My world walk blog - Australia 62  

Walking to Waltzing Matilda

Its long update folks! Stick on the kettle

Sorry for any typos! A strange woman who has no idea of struggling to keep a blog and Facebook going while on the road in remote lands gave me a bit of a bolocking for this, probably all the way  from her air-conditioned barstool
21,485 cancer awareness kilometres walked in 608 road days.

"Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
He sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
You'll come, a-Waltzing Matilda, with me

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
You'll come, a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"

Once again, thanks to a million to John, owner/mechanic of the BP service station in Longreach. Not only did he perform miracles straightening out my two badly buckled wheels but he did it all for free. This was Johns way of supporting my cancer awareness world walk. My message, as always is: Life is precious and early cancer screening saves lives. I'm also grateful to Graham the police officer who gave me a bed in Longreach. He is in serious training for a three-day triathlon ultra event in three weeks time. Good luck mate!

That Monday morning Graham had suggested that I do a major shop there before continuing my northwesterly walk along national route 2 to Winton, some 178 kilometres away. Winton, made famous for the first public performance of Waltzing Matilda, Australias most famous song and some say their second anthem, perhaps a bit like Irelands Call.

According to Wikipedia:

"The title was Australian slang for travelling on foot (waltzing, derived from the German auf der Walz) with one's belongings in a "Matilda" (swag) slung over one's back. The song narrates the story of an itinerant worker, or "swagman", making a drink of billy tea at a bush camp and capturing a stray jumbuck (sheep) to eat. When the jumbuck's owner, a squatter (wealthy landowner), and three mounted policemen pursue the swagman for theft, he declares "You'll never take me alive!" and commits suicide by drowning himself in a nearby billabong (watering hole), after which his ghost haunts the site.

The original lyrics were written in 1895 by Australian poet Banjo Paterson and were first published as sheet music in 1903.  Christina Macpherson composed the music.

Extensive folklore surrounds the song and the process of its creation, to the extent that it has its own museum, the Waltzing Matilda Centre in Winton, in the Queensland outback, where Paterson wrote the lyrics. In 2012, to remind Australians of the song's significance, Winton organised the inaugural Waltzing Matilda Day to be held on 6 April, the anniversary of its first performance.

The song was first recorded in 1926 as performed by John Collinson and Russell Callow in Winton's North Gregory Hotel. In 2008, this recording of "Waltzing Matilda" was added to the Sounds of Australia registry in the National Film and Sound Archive which says that there are more recordings of "Waltzing Matilda" than any other Australian song.

A few years ago the town had a visitors centre which was burnt down. Now they have rebuilt it at a cost of Au$27 million and the opening day was to be Friday, my birthday. That gave me enough motivation to plod some big distance days to reach the town. Some 6,000 visitors were expected for the festivities and indeed there was a notable increase in road traffic. Many people young and old making the trip for the weekend festival of music and fun.

Before I left for the fabled town Graham messaged me the locations of the rest areas along the highway, see below. In those picnic sites, I could pitch my tent if I wished. There are also toilet facilities where I could have my usual body wash in the bush. I sometimes fill a large bottle with soapy warm water and attach a squirt nozzle to the bottle. Late in the evening when nobody is about. And when the bush flies have drifted off to their slumber, I stand in a secluded area and squirt and sponge myself clean. Halleluiahuiah

Though the water is labelled as not suitable for drinking, I have been assured that its fine for cooking and okay to drink when boiled. That means that I can carry less, especially if I stop there for the night I can drink my usual two-litres of peppermint tea, cook dinner and breakfast from the water there. Otherwise, I would have to carry all this extra water. However, their locations don't always fall nicely and neatly for me. In which case, I sometimes walk on. I always have to factor that the water tanks in one of these areas could be empty, which is possible with the festival and increased traffic.

As Graham was also going to the Winton festival and sending some of his officers as a backup he offered to take my bag of food supplies on ahead. Due to the huge influx of people, it is possible that the supermarket in Winton may be sold out of what I need and the next decent supermarket will be in Cloncurry, about 500 kms away. I also asked him to ask his officers to top up my water when they passed me, and they did, fair play to them.

REST STOPS.

Km 0  Longreach

23.3    Sand Hills.

67        Morella

110

131

176/178  Winton (small town)

190

242

271

323

342      Kynuna. (Hamlet)

It was almost 3 pm before I walked out of Longreach because of the wheel repairs and other commitments that I had there. It was a hot day, over 30C and I made it to Sand Hills, the first rest area just as the flies faded off into the calm, cool starry evening. However, as I wanted to reach Winton by Friday I was under pressure to walk on and not to pitch my tent at such an inviting location. That night I walked for another three hours and finished with 41 kilometres before finally pitching my tent in the bush.

Next day, I walked a similar distance. The heat has recently been more of a factor, now up to 34C. There are less shady trees to shelter under as in the past. There are also large swaths of land, almost prairie-like, sometimes with the occasional gradual hillocks. It is so changeable that a couple of hours later I walked past scrubland with bushes. For fear of snakes, I don't like to go into the long grass to reach shelter under trees that are a bit far off the road, that's when there is even a tree. When I do find a nice place to rest I'm tormented by the ever-present; my constant collection of thousands of bush flies. It is taking a huge amount out of my persistence account. I no longer eat my usual lunch staple of instant noodles and can of sardines as its easier just to slip a few biscuits under my fly net than to do battle with the feckers.

For some reason, even though the Morella rest area was another hour up the road I decided to stop at a farm to try for water. There are not many farmhouses close to the road and there is always a chance that there could be nobody there or a closed gate further on down the track. Decisions like this are purely intuitive.

This one called the Breedon farm looked to be about 700 metres away. So, I gave it a try, even if it was to turn out to be about twice that distance it was still worth the extra effort for the experience I was to have. If there was nobody home I planned to just rest and have my own snack under a shady tree.

Upon reaching the farmhouse I called out and the farmer's wife, a friendly woman called Gail greeted me with a cheery smile. She joked and said that if I wasn't an axe murderer or if the Spot tracking device on my arm wasn't a police tracking device that I could come in for tea and sandwiches!

We had an interesting chat while I enjoyed a welcome break from the heat. The farm was thirty-five thousand acres and with about 2,000 cows. They would have more cows, but now are just breeding enough just to pay the bills. The drought which so many people have told me has gone on for seven years.

"Normally, we get about two inches of rain a year. This year we have gotten a massive sixteen inches."
It was opportune that Ash Senyk, my Australian friend living in Dublin should send me a rare message stating. "Hey, Tony! It's been raining for twelve-hours in Ireland! Just saying!"

I filled up my water bottles and thermos before bidding my adieu to Gail. Before I left she said that nothing escapes the beady eye of her husband and he will surely notice Karmas tracks. Not really sure why she shared this information with me!

Before I left, Gail spoke about how she has noticed certain 'cow behaviour' as she calls it.

"You know Tony that cows don't just sit anywhere in a field! They usually move around in groups, cliches of about ten. If one cow has a bit of a limp or is different in any way or even an odd colour or patch the other cows can be pretty racist and bully it. Its not only humans that get bullied"

Gail, like many other people I have met these last two months from Toowoomba, mentioned some people along the highway who I happen to have met. Strangely because of my slow mode of travel. I'm even picking up on some harmless gossip of people hundreds of kilometres away that I have met. Lol

Next day, Wednesday 18th I was doing my calculations for my arrival in Winton and I could afford an easier 28 km day, especially if I followed it up with a big day, which I was seriously motivated for. I stopped at the 110 km rest area for the night. I cooked a big canned dinner with peppered and mushroom steak and beans. I didn't sleep well as this rest area was close to the highway. However, next day out on the road and probably because of my larger than normal dinner, I was in turbo-charged mode and stomped out a 49km day. On the way, I was stopped by a friendly man called James Turner on a 125cc motorbike. He, just like the swagman of old was off looking for work. But he was enjoying the road trip first. He says that he usually rides about 300 kms a day between  8 am and 4 pm when he sets up his campsite. A fill-up of his petrol tank costs 20 dollars, 13 euro or roughly $15 US. His tank has a range of around four hundred kilometres. He is living his dream too. Good luck to my newest friend. That night I camped in a field.  

The wonderful Australian people continued to stop and offer me ice-cold water, Cokes and other refreshments. Australia is now officially my favourite country in the world. Between here and New Zealand I have been down-under for a year now. Some people from an ABC news crew kindly gave me a huge bag of grapes, oranges and chocolate. The latter I put into my thermos mug to keep cool.
  Then on Friday, my birthday, all that was left for me to walk was a 19 km push to Winton. I hoped for an easy day, but it was a hot slug. Before I got out of my tent and faced the flies I had a well-timed, much-needed shave because  I was greeted by a man called James who was born in Ireland, lived in Germany and was almost born in India where his hippy-loving parents met. A close shave, phew! as his mam returned to Killarney just before he was born to and give birth to him before returning to be with his father in India. He has travelled much of his life around the world on a bicycle. Now settled in Australia, naturally, he has a problem trying to determine his national identity. With the soccer world cup coming up he will lean more towards Berlin than Brisbane, Belmullet or Bangalore! He is a film maker and was on assignment with a woman who is a distant relative to the fiance of the woman who was said to be engaged to Banjo Paterson, the aforementioned poet who made the great Australian, song, poem Waltzing Matilda famous. Apparently, there is some kind of a scandal that she is trying to get to the bottom of, and I didn't really understand it.

For some reason, this woman called Sarah seemed to be fascinated by me as I stood beside my tent and Karma, my cart.

"Look James we have a modern-day swagman, just like in Banjo Pattersons song, Waltzing Matilda! How cool is this?"

It was an extremely hot and dusty last few kilometres into town. With a little breeze, I found it tough going and the only shade was at the side of a parked JCB where I stopped for a short break.

Once I arrived in Winton I met so many people that had passed me on the highway in the preceding days. They all greeted me with: "So you made it!" So many people asked me this same question that I wondered if the local bookmakers were taking bets on me being gobbled up by bush flies.

In town, many local people took me to heart. I arrived at the famed North Gregory Hotel as mentioned earlier were the countries most famous song had its first performance. Without any introduction, for everyone sees me on the highway I was showered by the hotel and treated to two birthday dinners. One I had tonight courtesy of James the cameraman who stopped by my tent this morning found me lapping up the live music in the beer garden. Another birthday dinner was generously sponsored by my friend Tom Denniss who sponsored it on my websites Pay-Pal link. That steak dinner I will have tonight. Thanks so much to everyone. And astonishingly, the hotel even offered me a free seafood dinner which due to regulations they couldn't put back into the refrigerator, a sixty dollar value meal that went to waste as I was so full.

After a great nights chatting I pitched my tent on the grass island in the middle of Elderslie Road and opposite the North Gregory Hotel and sang several verses of Waltzing Matilda.

"He sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
You'll come, a-Waltzing Matilda, with me

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda

You'll come, a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."

A lovely birthday, thank you, everyone,, for your generous help and nice messages.

I wrote  this blog in The Spun Yarn cafe talking to the delightful owner, a young woman, a single mother called Jess. She bravely bought the cafe and is also setting about living her dream to be her own boss. A tad stressed by the sudden increase in traffic she still found time to chat and have some beers when she closed. We all have different dreams, equal and each just as worthy.
Earlier, I spoke to a South African man called Gerhard. He made a phone call to the festival organiser, a kind man called John Elliot who gave me a complimentary ticket for the music festival. Naturally, as a live music fan, I'm over the moon and a rest day has been declared. Apparently, John stopped on the highway a couple of days ago and gave me water. No, I never say its a small world. Not when I'm walking it. Its an amazing world full of wonderful people

Having said that the bars and some street corners have free live music with an enjoyable country music theme, cowboy hats abound. Much in the same fashion as Nashville, USA, a place I love and will be returning to on this world walk, that's for sure matey

I chatted to a woman called Donna and we spoke about how people manage to survive the water shortage in olden times and how these so-called swagmen managed to travel the trails for there were no roads back then. Those wise hobos travelled with just a few possessions in search of work. They knew where to find water and were adept at living off the land. Donna recalled how when she was a child that people got their water from bore wells from way down beneath the ground. As she said: "When we wanted to have a bath in the evening we had to pump the water out in the morning as it was so slow and it also needed to be cooled for it was boiling-hot, 90 degrees."