What has happened in the last few days is the consequence of years of neglect of the bushfire threat in the national park, which in this area is tantamount to malpractice by fire agencies and the land manager.
– Denis O’Bryan on the Mallacoota fire.
On New Year’s Eve 2019, Mallacoota was engulfed in a strange, frightening darkness.
In 1959, a young newlywed named Sid Melksham visited Fraser Island for his honeymoon. Back then, for most people, the island was wild, sandy, and remote. There were no resorts, no four-wheel-drive buses, and no ferries full of tourists running back and forth. Getting there was tough, facilities were minimal, and unless you were a fisherman, a forestry worker, or one of the few locals making a living, the place wasn’t on many people’s radar.
Another Spring Carnival in Melbourne has come and gone. I wasn’t born a racing man. While I went to school with guys steeped in the Sydney scene at Royal Randwick Racecourse, I was never hooked. I have a couple of mates in Hervey Bay, Dave from “the Shire” in Sydney and Macca from Alice Springs.
On a damp May night in 1905, the O’Connell children coughed and wheezed in their cramped weatherboard cottage at the corner of Sussex and Pallas Streets, Maryborough. Their neighbour, Mrs Letetia Edwards, heard the rasping sounds through the thin walls and crossed the street to help.
Life on Fraser Island was very isolated and lonely before access improved with combustion engines, regular flights, and ferries to transport cars and trucks. Communication was only by boat, telephone, radio, and aeroplane. In the case of accidents, help was six hours away by boat in Maryborough.
The age of telegraphy
The first breakthroughs in communication came with the spread of telegraph technology.
Streets with trees come to hold a cherished place in the hearts and minds of those living with them … recollections of growth from seedling to maturity, of gracious light and shade, brilliant young green of spring-time, dignified shade in the heat of the day.
W. B. Bailey-Tart
Every spring, as October fades and the heat of the coming summer begins to crackle in the air, something magical unfurls across parts of Australia.
For centuries, timber has been the backbone of human progress, building homes, fuelling fires, and shaping cities. Few of its many applications are as overlooked yet profound as the humble wooden paver. These blocks of timber, placed beneath the wheels of horse-drawn carriages and later automobiles, not only quieted the clamorous streets of bustling cities but also symbolised a harmonious partnership between nature’s bounty and human ingenuity.
Before four-wheel drives began churning through Fraser Island’s sandy tracks, before tourists arrived and the World Heritage listing was established, the timber industry thrived. Tall, straight blackbutts, satinays, and tallowwoods rose from the sandy soil, destined for sawmills across the strait in Maryborough. The unglamorous, hardworking punts carried the weight of this industry, one load of logs at a time.
Some say Australia runs on prawns, and during our travels around Australia, I saw a hint of truth to that statement.
The prawn has come a long way from humble beginnings in the shallow waters of Sydney Cove to vast aquaculture farms in Shark Bay and bustling trawler fleets off Karumba.