I was excited. At last we were going to be in a town during a festival. We had missed several during our travels, by a matter of days in some cases, and I do like a good local bash! The Kalbarri Canoe and Cray Carnival, a two celebration of the local produce (crays obviously) which also features (again obviously) canoe (and for that read any type of surface craft propelled by paddling) races on the Murchison, was scheduled for the first weekend in June, when the the good citizens of this state lounge about on the Monday public holiday celebrating 'Western Australia Day'.
Two other prominent features of this 'jolly' are the Friday evening 'Pirate Theme Night' at the Gilgai Tavern and the 'Juke Box Rock and Roll Night' which draws the faithful to the Kalbarri Hotel/Motel from 2000 hours on the Saturday. What a hoot this all promised to be.
Ah, the plans of mice and men. I'm sad to have to report that the bug which is currently laying me in the aisle (this is coming to you on 1 July) was just beginning to make its presence felt as far back as a month ago. To The Matron's utter amazement, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and yours truly did not toddle off 'Yo, Ho, Hoing' to the Gilgai nor did he make a fool of himself on the jive dance floor the following evening.
But, after enjoying a stunning Kalbarri sunrise over the border trees of our caravan park,
I did wander down to the river banks first thing on the Sunday morning to watch the end of the major race down the Murchison. A circuit course of 6 kms had been paddled the previous afternoon around the river mouth area, but today's event was the biggie.....16 kms from the historic upstream Murchison Homestead to the finish line in Kalbarri. There was very little activity on the presentation stage at this time of the day and the vendors' stalls were unoccupied,
but this inactivity did not extend to the local recreational fishermen, a number of whom kept me well entertained as they bashed their way along the channel between the reefs
and on out to sea.
I had learnt by now that despite the wide publicity this event receives, it is, by any standard, pretty provincial both in scope and the number of competitors it attracts, notwithstanding the $1,000 purse on offer for the winner of the 'Murchison Dash'.
This is by no means a critical comment, but rather an observation. The general organization of the events was first class, the 'Pirate theme' wonderfully maintained throughout, including by the thoroughly professional announcer, and there was a great emphasis on 'kids having fun'. This is a real family affair, and interesting, supported a comment Liz heard from the local hairdresser who was fulsome in her praise of Kalbarri as being a great place in which to raise children.
But enough of these social observations...where are the paddlers? The first should be due in by now.
Here they come, and these blokes are good.
A more exciting finish could not have been staged as they both hit the bank at the same time and
dashed neck and neck up the finishing race. Just after I took this shot there was the inevitable jostle and one of the lads went down. My sense of competitive fair play was aroused in no small measure, but I am delighted to report that the race organizers very wisely decided to declare this event a dead heat and the prize money was split between these two Murchison gladiators. Good outcome!
These guys completed the 16 kms paddle in just over 1 hour 10 minutes. I'll let you do the sums. I was completely unsurprised to learn that one of them is considered to be in the top 3 paddlers in WA. I did have a congratulatory chat to him after the race. And then came some surprise bragging rights in the caravan park....he knew Hannah Davis, a Glenelg SLSC member of some years (whom Liz and I know extremely well) who has represented Australia at two Olympic Games as a kayak paddler.
Now that you have had time to work out just how fast they blokes move across the water, how did they feel at the end of the race? I'll let you be the judge. As one who has spent quite some time on a surf ski I was genuinely pleased I had been on hand amongst the disappointingly small crowd to clap these two across the line...it had been an awesome paddle.
From this point the remainder of the less than 20 entrants powered or struggled across the line in dribs and drabs. Frankly, I had enjoyed the highlight of the morning, and strolled back to camp to await a return visit later with Liz et al.
By the time we wandered back to the park, there were definitely more signs of life.
All stallholders were on station, sitting or standing behind their arrays of various goods, many with that somewhat glazed expression of those who realise that this is not going to be a big day in a commercial sense but knew they had to try nevertheless.
This band of hopefuls included one of our park neighbours who keeps mental torpor at bay by devising and crafting these extraordinary 'tin men' from empty beer cans. Impressive work but not to everyone's taste...including ours. I prefer my cans to be performing the function for which they were made.....holding beer.
The day's agenda included much more than the river races. Skydivers floated earthwards with an envied grace and sublime aerial control to touch down feather-like on the opposite banks of the river. Whilst I have always admired the skill and daring of those who do this, I could never quite bring myself to leap from a perfectly serviceable aircraft with nothing but a silken shroud and a rapidly repeated prayer between me and certain death.
I have always been quite prepared to leap from the skids of a hovering helicopter into raging surf, but not this other business...this is one life's activities I'll be happy to die not having experienced! But I do like watching them.
And I do like crowd watching too, especially when we are privileged with the presence of two well known visiting identities, black killer guard dog in tow (or as happened shortly hereafter when Bob the Dog spotted a likely playmate in the distance, towing Rhonda!)
I did allow myself a brief flight of recollection fancy as I wandered past the small display of classic cars. Nah, my burnt orange GTS Monaro with its two offset black stripes, 253 V8 engine, four on the floor, and black leather trim, in which I hooned about Adelaide (in a most refined manner befitting of the behaviour expected of a young Detective Constable) in the very early 70's, was much more impressive example of the marque than this one.
In fact, the necessary sale of that car was my only regret about having being selected for service in Cyprus. Might have been just as well on reflection...these were the days when young, smart, (not smartie) plain clothes officers were not the flavour of the month with a few of the craggy dinosaurs of our vaunted Traffic Division. We of the CIB referred to them as 'the jury wreckers' (it only takes one intransigent 'speedie' to taint a citizen for life against the police) and it is fair to say that there was a definite schism in our professional relationships.
I had heard it on good authority (not all Traffic cops were anti-CIB) that Marshman's Monaro was on their hit list, but I managed to flee the country before any of them had the puerile and pernicious pleasure of suggesting to young Pete that he had been travelling a touch over the speed limit.
Ah, those were indeed the days, when we would work 80-90 hour weeks without drawing breath or claiming overtime when a good pinch was on, and cement very good working relationships in various Adelaide watering holes when things were quiet with nary a hangover to report. Ah, the resilience of youth.... but enough of this...that was over 40 years ago....back to the present and reality.
By mid-day the food stall and beer garden were up and running.
We had seriously contemplated fully embracing the mood of the occasion with a BBQ crayfish lunch, but at $25 a pop for one of these midget crustaceans and a slap of fried rice, and the fact that we were planning to repair later to Jakes Restaurant for our evening meal, the sometimes somewhat stifling reality of caravanning budgeting won out and it was back to the van for a home cooked corned beef sandwich (toasted of course). I felt wonderfully self-righteous.
We did return after our paupers' luncheon to take in the 'Blessing of the Fleet' and watch the 'Parade of Dressed Fishing Craft'. Almost. The owners of the 'Pirate Ship' had gone to some trouble,
as had one other skipper, but to my surprise and annoyance that appeared to be it. This was shaping up a a very low key affair indeed.
And then, as these two craft were milling about at the entrance to the channel before the sail past, a moment which made my day. As I watched I could see another vessel of the fleet making its way along the entrance passage, presumably returning to port after checking cray pots.
Gotcha! Instead of making way on into the fleet harbour, I suspect this skipper was co-opted on the spot to join the maritime parade in an effort to make the numbers more respectable. Given that the local fleet numbers some twenty boats at least, I would think that the organizers may have been less than impressed by the fact that only two made an effort.
Even one of the local yachties slipped his moorings and hoisted sail for the occasion, tagging along as 'tail end charlie' as the craft
sailed past the short town jetty with its population of festival dress up characters and two of the town's church leaders who conducted the blessing, which, to my surprise, included an invocation for the safety of all those serving in the Australian Navy. I found myself unexpectedly moved by the thoughtfulness which prompted this inclusion.
With the blessing over, it was back to the business of having fun. As I have mentioned, whilst this caper is low key it is very well received locally. Kids' treasure hunts with 'Larry Lobster'
and games on the beach with the 'Pirate Queen' were all part of a full day for the children, and then, when it all became a bit too much,
what could be better than sitting with dad and sharing a hamburger whilst watching all the comings and goings?
It was wonderful to have been part of this small, happy festival where the mood throughout was light, where the races were hard fought to the finish, where the patrons of the beer garden were laid back and cheerful, where the dress up and games were creative and colourful, where the locals had obviously pitched in with pride and gusto and the kids, visitors and locals alike, had had a ball. Well done, Kalbarri.
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