Mt Morgan

Back on the road and heading towards Rockhampton. First stop was Biloela. Described by the media as a ‘small’ outback town in Central Queensland, it’s a lot bigger than you’d think. It got me thinking about a way to easily describe the size of a destination. Came up with this little table;

Hamlet = pub, Village = pub + general store, Small country town = 2 pubs, Large country town = 3+ pubs

There are a few free camps in and around Biloela, but after three weeks on the farm, I had the urge for a water view. The Callide Dam was only a few kilometres outside town, so I took a quick run to check it out. The Callide Dam Reserve is a rambling 300 acres of sloping grass criss-crossed with car tracks, some leading down to the dam itself. The local council has tried to corral RV’ers into a paid area under the dam wall, but I found a much better ‘free’ spot further around. Pulled up a chair in the late afternoon and after the relative discipline of farm life, felt a little free spirited once again.

Directly opposite to me sat the Callide Power Station that generates power for S-E Queensland. Silently, like an inscrutable energy buddha, entrails of white steam rising slowly into the sky. I had contemplated spending a few nights here, but a post on my Facebook group, Free and Cheap Caravanning, caught my eye. Someone was recommending the Don River Free Camp, literally half an hours drive on the way to my next stop at Delulu. Sounds like a plan,(he thought), so I moved on the next morning.

Whoever recommended this site must have a been a real estate agent in a former life. Not the spacious riverside idyll he had painted, room for only two vans. Had I not passed one of them leaving on the dirt road in, it would have been a fruitless adventure. However the river was the perfect backdrop and surprisingly, the internet was excellent. A perfect spot for a Kayo weekend. There was also time to drag out the camp oven a do a pork loin roast and some good company on the second night rounded off a pretty good two days.

I was hoping to spend a night or two at Delulu, but unfortunately, Delulu had no (internet) solulu, and that was a deal breaker. Mt Morgan, once one of the richest gold mines in the world, was only 40klms further, so I pushed on. I played tourist and followed the signs to Dam 7, the largest of 7 dams built on the Dee River by the Mt Morgan Mining Co back in the day. Great for a break, but not exactly ideal for a free camp.

I was literally looking around the lake for options, when I spied a car arrive and leave at a spot way off to the left. Checked the map and figured it was worth a shot.

The very end of William Street on the waters edge became ‘home’ for a couple of days. Apart from the occasional local dropping by for a boat launch or someone fossicking in the nearby mullock heaps, I had the place pretty much to myself.

Mt Morgan is a case of come for the view, stay for the history. The Mt Morgan story is incredibly well documented, but for a short, easy read, go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Morgan_Mine . The architecture is pure Federation style and the longevity of the mine meant that it didn’t suffer from the boom and bust cycle that condemned many mining towns to derelict and ruins.

I drove up to the mine not knowing what to expect, but the guard at the gate and the chatter of walkie-talkies clearly showed that there was still life(money) to be had. It only re-opened a few months ago and the owners are re-working the tailings for pyrite (fools gold). Apparently a good use can now be found for it in watches amongst other things.

“None shall pass!'” was the unequivocal direction from behind the fence, so I retreated back down the hill and found the disused railway line to the mine instead. It was, in footy parlance, a bit of a ‘speculator’. I knew there was a bridge and a tunnel to negotiate and after that, who knows? The bridge crossing was a little ‘ginger’, there being a fatal distance to the creek below. The graffiti on the tunnel walls, somewhat re-assuring, as others had made this intrusion before me. Sadly, no magic photo opportunity after all that effort, the rail line disappearing into inpenertrable scrub, but the local lookout did give sort of what I was after.

The first local I met, Mick, sang the praises of the local museum and he was spot on. Not just a mining museum but a sociological history of the town right up to the recent past. Incredibly detailed and so much reading. Hard to do justice with a camera. An hour just flew by and some of the true stories would stand alone in any book.

Back to the dam for one more night. I’d heard of a very cheap camp behind the hotel at Bouldercombe, about 20 minutes from Rockhampton at the bottom of the range. Serendipity. A fellow traveller pulled up beside me the next morning, having just left Bouldercombe half an hour before. “There’s not much room ” she said, “and a large van is leaving soon!” Well, you don’t have to tell me twice. I was off in a flash!