Others may have thought we were not leaving this morning, so early were they up and about, swapping travel notes and farewells, most probably setting off across the arid landscape to Broken Hill and knowing there was not too much to break their journey. However it was not too much past 9 am that we thawed out and made our way down off the hill and onto the highway, today heading south toward Jamestown, but first passing the little settlement of Yongala that holds all those unenviable temperature records.
Yongala is only about ten kilometres away from Peterborough and it is the proximity that has probably held people back from conserving any services the village may have had. In fact it is evident from all the buildings, in either ruined or half ruined state, that it was once a place of substance. According to Wikipedia, it still has a population of about eighty people, and if this is correct, I can only say they should be ashamed of themselves. Once fine old heritage buildings are falling about their ears and it astounds us that the Health and Safety Little Hitlers have not been through to demand the remains be removed. One old church, for instance, has a gaping great hole in the side and it is surely only faith that holds it together, and you can be sure no nurturing of faith goes on inside.
The town was proclaimed in 1876 and within five years had a population of 353 as developers anticipated the connection of the railway. Instead the railway went through Peterborough, another disappointment in the same vein as that of Dawson’s inhabitants; so much hope and so much disappointment.
In its favour, the town is situated in the middle of lovely rolling farmland, mostly sheep grazing with some cropping; the pockets of golden canola delighting us here as they have throughout the countryside over the past month.
It was just south of here that Chris drew my attention to an unusually large flock of sheep in a paddock near the road. I noticed they had recently been shorn, and then, on closer inspection, was appalled to see so many of them butchered by the shearers. Sometimes a sheep being shorn can invite injury if she puts up a fight on the board, but it is rare; this display seemed to be evidence of a shearing school for amateurs. I was quite sickened; however the sheep seemed quite staunch, braving their bloody surface wounds and the bitter cold of winter.
A further forty or so kilometres on, we arrived at the charming township of Jamestown, home to about 1,700 folk and service centre to a further 3,000 in the surrounding district. We parked at the northern end of the town near the RM Williams Centre, an outdoor interpretative display, where self-contained motorhomes are welcome to stay for a small fee.
From here we walked across Belalie Creek, formed into a chain of slow weirs to ensure water for the ducks and the tourists, on to the town centre and walked up and down the main street past numerous old heritage buildings; pubs, banks, and government buildings.
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| Main street, Jamestown |
I was delighted to find a boutique of the variety never before encountered; one just selling supplies for shearers. Normally it is the stock and station agents who cater for this market, but here there is a shop just for this niche market. Today it was closed, but then, I was satisfied merely to press my nose to the window and peer inside.
There are many murals about the town telling the stories of pioneers and early settlers, but sadly so many of these once fine works are falling apart and it would seem that little is being done by way of restoration.
Jamestown’s town centre is full of trees, of locals going about their business and altogether a delightful place to break one’s journey.
It is no surprise the towns people are immensely proud of their own Reg Williams, born here back in 1908, although their monument to him is far more modest that that we visited in Eidsvold. RM Williams is, of course, an Australian icon and a countrywide known brand, and more recently in the news as the supplier to the boots for Australia’s defence forces, a tremendous boost for industry when the Chinese might have otherwise been given the contract.
I was particularly interested to learn of the master’s god bothering bent. He spent many years travelling and working with missionaries, doing practical and useful tasks. In 1925, while still in his mid-teens, Reg travelled to Underbool, Victoria to help build a church. When his work was completed, he was asked to journey to the Mt Margaret Aboriginal Mission near Western Australian gold fields, where he built a water tank and learnt many skills from the indigenous people. Later he undertook a much larger assignment when he joined missionary, William Wade, as a camel boy, on a journey into the far north-west of South Australia. When Reg married Thelma Cummings in 1929, the couple accepted a “lifeline” from industrialist Alfred Gerard of the United Aborigines Mission, journeying to the Gammon Ranges to find a permanent water source so that a new Mission could be established.
It was after this that he started his boot making and so began the RM Williams empire. I did wonder whether his faith continued to play a large part in his life, or in fact if it ever had? Perhaps he was simply an opportunist?
Whatever the answer to this rhetorical question, it should be remembered that he was one of the important personages who were instrumental in getting the Stockman’s Hall of Fame up and running in Longreach. He is remembered as one of the many “unique” Australians who played a significant role in the development of the outback heritage.
After purchasing the newspaper and a loaf of bread in Jamestown, hardly enough to boost the local economy, we headed on south yet again, the road deteriorating although still sealed. Without a local geographical map, I had guessed that our route would continue across the high plateau and then gradually descend down into the fold of the Clare Valley. This was not so; Jamestown is still at quite a high altitude at 455 metres ASL. We soon travelled over a series of hills, still rolling but allowing for crops only to grown on the more gentle slopes. The countryside was absolutely stunning and it is hard to believe that it can be sometimes less than perfect farming land, however the many dilapidated and abandoned stone buildings along the route gave evidence of disappointment and disaster for so many in the distant past.
And then, almost without warning, just five kilometres north of Clare, we were in a much narrower valley, lined with the skeletons of vines, most beautifully pruned, ready for the new growth and the grapes which will inevitably follow. Arriving at lovely Clare, we found well maintained stone buildings reminding us of those all through the Barossa Valley further to the south.
Clare is at the head of the valley of the same name, today renowned for its production of Riesling wines sits at 392 metres ASL and has a population of just over 3,000. Wandering about the main street of Clare, we were able to learn its history and stories from the many interpretative panels all about and especially outside the beautiful old stone buildings.
The very first white settlement was by Edward Burton Gleeson in 1840 who set up a pastoral run to the north which was later developed into the town of Clare and in 1848, Jesuits were settling into the place which would become the town of Sevenhill. Settlers from England and Ireland, as well as those from Poland and Silesia arrived into the region during the 1840s producing a rich heritage of architecture and villages which remain largely intact. Vineyards were planted alongside those first villages and winemaking has continued ever since.
The discovery of copper at Kapunda and Burra in the early 1840s allowed the whole area to be opened up with the passage of bullock teams to and from the mining areas. Along the routes northwards small townships became established to service the travellers and these were the basis for future town communities in the district. Pastoral leases were cancelled by the early 1850s, hundreds were proclaimed and subdivided into sections and allotments. The sale of this subdivided land caused an increase in rural growth in the district and the new settlers set up dairies, vineyards and fruit and vegetable gardens along the Wakefield River which rises above Mintaro to the south east of Clare, and flows southward on through Auburn which is the extent of the valley we shall explore this trip. This prosperity continues to grow until the depression of the 1890s.
The railway, so often referred to in these recent postings, but here that from Gawler to Burra, was built in 1870, allowed greater accessibility to the region and resulted in a sharp increase in population. The closure of the Burra mines in the late 1870s adversely affected the economy of the area and many of the farmers left their properties, seeking employment elsewhere.
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| Easy-care sheep at Clare |
But there were those who persevered and today the Clare Valley region hosts a vibrant and diversifies rural community and economy. Disaster struck again in 1983 when the Clare Valley was devastated by bushfires during Ash Wednesday. There were no fatalities but over 6,100 hectares were burnt out, casing $5 million worth of damage. The rail line between the Clare Showgrounds, more or less opposite this caravan park, and Penwortham directly south was severely damaged and subsequently closed. The old rail route has recently been transformed into a popular bike trail known as the Riesling Trail, a 35 kilometres sealed trail that links the villages of the valley, this giving a boost to the tourist trade.
We drove up to Billy Goat Hill, from where we were able to look down over the CBD, most of the wonderful buildings screened by the many lovely trees of the town. As we drove back down into town, we came upon a rather wonderful sculptural work, a “Mob of Sheep” by Ty Manning. These sheep were looking far more attractive than those seen up near Yongala and were worth a photo.
Back at camp we prepared the lamb shanks purchased from the wonderful little boutique butcher in Clare, ready for slow cooking tomorrow while we venture further afield to explore this valley that promises us, as tourists, so much.
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