A Backblocker's Pleasure Trip

A journey from the Corner gives you a fine contrast to the travelling in coastal latitudes. For much of the way the coach grinds over tracks of its own making, with a few chains of macadamised road here and there; over ruts and dunes, and crooks and gullies that rock the passengers till their bones ache; over wind-swept plains that suggest the dead end of the world. Over the eastern ranges, on the northern watershed, and down by the southern sea, you have at least the charm of scenic changes, the thrill of steep grades and sharply winding mountain tracks; but out at the back of Bourke the way is as monotonous as the rattle of wheels and the clinking of chains. Dinner time is occasionally an exciting event, especially after a fast of 18 hours, which was our experience at one stage. We had to walk a mile off the road to a lonely hut where a robust selector, in mud-splattered clothes, just as he had come in from a tank-sinking job, presided at table. It being hot weather, the refreshments were provided in a bough shed, on a long plank table, with planks for seats.

Through the door of the coach we obtained glimpses of the traffic of the western roads. The ladies on the box seat had a big advantage in this respect. They could see it coming in the far distance, and they could look back at it till it disappeared over the horizon behind. Did we pass a hawker's van, slowly plodding on its day's journey to the next house, or a teamster's waggon laden with stores or wool, the insiders leaned forward to view it as eagerly as though it were a procession--which showed the extent of the traffic.