Karumba, the only port town on the southern Gulf with direct access to the sea, is situated on the mouth of the Norman River, which, from here, snakes its way inland to Normanton itself.
Karumba, home of the southern Gulf fishing fleet and the export dock for the products of the nearby Centry Zinc Mine.
Karumba, the winter season destination of hundreds of Victorians (and others..but not many of them) who descend on this so called fishing paradise in their hoards to inundate the three caravan parks and to rape and pillage the Gulf and Norman River from a fleet of tinnies which can only be described as breathtaking in number.
Karumba, home of the southern Gulf fishing fleet and the export dock for the products of the nearby Centry Zinc Mine.
Karumba, the winter season destination of hundreds of Victorians (and others..but not many of them) who descend on this so called fishing paradise in their hoards to inundate the three caravan parks and to rape and pillage the Gulf and Norman River from a fleet of tinnies which can only be described as breathtaking in number.
We had heard many cautionary tales of this tiny Gulf town, all of which related to the manner in which our Victorian cousins effect an annual exclusionary takeover. A number of these tales of woe came from Victorian themselves. More of this later, but suffice it to say at this point that our two visits to this so called 'idyll' confirmed for us the wisdom of our decision to base in Normanton.
The road to Karumba traverses two very distinct topographies. The initial part of the 72 kms trip passes through typical savannah country, complete with grasses, low scrub and termite mounds. From the 'Maggieville Station' bend where the road swings west to the coast the ground is given over in the main to the barren salt pan and tidal flats of the wet, now demonstrably dry.
The road to Karumba traverses two very distinct topographies. The initial part of the 72 kms trip passes through typical savannah country, complete with grasses, low scrub and termite mounds. From the 'Maggieville Station' bend where the road swings west to the coast the ground is given over in the main to the barren salt pan and tidal flats of the wet, now demonstrably dry.
Karumba is a town divided into two distict areas. The main section houses all the expected services, the main shopping area and the port facitities on the banks of the Norman River. It also hosts one of the three caravan parks in the town.
The other two are located at Karumba Point. Here one will also find the Sunset Hotel, numerous holiday units of varying quality and the prerequisite cafes and small kiosk type shops.
Drinks at the front of the hotel here, sitting in the shade and taking in the delights of the wide mouth of the Norman River and the Gulf beyond, is to be recommended, although Liz and I did not indulge personally.
For us southerners, the warmth of the air and water presents an almost irresistable urge to plunge into the briny. This desire is rapidly quashed by the many signs which abound in the area.
Whilst I have never had a problem conceiving of large and unfriendly 'snappy toms' in the northern rivers and streams, it always seems to me to be quite unfair that these monsters can lurk in what would otherwise be maginificent swimming waters (sorry...forget the stingers as well). Ah, well, one cannot have everything!
At least one can fish from the water's edge. Sadly my efforts were in vain, but then I could take comfort from the fact that I was one amongst at least twenty hopefuls on this particular morning who left equally unrequited. We have learnt that this season has been especially poor from a piscatorial perspective. Something to do with unseasonally cold water, I am told.
I must confess that, notwithstanding the apparent relaxed attitude of my fellow fishers, I had one eye on my rod tip and another sweeping the ocean surface for the tell tale signs of prehistoric monsters. At one stage a feeding dolphin, which created a surface disturbance of some significance, took my mind off all but self preservation!
As I have previously mentioned, Karumba in the dry becomes the home to hundreds of visitors, most of whom take up residence for three months or so. So to the tale of the caravan parks and life in Karumba in the dry.
In short, the three parks, whilst providing shade, are dry, dusty, overcrowded homes to massive numbers of Victorians who organize themselves into various unwelcoming cliques. I have attempted to capture the manner in which the organization of the parks gives a new meaning to the term 'cheek by jowl' with only limited success. (sometimes words do say more than pictures) The only apparent aim in life of these southern visitors is to take as much fish as possible from the surrounding waters and to eschew all but thir immediate mates. I know this sounds dire and the possible snipe of an outsider. Let me provide some examples to support my claims.
A chap I ran into in Cloncurry (a Victorian himself) who described how he had been ensconsed in Karumba for a few days during which he watched the arrival of his new neighbour with astonishment. He detailed how, after the van and annex had been set and erected (not before he had been asked..unnecessarily....to move his vehicle) the freezer, fridge, washing machine and tinnie all apeared out of the blue to be duly installed in the annex and on any spare square inch of the site. (this solved the mystery as to why there is a very large, modern self-storage facility in town).
More was to come. The next afternoon my confident took down his awning etc preparatory to a departure the next morning. His newly arrived neighbour then confronted him to suggest that he might care to ensure that he left early. When asked why, he was duly informed that the site he occupied "actually belonged to friends" of the neighbour who were a little late in arrivng this year. He went on to say that they were due on the morrow, and moreover, liked to get in early. To that end it was suggested to my informant, apparently in no uncertain terms, that he should ensure an early departure so as not to inconvience the newcomers. To my delight he informed me that he developed an unexpected mechanical problem overnight and could not manage a departure until early afternoon. My man!
The second tale of woe concerns a washing machine. (from yet another informant who was factionaly unaligned).
On a particular Tuesday morning (this is significant) she took her washing to the laundry and loaded an unoccupied machine, one of ten or more available, as the only person laundering at the time. Shortly thereafter she was confronted by what can only be described as a 'blousy' type in a state of high dudgeon. The conversation apparently went as follows:
"What are you doing with that machine?"
"My washing."
"You can't use that one. That's Joan's machine. She reserves that one every Tuesday for her washing."
"Where is Joan?"
"She'll be here soon. You have to move to a different machine."
"I don't think so!"
Needless to say, the machine in question completed its alloted task, but not, apparently without a continuing tirade for some time about the cheek of the interloper. Oddly enough, 'Joan' did not appear during the entire saga!
Another interesting and significant snippet about life in the Karumba parks came from yet a third source. This chap described how, when he was about to leave his site to move on, four other vehicles had to be shifted to allow his egress.
These three tales are but the more extreme of many we have heard throughout our travels. Suffice it to say, they provided oral support for our observations of the place and the relief we felt in not having pursued the acquisition of a site in the town with vigour.
But still they come. We passed van after van on both our return trips to Normanton. The following is a photo of the 'overflow' section of the park in the main township. No power, no water, no ambience, no Marshies!
And this is the view across the road of the boat yards and industrial slipways etc of Karumba. No thanks.
Perhaps we are being a bit harsh, but I get grumpy when I hear that a local lass has developed a thriving business supplying the visitors with foam packages in which they can ship frozen fillets back to Melbourne throughout their three month stay (for personal use only, of course...and if you believe that you would believe anything). What draws the Vics in such numbers remains a mystery. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Karumba is the northern end of the 'Matilda Highway' a route which wends it way north across the country from the Victorian town of Jerilderie, who knows?
As with the crowded caravan parks, it was very difficult to capture pictorally the incredible numbers of tinnie trailers which surround the town and Point boat ramps. I have been around a few boat ramps in my time and have never seen anything its equal.
This shot shows about a third of the assembled fleet at the Point ramp, generally well parked, but with some of the latecomers displaying scant regard for others whom they block in. I did a count out of interest. There were just over 130 boat trailers here and another 60 or so in the streets surrounding the town ramp. On that count alone, it is evident that at any one time there is a fleet of some 200 boats (I've not included the serious trailers or those of the locals) plundering the Norman River and the nearby Gulf. Extraordinary!
Well, so much for our impressions of Karumba.In short, the three parks, whilst providing shade, are dry, dusty, overcrowded homes to massive numbers of Victorians who organize themselves into various unwelcoming cliques. I have attempted to capture the manner in which the organization of the parks gives a new meaning to the term 'cheek by jowl' with only limited success. (sometimes words do say more than pictures) The only apparent aim in life of these southern visitors is to take as much fish as possible from the surrounding waters and to eschew all but thir immediate mates. I know this sounds dire and the possible snipe of an outsider. Let me provide some examples to support my claims.
A chap I ran into in Cloncurry (a Victorian himself) who described how he had been ensconsed in Karumba for a few days during which he watched the arrival of his new neighbour with astonishment. He detailed how, after the van and annex had been set and erected (not before he had been asked..unnecessarily....to move his vehicle) the freezer, fridge, washing machine and tinnie all apeared out of the blue to be duly installed in the annex and on any spare square inch of the site. (this solved the mystery as to why there is a very large, modern self-storage facility in town).
More was to come. The next afternoon my confident took down his awning etc preparatory to a departure the next morning. His newly arrived neighbour then confronted him to suggest that he might care to ensure that he left early. When asked why, he was duly informed that the site he occupied "actually belonged to friends" of the neighbour who were a little late in arrivng this year. He went on to say that they were due on the morrow, and moreover, liked to get in early. To that end it was suggested to my informant, apparently in no uncertain terms, that he should ensure an early departure so as not to inconvience the newcomers. To my delight he informed me that he developed an unexpected mechanical problem overnight and could not manage a departure until early afternoon. My man!
The second tale of woe concerns a washing machine. (from yet another informant who was factionaly unaligned).On a particular Tuesday morning (this is significant) she took her washing to the laundry and loaded an unoccupied machine, one of ten or more available, as the only person laundering at the time. Shortly thereafter she was confronted by what can only be described as a 'blousy' type in a state of high dudgeon. The conversation apparently went as follows:
"What are you doing with that machine?"
"My washing."
"You can't use that one. That's Joan's machine. She reserves that one every Tuesday for her washing."
"Where is Joan?"
"She'll be here soon. You have to move to a different machine."
"I don't think so!"
Needless to say, the machine in question completed its alloted task, but not, apparently without a continuing tirade for some time about the cheek of the interloper. Oddly enough, 'Joan' did not appear during the entire saga!Another interesting and significant snippet about life in the Karumba parks came from yet a third source. This chap described how, when he was about to leave his site to move on, four other vehicles had to be shifted to allow his egress.
These three tales are but the more extreme of many we have heard throughout our travels. Suffice it to say, they provided oral support for our observations of the place and the relief we felt in not having pursued the acquisition of a site in the town with vigour.
But still they come. We passed van after van on both our return trips to Normanton. The following is a photo of the 'overflow' section of the park in the main township. No power, no water, no ambience, no Marshies!
And this is the view across the road of the boat yards and industrial slipways etc of Karumba. No thanks.
Perhaps we are being a bit harsh, but I get grumpy when I hear that a local lass has developed a thriving business supplying the visitors with foam packages in which they can ship frozen fillets back to Melbourne throughout their three month stay (for personal use only, of course...and if you believe that you would believe anything). What draws the Vics in such numbers remains a mystery. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Karumba is the northern end of the 'Matilda Highway' a route which wends it way north across the country from the Victorian town of Jerilderie, who knows?
As with the crowded caravan parks, it was very difficult to capture pictorally the incredible numbers of tinnie trailers which surround the town and Point boat ramps. I have been around a few boat ramps in my time and have never seen anything its equal.
Let me turn now to another of our local adventures, this time out some 40 kms west along the Savannah Highway towards Burketown to the site of the Burke and Wills camp 119. This was the point from which, on Sunday 10 February 1861, B & W struck out with three horses to reach the northern waters of Australia. As we know (and I have probably related somewhat ad nausem) their quest was stymied by the vast flooded saltpans and swamps which typify these coasts during the wet season. As Burke wrote, "It would be well to say that we reached the sea, but we could not obtain a view of the open ocean, although we made every endeavour to do so."
Little remains of the site save for a number of 'blaze' trees, all but a few of which can barely be recognized.
A camp site board provides details of the various blazes used by the explorers of the time. A nearby muddy billabong and the desiccated carcass of a dead frog lying on the barren earth served in a strange way to give some sense of the isolation and hardship these men endured. When one thinks that they often navigated no more than twenty paces or so at a time through the denser bush so as to maintain a true bearing, suffered from extremes of weather, insect bites, and the deprevations of poor (and eventually none) rations and questionable water supplies, the feats of these early explorers are truly humbling. Knowing the fate of Burke and Wills, I felt something at Camp 119 I find hard to put into words.
And so our time in Normanton is almost at an end. In addition of all we have seen, we have had the good fortune over the past two days to have had neighbours with whom we found we got on famously. Brad Dunn, a retired Regimental Sgt Major in the Armoured Corps, and his wife Maria, were just great fun. We shared common interests, good food and plenty of liquid refreshments. After all my negative comments about Karumba, one positive is the availablity of Gulf prawns at reasonable prices. It was a pleasure to share a meal of these with Maria and Brad. Here you see Chef Pierre in full formal kitchen attire preparing the little devils for crumbing.
Our current plan is to leave Normanton on Saturday morning, overnight at the Burke and Wills Roadhouse, and thence make our way back to Cloncurry (and Mount Isa as a side trip) before heading through Richmond, Hughenden and Charters Towers to Townsville, where we are booked in for ten days (which will include four on Magnetic Island as the guests of Jenny and Steve Lyneham). Annoyingly, hooting south-easterly winds on the nose await us if the forecast is accurate, but this time we have little choice. Our fuel bill will be horrific.
I do not anticipate having the time to post again for at least a week, so dear readers....patience till then!
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