This Is How I Roll

Mt Isa is like no other city I’ve been to. This is the view coming in to town.

The smoke stack and buildings you see are the mine. And the town goes right to the edge of the mine.

Here’s the view from the lookout in the middle of town. You can see how close the mine is.

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Further views of the mine, panning to the right. I can’t help but wonder what controls would be in place if this were proposed under today’s planning laws.

I spent a couple of days in Mt Isa. More than I had planned, but I arrived on the weekend needing a wheel alignment and new tyre, so I needed to wait until Monday.

Big shout out to the friendly folk at Mt Isa Community Church – they do Cafe Church on a Sunday night – dinner and chat at round tables, then the service. They were very welcoming.

While filling in time I checked out the lookout. My first visit was very quick – I didn’t see the ‘no caravans’ sign and it was a tight squeeze to turn around and get out of there. On Monday morning I went up again, but at 6am before any other traffic – or so I thought. When I got up there I found three guys had arrived before me – they were painting the water tower. Now if you’ve known me for any length of time, you’d realise that I love silo and water tower art. I’ve always said that if I was lucky enough to be where one was being painted I would just camp there until it was finished and see the artwork created before my eyes. So this was bittersweet. I was so excited to be there, chat to the artists (a group called Rhythmicolour Collective from the Sunshine Coast) about how they work and see them in action. But I was quite sad that I didn’t have the time to be able to stay and see it finished. This was the third week of a three week project, with a grand opening scheduled of Friday night, so the pressure was on to finish in time. It was a busy design, with much done but much still to do. Here’s some photos of the work to date.

It was such a privilege to be here to see this being done.

Now to deal with the tyre problem. Tyres were no issue, but a wheel alignment was hard to come by – all but one of the 6 machines in town were broken, and I was originally advised the nearest one would be at Tennant Creek! Thankfully the Ford dealership had a working machine. Nothing happens quickly, so after an early morning start for tyres and alignment, I was finally on my way at 2pm!

I called in at the Stockman’s Hall of Fame. And that’s all I did, call in. I was a little worried about the time I was taking to head west. I’d lost a bit of time earlier with the need to duck back home for a week, so I decided to race through some sections which I thought I could get back to another time.

But the Stockman’s Hall of Fame is iconic, so I at least wanted to look at the building.

So here it is, the iconic Hall of Fame. Complete with the iconic stockman and woman on their horses out the front. And they are complete with their coffee and mobile phones!!!!

There is a Sculpture Trail of approximately 200 kilometres in the Barcaldine region. Due to the road conditions and time-frame, I only completed the Aramac to Lake Dunn section. this is an enjoyable drive, and had time permitted Lake Dunn would have been a great place to spend the night. Here’s a photo record of the sculptures. Made from locally sourced materials by local land-owners, they are all quite unique, and are located at intervals along the road.

If you’re sqeamish you may not want to look beyond the crayfish – I’ve included a photo showing how the local farmers deal with and dissuade dingoes / wild dogs.

If you’re still with me after that, scroll to the end to see the (real life) brolgas I saw on the way. I was privileged to see them dancing, which was very special.

WARNING – Next image may not be suitable for all viewers.

But it’s not only about that…

You may be aware of the biblical story of Joshua and Jericho. As instructed by God, Joshua led the Israelites around the city of Jericho daily for 6 days. On the seventh day the Israelites circled the city seven times, the priests blew their trumpets, the army roared, and the walls of Jericho fell down, enabling the city to be defeated.

This did not happen at Jericho in Australia. There is nothing particularly religious or biblical about Jericho, which is about 70km east of Barcaldine. It is on the river Jordan. Locals suggest that the river being named Jordan led to a number of other biblical references in the area, but that there was no particularly religious background for the area. Having said that there is a contemporary sculpture depicting elements of the original Battle of Jericho in the centre of this one-horse town at the railway station.

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Jericho’s other claim to fame is that it has the smallest drive-in in Australia, with parking for 34 vehicles, and seating for those not in vehicles. This drive in still operates monthly.

I was still travelling with Bev and Leone at this time, and we camped at a billabong in Jericho. Once again, I enjoyed capturing the local birds – with my camera of course!

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And finally, we all love it when a new road is built. Especially considering the condition of some of the highways of inland NSW and Queensland! And we appreciate the dust being kept down while the road is being built.

The mud really was particularly sticky. And the dirt road we had planned on travelling on to see the beginning of the sculpture trail was quite corrugated. So it’s back to Barcaldine to pick up the sculpture trail from there…

Barcaldine is a small town in Queensland’s central west with a big claim to fame. In 1891 the Great Shearers Strike took place. Over 1000 local shearers went on strike for four months demanding better conditions from the pastoralists, and the recognition of unionism. Many meetings were held under the shade of the tree outside the Barcaldine Railway Station. The strike culminated in the arrests and imprisonment of thirteen of the leaders. The organisation formed during this period later became the Australian Labor Party.

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Lara Wetlands is a lovely spot about 30 km south of Barcaldine. Thirteen kilometres of good dirt (sandy) road brings you to this man-made oasis. The large lake is 2′ deep throughout, and the many dead trees and swampy edges provide habitat for a variety of bird life. With free use of the canoes and bicycles, as well as a natural springs thermal pool and the option to go on a guided tour of the historic homestead, its a lovely spot to break the trip, recuperate from travel, wind down, and just BE. Be still, be calm, and just be.

And to take out the camera and find as may different bird species as you can.

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Here are a plethora of cockatiels, just for you Dad!

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As I came into Lara Wetlands, I found myself behind Bev, a Canberra Roller. Leone wasn’t far behind her. They had already visited Barcaldine and were ready for some relaxation.

We spent a lovely couple of days checking out the bird life and relaxing in the thermal pool. If you are up this way, Lara Wetlands is a place to consider visiting.

When it’s a bird!

When you’re travelling through the outback you see a lot of birds. Some are more easily seen than others. The most prolific bird seems to be the crow, scavenging from the ever present road kill. Another bird which captures attention is the Kite.

This majestic bird is truly a sight to see as it soars above the road and scrub. Often mistaken for an eagle, the Kite is a mid sized bird of prey.

I spent quite a bit of time parked on the roadside near fresh roadkill, tryng to get a photo of the Kites I’d seen there as I drove past. There were three Kites, soaring and weaving over a vast area. They were majestic to watch, but much more cautious about returning to feed than the crows were. I did however manage to get some shots.

I drove on to the rest area at the Barcoo River. There was a Kite there only too keen to show off, repeatedly circling the area and trilling in the trees.

How majestic are these birds!

After an unanticipated return home for a week, I’m now back on the road. I’ve done some long days to get back to where I was,

As I was driving I came across a (dry) river crossing.

The next town was Blackall, where I saw this sign.

So of course, I had to stay. Although I didn’t try a whisky, Maginnis or otherwise. If you don’t understand the relationship, you’ve possibly never been introduced to my second-favourite poem. When I was in primary school we had to recite a poem. Other people had poems like ‘Marbles in my Pocket’. But for me, it was the beginning of a lifelong love of the Australian larrikin humour of one of our greatest poets, Banjo Patterson.

A Bush Christening

On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross’d ‘cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.

Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.

And his wife used to cry, `If the darlin’ should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.’
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.

Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin’,
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
`What the divil and all is this christenin’?’

He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.

So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
`’Tis outrageous,’ says he, `to brand youngsters like me,
I’ll be dashed if I’ll stop to be christened!’

Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the `praste’ cried aloud in his haste,
`Come out and be christened, you divil!’

But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
`I’ve a notion,’ says he, `that’ll move him.’

`Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don’t hurt him or maim him,
‘Tis not long that he’ll stand, I’ve the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I’ll name him.

`Here he comes, and for shame! ye’ve forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?’
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
`Take your chance, anyhow, wid `Maginnis’!’

As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled `MAGINNIS’S WHISKY’!

Now Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened `Maginnis’!

What a beautiful place. Free camp by donation, flushing toilets and hot shower. AND all this…

There’s a certain stench in the air. I have never seen so many dead kangaroos in my life. The road from Dirranbandi to St George in south west Queensland is littered with them. I tried counting for a kilometre, my conservative estimate was 45. Driving this road inovolves cutting and weaving the carcasses. They’re not all on the edge like in this photo. And there arehuge numbers of birds feeding on them, all on the road. I’m not sure if it’s just the drought, or if the road trains take out multiples in one hit, but the extent of this is something I’ve never seen before. And while dawn and dusk at the danger times, there are still plenty around in daylight hours. There are things I had planned to do before I left home, that I just didn’t get to. Buying a set of kangaroo whistles is one of them. I’ll be doing that in the next town.