Open Writing

Jack Bayliss delights in the wide open spaces of Australia.

(This is the first piece of writing that we have received from Oz. It's a splendid introduction to the "Lucky'' country. We hope to receive many more stores, articles and poems from Down Under. -- Peter Hinchliffe, Open Writing editor)
Towards the Bush

When I first arrived in Australia from England via South Africa in 1947 I recuperated from my seasick two weeks at sea with a few days in Perth. Anxious to discover what lay ahead and finding that a trip across the Nullabor on my trusty BSA motorbike was not possible due to petrol shortage, I decided to travel by train to the eastern states.

What a marvellous introduction to wide open spaces! Seated in the comfortable security of the carriage with congenial company, one could let the miles go by without the cares of driving a motor vehicle and without a concern for the next destination. The Nullabor was repetitious but in its repetition it emphasized the wonderful sense of space. One had to take deep breaths now and then to become part of that space and to realize that this was part of the same planet as that faraway English countryside.

This reverie was broken from time to time by a slow-down or stop at a settlement of a few houses for railway workers wholly dependent on the train for supplies. Here the local aborigines would offer crudely made wooden goannas for sale - memory reminds me they were a poor but happy group. After a couple of days we arrived in Adelaide and the sights, sounds and smells of that most civilized city served to contrast with the impressions of my first experience of wide-open spaces.

After a brief stop in Melbourne I continued to Sydney and a couple of weeks later the motorbike caught up with me, no worse for its train trip from Perth.

The urge to explore was uncontrollable and after the ferry trips on the harbour and bus trips to the beaches and North Shore the freedom and low cost travel provided by the bike was much appreciated.

North to Palm Beach and Kuring-Gai National Park with glimpses of the Hawkesbury and the road to Newcastle merely whet the appetite for more to come. South to Royal National Park, Woolongong and Kiama and west to the Blue Mountains, Katoomba and the Jenolan Caves with the history of exploration to add interest to the journey filled in the next few months. I particularly remember the picnic trip with a lady friend for company into the almost untouched area which is now flooded by the Warrangamba Dam.

Now I was offered a position in Melbourne and decided to take a chance. The opportunity to see more on the way down was attractive and I chose a route ‘off the beaten track’. First to Canberra then south through the beautiful wide valley to Cooma which was about to become the center for the Snowy Mountains Scheme.

From Cooma the unmade road ran through Nimmitabel and Bombala to the Victorian coast at Cann River. It looked attractive through almost uncharted territory but I hadn’t allowed for the interminable twists and turns. The motorbike was up to the job and judging the right speed to slide round a bend in the loose gravel became an exhilarating and exhausting game. I felt I was really ‘in the bush’ and cannot remember meeting any traffic on the 250Km trip.

Accommodation in Cann River was at the ‘Pub’ - still in its glory today. After shaking off some of the dust I looked forward to a good meal. The large country serve was most appreciated and the lass serving was most attentive.

After the sweets course she announced there was a dance on - it was Saturday night - and she would like a partner. Not being used to such propositions I covered myself with confusion and mumbled something about being tired after the trip. Breakfast next morning was served somewhat icily!

Along the Princes Highway next day the road led through Orbost and Bairnsdale with the mountains in the north looming invitingly in the distance. I chose the South Gippsland Highway through Foster and after the fertile rolling hills of the dairying country climbed to get a magnificent view of Wilsons Promontory. This seemed to be my Shangri-La and I determined to visit it many times. Then on to Melbourne which was to be my home from then on.

Now more everyday pursuits occupied my time but I still stole away to the magnificent bush within cooee of the city. Everywhere was new and interesting - even to learn that the ubiquitous eucalypt came in many forms and to appreciate the wattle blooming in winter The Dandenongs with their autumn patchwork, the glorious valley to Healesville, over the mountain road to Donna Buang and Warburton and of course on the doorstep the Botanic Gardens. A livable city indeed!

One of my more adventurous motorbike trips was to investigate Woods Point. Neither Eildon nor the Upper Yarra Dam were built at the time and the road from Eildon to Jamieson was unmade and rough but mercifully short. The road south was a mountain road - up and down as well as round and round. Woods Point itself was an interesting relic of the past but it still had the operating A1 gold mine.

After relaxing with a cup of tea I noticed to my horror that the back tyre was flat. Naturally I had no repair kit or spare so what to do? The main street was empty but for a couple of boys playing with a footie so I approached them. They said the schoolteacher would have a cycle repair outfit.

They dug him out of his weekend relaxation and together we somehow got the back wheel out, removed the tyre, found and repaired the puncture and replaced the wheel with the chain drive in place. What a wonderful feeling as I drove off up the hill after thanking my saviours. Homeward bound for Warburton!

But it was late in the day and so regrettably I had little time to admire the sunset. The bush seemed to close in with the darkness and my single headlight peered ineffectively into the darkness. Each curve had to be negotiated with a prayer as the beam and the road parted company.

The road was in an appalling state with potholes and corrugations and often it suddenly diverted through the trees when washaways were too deep. I was feeling comfortable with progress until suddenly there was no traction. I dismounted and thought of all the snakes and other hobgoblins ready to pounce from any direction and then realized I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I would be bleached bones in the bush by the time they found me!

A quick inspection showed that the drive chain had left the sprocket on the rear wheel which had been reassembled too far forward. By leading the chain on to the sprocket and pushing the bike forward it was possible to re-engage the chain and move on again for the 70Km to civilization.

I set off gingerly at a moderate pace until I hit another bump when the chain came off again. This was repeated several times until through the blackness of the night faint distant lights became visible and I duly arrived in Warburton. On a good road the rest of the trip was uneventful. I found later that the road I had traveled from Woods Point was not maintained as it was to be flooded by the Upper Yarra Dam.

I now became a model (?) family man and the motorbike met the suburban norms and was replaced by a secondhand car. I ached for the freedom of the wide open spaces and eventually took six of us in a caravan to Merimbula while the Princes Highway was still under construction in East Gippsland - another story. Later we had many happy energetic holidays at Wilsons Promontory.

When my eldest son began his Science course at Melbourne University he joined the Rogaining club which organized overnight endurance hikes. A group from this club decided to promote the new sport of Orienteering. This seemed to be more my cup of tea and I went to one of their early events in the Black Forest, just beyond Mount Macedon.

The course was mapped out and duplicated in black ink on a foolscap sheet. It showed magnetic north, creeks, tracks and as many other details as possible. You chose a course of appropriate difficulty from 2Km to 15Km got a start time and ran to the number of markers shown on your map marking your entry card as you did so. Your overall time was recorded and entered in sequence in the results.

I was a member of the Victorian Orienteering Association for over twenty years and what a marvellous introduction to the Australian bush it was. Enthusiasts from ten to eighty years old met regularly at well chosen sites sometimes as far away as Bendigo and Ballarat.

Navigation was from easy to very difficult and I found I could sometimes match the younger members by choosing the right route. Wonderful fern gullies, craggy rocks (good for hiding course markers) and vast sheets of flat rock were part of the landscape and in the beginning native cherry trees were marked to help navigation.

As more people joined the standard of maps improved tremendously. Contours were obtained from an aerial survey and a band of people walked the courses and filled in the details which were printed in five colours - a fine cooperative effort. The greatest sporting achievement came in the eighties when the World Orienteering Association held the annual competition in gold mining country near Castlemaine. Australians put up a creditable performance but the Scandinavians carried off most of the trophies. About this time I notched up my only sporting trophy - a cup for a place in a relay!

Happy memories remain. I recall the whoops of delight from an overseas entrant who whizzed past and almost fell over a kangaroo. The post-mortems were mostly with a Swede of my own age. But also the barbecue at the end of the day’s outing - burnt chops never tasted sweeter.

Sometimes all three of my sons came with me and it was a great family occasion. It made visits to the U.K. seem to be in another strange world with neat hedges and formality everywhere unable to replace the grandeur, vastness and informality of the Australian bush.