We stayed in an apartment in Eden so that Sam could feel more comfortable after injuring his back while we were in Batemans Bay so we were able to make an early start to our day with minimum effort. We soon crossed the State border into Victoria where our first stop was Cann River. Here, we noticed the Highway going up to the Snowy Mountains and decided that we must explore that area sometime soon.
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| Cann River |
Cann River was very quiet with only passing traffic stopping to refuel. As with all old towns in Australia the pub was very prominant. Such towns, we found, often had several pubs and, until I realised that in the Old Days the population of these towns was often much higher than today, especially in the gold mining areas, I wondered about the need for so many.
The Snowy River which begins on Australia's highest mountain, Mt Kosciuszko in New South Wales, ends at Marlo where it enters the Bass Strait. The Princes Highway crosses it at Orbost and this is where we stopped for our first view of it.
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| Snowy River at Orbost |
As we walked down to its banks, we startled a flock of these little birds which were in the long grass.
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| Fairy Wren |
We then followed the road to Marlo to see the snowy meet the sea. The Snowy River system is very important to our water and power systems and has three big dams along it causing a massive drop in its flow, down to 1% until a recovery program was implemented.
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| Snowy meets the Sea at Marlo |
On the way back to the Princes Highway we stopped to have lunch on the river bank and Sam was happy to see some decent sized fish swimming around.
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| On the banks of the Snowy River |
Australia's most famous poet A.B "Banjo"Patterson made the Snowy River famous with his ballad, the Man from Snowy River. When, in 1982, a film was made based on his poem and a sequel to it were released the river achieved international attention.
The road between Marlo and Orbost goes through fertile looking land where I saw a real paddock of cattle. In Queensland you see a cow or two in a very large area. These animals viewed me with great suspicion and stood their ground.
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| Suspicious cows |
Another feature of this area at this time was the fields of hay bales. Lovely to see!
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| Orbost - Marlo Road |
it was time to leave the Snowy so we continued on our way to Lakes Entrance where we planned to spend several days.
THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER by
A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
There
was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That
the colt from old Regret had got away,
And
had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So
all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All
the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had
mustered at the homestead overnight,
For
the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And
the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.
There
was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The
old man with his hair as white as snow;
But
few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He
would go wherever horse and man could go.
And
Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No
better horseman ever held the reins;
For
never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He
learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And
one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He
was something like a racehorse undersized,
With
a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -
And
such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He
was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -
There
was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And
he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And
the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But
still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And
the old man said, "That horse will never do
For
a long a tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away,
Those
hills are far too rough for such as you."
So
he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -
"I
think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I
warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For
both his horse and he are mountain bred.
"He
hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where
the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where
a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The
man that holds his own is good enough.
And
the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where
the river runs those giant hills between;
I
have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But
nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."
So
he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They
raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And
the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No
use to try for fancy riding now.
And,
Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride
boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For
never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If
once they gain the shelter of those hills."
So
Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing
Where
the best and boldest riders take their place,
And
he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With
the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then
they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But
they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And
they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And
off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then
fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded
to the thunder of their tread,
And
the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From
cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And
upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where
mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And
the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
No
man can hold them down the other side."
When
they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It
well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The
wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of
wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But
the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And
he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And
he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While
the others stood and watched in very fear.
He
sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He
cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And
the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -
It
was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through
the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down
the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And
he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At
the bottom of that terrible descent.
He
was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And
the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw
him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As
he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then
they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In
the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On
a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With
the man from Snowy River at their heels.
And
he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He
followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till
they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And
alone and unassisted brought them back.
But
his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He
was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But
his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For
never yet was mountain horse a cur.
And
down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their
torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where
the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At
midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And
where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway
To
the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The
man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And
the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
e
