Tabulam

When I contacted Martin, a friend and ex-client about a whistle stop catch-up, the last thing I expected was an invitation to spend the long weekend at a wayward country racecourse. They were leaving the next day for a tiny village of Tabulam about 50klms west of Casino. The annual Tabulam Cup race day was going to be the excuse this time for much drinking and carousing. I pondered the pros and cons for oh, about 30 seconds, and jumped on the net to book in. After all, school holidays and a long weekend….a place to stay with friends and a blog post on a plate. How could I say no?

The tip was to get in early, so I spent the Thursday night free camping at the Casino Racecourse, acclimatizing so to speak, with the sound of pounding hooves the next morning setting the mood. Climbing over the Richmond Range was the Jeep’s first real test. I was a tad nervous, but she passed with flying colours. Getting in early, as you can see, was indeed important. Martin was arriving with a cabal of family and friends, so, as an interloper, I set up some distance away but as close to the racetrack as I could.

Those who had taken the three day package trickled in for the rest of the afternoon. The pile-in started early the next morning. Ques of everything from box trailers to buses, the drivers flashing the QR codes to the volunteers at the gate. By lunchtime it was ‘standing room only’.

Country race carnivals are a big deal, a highlight of the local social calendar, and by local, I mean a radius of 200klm. Horses and their entourages, jockeys, officials et al, come from far and wide. Every race was a ‘maiden’ (has not won a race), so for owners, this is a rare shot at glory. Premium ticket holders could set up their ‘marquee’s’ with an uninterrupted view of the track. Luckily, Martin had secured said ticket.

Wizened cowboys in earnest conversation about cattle prices and the young and feckless hoping for luck during, and maybe after, the races, jostling for a possie on the rails. It was a perfect day sandwiched between cloudy ones. The bar was open for the day trippers but clearly the ‘package’ crowd were well stocked and had started early. If there was ever a pretext to over indulge, this seemed to be it. The PA system must have been an ancient valve wireless set-up, as it took a few minutes for the race caller’s voice to rise above the crackle and hum.

The bookies started to take bets and the anticipation rose when the horses paraded around the mounting yard for the first race. Form would play little part on the day, with the favourites deemed to be he ‘least worst’ of the contenders. And then…they were off!!

Once the first race was run and won, the ice had definitely been broken. The crowd continued to swell and there was a steady stream of toing and froing across the track, the revelers under the watchful but friendly eyes of security. I joined the Jackson tent and settled in for the ‘arvo.

As the afternoon wore on, for many, the actual horse races became an optional extra. Running to the barrier rail was replaced by a casual swiveling of the head as the horses thundered past.

By the time the last race was run, I’m not sure many even noticed. Attention had turned to the Fashions of the Field contests and the live music had started to crank up. There were categories for just about everyone to have a go. I’m please to announce that both the winner and runner up of the ladies event came from the Jackson party, which only added to the celebrations.

From the middle of the racecourse it did indeed sound like a band, but in reality, just a young guitarist with a bunch of technology. The bar-side crowd were getting right into the music.

As the sun set, those day trippers started to melt away, the music stopped and a few fires were set. I’d managed to navigate the event and still manage a couple of G & T’s back at the van and listen to the rise and fall of the evening. The next morning saw yet more departures ahead of a hot day. There were many late starters that morning and the conversations more subdued. There was one more surprise. A track behind the racecourse led down to the Clarence River, a far more modest river at this point in it’s journey, than the ‘Mighty Clarence’ it would become a mere 120klms further on.

The track led down to a beach and several vans had set up along the bank. It was a bit of a hike to get down there so I decided to re-locate the next day while the weather was good. The marquee was dismantled and the group started hoovering up the left overs and getting set for the NRL grand final that night. After that side show, a few of us sang badly to the stars, but our lead vocalist was the exception.

By 10am on the Monday, the racecourse was all but deserted bar a few stragglers. I moved the van down to the river. Even though the access road is through the racecourse, it’s open all year round. Just a matter of locking the gate on your way in and out.

I’d planned to spend a couple more days here, but the clouds rolled in and rain was on the way. Still, I hope to get back here one day. It’s a dream summer getaway location. Time to push on south again.