 metre pool (significantly less hot as it transpired...Liz has managed only her big toe to date) in a quasi 'resort' setting which we decided would adequately cater for a few days of self-indulgence, sunning and some swimming, a much needed antidote to days spent behind the wheel followed by 'happy hour'.  If fact, the pool is the original 'town pool', around which the park was constructed when the new, larger pool was built.  What a good idea!

We were a little disappointed in the lack of grass (never trust the brochures) but then discovered to our amazement that the town is currently subject to water restrictions.  Given that for the past two wet seasons, Normanton's location atop an ironstone ridge in the midst of savannah salt pans, tidal flats and marshlands, has been the only thing which has saved it from complete inundation, this struck us as paradoxical, to say the least. 

We later discovered that the current town supply is piped from a dam constructed on a grazing property nearby.  The owner of this land has placed an embargo on the height of the dam wall to restrict the amount of land he has lost to the retained water.  So, in this land of extreme wet seaons' rainfall, the problem is one of infrastructure not the provisions of nature.  Odd, and annoying to all the locals.  In fact, in the photos of the town to follow, you will note the barren median strips, which, if green, would transform the entire feel of the town.  We are actually contemplating a trip here at the end of 'the wet' at some stage, just to see the difference. 

Co-incidentally, the town water supply was, for many years, provided from an artesian bore which is located in the very caravan park in which we are domicile.

Once settled in our site, which is roomy, if dry, the Information Centre and a quick town orientation beckoned. Both achieved, the nearby 'Purple Pub' sang its Siren song. What choice did we have. Neither of us were tied to a mast! (a small test of your Greek mythology knowledge) The subsequent arrival of our park next door neighbours saw a 'couple of beers' extended to several (many really) and we now have a new contact in Gilgandara!

The Purple Pub is something different, not only for its colour scheme, but for an equally distinctive interior, and, as we discovered, a very novel approach to meals service. 

Liz and I attempted to treat ourselves to a night out a few evenings later at this same inn.  When our meals arrived at the table, a straight forward order of crumbed barramundi and crumbed prawns, both with salad and chips, had morphed into lemon grilled barra and a small serve of garlic prawns on rice.  Needless to say, questions were asked.  Our waitress, a charming Irish backpacker, (we had noticed that almost all outback establishments are staffed by young overseas travellers at this time of the year) repaired post haste to the kitchen to return with news that the crumbs had run out and the chef (the woman who also owns the place) had made the unilateral decision to serve us something alternative.  Once we had recovered our equilibrium I politely suggested that this was not quite good enough (really...I was too stunned to be cross).  Interestingly, and I suspect, significantly, we were offered a refund almost before I had finished speaking.  I can only surmise that this is not the first occasion on which the owner has hoped that dining guests will be too stonkered, tired or ambivalent to protest when presented with a meal other than that ordered. 

Enquiries with the park owners indicate that the management of this particular pub is novel to say the least.  This experience, combined with the fact that a Kiwi table companion on the night reported that his steak was the toughest he had ever had (and watching him battle it with his steak knife we needed no convincing), has resulted in The Albion becoming our  local watering hole of choice. 

Apart from the fact that it boasts a lovely, shaded rear deck, provides very good meals, is run by friendly and informative locals, and runs Friday night raffles, this hotel has a very interesting history.  The building was originally located in Croydon, a gold rush town 140 kms to the south-east of Normanton (much more of this later) where, astonishingly, it was one of 35 pubs catering to the demands of thirsty miners during Croydon's halcyon days. With the demise of the gold mining, it  was trans located to Normanton where it has catered to the needs of locals and visitors ever since. (waste not, want not!) 

It has to be said that for a town of a mere 1,100 souls,Normanton is well served in the hotel department.  The third, The Central, is located on the main street, within a stone's throw of The Albion.  In fact, all three pubs are no more than 300 metres distant from each other.  One can 'pub crawl' in Normanton literally!

As can be seen, The Central is a quite different style of building, typical of many in outback Australia. The high gables and wide verandahs provided the climate control of the day.  This is the 'meals' pub of the town, something we plan to explore before we leave.

Believe it or not, there is more to Normanton than pubs.  I just thought to deal with a more important aspect of town life first!

Normanton was established in the late 1800's as a port on the wide, tidal Norman River, primarily  to service the Croydon goldfields.  A small, disused portion of the original docks is all that remains.

A railway line between the two towns (which still carries the famed 'Gulflander' rail car service...more of this later) provided an export route for the gold and a return freight service to Croydon and the other small towns dotted in the area.  The trading company Burns Philp and Company saw the potential of the infant port town and established a thriving business which included local trade and shipping supplies to the nearby Gulf Islands.  This firm went on to become one of Queensland's biggest in its field and was housed in a magnificent building which is now the town information centre and library.

Government and other services were established and housed in style.

Long after the commercial demands of the gold rush had passed, and the coastal freight services were transferred to the port of Karumba, on the mouth of the Norman River, these have remained.  Normanton is now the local government hub of the Carpentaria Shire which extends well up the western side of Cape York, and, in addition to housing a number of Government health and welfare services, remains almost entirely reliant on tourism for its continued existence.

To this they cater well.  Buildings of historical significance have been very well maintained. The Westpac Bank building, which is the only remaining bank of the many which were spawned by the gold rush, is an example.

Boards dotted throughout the town provide interesting descriptions of places and events. Here is one for all you trivia buffs!

It must be said that Normanton is nothing if not colourful.  In addition to the garish Purple Pub, one of the two local butchers is keen on green, whilst the shop next door has adopted a different, but equally noticeable colour scheme.

I mentioned previously that the town was, very wisely, established on an ironstone ridge which rises out of the surrounding flood plains.  This has served to ensure that it usually remains high and dry during the wet, albeit completely cut off on more than one occasion.  The ire of locals in relation to a bureaucratic decision to declare beer a 'non-essential item' during the airborne re-provisioning of the town on once such occasion still rankles.

Despite the sagacity of the town planners, the wet has had its victories. 

Liz is pictured here providing perspective to the marker on the wall of the shire building which records the high water mark of the flood of 1974. 

Many towns boast 'Big Things' and Normanton's is very big indeed.


Let us introduce you to 'Krys' the croc, a life size replica of one shot on the banks of the Norman River in July 1957 by Krystina Pawlowski, a local professional crocodile hunter (you didn't mess with either Krys!). This monster measures 8.63 metres (28 feet 4 inches) in length and was estimated to weigh in at just over 2 tons. Not surprisingly, this remains the largest crocodile ever shot in the world and it serves to provide a salutary reminder of the dangers lurking in the rivers and streams of this part of the country. It really is huge!

Another of Normanton's fine old buildings is the railway station.

This was our point of embarkation for our trip to Croydon on the renown 'Gulflander' which I have mentioned previously.  Let me quote from the official brochure,

"Affectionately said to go from 'nowhere to nowhere', the Normanton to Croydon line was never connected to the state rail network.  This isolated railway is heritage listed and is the only line in Queensland still measured [officially] in miles.  [It] was laid in a fashion not found anywhere else in the world.  With an innovative sleeper design, seasonal flood waters flow over the line to lessen flood damage.  Testament to the ingenuity of this design is [the fact] that today much of the line is still the original rail and sleepers laid between 1888 and 1891"

Of course what the blurb does not tell you is that the fact that these 'U' shaped sleepers, which are embedded directly into the ground surface rather than supported on the normal railway ballast, result in train travel which could be described as unique, but more accurately as bone shaking. Life is a constant compromise!




The 'Gulflander' itself is similarly unique (pictured here in the Normanton station).

A motor rail car of some antiquity, it has often been described as a truck engine in a railway body.  This, as our driver was quick to point out, is inaccurate.  Whilst the 130 hp diesel engine is connected to the rear drive wheels through a crash, four speed gear box similar to the trucks of old, the changing of which requires the use of that long lost practice of double de-clutching, the vehicle was purpose built.  On the day of our journey it happily also pulled the two carriages which had been attached to cater for the large patronage.

Nonetheless, its design does make for an interesting driving station.  The clutch and gear lever can be seen immediately in front of the left hand side of the driver's seat.  Throughout the trip I struggled to come to terms with watching gears being manipulated in the complete absence of a steering wheel.





The line was originally designed to be part of a larger system connecting the Gulf country to Cloncurry. The demise of the goldfields at Croydon, and the politics of the day, meant that only the current 'nowhere to nowhere' section was built.  Despite its inherently 'tourist' nature, the service is still formally recognised by Queensland Rail, and must run out of Normanton each Wednesday, returning from Croydon the following day, irrespective of the number of booked passengers (apparently an empty train is not totally unknown).  A mail service to cattle stations which embrace the line continues and, despite a number of calls for its closure, the provision of these local services (often when road transport is severely compromised during the wet) and the uniqueness of the line itself  means that its future looks secure. 

Our 94 mile journey to Croydon took just over five hours. After descending the ridge, the track crosses the floodplains below the town and thence climbs onto the savannah plains for the remainder of the trip.  'Smoko' was provided at the 'Blackbull' siding, so named after a famous rogue bull of the area which apparently played havoc with the local graziers' stud breeding programmes for the many years he successfully eluded capture. (what a life!) 

The large iron water tank shown in this photo is the last remaining relic of the days of steam on the line.

Throughout the trip our driver, who proved to be a man of many talents, provided one of the most interesting commentaries we have ever heard.  His knowledge of local history, flora, fauna and characters was encyclopedic.  Notwithstanding the demands of some pretty constant gear changing, he maintained his chat for almost the entire five hours.  Much to my delight, he was as dry as a lime-kilner's boot, and had a wonderfully colourful turn of phrase.  He made the trip worth every cent of its not inconsiderable fare.

Croydon.  What a little jewel!  The gold may have run out (although recent renewed interest is creating some local excitement) but the town has recognised the value of the tourist dollar and responded accordingly.  Beautifully maintained historical buildings include the old council chambers

and the courthouse

the interior of which hosts a series of wooden cutout figure, who, on the press of a button regale visitors with a re-enactment of the 1902 trial of one Mrs Brown on a charge of public drunkenness. (that's not Mrs Brown pictured trying to abscond)  On the basis of the transcript presented it can definitely be said that Mrs Brown Snr did not  'have a lovely daughter!' (think about it)

A delightful park graces the centre of the township.  Free BBQ,s, a notice that liquor may be consumed until 10.00pm, toilet and washing facilities and a playground all indicate that it is well patronised.  This is obviously another town which has realised truth of the saying, 'diversify or die'.  

In the heady days of the gold rush, when mines in this area were amongst Australia's richest producers, the town boasted 35 pubs (I may have mentioned this previously). Only one remains, but it is a cracker, complete with swimming pool, separate games room and all sorts of various novelties to entice the weary traveller into an unplanned parting with coin of the realm. 

Our return to Normanton, courtesy of a speedy little coaster, was much more comfortable and considerably quicker that the outward journey, but exponentially less entertaining. 

No visit to this area would be complete without a trip to Karumba, the only township on the southern Gulf of Carpentaria where one can access the sea directly rather than having to traverse massive tidal flats and coastal swampland, the topographical nemesis of poor old Burke and Wills.

More of this in the next episode.