THE GREAT AUSSIE SALUTE TO WHYALLA

A short novel about when City four wheel drivers meet up with dirt, rocks, dust and flies in the ‘Steel City.’ 

Foreword

As a resident of the Whyalla showgrounds for the last thirty seven and a half hours it gave me and my fly-by friends great pleasure to have annoyed the hell out of these city slickers.        

Louie

 CHAPTER 1

That looks like a Windsor Rapid up in front Jan, I wonder if it is  Chris and Dianne?  As we passed it the Jeep towing it was the wrong colour and model.  But as we pulled into the arranged meeting place at Bolivar it followed me.  I don’t remember driving in such a manner as to be chased by an upset traveller. As the gent alighted from this spotless very new looking Jeep I gave a sigh of relief as the friendly face and outstretched hand of Chris came around the bonnet of Merv.  G’day Pearcey crackled over the CB as our trusty Tripleader Lenny, with  Gary and Jack following, pulled into the parking bay.  Not long after, Ralph and Dawn arrived and with all the intro’s and pleasantries out of the way we formed a convoy and headed for Pt Augusta to refuel and grab a bit of lunch.

Lunch out of the way and with a few practice salutes it was off to Whyalla where tour captain Lenny gave the convoy a little guided tour while looking for the showgrounds.  On arrival at our destination we were saluted many times before being told where to go.  (I think they knew us from some previous show.)  As we had a tent in our party they suggested we use some of the grassed area; this area still had power and water for those with camper trailers and caravans. With everybody set-up we headed for the tagalong booking office where details of all the tours were neatly displayed.  This included explanations of the tours, times, tripleader, radio channel and colour for assembly.  Each participant was given a manila folder with a programme to fill in and record their preferences for trips and start times.  This form was then handed to the booking secretary to log you in.  Your programme was then handed back so you had a record of your trips.  Len took a look at Saturday morning start times and said, “The first night is always the hardest so lets make Saturday a late start.”  I’m not sure how much difference there  is between an 8.00 a.m. start and an 8.30 a.m. start if you have a hangover.  Lenny must know as everybody was bright and cheerful at the 8.30 a.m. start Saturday morning. Registrations out of the way it was time to relax and wash the bitumen dust down with a cleansing ale or two.  After tea the night air slowly gained a chill so it was off to the bonfire to warm up.  This fire consisted of a possible ‘three day log’, but the way they were throwing the wood on it may only last until morning.  With idle chatter of revving engines and great deeds gone-by the hours flew past; not helping was the track back and forth to the Engel for another ale.  At about 11.30 p.m. with wobbly boots on and a dribbling mouth it was decided by all that it was time to turn in and dream of new exploits.   Lying awake at 5.00 a.m. waiting for the alarm to go off one could hear others making preparations for Saturday’s excursions.  Not long after brekky as folks started to form convoys it was noted that the traditional salute was back in fashion.  With a full convoy it was time to hit the track.  We headed west on the bitumen before turning north onto dirt tracks on private land.  The track crossed low scrub and saltbush country which, apart from mining, is used mainly for sheep farming.  On finding out about the sheep the occasional reference to New Zealand was heard but it was all in good fun.  We slowly made our way over sand, red dirt and a lot of rock to a large hole in the ground called Iron Cavalier.  Time for a photo shoot and many questions about this disused mine. While out of the vehicle I noticed that there were still quite a few people still perfecting the salute.

From Iron Cavalier we climbed a short, steep, rock strewn hill for some magnificent views of the surrounding plains below.  The track was getting quite rough with some short sharp jump-ups with large tyre and panel damaging rock protruding.  I was surprised at the way the Jeep, which looks a tad low slung, was handling the situation.  While on the subject of Jeep, I followed Chris and Dianne down some top quality 1st gear, low range, rock strewn tracks and was surprised at the few times the brake lights came on.  The Jeep is auto and on following Chris it appears to be very good in 1st low range.  Mind you, Chris may have pulled the brake light  fuse.

Right, from there it was on to Camel Hill for some more slow climbing and great views of the surrounding area.  A few more practice salutes before we were escorted down the hill and into the township of Iron Baron.  On entering town we found bitumen roads, concrete kerbs and only one house. Our tour guide explained that when the ore ran out they completely demolished the town, but for one house. Apparently the house is owned by a gentleman who didn’t want to leave and is now living in a very quiet, undisturbed suburb of Iron Baron.  After leaving town it was a quick run on the dirt to the bitumen and on to Whyalla.

Back in town some made a run for the shops to replenish supplies and others to buy fly veils.  The veils are an essential part of one’s equipment here as at last count there were some three hundred thousand pesky little flies per cubic metre; on the odd occasion I anticipated having to switch the head lights on as they were so thick.

After lunch the Aussie salutes slowed down as more fly veils appeared .  About 19 vehicles lined up for the trip to Pt Lowly and Fitzgerald Bay.  Out through Whyalla past the steel works, then right to the bay.  With some very good commentary we stopped high above the bay for a Kodak moment of the bay with all it’s fish farms below.  On descending the hill we travelled along the waters edge where, on closer inspection of these fish farms, I suspect the tractors have very tall snorkels.

Moving further around the coast we were informed of the very fragile breeding grounds of the giant cuttlefish which live in a very small area of Spencer Gulf.  On reaching Pt Lowly we came across a number of shacks and a restored lighthouse and keepers’ residences.  It’s OK Bev, I took a few photos. (For those who don’t know, Bev is your club’s resident lighthouse watcher.  Bev was unable to attend Whyalla as she was in far north Queensland wrestling the odd croc and the occasional Gerry.) 

Leaving Pt Lowly we passed the Pt Bonython petro chemical plant until we headed back to the coast.  An interesting conversation started on the CB about the sport of Geocaching.  I have seen it on the net but now have a greater understanding of it.  It could turn into a pastime for 4 wheel drivers.  At this time the convoy split in two, as some continued to pursue an interest in the geocaching site.  For the rest of us the sandy track started to get very tight so it was back to the bitumen . Just when we thought we were heading home we were taken to what is called Andrews Canyon. This is a man-made track of about 150 to 200 metres in length.  The track is made up of three degrees of difficulty.  Difficult, a bit more difficult, and oh shit!  After walking all three tracks it was Ralph who took on the hardest track first.  With Dawn screaming oh shit! the Surf clawed its way to the top without incident.  Throttle control, wheel placement and a good deal of self control are needed here for success.  Len took the Nissan up next but was heard mumbling "Where’s the bloody mud?"  Gary, with Jack as navigator, did it easy; what a team!  Meanwhile Jan was giving me the eye, which meant not only brownie points but fly-buys would be lost if I had a go.  What the hell, I can always suck up later.  Mind you, I only had one go; not like the rest who had to try all the tracks.  Gary and Jack took on the ‘bit more difficult’ track and got hung up, but with skill and determination were able to extract themselves without help. Meanwhile Ralph, whose death wish might come true, did a few more laps of the hardest terrain, with Dawn threatening to kill him if she had to walk home.  Chris and Dianne hid the Jeep behind some scrub so I wouldn’t get the urge for them to try it out.  I don’t blame them, it’s too new to scratch the paint on the diffs.  Then it was back to camp to clean up and decide which pub it was to be for tea. 

A lot of people took on the night navigation skills course but our leader vetoed the idea as it cut into precious drinking and story telling time.  During tea at the pub a young lady gave the team half a birthday cake which she didn’t want to take home.  It was thought that this cake could be put to good use later if we remembered to plan it right.  More on this in a later chapter. 

Back at camp the bonfire was ‘full on’ again and as the night navigation teams returned the party got bigger and the stories more dramatic.  Everybody knows Father time stands still for no man so around midnight it was off to bed to recuperate ready for our next adventure. 

Submitted by Dean Pearce
(pictured at left)

(With some embellishment by Edi Tor.)

5.30 and again there is movement in camp as another day dawns.  Quick, get brekkie out of the way before the flies realise what's going on.  It’s an 8.00 start with a large convoy lined up when we hear that one of the trip leaders has had a slight turn and was at the hospital.  With a quick reshuffle of staff the ever efficient Whyalla club soon had things up and running as if nothing had happened. Again we headed west before getting on the dirt and being challenged by Cooks North.  As we turned onto the dirt we were told that last year’s trip to this country was abandoned due to unprecedented rain.  Once on the track you could understand why; it would have been a clay skating rink.  On reaching the base of Cooks North the convoy was split into smaller groups as parking and turning around would be tight as we moved farther up the hill.  The climb to the first lookout was a 1st or 2nd high range deal; but with one watching out for the odd loose rock and scratching stick.

The first stop was about a third of the climb where we were able to look back over where we had come and some of the surrounding plains.  With some of the low ground covered in a fine mist some photos may not do justice to the area.  While we were at the lookout the convoy below was having smoko.  From here it was up to the top of Cooks North. The track now became more challenging with larger rocks, much tighter corners, closer trees and steeper climbs.  One by one we started for the top.  First or second low range and concentration at the max was the order of the day.  It was about halfway up and with me in a tight right turn with a large drop of on the left and a lot of reverse camber, the CB crackled "If you look out to the left you can see a large ore train heading for Whyalla."  After a few seconds of searching I said to Jan "I can’t see the bloody train."  To which Jan replied with a hard "Right turn Clyde" to my left shoulder, and her soothing voice saying "Don’t you dare take your eyes off this track again or you’ll be walking back to Adelaide."  She was right, my lack of concentration could have put us off the track and into a very quick trip to the bottom.  SORRY DEAR."

At the top there were some wonderful views but again the mist spoilt some shots.  Time for the trip down; right 1st gear low range and with Jan’s fist imprint still in ones shoulder concentration was at a premium.  About three quarters of the way back to the first lookout we turned off the main track and took a short steep trip to the bottom where we had smoko while the rest of the convoy tackled Cooks North. While we were stopped tail end Charlie of our group revealed that he had a flat some distance back up the track.  Now this bloke pulled in about a minute behind everybody else.  I thought "this bloke’s good to change a tyre on a Landcruiser, even a hundred series with only five wheel studs, on that hill in record pit stop time, I’ve got to find out his secret."  But as luck was on his side it was only the under slung spare that had caught a rock and decided to deflate.

Smoko over we headed back to the plains and a leisurely trip back to town for lunch and a rest before our next outing.  Meanwhile someone in our party was scanning the other CB channels and heard that the group still on the hill had a vehicle off the track and in some difficulty.  They were not sure if it was a flat tyre, a broken part, or he had slipped off the track and had been hung up.  Our group offered assistance but by the calm chat on the radio they had the recovery under control. The lunch break gave us time to relax, catch up on fly swatting, and for someone to test a rocket he was given for Christmas.  I believe this scientist has now gone back to basics and is flying kites.  With lunch time frivolities out of the way we again lined up in convoy ready to head for Wild Dog Hill.

On the northern side of town there is a large parcel of land with a stack of tracks criss-crossing each other, up and down hills, through creeks and the occasional wash out.  After a slow climb to the top of the largest hill in the area, a panoramic view of the northern coast, the steel works and part of southern coast could be seen and happy snapped.  Back on the track we slowly made our way to Wild Dog Hill, but not without an encounter with the mandatory lizard sleeping on the track.  Again I took photos, this time for Gerry.  O.K., for those who don’t know, Gerry is the club’s official monitor monitor and was also in Queensland where I believe he was wrestling crocs while trying to take underwater photos of Bev in an upturned canoe.  Well I suppose a croc looks like a big lizard "hey."

Back on the track we found our way to Wild Dog Hill.  Here we found a picnic area and some unusual rock formations.  A quick drink break and then back on the track which meant through the scrub, up and down some short sharp hills, over creek crossings and slowly make our way back to Andrews Canyon.

Andrews Canyon was alive with spectators and vehicles.  There were cameras clicking and videos running hot as a hardy bunch of blokes and, as I saw it, one young lass were trying their luck up the canyon.  Everything was there from everyday 4x4 working utes to fully decked out, raised, lugged tyred, rock crawling Patrols, Cruisers and Landrovers.  A new section of track was being used which, if you had real good ramp-over clearance, you would more than likely make it.  Long wheel based utes really struggled, as did the lone Jeep Wangler.  Ralph’s Surf wasn’t going to be intimidated by this large unruly wave and after 3 or 4 attempts he finally made it, much to the relief of Dawn who didn’t really want to walk home if something went wrong.

With the dust still hanging in the air a forlorn looking Jeep backed away from the run-up ramp, finding the challenge just a little too hard.  Mind you he had 4 or 5 goes and put up a gallant effort.  With the sound of engine revs building and a high pitch exhaust note, everybody’s attention was drawn to a much modified soft top Vitara being piloted by a young lass who was about to tackle this hill.  What a disappointment, up, over and gone before the digital camera had time to focus.  Some women have no respect for some of mans’ great challenges.  After all this excitement, the dust, the flies and my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, it was time to head back to camp for a long cold beer, tea and a relax before the night’s entertainment got underway.

With the bonfire roaring and the coals glowing amber, the camp cook-off, the last competition for the weekend, was in full swing.  The comp was restricted to either a damper or cake.  Now we boys from the ORVC reckoned we had a fair chance at this one, after all we had a half eaten birthday cake. The idea was to hide the cake and the camp oven and bring it out for the judging, don’t know how the icing would have gone down. Wouldn’t you know it, we were so engrossed in the fire and story telling we forgot to enter.

As the night wore on the Whyalla club had one more surprise up it’s sleeve, a trailer full of prizes, and I mean a trailer full.  There was everything from novelties to expensive driving light sets.  Didn’t see any fly swatters.  Ralph picked up a tree trunk protector for his efforts at Andrews Canyon and Chris won a tape measure for being a non club member.  Formalities out of the way it was back to the fire, a quiet beer and true lies. 

Monday morning saw most people packing for the trip home. Lenny, Gary, Jack, Chris and Dianne headed for the steel works with vans in tow so they could head for home after we had toured the works. The tour was very informative, though with the rolling mills not operating it was a little bit disappointing, but we did see molten steel being poured.  Speaking of pouring, we had just finished the tour when it dumped about 25 mm in less than 30 minutes.  Whyalla's average rainfall is only about 250 mm.

Having been left on our own, Jan and I hitched up and headed for Melrose.  In all, the Whyalla club put on a fantastic show; well organised, a great camp site, extremely friendly people and all go from start to stop.  We covered around 300 kms in 2 days of top touring and each night was finished with a proper fire.  Finally a big Whyalla salute "swat swat" to Lenny for his leadership and to all our friends who made it so enjoyable.

Submitted by Dean Pearce