“Oh – flip-flops.”
Marilyn chuckled. “You Poms… Flip-flops – I like it. Perhaps I"ll start calling them that and everyone will think I"m educated. Anyway, don"t forget to put your sun cream on. You"ve got a red patch between your shoulders.”
“Are we going by bike?”
“No – dirt road all the way. No fun at all, especially when there"s other traffic around. We"ll take the ute. And bring your hat.”
Soon they were hammering out of town on a jungle-lined road. The ute was skipping along the surface of the corrugations, stopping its continuous rhythm only to drop into potholes and bounce out again. There was a strange feeling of drift about the ute"s progress but Marilyn drove confidently, making gentle suggestions as to where they should be heading next and only slowing for significant bends.
“It"s a kangaroo!” shrieked Shirley, turning to follow the pathetic heap of road kill they had just straddled.
Marilyn was surprised at her. “Bloody roos. They"re a menace at night. And some of them are big… I suppose you"ve never seen one before.”
“Only in the zoo.”
“Well, there"s plenty of them here. Go down to the park in the evening – the wallabies will just sit and look at you. They sleep in the day time, mostly.”
Shirley scanned the road ahead hoping to see a vertical one. She was unlucky.
Marilyn slowed and the road dropped into a rough cutting. They emerged onto a wide river crossing. A raised concrete track cut straight across the gravel bars and debris of a major floodway though the jungle. At the far side, a few centimetres of water were flowing across the concrete. Marilyn splashed through them and pulled up beside the road. “Come on – it"s Coolwater Creek. Let"s go and dip our toes.”
It was a wild place. Dry branches and large tree trunks lay where floodwaters had cast them and provided some shelter for greenery that
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Falling into Queensland
had established a precarious existence until the next major flood. Shirley guessed that the river was at least two hundred metres across. Maybe three hundred, and the only flowing water was the clear trickle they were standing in. Upstream, there was a shallow pool; downstream the water quickly lost itself in the gravel. The wide river bed was closed in by steep jungled banks.
“This is what cuts Port Bruce off in the Wet. Can"t pass it with a car when it"s flowing.”
“Cuts off Port Bruce?”
“Yeah – for a few days every year. At least, for the big trucks it"s only a few days, so we still get food and beer in. But Main Roads closes the road anyway when it"s too wet, only lets a few trucks through or the surface gets too chewed up.”
“It"s so peaceful now.”
“Yes – it"s great. We come up here sometimes to have a barbie and lie in the pools. The crocs aren"t a problem here, and it"s real easy to get to. Bet you don"t have rivers like this in England.”
“No. Nothing like this. They"re all much gentler and full of water.”
“Full of water – well, you"re on the dry continent now. Although this coast is one of the wettest bits. You wait until we get into the goldfields – it"s much drier up there.”
They carried on along the main road for another half an hour before Marilyn slowed and swung right onto a narrow track. The noise level dropped as they drove slowly along two wheel ruts with grass in the centre. “That was the Cooktown road back there. Another hour and you"d have been in the bright lights. Not that there"s many of them in Cooktown – there"s only about fifteen hundred people there at best. But they"ve got a supermarket and a couple of pubs. And a hospital. If you want the real bright lights you"d need to go another three hundred and thirty klicks to Cairns. And you wouldn"t pass much on the way.”
“Where are we going now?”
“We"ve got to get over Misery Range to reach the goldfields. All the creeks there drain west, into the Gulf of Carpentaria. You"re on the other side of the Great Dividing Range there. Just wait „til we get out of these trees. You"ll have a view to look at then.”
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Falling into Queensland
They had not driven long before the green began to drain out of the landscape. The tangle of undergrowth gave way to dry straggly grass and the trees became stunted eucalypts. There was no shadow now; the sun sheeted down from a merciless sky and made the view shimmer. Suddenly the road was fenced on one side with metal stakes and three strands of barbed wire. On the other side of the fence, the trees were
sparser and dry wood lay amongst the grass. They passed an entrance, a tall portal of tree trunks with „Hollyvale Station" painted on the lintel. The driveway disappeared into the distant trees.
Shirley became aware of large brown boulders scattered through the grass but when they passed one close to the road, she recognised them for what they were. “Termites! I"ve only seen those on television.”
“Plenty of them around here. Termites are about the only things that make a good living out here. It"s dry, and the Wet hasn"t touched it yet this year. Guess you could say this is what most of Australia"s like. Dry, with termites. That"s why everyone lives on the coast.”
A range of black hills was closing the view ahead and the road arrowed straight for them. The trees became even sparser and the dry grass did little to hide the light brown soil below. They passed two more station entrances, but there were no cattle in sight.
Shirley did not know how far they had travelled across this dry plain – they must have been on it for half an hour at least – when the road started to gain height. She could see where they were headed now. They were climbing towards a valley that cut deep into the hills. The road was bumpy, with rocks scattered across its surface. The bones of the country were showing through the sides of the hills.
They dived into the valley and the climbing became serious. The road was cut across the hillside. Marilyn slowed right down and the ute lurched and jolted as it clambered over rock bars and loose stones. They travelled a long way into the hills before the road switched back on itself and they continued climbing the valley wall. The drop was on Shirley"s side now and she could look down on the road they had just followed. It was already far below them. The wild rocky slope looked frightening.
“I"ll stop in a moment,” said Marilyn, “There"s a great look-out just ahead. See for miles.” The road took two hairpins to avoid a section of
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Falling into Queensland
cliff and they were out of the valley and onto flatter ground. Marilyn turned off the road and stopped. “Don"t trust the hand brake,” she said as she parked across the slope.
The view was imposing and alien. They were looking out over the plain they had just crossed to the jungle hills that ran along the coast. The grey buildings of the three cattle stations they had passed hid in widely separated patches of trees. The neighbours would have a long drive to visit each other. To either side, along the face of the range, the view faded into distant nothingness. The sun pinned them to the rocks.
“It"s wonderful,” said Shirley, “I should have brought my camera. But I wouldn"t like to live here.”
“Me neither. I like to see the odd human being once in a while. There"s a limit to what cows can do in the way of company. But you"ll never get a picture of it. I"ve tried, and all you get is a big area of sky with a thin line across the bottom of it. No sense of a view at all. No
substitute for coming here yourself and just sitting on a rock for a while. „Cept we haven"t got time to be philosophical this morning. We"ve got to get a move on – I"ve got business to do.”
The track continued through sparse grass and stunted eucalypts, undulating now and with frequent rough stretches that made Marilyn slow right down.
“Is it far now?” asked Shirley.
“Not so far. About half an hour, I suppose. And if there"s some girls around, we might get some lunch. Otherwise it"ll just be beer and a sandwich. You never know, because the girls come and go.”
“Wh
ere exactly are we going?”
“To the bikie camp. They have a mining lease up here. Must have found a big amphetamine deposit because that"s all they produce. Along with a bit of weed, but that"s just for their own use. It"s not a good place for growing much, and it"d be difficult to hide commercial amounts.”
“Drugs?”
Marilyn smiled. “You"re in the wild north now, girl. All sorts of shit goes on up here that no one knows about. Oh – some of the bikies are OK. Just regular red-necked boof-heads who have trouble stringing more than two words together at once. And a couple of the old boys
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Falling into Queensland
have grown some sense over the years. They all love their bikes and pay good money for flash leather gear. That"s my deal – panniers, flashings, new saddle covers, anything in leather. I even repair clothes sometimes. And they pay good money – all in cash. They"re good customers. Just about my only customers when it comes down to it.
“Of course, there"s some really nasty people in the bikie gangs. Educated, some of them. Solicitors, accountants and so on. And they don"t get to the top by being nice to people. „Cept the police, of course. They"re super nice to the cops, or they wouldn"t be allowed to keep running their rackets in the cities. Super nice – and the cops are super nice back again. Some of them are even members. You have the same set-up in England?”
Shirley did not know. She had seen leather-clad people on motorbikes, but none of them seemed to be criminals. “I don"t think so
– I"ve never seen anything in the papers about them, anyway.”
“Hmm – from what I hear, the weather"s probably too bad to have bikies. Cold and wet"s not much fun on a bike. The bikie culture"s big over here. Not all crazies; we even have some Christian bikie groups. They"re not gangs at all. But most areas the bikies are very big in prostitution and strip clubs. Those used to be their big money spinners. Now drugs have taken over, especially amphetamines and party drugs because they can make their own and they have a ready-made distribution chain that no one will interfere with. That"s where you get the really bad guys.
“But there"s only one real rat
-bag out here, and we have to see him as soon as we get there. He"s like the boss of the place. Called Japan because he looks a bit that way. Just smile and don"t ask questions, and you"ll be right. He probably won"t want to talk to you anyway.”
For some time they had been losing height as the track wound in and out of small valleys. In the dips, the way had been scoured by flowing water and Marilyn dropped the old ute slowly into the channels before gunning the motor to haul them out up the opposite bank in a shower of dust and pebbles. Then they would climb around a rocky nose and drop into the next gully. It was slow and uncomfortable work and Shirley was glad when their road flattened out and they could pick up speed again.
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Falling into Queensland
The area they were coming to was more fertile; less rock at the surface and taller eucalypts restricting the view.
“Nearly there now,” said Marilyn, “The Makepeace River. Centre of the world in 1880. Everyone came here to make their fortunes. Some of
them did too, but not many. Used to be a great big town down the valley. Heard people say there were forty thousand people on the Makepeace at its height. The town was called Inkerman, named after one of the first pubs. They had everything – pubs everywhere, shops, churches, brothels, banks, town council, Mining Office of course. A proper town with lawyers and policemen and so on. But it was pretty much dead before the First World War, and then the dredges ate it up. Nothing left now – just photos in the Cooktown Museum. That"s the way it is up here in the North. A few cattlemen stayed but the miners came in, tore the place up and disappeared when the gold ran out. Or the tin or wolfram or whatever. Hard to imagine – so many people out here. Nowadays you could live up here for years and never see a soul.”
“But the bikies are here?”
“Yeah – the bikies, and they don"t stay for long, usually. They might come up here to get away from a wife and kids, or running from the cops. Or because they"ve fallen out with their gang – Japan likes people like that because they don"t have anywhere else to go. I think he"s trying to set up his own gang up here. I don"t know which one he was with before – I"ve never seen him with a patch – but I think he figures he"s far enough away here that he can set up on his own without putting anyone else"s nose out of joint.”
“A patch? What"s that?”
“Oh – very important. That"s their club badge – the big embroidered patch they wear on the back of their jackets. You know, Hell"s Angels, Gypsy Jokers, that sort of thing. They treat it like some holy relic – no one else is allowed to wear it, no one can wear a rival patch in their territory. A lot of childish bullshit, if you ask me. I never used to bother. But then, I"m not male.
“We"re getting there. Just around this bend and you"ll be surprised.”
The trees ended abruptly and in front of them was a bank of river rocks and pebbles. It stretched to left and right as far as Shirley could
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Falling into Queensland
see, like a wrinkled and rounded railway embankment. At its foot, beside the road and where there must be some moisture, was a ribbon of shocking green reeds. Apart from that, few plants had found a home amongst the rocks. Marilyn followed the road between the foot of the embankment and the bare hillside to their right. They were winding in and out of every small gully coming down from the higher ground.
“What is it?” asked Shirley.
“That"s what"s left. Wait until you can get above it and really see what they"ve done. It"s not far now. Look – there it is.”
Over the embankment, she could see the head of a heavy crane mast. It was reaching up at an angle, but no cables hung from it. They drove towards it, to a road cut through the embankment. It was asphalted, the first proper road they had seen since Port Bruce. A large white notice stood beside it with „Private Property Keep Out" painted crudely in red. Marilyn swung in without stopping.
Behind the embankment, sitting in a green lawn and surrounded by another stony embankment, was a massive jumbled building of girders and rusty corrugated iron. Obviously industrial. It was both wide and tall – three levels at least – a bulky alien intrusion into the empty country they had been driving through. The wall sheeting did not completely enclose its steel bones, and its dark interior hinted at a mass of machinery. The exterior was hung with unused cables and decayed spars. The mast that they had seen from the road reached up from the centre. At the other end it supported a heavy framework at an angle with a hammock of thick cables running over the main roof. The framework hung far out above the surrounding gravel.
Marilyn parked the car and gave the horn a warning toot. Now the engine had been switched off, the air was still and silent. Shirley looked around for signs of life. It could not be too far away. Two beaten up utes were parked there, old but clearly much newer than the building. A new green power pole brought electricity, but from where in this wilderness?
Shirley stood in the car park looking up at the dormant structure. “What is it?” she whispered.
“A dredge. That"s what used to dig up the gold. Used to be floating, but its pond has filled up. This is the back end; the bucket chain was at
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Falling into Queensland
the front, hanging off that A-frame up there. Still a bit squidgy all round – where the grass is. If you"d been here before the war or even a bit later, it would have been munching its way up and down the valley, and spitting out all that gravelly stuff behind it. If Japan"s in a good mood, we"ll be able to go up the top and you can see all the damage it did. Come on – let"s see if he"s around.”
She led the way over two loose planks onto the hull of the dredge. Inside was an open doorway with the words „Gold Digger"s Delight" carved into a sliced tree trunk above. The smell of smoke and stale beer
came from the darkne
ss inside.
“That"s Japan"s pub. Just for the members. They have wild nights here when there"s visitors. Japan lives upstairs.” To one side an open metal staircase led to the next level. Marilyn stood at their foot and called, “Japan! Anyone home?”
“Come on up Marilyn, and bring your little friend with you.” It was a strong masculine voice, clear and with little accent.
Shirley climbed with trepidation. They emerged on a substantial metal deck that had been converted into a sitting room. A line of windows high in the wall gave light and strong shadows. It had a couch and two armchairs, set around a carpet and facing a large television. Heavy metal posters decorated the walls. Japan was standing in a doorway on the far side of the room.
He was tall and thin, dressed in narrow black jeans and denim jacket. He wore his black hair shoulder length but did not give it the care it needed. His face was lined and yes, it did have something oriental to it. His chin was clean-shaven but his moustache reached down below the
corners of his mouth. His eyes were dark and he was examining Shirley.
“Hi, Japan,” said Marilyn, “This is Shirley.”
Japan came to them and stretched a hand out for Shirley to shake, “A new little friend for Marilyn then,” he said.
“Just a friend, mate, just a friend. She"s a Pom and she"s just arrived.”
“You going to leave her for us to play with, then?”
“Not this trip, mate. She"s got too much to do to spend time out here in the bush. And she can"t tell one end of a bike from the other,
anyway.”
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Falling into Queensland
“Just a friend, eh? Well, well… Want a coffee? Or a beer? OK,
Falling Into Queensland Page 4