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.