Galloping Home

Like a horse headed for home, once we turned back our ears pricked upright and we were off and galloping. From Hay it was a blur of towns; Balranald (where the bakery does an exceptional cinnamon iced loaf), through Mildura to Renmark.

At Plushs Point, a free camp on the banks of the mighty Murray, just outside Renmark, we were perplexed by what appeared to be a lost boys camp of small tents, surrounded by the detritus of odd socks, dirty saucepans and piles of oranges, but no inhabitants. Was this some Boy Scout or high school outdoor ed camp with the occupants out canoeing or hiking. The presence of the occasional empty beer carton mitigated against this theory, unless Scouting has changed dramatically since my day. Another mystery was the absence of grey nomad rigs that usually populate any decent free camp.

Part of the mystery was solved at sundown when a parade of battered vans, old station wagons and the occasional tired 4WD, driven by feral haired, beanie and fair isle jumper clad, backpackers streamed into camp. Of course, the fruit picking backpacker contingent. Still didn't explain the absence of grey nomads but perhaps they avoid the backpackers?

From Renmark we headed across South Australia via Berri, Morgan, Burra and up to Crystal Brook where they conveniently provide an overnight camp in the middle of town. We returned the favour by eating at the local pub and next morning we were off again, through Port Pirie, Port Augusta and all the way to Ceduna by nightfall.

From Ceduna it was back onto the Nullarbor with an overnighter just over the WA border. Next morning, from about Mundrabilla onward it was pissing with rain. They must've got half their annual rainfall that day because it was pretty constant so even had we wanted to there wouldn't have been much point in stopping. We made it all the way over the Nullarbor and camped just south of Norseman.

Next morning saw us up at sparrows and heading into Esperance where we stopped for a "big breakfast" before hitting the road again. Just past Ravensthorpe we stopped to pay our respects at the newly created Kokanerup Memorial to the one major massacre that occurred on the South Coast. The 1870 killings on the Phillips River. Back in the car again we were home in Albany by nightfall, 8 days after leaving Newcastle.

Just under 13,000kms in 3 months. The conclusion has been a bit abrupt but I guess circumstances create outcomes. At this stage this blog will go quiet for a while but I do intend to continue with Edward's trip once circumstances allow it. Next step will be to return to Sydney and travel by sea back to Albany and then, who knows when, continue on to Europe. Stay tuned!

Day Out at Dubbo Zoo

From Newcastle we headed back out through the Hunter Valley and had one last stop for morning tea at Denman to say goodbye. From there we followed the Golden Hwy through Merriwa and Cassilis. This is a beautiful road which winds its way through rolling hills and sharp rocky scarps that rear up alongside the track, It wasn't hard to visualize this country in Edward's time. Parts of it still seem rugged and foreboding today.

We camped at Dunedoo for no other reason than the name. While it is believed to be the local Aboriginal name for swans, it has a splendidly Aussie ring to it and every Australian should visit at some time in their life. Don't expect anything apart from the name though.

Next day we decided to visit the open range zoo at Dubbo. On 300 or so hectares, it makes a change from cramped zoos that exist elsewhere. The animals are in enclosures that in many instances are acres in size and you can either drive, cycle or walk the 6 kilometre route that runs between them, There are hippos, rhinos, tigers, elephants, monkeys and best of all Galapagos tortoises.

Matilda declares Galapagos  Tortoises fascinating.

However, the highlight of the day was witnessing an excellent ram raider in the making at the snack kiosk. While ordering a coffee at the counter, a tyke of about 4 made a flying leap past me up onto the counter, snaffled a bag of Smiths Crisps and then took off at high speed through the crowd with his beleagured mum in hot pursuit. Now I'm not sure if mum was a psych student carrying out a bizarrely unwise experiment, but it appeared that the little chaps name was "Bogan" because she was yelling "Bogan, stop. Bring them back Bogan."

Was mum trying to establish whether by calling him Bogan she could create a self fulfilling prophecy? If so, it seemed to be working fabulously. Eventually Bogan was apprehended and relieved of his booty. Probably needs some adjustment to his Ritalin dosage.

After an overnight roadside stop just north of Parkes we called in to the CSIRO radio telescope and had breakfast at the cafe there. Despite extensive interpretive signage I'm still not sure that I fully understand how the thing works but it was impressive and I couldn't help but wonder what Edward would've made of it all. I was pretty sure I could feel the space rays boring into my brain, telling me that I must join the robot army on  a mission of destruction but Trish said I was just imagining it.

The lovely Forbes Town Square. With most of the towns public buildings, plus a pub and several shops, facing onto it, its probably the nicest town focal point I've seen in Australia. 

From there we drove on down the Newell Hwy through Forbes which must have the prettiest Town Square in the country and eventually camped for the night at the Hay Caravan Park,

Changing Plans

My mother is 91 and my father is just shy of that particular landmark. When I started this trip they were both living independently in their own home. While they both had limitations, their abilities were complementary and what one couldn't do, the other could, so things usually went pretty well.

However, a few weeks after we left, dad had a couple of nasty falls that landed him in hospital and it was there assessed that a return home was probably not going to be a good idea. While mum has been coping at home it has been largely due to support from my son Tanwyn and his wife Kristal who live nearby. However, they both have responsible jobs and an active 2 year old toddler to deal with so it has been a big responsibility for them.

I had been contemplating interrupting my trip to return home and help out by staying with mum until more permanent care arrangements could be made. Dad looks like being admitted to a place not far from their home and ideally in time mum can go there too but when that can happen is not clear.

Combine this with the fact that our stay with my brother Tristram and his wife Angie in Newcastle reminded us how little we like manoeuvring through densely populated urban areas, especially with a caravan in tow. (How I detest traffic lights and having to hunt for parking, especially when you will probably have to pay for the spot you finally locate!)

Newcastle ends the land based part of Edward's route and from here on he called in by P&O steamer to the cities of Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide, before his final port of call in Australia, King Georges Sound. While we had intended to drive to each of these cities. I had also thought of visiting them on one of the P&O cruises that follow this route today. This would give a better sense of the trip Edward made and also mean that in each city we wouldn't have the responsibility of a car, let alone a caravan.

After a little contemplation we came to the conclusion that this latter was a better option and long story short, we are now heading home. We will drop the caravan off in Albany, take care of a few things there, and then head up to Perth to stay with mum until the long term situation for her and dad can be stabilised. I think its fair to say that live ancestors take precedent over dead ones!

The End of the Overland Trek

Having just spent a couple of days in the grip of a vicious flu-like lurgy, I have a new sympathy for those who got sick 160 years ago. With a very rapid onset, I went from happily canoeing the Hunter River on Monday afternoon to shivering with flu aches by midnight. Today we can ameliorate the worst of such symptoms with easily available Cold & Flu tablets, plus I was warm and dry in my brothers house but I couldn't help contemplating what it must've been like for previous sufferers. In the case of the original Australians with no immunities to such illness, the end was often fatal but likewise for Europeans, camped in a cold, damp, smoky shepherds hut, it would have been miserable at the very least.

Edward spent several days at Merton, resting and reshoing his horses before setting off with Denny down river towards Maitland. At Jerry's Plains they were rejoined by Smith who had had a few days off visiting his family. From Merton to Jerry's Plains now there is a long belt of coal mines although the road is still lined with prettily maintained horse studs. It took 2 days to reach Maitland where Edward boarded the fine new steamboat Coleroy, taking with me as many of the horses I could procure berths for and leaving Smith to follow with the rest on the morrow. 

A picture of the Collaroy held in the State Library of NSW. Edward was often a little slack in his editing, perhaps because he was writing from memory a while after the event, and appears to misspell various names. The Collaroy was new when Edward sailed on it and went aground in 1881 in the area that now bears its name, just north of Sydney. 

The Collaroy set off at sunrise and despite having to wait for the tide at the mouth of the river, they were in Sydney by about 10pm that day. Edward was singularly unimpressed however, when the crew, in the spirit of reckless, unthinking insubordination which has prevailed amongst men of this class since the discovery of the gold mines, refused to work, on the plea that it was too late. I imagine Gina Rinehart would love to have Edward to dinner. They'd have so much to talk about. Eventually after much expostulation on the part of the captain they did agree to allow the landing of the horses so they could be stabled and fed.

The greater Newcastle area now extends pretty well up to Maitland, the whole area being an urban conurbation of well over a million people. Central Maitland has some spectacular late 19th century buildings as does Newcastle. Edward probably wouldn't recognise either city now but he'd be impressed. I canoed from Maitland to Morpeth, a delightful paddle. Morpeth is a pretty little town that Edward might recognise because development has passed it by. It is now one of those period towns that appears to make its living from eating establishments, second hand/antique/junk shops and the kind of shops that cater to ladies who lunch.

The river has been "stabilised" with massive loads of stone lining the banks and seems too shallow now for any large vessel. Even my canoe grounded a couple of times in inches of water and I had to look for deeper channels through. Down closer to the mouth, it is just a dirty looking channel through mangrove swamps.

Don't Undermine Us

Whatever existed at Bengalla in Edward's time has now disappeared into a whacking great hole in the ground. From Denman down the Hunter, its all coal mines and the population appears to be seriously divided about their existence. On many farm properties there are signs saying "Don't Undermine Us" but there are shops, pubs and homes displaying signs in support of coal and the employment it provides. I don't know which side Edward would've taken but I suspect he would've been anti.

Bengalla today.

He wasn't a fan of gold mining because it took his labour and led to miners tramping all round what he saw as his property. He didn't appear to invest in any gold mining so I suspect he would've been equally as displeased by coal. Its interesting to see the impact of mining on a "whitebread" area, one with money and a pretty landscape. In the west mining tends to be limited to barren, red dust regions inhabited only by miners, blackfellers and the odd grazier so opposition is left to greenies and Aboriginal groups. 

I'm with the Don't Undermine Us mob on this. It seems a shame to dig up and pollute a fertile agricultural area for an industry that realistically is going to be obselete in the next few decades. Despite our glorious leaders' inexplicable recent opposition to renewable energy, the smart money has got to be on it. 

Merton front gate. Over the road is owned by the coal miners.

Edward reached Merton by lunchtime and while his parents had already left for Sydney, his brother William was there to meet him and Edward spent five days resting here catching up with William and talking over plans and projects for the future. 

An 1853 sketch of Merton by Conrad Martens, held in the Mitchell Library.

In Edward's day Merton was the principal centre of this area, the town of Denman not having been created yet. Merton was a complete little village but virtually none of it exists today. Over the latter half of the 19th century the town was gradually moved a couple of kilometres across the river to Denman, where we settled into the Denman Van Village, a comfy little park with all ensuite sites. Looxury. 

We cycled round to Merton where Kevin, who has owned the place for 30 years was happy to let us look around. Kevin said the mining companies have bought up all the land on the opposite side of the road but he is in the no mines camp. He has seen the impact the mines have already had on farming and the environment and feels enough is enough. 

Kevin & Trish with all that's leftof the original cottage. Kevin & his wife live in an 1875 homestead built by later owners. From 6000 acres at its  peak, Merton is now a modest 40 acres. 

Kevin explained to us where the Merton Cemetery is, a few kilometres back across the road in the grounds of the Merton Vineyard and told us to tell the Japanese winemaker Atsuko that he's sent us and she would show us the Cemetery. Kevin said that vinyard land is already owned by the mining companies so what will happen to the Cemetery is not known. 

Merton Cemetery with Small Forest winery in the background. The only Ogilvie buried here is Edward's older brother William Jnr. whose grave is inthe foreground. Edward never saw William again after this visit because sadly he died from an apparent heart attack (at the age of 43) before Edward got back from England.

True to Kevin's word, Atsuko proved to be more than helpful. Having been born in Japan and working for Wignals in Albany, we had lots to chat about. I told her about Williams wine making at Merton and that Edward was taking some Yulgilbar wine to England with him to see what interest he could generate.  Atsuko's brand name "Small Forest" is a translation of her Japanese maiden name and after a taste, we bought some Rose and Chardonay. 

Within Sight of Home

I'm still not sure why Edward took the Cedar-brush Pass rather than Murrundi, other than the fact that it does appear to be shorter, which would be important when travelling by horse. As the road appears not to exist now, we took Murrundi Pass which has been there since the 1830s and was the main route even then. Maybe Edward wanted to take a quieter road. With his horses roaming free at nights perhaps there was less chance of them being nicked. Who knows?

By taking Murrundi Pass, we were able to stop off at Burning Mountain where an underground coal seam has been burning for 1000+ years. While it was a fairly uninspiring sight compared to New Zealand's geysers and hot pools or Indonesia's volcanoes, its probably the best Australia has to offer in regard to smoke issuing from the ground. It was also a welcome opportunity to stretch our legs with a hour or so walk.

The view from Burning Mountain. Cedar Brush Pass runs up behind the ridge in the far distance.

On the northern side of the Pass it was all rain and mist with visibility down to a few 100 metres but the south side opened into bright sunshine and a glorious view over the hills and broad valleys of the Hunter and its tributaries just as Edward described. He got to the top of his Pass in daylight but had mistimed it and ere we reached the deep valley of the Dart...the daylight had completely forsaken us. In the hurry, they had dropped their meat-bag and although it was found in the morning, a marauding gnacom (wild dog) had eaten the contents, so dinner and breakfast was just bread.

Fortunately in the morning, Smith had discovered some old acquaintance, and provided himself with a famous supply of roast beef, a hot loaf and a bottle of home made wine, which he produced with great triumph. I should think so.

We came back up to the track into the south side of Cedar Brush Pass a few days after settling into Denman and called in and spoke to the manager of Thornthwaite.He confirmed that the Cedar Brush Pass road is no longer passable. He told us that Thornthwaite had been the major station here since the 1840s so it may well have been there that Smith found his bounty. The sandstone 1847 homestead still exists but is private and not able to be visited.

Thornthwaite c1855. Is this where Smith found his roast beef? Trish had the roast of the day - beef - in the Royal Hotel when we stopped for lunch in Scone. Coincidence? 

Edward was disheartened by what he saw coming down the Dart because the discovery of gold had led to the desertion of the area. Deserted houses, gardens choked with weeds, and broken fences, now everywhere meet the eye and depress the spirits. 

Near Scone he came across a shepherd tending his flock among the dilapidated enclosures of one of the ruined farms and he recognised him as Coolan, son of a chief of the once powerful tribe that dwelt in this neighbourhood. Coolan and Edward had been friends since their teens and that night over roasted possum he told Edward how the Camilarrai people had been decimated, not by hostilities but by disease and the dejection that still affects some Aboriginal communities today.

The main street of Scone today.

Edward would probably be pleased, however, with the Scone of today. It bills itself as the "horse capital of Australia" and you can smell the money here. Everywhere there are horse studs with miles of timber horse fence, manicured paddocks and grand restored, or new, homesteads.

The site of Muswellbrook's first block of land sold, utilised by pubs from 1835 till today. Not sure what Edward would've  made of the Lingerie Ladies (Tues, Wed, Thurs) but I'm  sure he would've enjoyed the $10 lunch.

Next day, near Muswellbrook, Smith left the group to visit his parents who lived a little way the other side of town. Denny and Edward continued alone and camped the night near Bengalla, less than 15kms from his parents home at Merton.

Where Is Cedar Brush Pass?

Being unable to cut across country, we followed the New England Hwy down to Wallabadah and then west to Quirindi. Edward just headed directly south west and came upon the great northern road near Loder's. Loder's Station is now the site of the town of Quirindi but again we were unable to find anything remaining from Edward's time other than Loder St which marks the location of the original town. When the railway came through in 1877 the siting of the station caused the town to gravitate a couple of kilometres north east from Loder St, to where it sits today.

Edward arrived at Loders (Quirindi) from this direction...

The main street of Quirindi lies along the railway and creek and most of it appears to date from about the turn of the 20th century. The great northern road from here up Moree is now called the Kamilaroi Hwy after the original custodians of this immense region. Apparently its the only major highway in Australia to be named for its original inhabitants.

... and departed in this one.

Not me. Lifestyle blocks in Quirindi today.

After crossing this road Edward shortly again left it, and took the track to Warah. Warrah was an outstation of Goonoo Goonoo and was subdivided in 1912 into much smaller farms. The original homestead burnt down several times in the late 19th century but there are some fine photos from the late 1800s and other interesting information at www.warrah1912subdivision.com/127469402 if you're interested.

On the plains of Warrah, Edward cut some of the finely scented Myall wood that grows on these plains ... to carry a few specimens to England... whilst Smith baked a damper. Is that sandalwood I wondered? I asked Professor Google but it seems that it isn't. Its a type of acacia.

From these plains rose the bold chain of the Liverpool Range, the Cedar-brush Pass by which we were to cross, showing clear and distinct like a wide portal in the huge dark wall. I'm not sure why Edward chose this route. The current road goes through the Murrundi Pass about 20 kms to the east, as does the railway, which suggests that is an easier route. Murrundi Pass was known then but Edward's route does look marginally shorter so perhaps thats why he came this way.

Either he'd been sniffing too much of that finely scented Myall wood, or he was looking from a slightly different angle. His description of Cedar Brush Pass seems a bit over enthusiastic to me.

I'd asked a number of people if the name Cedar Brush Pass meant anything to them and got blank looks but there is a Cedar Brush Nature Reserve, south of Warrah marked on maps, with a rough track marked across the ranges. We left our caravan in Quirindi and drove out through Warrah and then down the track. I stopped a man with a big hat and an even bigger Landcruiser ute coming off a farm on the track, because he looked like he'd know. I asked him if it was indeed the old Cedar Brush Pass. He confirmed that it was but that the road is pretty well impassable, especially when wet like now. He said that he'd heard rumors of a tree up on the Pass, carved with the initials of some of the first Europeans to cross it. He didn't know who, and despite looking for it on a number of occasions, had never been able to find it. We drove on a bit but finding our way blocked by running water, turned around and headed back to Quirindi where we enjoyed a lovely curry at an Indian restaurant, opened by 2 young Indian brothers just a week ago. Beats beef and damper.

Just for the record, that light shading on the hills just east of Cedar Brush Pass, is snow.

Maybe This is MacDonald's River?

After Edward came down Moonbi Pass, he decided to give man and beast a rest and camped for a day in a fine meadow-like flat upon the bank of the pretty Cockburn River. A warm day was dozily spent in pleasant rest, whereas for our part, the whole of NSW has now been gripped in a thirty year cold snap. We only just got off the highlands in time because the New England Hwy from Bendemeer to Glen Innes is closed due to snow and ice. Walcha according to a radio broadcast is a "winter wonderland" and tying to hook up our van allowed us to experience what Edward had talked about in regard to the difficulty of buckling saddles and bridles with frozen fingers.

The less pretty Cockburn River today - the Kootingal bridge.

The next day Edward procured a supply of fresh beef from Nemingar Station, crossed the Peel, and struck across the fine open box forest towards Goonoogoonoo. Nemingah today is just a light industrial suburb on the outskirts of Tamworth and the pleasant folk at Tamworth's Calala Cottage Museum aren't aware of any remaining buildings. The box forest is the newish housing suburb of Calala.

Nemingah crossroads.

Although Tamworth existed at that time Edward didn't call in and I can only recommend the same for the modern traveler. Tamworth is a good example of the perils of progress. While the CBD is quite pleasant, it has a spectacular lookout, and there are some gracious old Victorian and Edwardian homes, it is otherwise full of highways with caryards and motels that presumably someone thought were pretty enough to warrant building. There seemed to be some debate amongst the locals we met as to whether there are 3 or 4 Maccas in town and I think that probably tells you enough about the place.

Matilda makes the acquaintance of two of Country Music's finest. Slim & Joy.

We did spend a pleasant enough afternoon at a pub, ostensibly to watch the Dockers play Hawthorn but as the afternoon wore on it became apparent that the Hawks were in the process of handing out an old fashioned spanking (the Dockers will never be fully champions until they can overcome the Hawthorn in Tasmania hoodoo. It has been the scene of their most ignominious defeats over the years.) Accordingly I shifted my attention to the attractively slim Sami, the in house Country singer. I suspect that just as in Memphis and New Orleans it is expected that every bar will have a musical act, Tamworth has an informal bylaw that requires the same. Sami is a talented girl whose repertoire includes not only the two most important genres of music, Country and Western, but Aussie Rock as well. However, I got the feeling that she sees singing as a key to being able to amass an enormous collection of becoming sheaf dresses because she changed into a new one at every break. Never seen that before.

Edward rode on past the Australian Agricultural Company's Head Station of Goonoogoonoo. This must take the cake for the most idiosyncratic Aussie pronunciation of all (how do you get Wogga from Wagga Wagga). They say Gunna Ganoo here.

The AA Co claimed pretty well this entire region. Their holdings made Edward's claim on 50 miles of Clarence look modest. I gather that there are still some pre 1850 buildings on the station but when I called their contact number a friendly young man said that while it would be ok for me to call in, I wouldn't be able to see much because the owners are in the process of a massive renovation so it is essentially a construction site. Apparently the buildings have been derelict for several decades but are now being revamped into a luxury function centre due to open sometime next year. He said that they are engaging a professional photographer to document the whole thing so they don't want any unauthorised photos appearing on the internet. He said that a photo of the gate would be ok though. Seeing as Edward didn't stop, we didn't either.

Goonoo Goonoo gates. Try saying that in a hurry. 

Here Edward quit the high road...we struck off for a bridle route through the mountains by which we shall save some distance. For them, the sun that day was very hot...this afternoon we rode in our shirt sleeves. For us, we had to keep to the high road and it was bloody freezing. Thank god for car heaters.

There's a Bower of Roses by Bendemeer's Stream

Well Edward is travelling faster than us now. He made it from his camp outside Ebor, to the Cockburn River at the foot of Moonbi Pass, just north of Tamworth, in 3 days. We have taken 6 but then as I've mentioned, we are travelling in a more leisurely fashion. We spent 2 days in Uralla and then digressed somewhat from Edward's route to visit Walcha (pronounced Walka as the locals were quick to remind me. Somewhat like the Albanian task of reminding the rest of Australia that we pronounce it Al-bany. If it was All-bany we'd have put two l's in, wouldn't we?) for 2 nights.

Walcha is the oldest town in New England, settled in 1832 after John Oxley came through in 1818. Being off the main north road perhaps, it didn't grow to the extent of places like Tamworth and Armidale and is still a bucolic little country town with an exceptionally friendly population. It was almost like a being in a movie version of a small country town. Virtually everyone said hello and made some passing comment as we passed them in the street. They also have a great love of sculpture. A number of locals sculpt in their spare time and as a result, they have developed a sculpture trail around the town. Worth visiting for that alone.

We were so absorbed by Walcha's sculptures that we didn't photogaph any! We did take one of Matilda visiting Apsley Falls, just south west of town, however.

From Walcha we returned to Edward's original route, heading to Bendemeer. When Edward passed through it was known as McDonald River after the overseer of the local station. In 1856 the name was changed to Bendemeer. Despite the sound of it, that's not an Aboriginal name, but a line from a 17th century poem by Sir Thomas Moore.

Bendemeer's quiet main street.

Although being the first town Edward mentions since leaving home, Bendemeer has remained a little hamlet. He passed the little village ... during the forenoon and he sent Smith to procure a further supply of flour and beef.  We likewise passed in the forenoon and procured coffee and the nicest vanilla slices we've tasted since leaving home (and I know my vanilla slices) from their very busy (must be the vanilla slices) general store cum coffee shop. As far as the general store staff and patrons could tell us, nothing remains from Edwards time, the oldest building remaining being an 1864 church. A book of local history that the Store helpfully had available said that there had been a store in town from 1847, although the exact location isn't know, and from 1845 there had been a hotel with the delightful name "Help Me Thru Life". Poetic folk in Bendemeer.

Bendemeer's not so quiet 1872 General Store.

Moving on, Edward came to Moonby Pass and looked gladly down upon the broad warm valleys of the Cockburn and Peel Rivers. Great coats and comforters were now thrown off the climate at the foot of the Pass being noticeably warmer than at the top. Just as Edward passed through in an unseasonably cold year, the weather forcast for the next few days is for extreme cold and possible snow. The Walcha Caravan Park owner told us all his cabins are booked out tonight by families coming in the hope of seeing the predicted snow. For our part we were keen to not get snowed on so we have moved on to Tamworth at the foot of the Pass and it is in fact warmer. Edward also talks about the green of the pastures, it having been a wet year when he was travelling. At present though, they have endured several years of drought so all is a sad brown.

The road down Moonbi Pass today. Bet Edward would be impressed.

Tamworth is surprisingly big for an inland town, more than 70,000 and according to the locals, still growing. Who knew that Country Music could be such a stimulus? From the number of motels and accommodation options around it appears they get a lot of tourists and yet their, recently established, Visitor Centre is one of the worst we have ever encountered. Stuck in the middle of a fast food, theme pub and gift shop complex, with no access for caravans it's laid out like a council front office and makes you feel like you've been sucked into a "tourist trap" that you can't get out of quick enough.

The Bushranger as Income Generator

Its strange the fascination normally law abiding citizens have with the crimes of others. I must confess to a love of "true crime" myself, a characteristic that has made Trish nervous at times. I point out to her that by sublimating my inner serial killer I prevent him from emerging - yet. Hopefully thats how it works for everyone.

Uralla, 16kms south of Armidale would just be another little roadside village if not for the fact that Fred Ward, otherwise known as Captain Thunderbolt, was shot and killed just out of town by a local Police Tooper in 1870. As a squatter, Thunderbolts primary prey, Edward would turn in his grave if he could see the way in which he has been memorialised locally.

While I don't usually approve of graffiti on natural features, this seems somehow appropriate. By the nature of his essentially petty offending it would seem that Thunderbolt was just the bogan deli robber of his day. So perhaps its fitting that Thunderbolts Rock just south of Uralla should now be a shrine for his spiritual descendants, Butch & the boys (and  girls).

There is a life size statue of him in the main street and his grave in the local pioneer cemetery was the only one with flowers on it. There is a Bushranger Motel, a Thunderbolt Hotel where the weekly bar jackpot is Thunderbolts Treasure, several businesses suggest you "hold-up" there, and even the bakery has a Thunderbolt Pie (steak and veggies to be precise - and yes of course I had one - yum although I suspect a real bushranger would prefer the chunky beef-blow the veggies). Clearly there is money in bushranging 145 years on. His nemesis, Constable Alex Walker, barely cracks a mention.

Thunderbolt aside, Uralla has capitalized on its history very well. The local museum in the 1870 McCrossin's Mill is the best local museum I have seen. So many are just cluttered collections of every piece of old tat someone has donated, with little attempt to interpret what is there. McCrossin's, however, has chosen it's pieces carefully and created exceptional interpretations to go with them. Apparently too, it is all the work of the local volunteers with little external, professional assistance.

Uralla also has one of the best small town Heritage Walks I've seen with a well signposted route and numbered sites. The accompanying guide is well researched, appears to be accurate and a beautiful, illustrated, glossy booklet to boot. Must cost a bit to produce so I hope it provides the town with a positive return. Congratulations Uralla Historical Society - you're doing a great job.

The view today across the plains of Gostwyck & Salisbury. More fences & less trees but otherwise as Edward might remember.

There doesn't appear to be anything from Edward's time in Uralla. The oldest buildings remaining being from about 1860 but there must've been a small settlement here in 1854. Gold was discovered on the Rocky River just to the west in 1852 and by 1856 this was another of those places with several thousand inhabitants. Edward being on a mission, passed to the east, didn't call in, and doesn't mention the place.

This chapel, along with an avenue of 200 elm trees,  was built on Gostwyck Station in 1921 in memory of Clive Dangar who died in WW1. 

We being on a more leisured trip, spent two nights at the cute little Uralla Caravan Park on the creek just a short walk from the town centre. We came down the back road from Armidale via the plains of Gostwyck and Salisbury and enjoyed the Heritage Walk, the Museum and a picnic at the Fossickers Site on a creek outside of town where people still pan for gold flakes.

Its Just a Matter of Knowing Who To Ask

If Smith and Denny were filled with wonder and delight by Ebor Falls, they would've wet themselves had they seen Wollomombi, Chandler or Dangars Falls. All of these are just south of the aptly named Waterfall Way, the road from Ebor to Armidale. However, as Edward said their object was to feed and preserve the condition of our horses, rather than a search for the picturesque so the stockmen were denied this pleasure.

Wollomombi Falls. At 220m the second highest waterfall in Australia and perhaps consequently, the second most visited park in NSW.

All these falls drop off the edge of the plateau and create steep, deep gorges that would be well nigh impossible to cross. Presumably Edward knew they were there because otherwise it would've made sense for him to head more south west than he did. Trish and I, however, with our modern mode of rapid transit could allow ourselves a search for the picturesque so we did just that and picturesque they certainly are. As a side note, after seeing a lyre bird at Wollomombi Falls, I asked a Park Ranger if they were common. He was just telling me that they were, and pointing out the scratchings they make, when as if to emphasise the point, another lyre bird strolled across the path about 20m behind him!

Not easy country. Chandlers Gorge down from Wollomombi Falls

Edward was keen to cross this high ground as quickly as possible because he was worried about the effect of the cold on his horses (not to mention his staff) so he determined to travel as quickly as possible - about 50km/day. He noted that on this trip such a degree of cold is very unusual even in this cold region of Australia. Must've been cold.

One of the pleasures of this trip is that it has provided the excuse to chat with a wide variety of people along the way, quizzing them for knowledge of things that aren't immediately apparent in relation to Edward's diary. One little mystery that had presented itself was the location of Hall's Station, the next stop he made for the purpose of replenishing our now nearly exhausted flour bags and to obtain nails and tools to reshoe one of the draught horses which was becoming lame due to having lost 2 shoes. At Hall's, thanks to the presence of a looking glass, he was able to have his first shave since leaving Ramornie a week earlier. I don't need a looking glass because I have a wife who reminds me every few days that I need a shave, and I have an electric razor to do it with. Neither mirror nor lather required.
Internet searches had provided references to it and it seemed to be somewhere around Wollomombi but none offered a clue to its precise location. In addition, they were all from the mid to late 1800s so it was clear that the name had changed many years ago, hence the lack of current knowledge. From Ebor I had been quizzing locals, park rangers, Post Office and shop keepers and caravan park staff but all to no avail.

However, in the Armidale Tourist Info Centre, I asked John, a particularly friendly and helpful volunteer who said he had lived locally for 60 or so years. John said he hadn't heard of it but he provided me with a phone number for Judy, a doyenne of local history. John said that if she didn't know, no-one would. Despite it being a Sunday afternoon, John assured me that if it would be ok to ring her which I did. She said that off hand she couldn't tell me but if I was to ring back later she would do some asking around and might be able to tell me.

We spent the late afternoon at the Armidale Bowling club watching the Dockers beat Brisbane (great year this one) and enjoying the "roast of the day" before calling back and as John had assured me, Judy had done the job. She was able to tell me that Hall's Station belonged to Thomas Simpson Hall who had sold it in the 1860s when it's name became Wallamumbi, the name it carries today. Like me, Judy obviously enjoys her history and said that she'd enjoyed her afternoon chasing up the story and she was able to give me all sorts of information about the place, including the fact that Thomas Hall is regarded as the original breeder of the Blue Heeler!

Looking north east from Wollomombi village, this is the view across Wallamumbi station today.

Judy also suggested I visit the Archives of the University of New England because one of the people she'd spoken to was Bill the archivist there and he had suggested that they might have some maps showing the location and tracks of that time so this afternoon, after enjoying a 3 hour heritage bus tour of Armidale, thats what we did. (The bus tour is a great initiative of the City of Armidale. Its free but donations are requested to keep it going. Haven't seen anything like it anywhere else.) Spent a couple of enjoyable hours at the archives and while there were no really usable maps there were several interesting documents relating to the history of the area and mentioning Edward.

From a fascinating document in the Archives, W. Gardners "Resources of the Northern Districts" this sketch depicts Rockvale, the station adjoining Halls, in 1855.

Armidale existed in 1854, having a population of 547 in 1851 but Edward didn't call in here, instead cutting across the wide plains of Gostwick and Salisbury just to the south east.

I enjoyed a peaceful cycle along the road to Dangars Falls which are created by Salisbury Waters. While it was chilly, it was warm compared to Edward's visit when icicles hung from their (the horses) noses and the hoar frost whitened their backs. 

Spot the friendly rock wallaby we met at Dangars Falls. Generally  considered endangered, there's a happy little colony here.

Far Out, Boy Scout

I like a camp out as much as the next person but the two things that I've never been keen on, even when I was a Boy Scout, is the absence of a comfy mattress and being cold in bed. Edward only stopped for lunch at Ebor Falls, choosing to move ahead into the Snowy Mountains a bit to make their evening camp. As Edward pointed out, Snowy Mountains is something of a misnomer because they are not snowy. Denny was greatly astonished by a trifling fall of snow because he had never before beheld such a phenomenon but real snow falls there are rare.

Edward knew that moving into the mountains, there would be some shelter from the wind and certainly our first night at Ebor demonstrated the truth of that. We experienced the first real wind we'd had since Bremer Bay. A taste of home. Although as the hotel barman mused in the morning, "at least that breeze kept the worst of the frost under control." Felt pretty cold to us but our bedding is substantial so we were cosily tucked in. The second night there was no wind. Just an eerie mist, and in the morning frost on everything. It was so cold that as in Glen Innes, all the metal surfaces inside the van had ice on them. Once the sun came up though it didn't take long to thaw.

Nor are the Snowy Mountains really mountains. Rather they are the top of a plateau and as you travel through them, while the vegetation has a definite alpine feel to it, they are just a series of rolling hills. Its only when you go and take a look off the edge of the plateau, which you can at Point Lookout, that you realise how high up you are.

Trish at Point Lookout. Declared a National Park in the 1930s, this lookout does just that over the New England National Park. We could just make out the coast probably 100kms or so away. This country is so rugged that even today its wilderness. 

Another view.

Something that might amaze Edward, on the road in to Point Lookout, is this Air Navigation Facility. Located half way between Sydney & Brisbane it presumably keeps our planes aloft. There was nothing to say I shouldn't photograph it but I confess I was looking round for a Federal copper in case I was breaking one of those terrific new anti terrorism laws that help us all sleep easier these days. (I s'pose a sign would be pointless because presumably your actual terrorist wouldn't be deterred by one anyway.)

Edward wrote that he had a warm tent while poor Smith and Denny slept in the open. Such was the privilege of class? Although his tent couldn't have been much more than a sheet of canvas because he also relates that, adding insult to injury, when setting up each new camp Denny cuts poles for my tent. Presumably "stuff you boss, cut your own poles" wasn't an option. However, if it looked like rain, Denny with his tomahawk strips a sheet of bark from a neighboring tree, and this dexterously set up upon an extemporary frame of sticks, in a sort of Dutch-oven form, makes a warm though somewhat limited shelter. I wonder whether Edward would've been amused by the usage that the phrase "Dutch-oven" had taken on, 150 odd years later? (NB. For the politer reader and those in the future when current usage might have become an archaism, Dutch-oven in some circles refers to the practise of pulling bed clothes up over a bed mates head, prior to passing wind... or so I've been told.)

Edward makes no reference at all to mattresses so I can only assume they were sleeping on little more than groundsheets. Don't think I could've been part of his party. Thank god for inflatable mattresses.

It's Cold in Them Thar Mountains

From Nymboida, the road rises steadily into the mountains towards the New England plateau. From Ramornie it took Edward 5 days to get to Ebor Falls, a trip we managed in just over half a day. However, 5 days was bloody good going. Once a few kilometres past Nymboida the farmland ceases and apart from the road, the odd fence and power line, there is nothing but thick bush. The road today, while sealed, is a narrow, winding track that rises relentlessly upwards and we only averaged about 50km per hour. From the little hamlets of Dundarrabin, where Blicks River crosses the road, and Tyringham, the ground starts to level out and  cleared farmland starts again.

Blicks River. A dashing torrent, now as it was then. 

I'm assuming that Edward had some rudimentary map because he names features like Clouds Creek and Blicks River and the open downs of Hernani that the road still crosses today. The fact that they already had fixed names indicates that it wasn't completely uncharted territory and of course it was a similar route to the one they took when first travelling up from Edward's parents place on the Hunter River. I did wonder if he chose this route for his trip for sentimental reasons associated with that first trip?

Hernani School. Who wouldn't want a school gate like that?

Squatter's Castle describes Edward's party on that original 1840 trip meeting up with Richard Craig and the party he was leading to seek land on the Clarence, at Ebor Falls on the Guy Fawkes River. However, if the local history in Ebor today is correct, the falls and river didn't have those names at that stage. Interpretive signage in the area says that the river was named by a party that camped on it on Guy Fawkes Day in 1844, after Edward's original trip. The name Ebor was given to the area by a Major Parkes who was an early holder of Guy Fawkes station and as a patriotic Englishman he was appalled at this honouring of a traitorous terrorist (see they're not a new thing). He bestowed the area with the ancient name of his home city of York, Ebor. The Gumbaynggirr name for the falls was Martiam. Might've been simpler to just stuck with that.

Once again the blog gremlins won't let me put this photo where I want it, below Ebor Falls. It's the wild, dark, unfathomable abyss into which they plunge. A rift valley in more prosaic terms.

Edward and his party stopped for lunch just above the falls and attracted by the noise, Denny and Smith went for a look. They were struck full of wonder and delight never having seen anything like it before. Once again Edward delved into his lyrical self to describe the falls...after its first wild leap, the maddened stream, broken into a cloud of spray, is collected in its rocky basin only to be dashed foaming over a second precipice scarcely inferior to the first. Beyond this, the still tormented river, chafed by rocks and rapids, becomes lost to view in the depths of the wild, dark, unfathomable abyss. Crikey...much easier today. I'll just let a photo provide my thousand words.

Ebor  Falls

We must've camped pretty well where Edward had lunch. The Ebor Falls Hotel-Motel, built in the 1970s after the earlier Ebor Hotel burnt down in 1968 (there are some graphic photos of the fire over the bar) has several van sites out the back. These are just a short distance upstream from the falls as was Edward's lunch spot. As we progressed up through the mountains the temperature dropped noticeably and by the time we got to Ebor it was clear that the balmy days and nights we'd experienced in Grafton were over. While the Ebor Hotel can't be described as luxurious, it was warm and a powered site meant our little fan heater could be called into action.

Ebor Hotel. $20 for a powered site round the back. Can't say fairer than that.

Edward then describes calling in at Guy Fawkes Station travelling west from the falls. Today what is known as Guy Fawkes Station is east of Ebor. I asked around but none of the locals seemed to know where the original Station was although the original township was some kilometres west of its present location so that may well have been the spot. However, no-one could tell me of any remaining old buildings. "Everything eventually burns down round here", was one pithy summary.

Leaving the Clarence

From Ramornie, Edward set off across country towards the Nymboida River. It's ironic that if the original inhabitants hadn't been husbanding the country for tens of thousands of years, thus negating the argument that their non use of the land left it up for grabs, Europeans would've had far more difficulty in traversing it than they did.

Bill Gammage's excellent recent book, The Greatest Estate on Earth, describes how Aboriginal burning kept much of the country open. All over the country, early explorers describe the country as resembling an English park (ie open country with scattered mature trees). In this part of the world where the country hasn't been cleared or burnt, it is now impenetrable bush and Edward would've had no chance driving his small mob of fractious horses through it.

This is what uncleared  bush is like in these parts. Impenetrable.

He heads south east from Ramornie for about 30kms camping the night at a spot that will forever remain an unknown bush camp and the next day hits what he calls the beaten road. This would've been just a cart track through the bush but I guess roughly replicating what is now the Grafton-Armidale road. I cycled the back road from South Grafton to Coutts Crossing, as most closely approximating Edward's track, and then down the main road to Nymboida.

Edward describes stoping to eat and replace a horseshoe, close to Nymboye station on the South River. They called in at the station where they were given some fresh beef. When I mention Nymboye station to people in Grafton they all assumed that this was Nymboida but were otherwise vague as to what he would have meant by that. However, in Nymboida, a chat with a couple of gnarled cattle men (minding their stock on horseback, while they grazed the road verge - I suspect Edward would have felt immediately comfortable with these guys) quickly produced the advice that Nymboye  was the original Aboriginal name for the Nymboida River. They were also able to tell me that to the best of their knowledge the original Nymboye station sat where there are now 3 Coral trees next to the Nymboida Inn. They also told me that despite the general assumption that this road pretty well follows Craigs original line of road up to Grafton, in many places it does not. The old road is now pretty well disappeared in a maze of fire trails, bush tracks and bits of the main road.

Site of old Nymboye station. Its on a flood proof bluff high above the river so would've been a logical choice.

Chatty blokes, they also ventured that the bush would've been much more open in the early days and that "forestry" should've maintained the blackfellers pattern of burning. Their view is that now it has been left so long and the bush is so thick that any burn is likely to end in disaster. They also believe that many of the plant species that require a burning regime to regenerate are now facing possible extinction. Shrugged their shoulders. What's the solution? They can't think of one.

Nymboida Inn. From 1905 it wouldn't have been there in Edward's life time & sadly it seems will now suffer the fate of many country hotels and gradually fade away.

My next stop was the Nymboida Inn to seek permission to take photos of the Coral trees. An amiable couple, Belinda and Scott, who live in the Inn told me that they weren't aware of the significance of the trees but when I described my informants they agreed that if those blokes had told me, it'd be right. These guys were up for a chat too and told me the sad story of how the 100 year old Inn is now closed due to a bureaucratic wrangle over drawing water from the river for commercial use. City bureaucracy is understandably not popular in Nymboida these days.

From Nymboye they continued on a few more kilometres before camping for the night close to where the road started to rise through the mountains, as it still does today.

The Journey Begins

When I first planned this trip, I had visions of following Edward's route completely sequentially and along the same path as him but clearly the logistics of that are impossible. For example whereas he set off from Yulgilbar and just followed his nose down river through open, unfenced forest, everything is now fenced and owned and I doubt if landholders would be wildly excited about me trying to ride my bicycle across their paddocks, upsetting the cattle and frightening the horses. Or maybe wildly excited is exactly what they would be, but not in a good way.

The view downriver from the old Yulgilbar homestead. Presumably the way Edward set off.

What's more, Edward gives only vague descriptions of his route. He mentions distance, overnight stops and occasionally things passed on the way but no precise direction. I'm not even sure how he navigated. I'm assuming he had a compass but he says nothing about any other means of navigating when he isn't on a road, which is most of the time. I've realised then I'm going to have to create a reasonable facsimile of his trip rather than a precise recreation.

He started on July 8 and while I thought of waiting till then, given that I'm not going to be doing it precisely I'm happy with our departure date from Grafton on July 2. It's certainly the same time of year and his description of a bright clear Australian winter day is certainly representative of what we have been experiencing. He clearly feels emotional about his departure and he waxes more lyrical in this description than much of the diary but I guess he is aware that a particular phase of his life is coming to an end. He can't even be sure that he will return and ponders Shall I ever more revisit that hallowed shade?; referring to his brother Fred's grave, which at this point is the only one in what later becomes known as The Vault.

While a couple of stockmen come out to make sure they get underway ok with the horses they are taking down to Sydney to sell, his companions for this part of the journey are one of his European workers and a native black boy, named Denny. (It has been suggested to me that Denny is an ancestor of Archie Roach, the musician, and I've sent an email to his management asking if he has any information about that but as yet have had no reply.)

On our trip to Lionsville we called in at Gordon Brook. A workman there wasn't sure where the original homestead was but a later phone conversation with the manager revealed that it had been on the site of the current house. Nothing remains but a few cookhouse foundations and the avenue of cedar laurels leading up to the house.

Their first day ends at Gordon Brook station about 30kms down river from Yulgilbar. From there he made his way across the river, he doesn't mention where, and called in at Newbold Grange where some business...occasioned further delay. My understanding is that this was a boundary dispute he was having with the occupants of that station. Probably a bit touchy here so he progressed on to Ramornie for his second camp the hospitable dwelling of a valued friend, and where awaited me one of the pleasantest of this life's pleasant things - a hearty welcome. This from my other Clarence ancestor, Charles Tindal.

Mt Camelback from Gordon Brook. Edward would recognise this.

As a way of getting the feel of the country, I finally got my canoe out on the mighty Clarence today. Trish dropped me off at the Lilydale Bridge, just down stream from Newbold Grange, and I paddled down to Copmanhurst, just past Ramornie, where she met me.

Lilydale bridge.

It took a couple of hours so I guess it was about 15kms or so and if Edward followed the river then I must've been pretty well where he was. The river banks now are filled with lantana (not a South American dance as Trish once postulated) which while pretty, is certainly a pervasive weed. Something that wouldn't have been here in Edward's time. A big wide river with a reasonable downstream flow, it passed over several surface rapids but nothing too vigourous. Just enough to be fun. If Edward had had a canoe like mine he could have whizzed down to Grafton whenever he felt like. Ok it would've taken a fair bit of time (unless it was in flood which would make things interesting) and then there would be the matter of how you got home but I did contemplate what he would have made of my canoe. Even in the last 30 or so years plastic has revolutionized canoes because you can just scrape and bump over rocks, logs or whatever, in a way that plywood, canvas or even fiberglass could never have done.

Trish hunting for platypus at Copmanhurst. No platypi but she did spot 2 turtles.

The river was idyllic and I couldn't believe I had it to myself. Didn't see a soul. Just cows. Beautiful.