CHAPTER 13 - BENDIGO

When a train conductor describes somewhere as ‘rather close’, you would be forgiven for thinking it was within walking distance. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t necessarily expect to be travelling for more than say, ten minutes. Pulling into Bendigo station two hours and over 150km later though, I was reminded of the mammoth scale the Australian people work on. Believing I would be alighting relatively quickly, I hadn’t actually taken a seat at the Spencer Street central Melbourne station, but instead stood by the door with keen anticipation. Having returned from Wilsons Prom, we had endured two weeks of solid work with a school for disabled children before conducting a sponsored camp for those who were disadvantaged. Both were incredibly rewarding experiences, but ultimately very exhausting. It was quite a relief to be offered a week’s holiday, so we all accepted with enthusiasm. Fancying a change of scenery and taking advantage of some distant relatives'' hospitality, Grant had flown to Hobart for a week of relaxation. Although I was happy he was going to spend Easter in a lovely furnished family home with a comfy bed and a never ending supply of food, this did nonetheless leave me in a little bit of a pickle. Depressed and facing the prospect of Easter alone in a hostel room that had the uncanny knack of making a prison cell seem luxurious, Skip, Tess and LJ had mercifully come in for the rescue. Like a child burdening his divorced parents, I hassled them for attention, forcing them to take on the responsibility of entertaining me over the next week. Skip had volunteered himself for the first leg and very kindly invited me along on a camping trip to Bendigo, where we could light big fires whilst drinking copious amounts of alcohol, relatively consequence free and without caution.

 

It was early evening when the train eventually pulled into the station, but the town was alive with that strange bubbly energy that seems to accompany fun fairs on their travels. Discussing our plans for the evening, we decided to take a walk around the rides - not so much to have a go on 'The Big Wheel' but more to soak up the enjoyable festivities. Perhaps it was the dazzling lights and vivacious atmosphere, but I certainly warmed to Bendigo much more than expected. Like other settlements in the area, its origins had occurred during the great gold rush in the late 1950s, in contrast to its brothers though, it had a deep sense of character that was still evolving. Far from mundane, the buildings lining the street actually displayed a large amount of variety in their architecture making me feel like I had finally arrived in a real town. Yes, the large boulevards still existed, but they were surrounded by huge Victorian stone buildings, decorated with beautiful carvings worthy of an avenue in Paris. The proud cathedral was not made out of wood, nor was it painted in any obscene colours – it was made with thick stone and with a traditional gothic design. I loved Bendigo, for this was not the result of a scribbling in a mathematician’s notepad during coffee break - it was an ever-changing example of artistic flamboyance. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating ever so slightly, but I was just so happy to find a town whose design wasn't inspired by a depressingly logical mind. The fact that the high street wasn't merely a never-ending, perfectly straight stretch of repetitive tarmac, periodically intercepted at right-angles by hundreds of cloned roads and littered by a few thousand pedestrian crossings, just made me want to weep with joy. A typical English town (with the exception of Milton Keynes) proudly exhibits pieces of inspiration from many different people, ranging over hundreds of years and incorporating a great diversity in style. Many would say that the result is simply an untidy mess where the confusing streets and alleyways will take you in every direction except the one in which you wish to travel. But, I say to you my friends, you have failed to realise that it is this fantastic characteristic that creates the brilliant sense of adventure and unpredictability our towns are famed - for even the simplest stroll has the potential to turn into a three day expedition through the unknown. In contrast, Victorian settlements are somewhat smothered with an aura of inevitable certainty. Of course, there were still areas of Bendigo that were dominated by this terrible grid formation, but certain parts around the CBD had escaped unharmed, and these were the parts I cherished with joyful enthusiasm.

 

Skip had loads of female friends, so he had invited two along for a little variation in conversation. It surprised me that Kylie and Jess (being typical city girls) were willing to come camping in the middle of nowhere. To be honest, I don’t know many women who would eagerly sign up for a night in the wilderness in England, but add to the mix redback spiders, along with the ten most deadliest snakes in the world and you’ve got yourself a scenario about as appealing as a honeymoon in Baghdad. I was keen to get their take on things so fired a few questions at them as we enjoyed a schooner in one of the bars

‘Does the fact that every animal in this country is out to kill you not play on your mind slightly?’ I asked

‘Well, how long have you been here? Kylie replied

‘About four months now’

‘And during all that time you’ve been working in the bush. So how many animals have attacked you?’

‘Ah, I see where you’re going with this but, even if a serial killer hadn’t attacked me yet I still wouldn’t want to sit next to him on a bus’

‘Ok fine, but how many spiders or snakes have you seen?’

‘Well a brown snake groped my feet the other day, but I haven’t seen any spiders. Well, actually we had loads of massive spiders in our flat in Licola but Skip said they were just huntsman and not to worry’

‘Umm’ Skip said suddenly joining in our conversation ‘about that – I wasn’t actually sure if they were huntsman or not, I just didn’t want you to panic’

‘Right’ I said in disbelief ‘so in order to stop me panicking, you sent me to bed with a huge, potentially fatal spider. Good thinking – I mean, how can I panic when I’m dead?’

‘Sorry dude, you’re fine though so I wouldn’t worry about it – nobody in Australia really thinks about it’

‘It’s true’ Kylie said ‘we’ve been brought up around all this wildlife and you generally just forget about it. It’s best not to let yourself worry. I haven’t seen a snake in years’

I couldn’t help think that this comment may have been tempting fate. Fortunately, this proved not to be case as our first evening passed completely snake free. Still, if someone had said something like that to me before this trip had begun, I would’ve said ‘yeah right – forget about the deadly assassins all around me?! No chance!’ It was true though – the thought about snakes and spiders had generally slipped to the back of my mind, so much so that I never even checked my boxer shorts when putting them on in the mornings. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

 

Our camp site was located in a small area of bush next to a river. In order to get there, we turned off the road into a field, crossed that for about half a mile, before meandering our way through some trees. Basically, it wasn't what you would call an 'official' camping spot

'Are we allowed to camp here?' I asked Skip 'I mean - will anyone mind?'

'This is OZ mate, nobody minds where you camp as long as you clean up after yourself and don't start a bush fire' he said while ferreting around in the back of his car for something

'What if we do start a bush fire?'

'Hmmm, I don't know really. I suppose we'd just have to drive and get away from here as quickly as possible. The public don't take kindly to that sort of thing so it'd probably be best to distant ourselves from it. Don't worry though, my car's fast so we'd have no problems'

On saying these words, he finally emerged from the car with his find - a giant chainsaw. Grabbing the pull cord, he fired it up with a huge grin and announced

'I'm off to get some fire wood'

Why is it that us men get so excited by the prospect of burning things? There must be something in testosterone that turns us all into raging pyromaniacs. Talk to men about football and some will show an interest - talk to men about breasts and many will show an interest. But talk to men about fires and I guarantee they will shake uncontrollably with intense excitement and anticipation. Sweat will drip down their forehead as you report the height of the flames and how the crackles from within were produced with deafening volume. Maybe it is that caveman instinct attempting to free itself from the chains of oppression in which modern society holds it. For some reason, the people who govern our land have seen fit to outlaw random acts of destructive satisfaction, causing those natural urges to remain suppressed beneath our peaceful demeanour. It is my theory that fire provides a unique opportunity to release these feelings and allow them to blossom once again. Am I trying to rationalise the irrational? Perhaps it is just an unexplainable truth, but a truth nonetheless and one I was very aware of when I saw Skip return with a mountain of wood. This was going to be a big fire. Unwilling to settle for just big however, we set off into the wilderness with one goal in mind - make the biggest fire imaginable. The girls were oblivious to our efforts and remained seated by the radio as we gathered fuel for the furnace. They wouldn't understand anyway. We trekked across bush-land looking for that ultimate trophy, until finally, we found it. Rounding a corner, we found a felled, dry tree truck lying in the long grass. I wasn't sure what type of tree it had been, but it certainly wasn't a conventional one with many irregular branches and knobbly shapes coming from the body. I was however, perfectly aware of its potential. About a metre in diameter and two long, it possessed the capability to make all our dreams come true. Attempting to lift it, we soon realised that help would be required. Unwilling to cut it open with the fear of disturbing a deadly spider’s home, we instead used the brute force of the car to drag it into position. The girls were shocked by the sheer size and even more shocked by the effort we had put in just for a log. But this wasn’t any log - it burned all through the day and long into the night with heat so intense we had to sit ten metres from its mesmerising flicker. Taking advantage of the huge energy it radiated, we cooked three meals (including Easter lunch) before huddling around and exchanging ghost stories long into the night.

 

Suddenly through the a gap in the trees, I caught a glimpse of headlights. They were moving erratically as if the car were travelling across uneven ground. What’s more, they were coming towards us. Looking at our watches, we saw it was nearly midnight

‘Who the hell could this be? Shit, they’re coming straight for us’ said Jess obviously quite scared

‘Get a couple of knives, it could be a mental case’ chipped in Kylie. I tried to calm the mood

‘I tell you what guys - look at us- four youths having a fun day camping in the middle of nowhere and then we completely vanish. This is just like the start of horror movie’

‘Ah shit mate, shut up’ Skip shouted as he reached around for a weapon. All he could muster was a spatchelor though as the lights continued to home in on us and we could hear the high revs of the engine. Standing in a line, each gripping a different kitchen utensil for protection, we waited for the inevitable. I had never really considered how I would react in such a situation. Thinking back now, I am surprised I didn’t run away as my mind was telling me to do. The lights got so bright I could see the whites of Skip’s eyes as they illuminated his face.

‘Guys this is really scary, I think we need to do runner’ Kylie said slowly in a terrified voice

‘And leave all this stuff here? I’m not leaving my car here for them to smash to pieces. Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort it out’ Skip replied with an authoritative whisper.

The car was much closer now – less than twenty metres as it made its way through the bushes just as Skip’s car had earlier that day. It couldn’t be a coincidence, they were coming straight for our location. Ten metres now and we could see the white body work, of the 4x4. Then it stopped. Ten metres away from us with the headlights right in our face to blind our vision. Then a door opened and a voice spoke

‘What the hell is going on here?!’ it said. We looked at each other looking for something to say

‘What? Who the hell are you?’ Skip shouted back ‘we’re just camping’

‘Ah bloody hell’ replied the voice as the driver killed the lights and started walking towards us ‘I’m the ranger from around here – some drivers reported a fire in the woods so I came to check it out. Bloody hell, that’s one hell of a fire!’

‘Jesus mate, you scared the hell out of us’ I said with a sudden sigh of relief. The girls were now laughing at how scared they had been just moments before

‘Sorry guys, I just wanted to check out what was going on. You scared me too to be honest’ turning, he examined our camp ‘that fire’s bloody impressive, how’d you move that tree trunk?!’ he said, obviously impressed

‘We towed it with the car’ Skip said ‘do you want a beer mate?’

‘Now you’re talking my language’

We had a few drinks as he told us some of the funny things he had caught campers doing throughout the past few weeks. He stayed for an hour or so before declaring he ‘probably should get back to the wife’. It was certainly a marvellous experience and one that made me admire this country even more. I couldn’t image a warden (or whatever he was) being so laid back at home. Usually, people abuse authority, but like most Australians he had shown an element of common sense along with the great ability to ‘have a laugh’. Then, without warning, the heavens opened and it started to pour. This was the first rain I had seen in months and I could feel the countryside dancing for joy as it fell. I went back to my tent for some cover, laughing at Skip who was sleeping in just a 'swag' – a full body sleeping bag incorporating a small mattress. These are incredibly popular with campers, especially on tours of Uluru as they keep you ‘in touch with nature’. As the water drained through the feeble face netting, Skip confirmed this claim to be true. A better friend would’ve invited him into the tent, but I was laughing way too much to think about such trivial things.