A day at Nary
We had been travelling for the several days through the plains and ridges of northwestern NSW along farm tracks and trails inspecting geology and the scattered scratching of prospectors past who had braved this vast and unforgiving space. Near sunset and the scattered signs indicated our approach to Tibooburra. It was Friday night and the main street was filling with utes in all sorts of condition but all caked in mud and dust. We found a room in one of the two hotels and were soon parked at the bar enjoying the feeling of foam clearing the red dust from our parched throats. We had no idea how much we would fit into the coming weekend.
In a place like Tibooburra, the tourists and other blow ins are easily spotted. Before long a curious local was asking “Youse blokes going to Nari?” We looked puzzled. We had no idea of what he was referring to but eventually it explained why the town was so busy. Naryilco was a large outback station north of Tibooburra, in southern Queensland, and each year it held a race meeting and rodeo, and it was on this weekend.
My mate Barney was particularly dehydrated and empty beer glasses were soon lining up on the counter. A bit of local chit chat later led me to a, community event at the local school. With the influx of visitors a film night had been organised at the local school. Well more like a drive in as cars and utes lined up in the quadrangle facing a wall of the small wooden school room. Soon a white sheet was being attached and a cable run out to the school projector and we were watching films while sitting on the roof of the Landrover. You could hardly see or hear the film - the event itself was the spectacle.
The next morning was bright and clear in that distinctive outback way. We decided after some discussion at the breakfast table with those with more experience, that a day trip to Nary was the go. We could visit a few geological sites on the way out as well. Tibooburra would be deserted anyway. So off we went. It was soon clear that all was not well with Barney. He was feeling every bump and sway and soon he was demanding to do the driving so he had something to hang onto. So off to the north. We soon reached the gate at the New South Wales - Queensland border and on we went to, well, nowhere in particular - there were no signs so we just followed the “main” road.
The rodeo race meeting was held on a track marked out on a saltbush flat. The only sign that this was the place was a distant dust haze and soon an accumulation of Landcruiser utes and Land Rovers, a couple of sheds and a large concrete slab. The smoke-like haze rose mysteriously up from the ground like a smoldering fire, propelled by feet shuffling through the bone dry bull dust. There was absolutely no breeze so the dust just hung. Somewhere, somehow, things were organised and races were run, and broncos bucked as bushmen sat on their haunches and chatted and smoked.. No need for creature comforts like chairs for these tough bushies.
Races were run in a haze, bulldust so fine that the horses at times disappeared into the fine earthen mist. Barracking seemed pointless unless your horse was in front, the rest of the field engulfed. Somewhere bookies wrote tickets and some were winners but the races seemed secondary to the drinking and socialising amongst the locals. Some had travelled large distances to be here, indeed some had flown in.
As the sun sank the dusty haze glowed. Sausages and steaks sizzled over custom made bar-b- ques. Beers were dispensed from scattered 44 gallon drums filled with ice. How the ice actually got there remained a mystery to me. As the night settled in, the entertainment fired up. The large concrete slab did have a purpose - it was the dance floor! Music - well that was covered. A jukebox had been brought hundreds of kilometres up from the Stephens Creek pub located north of Broken Hill on the Silver City “highway”. And how do you power it up? You put a generator next to it! The surreal evening unfolded with country and western mixed with Elvis and various other outback tunes blasting out of the jukebox loud enough to drown the sound of the generator. The best bit was that the jukebox was in fully working condition, and still required coins to be periodically added to get the music playing.
Across the slab, cowboys danced with cowboys and some spun in drunken stupors oblivious to those around them. There was no gender equity - for every female there were probably five to ten blokes. Inevitably someone tripped over the power cable and suddenly there was not only quiet but complete darkness. But it didn’t take long for order to be restored and a few more coins found and for the party to fire up once more.
The evening was turning and Barney, who had had a long day on account of his previous night's indulgence, wanted to head home at about 10pm in the old LandRover we had driven up in. Being fully primed I was keen to stay and some of my new drinking buddies scattered and slumped along the plank that made up the bar offered me a lift back to Tibooburra a bit later in the evening. So off Barney went into the night while I drank on. The night extended a lot longer than I expected for it was about 2am before I was rounded up for a lift back. As it turned out, I ended up in a car, an old holden, with about seven cowboys. Very squeezy. We took off at not much more than walking pace. I think the driver could only go that fast as he intently concentrated on staying on the track. It wasn’t long before he decided it was all too hard, and without any discussion simply pulled off to the side of the track and parked under a mulga. The car, packed with drunken slumped bodies dozed in the cool of the night. No point complaining as I did my best to settle and catch a little sleep.
The first rays of sunlight beamed directly into the car at about 5.30 prompting stirring. The bloke sitting next to me had spent the night with a slab of beer across his knees. Upon rousing he promptly torn off the top of the carton and started handing beers out - “breakfast” he said. Although it seemed impolite, I declined his generous offer.
And before long we were on our way again. Not fast. I was dropped off at the hotel at about 8.30 and just managed to grab a little bit of breakfast before the kitchen closed. Of course Barney, who had had a long and refreshing sleep, was ready to head out for a day’s exploration of the old mines in the area. For me it was a long and tiring day, bouncing along outback tracks and through the saltbush. I’m sure I’ll feel better in a few days I kept saying to myself. Meanwhile the rest of my travel companions were busy working their way through that slab for breakfast under a tree somewhere.
POSTSCRIPT: The Naryilco rodeo became an institution - an event firmly part of the local social calendar. Some years later,a group of us from Broken Hill decided to head up to the rodeo for the weekend, as you do. We left after work on Friday afternoon and drove late into the night. Along the way were huge “puddles” if you can call them that, of bulldust. You couldn’t spot then - they looked the same as the rest of the road but slightly smoother on top. Driving into one of these patches was like driving into half a metre of water. The car would suddenly drop from 90 kph to perhaps 60 kph and then be totally enveloped in this dense cloud of dust.
We arrived very late in Tibooburra but thankfully we had booked a room at the pub. Then during the night there was a tremendous storm - wind, thunder, lightning and a very heavy downpour. The next morning was mainly clear but everything was saturated. At the time, Tibooburra had dirt roads except for about 200m of tar in the middle of town. We tried to do some adventuring but found that driving off the tar was essentially impossible. Thick clingy mud, puddles and a treacherous road surface which was like driving on ice.
So it came to be - we were essentially stuck in Tibooburra with little chance of going anywhere. So we missed the rodeo.
By Sunday we decided to try to return to Broken Hill. We probably should have waited a couple more days. But we headed out - my small Subaru 4WD wagon and our friends in a Honda Civic. It was one of the most fun days I have ever had in a car. The Subaru slid and spun but generally stayed on the road while the Honda Civic seemed to tamely follow and be mainly well behaved, probably because of its very light weight. There were numerous slides and spins all at relatively slow speeds and we managed to get back to town late in the afternoon. Along the way we passed numerous bogged trucks and also many bogged large 4WDs. Clearly their heavy weight had left then sunk in the mud where somehow we had skimmed across it. We were the first vehicles back along the road that day. Some of the larger trucks would have been stuck for many days. The cars took weeks to clean - virtually every part of the cars was covered in mud.
So Naryilco was replaced by a fun day skidding and sliding in the mud. In the outback you make your own fun.
Robert G. Barnes
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