Pardon if I’m boring you; bits from the past.


Comment box at bottom of post will be there for a day or so, but as spammers find it and fill it with shit will have to yank it out.

This post was previously password protected, not because there was anything sensitive within, but simply to protect the innocent viewer from having the tits bored off them, but as writing ennui gets a grip, the easy way appeals

With a new acquaintance, our talk got around to vehicles. He had just got a new Falcon ute to pull a food van and I once had an XY ute for a one-man business. That was the loose connection that brought together this couple of motley years of bits and pieces. Lungfish conveniently entered our conversation to which I was able to contribute tangibly, via photographic evidence. Trouble-making do-gooders will grasp on the ceratodus pic to which I can only suggest,”Sue me.” To another curious, gentler friend, I aimed the travel pieces.


Under this link is a fierce 125 CZ which putters along much like my first baby and smokes like it too. And here Craig, is my second hood bike Jawa 350 not modified as much as some other YouTube offerings. The XY ute, a forerunner of your new buy. The lungfish pic moved to the front.

When I was in the impressionistic early teens, the elder brother came into an Indian motor-cycle. I was not allowed to forget this momentous occasion when on the first night he set forth from home aboard it, my God-fearing parents hastily assembled his younger siblings while we appealed to God for his safe deliverance. Believing him a mechanical whiz-kid, he had a dilapidated wreck that couldn’t move from the stationary on its own accord, and I was always proud to be called upon, with whoever other kids were hanging around, to push-start the creature. The bike purchase was timely, as I was starting to realize the connection with Tom Sawyer’s white-washed fence. “Me big brother” wasn’t so bloody mechanically smart at all.

Frosty mornings Raw Bundy was the go.

Pre-caravan days.

Camping in Ute, winter.
Pre-caravan days

Tasman & Falcon.

The ill-fated P76 sunk Leyland motor car division, had no Tasman bias for me.

Wivenhoe locality, morning mist.
Wivenhoe morning, pre dam, where ceratodus startled the bejesus.

To allay the fears of do-gooders, the ceratodus, peculiar to the Mary and Burnett Rivers, was returned to its elements within minutes.

On Tour with Cabana, one cold morning.
One snug morning. The Cabana put a new slant on camping.

The full monty

Paronella Park 1972

The intriguing Paronella Park a Spanish immigrant’s castle realized, complete with hydroelectric plant at Mena Creek, Innisfail near where actress Diane Cilento was once domiciled.

Waterfall, Paronella Park.

N.Q.+ Port Douglas.
Kuranda Rail Station. Entrance to Lake Eacham crater lakes on Atherton Tableland. The view from Port Douglas’s Island Point Restaurant where, along with the nearby Fisherman’s Wharf, was the scene of much youthful merriment. Over time, the inexpertly sited photos become stuck to pages which, with a solid dose of ennui, goes some way to explaining the misaligned clutch of fours. Fisherman’s Wharf later became base for documentary filmmaker, Ben Cropp’s Shipwreck Museum. The area became his home, post museum, according to Wikepedia, where Cropp still lives.

N.Q. Trek. circa 1973

The canopied avenue of trees, Mackay or Bowen. Two picturesque shots Between Cairns-Port Douglas. Tinaroo Falls rarely ran after Barron Gorge Hydro Scheme came online.

Ellis Beach, Cairns (more info coming)
Ellis Beach motel on the beach. Since replaced.

Romavilla circa 1972.
Renown for its fortified wines. Convenient, for I had lately formed a relationship with the Port of the specie.

The scarcity of other lifeforms suggests wine tours in 1973 as common as a trek to Timbuktu.
The scarcity of other lifeforms suggests wine tours in 1973 as common as a trek to Timbuktu.

Difficulty bringing life to this, leaving both up for a while.
Difficulty bringing life to this, leaving both up for a while.

Puglisi entrance.
The Puglisi, Ballandean part of the wine tour.

Puglisi Vineyard, Ballandean Estate.

Texas Hall.
At nearby sleepy Texas, Cathy mortified two locals who took offence at her playing the hall piano.

At Cecil Plains, cotton irrigation was huge.

Gunsynd monument, Goondiwindi.Gunsynd monument, Goondiwindi.

Taken on our Goondiwindi tour with <em>Dopey</em>, our first dog. Smoko, Roma-Goondiwindi area, with Dopey. “You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that.’”

Morning anywhere in Aus.
Morning, anywhere, Australia.

Lavvy 2.
Bush privy. Not your common earth squat, hidden in the gloom is a contemporary plastic seat.

Jesus bus close-up
The Jesus Bus. Around this time,area, trip.

My parent's marquee with which they gave their kids memorable beach holidays.
The parents gave their kids a wide choice of holiday venues; camping at Scarborough where child-friendly fig trees is my prevailing memory, to typical of its day, basic fibro-walled ‘holiday’ houses. The 15×15 marquee gave us memorable beach holidays and on this occasion, with canvas rotting, was on its penultimate outing. A coating of canvas preservative after this camp couldn’t contain the tide of time. I now think the pictured boof-head is yours truly.

replacement - fish
At home, Sherwood rail crossing. Horses had free reign for a while. Doghouse my inspiration.

Bora Ring 2.
When I came across this spot the overwhelming feeling was that of an ancient people had preceded me and I felt this site was of a long disused Aboriginal Bora Ring where post initiation ceremonies were celebrated. On prohibited ground, not by aboriginal lore but by its failed resort owners who now post guards obliging walkers to ‘enjoy’ roadside carbon-monoxide.

Semi-tropical, Kooralbyn.
Along the track from the bora ring, towards the end of the links, is a ‘hidden valley’ with links to the tropics.

Quiet Spot, Kooralbyn. Newly flowered black-boy tree (Xanthorrhoea) impressed me.

Charlie to Arthur, 1931. P 1.
From Charlie at Moonee Ponds (I kid you not) to younger brother Arthur, my Queensland-based father, 1931. Note admonishment of “these young people will go on pleasing themselves.”

Addendum: The following shots being all Kooralbyn related obviates the need to so-tag every photo.

Fog over equestrian track.
Morning at equestrian track. Kooralbyn, a failed, meant to be up-market, leisure resort 28 kilometres south-west of Beaudesert, Queensland.

Steward's box, Kooralbyn equestrian events.
Two views of equestrian stewards pillbox, copping it tough.

The back of neglected steward box.

Kooralbyn Tennis Club.
Once were Tennis Club rooms.

This relocatable/mobile stand fascinated me simply because it had been forlornly abandoned facing a metal truck that had been similarly left and forgotten. Grand dreams unfulfilled.

Wider shot, seating.
Wide shot of mobile seating.

Bora Ring 2.
Featured what I presumed a Bora Ring elsewhere.

Secluded, serene.

The links just visible from old timber track.
From the long disused timber track where the elements have eroded a washout to the depth of two metres.

Morning Walk.
Lifting fog, morning walk, a spectre of sorts.

Bottle-brush and Wattle, from morning walk of course.

From the timber track.

Fireweed is prominent.
Fireweed has a deleterious effect on animals. Native animals instinctively avoid exotics.

Unperturbed locals.
Passers-by don’t create much interest.



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