Water and woes

 Fancy that hat

As you drive further west in Queensland the hats become more distinctive, as do the post boxes.

Big post boxes, to match the stations

The land is becoming dryer: water precious.  This is brought home to us when we stop at the Weengallon rock wells, enroute to St George.  Here a collection of ancient aboriginal water wells, laboriously pounded by hand into the hard dry earth, descend for about twelve feet.  

 Dug deep for the cool and the cache

In the days before European settlement uprooted their world, the Kalkadoons -- travelling to trade from their  homelands in the Mt Isa region towards the Boobera Lagoon region: Goondiwindi -- needed to ensure a permanent water supply for their tribes folk.  Rock wells, like these, came to dot Australia's hinterland. They were made to last.  Some have walls lined with hard timbers. Some are decorated with carvings.  Some have hand dug channels which funnel rainwater into them over time.  Some are covered by rocks, twigs or leaves to keep the water fresh, and to keep the animals out.  Today, the Weengallon wells are maintained by the traditional owners of this land, the Gomeroi people, in honour of those long past who depended on them for survival.  

We headed further west, but just missed the free beer at the Nindigully pub, set back from the banks of the Moonie River.  

Free beer always on tap at Nindigully

We were, however,  in plenty of time for a schooner and a pub lunch; served by the ubiquitous European backpackers, who seem ever cheerful and ever willing to work in these rural and more characterful parts of Australia.

Iconic Nindigully

The 'Gully' as it is called, as with many old buildings in this dry climate, has some of its original bits still standing in their original location: making it one of the more historic pubs in Queensland.   Built of rough sawn timbers back in 1864, it was first used as shearer's quarters for Nindigully Station until, as inland traffic expanded, it soon became converted into a Cobb and Co staging post, ideal for the routes becoming well trodden, heading to the north and the west.

Beer and a yarn at Nindigully

At its most populous, a century ago, the township of Nindigully consisted of not much more than the pub, a house, and a general store: more than survives today.  Prickly pear may have contributed to its demise.  Back then, selectors and graziers on surrounding stations, were pluckily attacking the cursed pear, but to no avail.   Emus,  sometimes sitting on as many as fourteen eggs at a time, were broadcasting the pear faster than it could be cleared.  Apart from being emblems of Australia, emus were partially protected by an Act of Parliament.   Such was the state of affairs that it led one wry observer at the time to note that sheep farmers would be well advised to retire from their stations - and to take up poultry farming instead.   

Emus spread the prickly pear 

The prickly pear exterminator,  the cactoblastus moth, was still a decade away from being introduced as the solution.  A little too late for townships like Nindigully.  

We camped overnight on the banks of the Balonne at St George.  Water is writ large in the history of this town.  On St George's day, in 1846, Surveyor General Major Thomas Mitchell, crossed the river at a narrow bridge of rocks, naming the site: St George.  We saw the remnants of this rock bridge on our Sandybank river cruise at twilight.

Balonne in the twilight

As the town expanded, demand for water grew, so an underground bore was drilled in 1904.  At that time the bore happily spouted out about 600,000 litres a day from its artesian depths.  Today, dwindling water from that ancient source has to be pumped up.  The days of endless free underground water for the township of St George are limited.   

To harness the flood waters that sporadically ravage town, the Beardmore dam and the Jack Taylor Weir have recently been constructed.  Great for irrigation of the new cash crop, cotton, in the good times. 

Floods rise right up to the houses

And fine when all the rivers run.  

A little sad on our visit, though, as downstream, it is all high and dry. The southern side of the weir is barely potholed with shallow water pools.  This is not helped by the idiotic scenario where water, committed further downstream, is released too soon by the remote authorities, who have failed to contact the receiver to see if he is ready to harness the oncoming surge.  Consequently, precious water released simply washes downstream, wasted.   And has to be released again.  And again.  

Woe, St George.  

Shades of Nindigully.