A Bush Poet, Giant Sunflowers and a Hangover

Despite being full of caravans and the dreaded Grey Nomads, Theresa Creek Dam campsite was actually a very pleasant place to spend a few days with wonderful open views across the lake.

 

Theresa Creek Dam

 

 Sandra spent hours with the binoculars (which we have now lost) and camera - spotting and photographing birds. I in the meanwhile was being attacked by some of these self-same birds – especially some green and red parroty things which for some reason seemed particularly interested in pecking at my head.

Parroty thing that kept pecking at my head

About 150 years ago this area was hit by yet another Scotsman on the make. Called Maclaren, he took possession of a large tract of land and, presumably in memory of home, named it Blair Athol. When copper was found, a town quickly materialised – imaginatively called Copperfield, it was soon home to several thousand people. All that is left now is the chimney of the smelter and one of the town stores which had been restored, turned into a museum but even this second lease of life has come to an end and it is now falling back into disrepair. It was whilst Sandra and I were looking at the sad remains that we came across Bernie Bettridge.

Copperfield Smelter Chimney

 

Bernie is an 85 year old local historian, raconteur, bush poet and ex-miner who suddenly materialised and brought us up to date with the Blair Athol story in which he played a small part. The copper mining was short lived but then coal was discovered and the Blair Athol coal mine was established and operated until 2012 when it closed and brought to an end over 100 years of mining in the area. Bernie just happened to have in the back of his car a scrapbook giving the history of BA as he called it, plus a photo album covering his life as a mineworker in the area. He sat Sandra and I down on the wooden step of the old store and gave us his history and the history of the mine.

 

Sandra and Bernie Bettridge - Bush Poet

Being a bit of a bush poet he just happened to have written a book of poems and reminiscences of BA and, yes you've guessed it, he just happened to have some copies of his book in the car – a “steal” at only $15. Yes, we bought one and he was delighted when we told him when we returned to Scotland we would take the book with us on our first journey north through the original Blair Atholl – albeit with a double “l” at the end.

A final story from Bernie, told with photographic evidence. After the terrible flood of 1916 one of the hotels in nearby Clermont was moved to higher ground. It was not dismantled then rebuilt on the new site – it was lifted onto logs which were used as rollers and pulled to the new site. This process was slow going and took several weeks. However, the most amazing part of the story was that the hotel remained open during the whole process. Guests were accommodated and fed and the bar stayed open - we were shown photographs of guests standing on the verandas as the hotel was re-located. No health and safety in those days – only in Australia.

Leaving Clermont we headed south to the gem fields passing through towns whose names gave away what they were famous for – Rubyvale, Sapphire and Emerald – but we passed on the invitation to spend a day fossicking in the area. As mentioned in my previous posting, many small Australian towns promote themselves as having the “biggest” or “longest” of “something” in the world – and Emerald was no different. This time it was the “Tallest painting held up by an easel in the world”!! A 25 metre high easel supporting a painting of Van Gogh's “Sunflowers” towered over the Tourist Information Centre. Apparently they grow sunflowers in the area.

Emerald - the biggest easel held painting in the world

Then it was off to the Blackdown Tableland National Park for a couple of nights.

This area, perched high on a steep escarpment, was only opened up in 1971 when a road was created to extract timber. Prior to that access was only possible by horse. As we climbed up the tortuous road the temperature started to drop and by the time we reached the top we had lost seven degrees – extra blankets were going to be needed for the next few nights. The campsite was good, the park interesting with some good walks and fantastic views down the escarpment – it would also be a good setting for a remake of Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece “The Birds”. With the slightest sniff of food we were besieged by crows, magpies and the evil looking currongs. A few days earlier a woman had been attacked by a small flock of these large birds and had been left nursing a bleeding face. Cooking and food preparation were taken nearer to the tent and, at meal times, I was on constant watch armed with a wooden spoon.

"Officers Pocket" Lookout at Blackdown National Park

After the rigours of camping and thwarting the wildlife we are now living in the lap of luxury and sleeping in a comfortable double bed with clean sheets – small things in everyday life but, when you haven't had them for a while, it's nice to have them again. Mind you I don't think that we fully appreciated them last night as we both went to bed in an alcoholic haze. We are staying with John and Libby Peart on their cattle farm between Gladstone and Rockhampton. They are friends of my cousin Jean in Canada and we stayed with them on our last trip round Australia. Forsaking our usual tipple of cheap red wine in a cask we splashed out on TWO good bottles of red and a good bottle of fizz – reasonable value for a bed for the night. Not to be outdone John trumped me by producing a bottle of fizz and THREE bottles of exceptionally good red – part of his Fathers Day stash. This, coupled with cans of XXXX Bitter resulted in hangovers all round the next day.