Blackbutt-Woodford Series Trip

[Col.Coleman]

DAY ONE


















Why is it that people can come from miles away and be on time, but when the form up point is under 1km from your house, you somehow lose track of time?

In keeping with our regal vehicles, we formed up at Queens Park, on Queen Victoria Avenue, Ipswich, at 8am, put on the cups of tea and watched some tennis while waiting for a local member and a couple of Good Samaritans. It seems one particular series vehicle was a bit shy to come on her first outing with the club and threw a wobbly, relegating her owner to their back up vehicle.

In order of appearance we had:
Weeds and Wendy in the 110
Myself and Cheryl in my Series 111 Stage 1 Isuzu
TimJ and Laurelle in the Game
Killer, Relis, Haddon and Darcy in their Game
GuyG in his Rangie
Big Dog, Blake and Jacquie in the D3
Paul and Shree in the 110 County
The Ho Hars in the Series 111
Scallops and Kat in the Puma
Glen and Patsy is their 11a

The convoy of 10 vehicles formed up and we were off at our breakneck speed, following the Heritage drive through Wulkaraka and out to Rosewood, Laidley, Forest Hill and the back way into Gatton. The only hiccup was an imaginary roundabout I thought I saw outside of Laidley. We pulled into a shopping centre for a few last minute supplies, and upon getting going again came the horrifying news of 2 lost children in the carpark that couldn't be found. After a frenzied search, Big Dogs adult children were located, with the youngest one I believe being lured away by the promise of shoe shopping.

On our way again, we cross the Warrego Highway into Helidon, and I swear someone had asked me about the Queensland Goverment's Magazine Facility, some Sandstone Quarries and their whereabouts, so I proceeded to show the group their locations. After we returned to Helidon we travelled up our first dirt tracks for the weekend to our lunch spot at the picturesque Ravensbourne National Park. Champagne and Antipasto was the order of the day as we settled into our lush surroundings.

With the promise of an interesting track, Scallops took the lead and led us from here to Crows Nest and a refuel. Killers Game decided to spit the the dummy upon restart, so it was all hands on deck to diagnose the problem. How many heads can you fit under the bonnet of a series 111? The problem was quickly identified and remedied and we were on our way again. So far there was not alot of dirt under the wheels, so we went on a scenic loop out the back of nowhere and eventually ended up at our Hotel for the night at Blackbutt.

I am not quite sure on the impression we made on the locals, but there was mention of no tigers being spotted in this area for some time, and something about the Leyland Brothers. The rooms were divided up, we stowed our gear and settled in for a night of merryment. For some reason, only locals could buy schooners, even though my parents live there, so after going through pots too quickly, it was decided on shouts of jugs. We freshened up for dinner and went upstairs for a coutry roast on the verandah.

The jugs of fullstrength turned into jugs of rum and then last drinks were called. Big Mistake. I returned with 5 bottles of coke and out came Big Dogs bourbon.

"Bring it on" was heard being bandied about.

Then it was the next day.

CC

[Col.Coleman]

DAY 2























The morning of the second day brought many varied creatures from their hidy holes of the night before, although there was the promise of an invasion and special hugs being offered to one member, and another was hiding under his wifes vehicle. Someone said he slept there to avoid listening to her snore.

It was all downstairs to the pool room for a hot breakfast and repeated cups of coffee, before the town was explored. We fueled up and were joined by Extreme in his Defender who came up for a day trip. We were also saying goodbye to GuyG, Weeds and Wendy who were going off mountain biking.

Leaving the Radnor behind we headed towards the range and entered the pine plantation for a more interesting descent than the black top, but were thwarted by a section of forest being under harvest and closed. At this backtrack point, the Ho Hars(well Harry), took the oportunity to re-repair the mornings exhaust repair. Accross the highway from this track is an alternative track the I knew but it had a tricky section I had not seen for some time, but was a more interesting option than running down the bituman.

It is quite a scenic track which makes it's way down the mountainside before making an abrupt descent. It had deteriorated somewhat since I had last laid eyes on it, and a cool and calm discussion took place. The drivers of the vehicles were mostly keen on giving it a go, but the passengers had other ideas. It was a sharp descent with side angle, a tree to round at the top, BIG holes and very loose soil, a water bar, deep ruts and a right turn to make across the hill around a tree and on to the second section of the descent.

Big Dog was volunteered as guinea pig and we all watched as he slipped, slided, shimmied and bumped his way to the bottom. My vehicle was the limiting factor, and as no-one wanted to back out it took my steed to the top. The lowest gear in my arsenal was high 1, and the vacuum operated centre diff lock decided not to engage untill well after descent. Upon rounding the tree at the top the slide had already started, and then the Force took over. The cockpit was quite busy for the next few moments as I steered the bucking bronco to the bottom and out of sight of the onlookers. Upon making the right turn and ligning up the next bit, Big Dog then informs me that the next bit is quite slippery. We lined up for the next section and bounced/slid to the bottom and out of harms way. There are Many factors that in hindsight that could have been altered to raise the percentages in our favour, but after the point of no return, I must say it is the subconcious that took over, drawing on experience and training from many forms of motorsport that saved what should have been a Major incident.

After seeing this wild ride, there was not a co-pilot who was going to let any body else have a crack, so the group returned back to the top and descended via the roadway and met Big Dog and myself in the next town where fresh undergarments were offered but not required. We were now back on track and made our way to the Linville Railway Station for Morning Tea.

Settling things back down again, we crossed the Brisbane River and followed a couple of wheeltracks through the hills in a secret little road I keep all to myself, and emerge out the other side through a locals house yard, and then some beautiful country and on to the Kilcoy-Goomeri Road. We make our way down a side track to our lunch spot at Peach Tree Park.


































After refreshing ourselves and Harry making his final on route repairs for the day, we headed towards Bellthorpe on some forest trails and eventually into Woodford for the night. We said farewell to Extreme and proceeded to wash the dust from our throats and faces. We made our ring of chairs under the verandah and were just missing some sort of warm glow in the centre. We dined on the deck of the pub next door, and returned to our social circle before retiring for a reletively early night.

CC

[Col.Coleman]

DAY 3















It was a nice cool foggy morning on our last day, and again we said goodbye to some of our group. Big Dog and his son were not feeling the best with what seemed to be the onset of an illness, Paul and Shree wanted to head towards home and the Ho Hars had some repairs to see to and a daughter up from Melbourne to see.

I wanted to head towards Diana's Bath via Mt Mee and out to Splityard Creek rd which would have led us back to Ipswich. We headed off towards Villenuve and some scenic country roads through the fog. It wasn't long before we were spotting landies in paddocks and climbing mountains giving us a view like this.



We stopped at the lookout on D'Aguilar-Dayboro rd, then headed to the Gantry Day use area at Mt Mee. There are still some interesting tracks for series vehicles left in Mt Mee, so we tripped around on these for a while, narrowly avoiding mosquito like swarms of bike riders, and down to the Diana's Bath car park. Unfortunately, this road no longer goes all the way through, so it was back towards Dayboro for lunch. By this stage, there was more seat hopping than musical chairs at a 6yo's birthday party.

A game of cricket, some pies and lunch, and the trip was all but done. We debriefed and ran together to Samford where Killer and Scallops disappered over Mt Glorious towards home, while the Zulu Delta's, TimJ and ourselves went through the city being broken up in the traffic.

Cheryl and I had an excellent time and thank you all for joining us. With such easy going and flexible people it makes leading these trips and absolute breeze.

Looks like I will have to plan a few more.

CC

[Timj]

Great weekend, almost all of it spent on roads we had never been on before .

I love the trip report, there is a story in that for all those who were there .

A few pictures -

[The ho har's]

A few more piccy's

Blackbutt pre dinner drinks

a moment


the drive

[Scallops]

Yep - top long weekend.....

Some of the club's hard hitters ....



Country true style, day 1 lunch spot....



The line up....



On the road...



The glorious venue for the formal dinner Saturday night - home of the "bring it on" ....



My head felt like outputting a little of this stuff Sunday morning...



A couple of "ring in" coilers...



And the price of driving the new crap? Well, up the back, it was like trying to land a jumbo at heathrow in the fog...



The Dog - always in form...



Rillis and Darsy...



Glen's Daisy...



Final day morning tea....



Great time had by all - well done Colonel - we all survived.

[Scallops]

There was a call that the Colonel should be renamed, "Snowy"

[extreme]

And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear



I enjoyed day two of the trip, it was very scenic. Thanks Col.

Regards extreme

[Col.Coleman]

No Pics. Didn't Happen

CC

[The ho har's]

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.

The Bulletin, 26 April 1890.


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