A (beautiful) Eastern Yellow Robin.
Photo: Baz, Wilson’s Promontory, Southern Australia…
And hey, take my word for it…!
I worked in Malanda in the late 1970s and lived in this very pub.
Today, I had my first meal in the Malanda Hotel in almost 40-years and I am pleased it is still owned by the same people, the English family, and it is as grand as I always remember it. And how good is that silky-oak timber.
Um, yeah, a touch of reminiscing going on here…!
But hey, the past is what makes up the mosaic of whom we are today, right…!
Cheers, Baz – The Landy, in Far North Queensland…
Ahead of this week’s hike on Hinchinbrook Island I came across one such story as related by a Traditional Owner from the Girramay people. The Girramay come from the lands surrounding Cardwell, in Queensland and this story is common to a number of groups in the region.
A great story to kick-off my hike with!
“An old, old story from long time ago…
Girugarr, we call that bloke the first surveyor, he named all the country, he come from across the sea, we don’t know where he came from. He look like man on top and he got long tail like an eel.
Girugarr comes from across the sea and he stop there on Palm Island, his first foot print is there at Mundy Bay.
The earth was hot and when he put his foot down there was a little bit of splash on the mud, it’s on a rock over there.
He speaks to the old people there, growls at them, “what are you doing?”
Girugarr comes up the channel.
When he comes through the sea up to Hinchinbrook Island there are no waves in that sea. He finds all the old people cutting a candle nut tree down and he asks them what are they doing.
They’re telling him in Guwal, the traditional language, “we are cutting this tree down to find witchetty grub”.
In Guwal the tree is called gabura.
The sea was calm.
That gabura tree it stand up tall and when it falls down into the water it creates waves for the first time…”
Thanks to Marcia, a Traditional Owner, for sharing a part of this wonderful dreamtime story from long time ago.
If there are waves on the passage as I cross to Hinchinbrook Island I will be able to reflect on the dreamtime story of the Girramay people – how good is that, hey.
Photos: Baz – The Landy, Cardwell, Far North Queensland…!
On a recent foray into the outback we thought we were travelling behind a bus full of Japanese newly-weds…
You know, the ones you see down at the Historic Rocks precinct in Sydney on a Saturday morning.
Lots of smiling faces, nodding as only the Japanese can in their most polite way, married in large groups on the steps of Mrs Macquarie’s Chair overlooking the magnificent Sydney Harbour, and more confetti than you could poke-a-stick at.
Strewth, and just to be clear, lest I be accused of casting a racial slur…
I love the Japanese people.
What would lunchtime be without sashimi – Nikon camera’s weren’t the only thing they shared with the world. And hey, I’m not suggesting there were busloads of them in the outback throwing confetti everywhere either.
I was speaking metaphorically…(okay?)
But crikey – somebody must have been.
There was so much of it you could be forgiven for thinking that it must have come from a mass wedding.
Now I get it, it isn’t the most popular dinner party topic, but thanks to the hilarious 2006 movie “Kenny” we have at least got a little more comfortable discussing the issue around the camp fire these days.
And let’s not beat around the bush here, we are talking about “Poo Tickets”
Crikey, I thought everyone has watched that movie?
Toilet paper, you dill…!
Oh, stop cringing and shuffling in your seat…
And spare us the protest, Kenny dispelled many of those urban myths about…
Mine doesn’t smell and I always clean the bowel…
As a kid I used to visit my grandmother’s home in a small country town and she had an outhouse down the backyard. Anyone from the bush will know what an outhouse is and without doubt they’ve been the butt of many jokes for time eternity.
In Nan’s outhouse there was always a small box of matches sitting behind the door and she insisted one be lit each and every time you arose from the throne!
I thought this was normal and I don’t recall anyone ever complaining about the need to do it, it was just part of the routine…
Although, Uncle Bluey did complain about it once, but that was when my cousin accidently set alight to his prized Playboy Mag he had tucked down the back of the seat that us kids never knew about.
And mum’s still the word on that one..!
So why a box of matches?
Well nothing beats a freshly lit match to kill all other lingering smells …
Come-on, you’re not still cringing, surely?
Needless to say, caution should always be exercised when playing with matches and there was the time Bluey sent the outhouse door over the back fence after a brekkie of Heinz baked beans…(thank God for flushing toilet’s these days, hey)
I’m not sure what was funniest, Bluey sitting there in his navy singlet with his Y-Fronts around his ankles, or the dunny door in the neighbour’s mango tree.
He had that “eyes rolled-up, embarrassed” look that dogs get when your eyes meet as they do their business.
Dog owners will know what I mean…
But, here is the thing, we’ve always carried a little box of redheads when we are Out and About.
In one bold strike you fill the air with the smell of a freshly burning match after a squat, removing the need to protest yours doesn’t smell, and importantly, you can use it to burn your poo tickets…
So, for those of you that head bush please take “Miss Redhead” with you.
She may not ignite your passion, but in the least, she will put a flame to your “poo tickets” and spare our wonderful country the indignity of the unwanted and unsightly “confetti” that has increasingly become part of the landscape…
Baz – The Landy
Ps: Seriously, this is a major problem these days!