Some Northern Stations. 26 Oct 1895 GAINSFORD AND SOUTHWICK. [if you know anyone who is connected with Gainsford, Southwick, Kamilaroi or Saxby downs, please tag them.] (By Basalt.) Probably there are few who imagine, much less taste, the various pleasures one can find In the back blocks by being a little energetic and independent. Besides the enjoyment of a tour through the bush, look at the information to be acquired and the wrinkles to be learnt. There is nothing like the stillness of the bush to make one think and observe. To be able to enjoy and find the pleasures that lie within the sphere of such a trip, the traveller must be supplied with a couple of first-class roadsters, well equipped and in good condition, and a handy pack-horse, with all the usual camping-out utensils—the latter as a safety valve, in case one should not hit a station, or if found it should be an Inhospitable one. Squatters and country people generally are the most hospitable class one could wish to meet, but with them, as with other things, there are exceptions to the rule. A short time ago I obtained leave of absence for a few months, and Instead of taking the usual trip South or over sea, I, to the surprise of all my acquaintances, procured all the abovementioned necessaries (I call them necessaries, because they are really indispensable), and set out from Charters Towers with the intention of visiting as many stations as I could that lay in and around the general route to Cooktown. I was free, with good horses and plenty of time at my disposal, so you may depend where ever there was anything worth seeing I went out of my way to see it. Leaving Charters Towers in the early part of September, I made my way down Mosman Street. meeting here and there as I passed along, sympathetic smiles from friends who appeared to think they would never see me again. Leaving Mosman-street, my track took the direction of Richmond Hill, spotted with beautiful villas, the quiet abodes of numerous wealthy residents. Just over this hill my pack, being put on badly, was violently disposed of by the pack horse. Catching him again, and profiting from the experience, I readjusted the swags in such a way that they would not again be dislocated easily. This delay gave me an opportunity of observing the surroundings more minutely. This spot, although only a mile from the heart of the town, is undoubtedly what one would term good pastoral land, and given good seasons, agricultural also. But It is stocked forty times beyond its capabilities, and therefore does not get a decent chance. Anyway, the fact is there, that Charters Towers, although the greatest reefing town in Australia, is not like Herberton, Croydon, Maytown, etc—surrounded by a barren, bleak country; but, on the contrary, a horse can flourish within a mile of the town. After jogging along on a well-beaten road for about twenty miles, I struck a bridle track that took me in to Gainsford station. Here, with a hearty invitation from the owner, Mr. W. Smith, I turned out for the night. Gainsford, better known as Dalrymple, is prettily situated on the south bank of the Burdekin, looking over towards Dotswood station. The homestead is well laid out, with large, roomy dwelling and out houses. The owners residence is surrounded with a splendid garden of shrubs and flower-beds, the flower-beds being well formed and edged in with curiously shaped bricks of basalt, taken from the adjacent mass of basalt lava. One fascinating feature about the owners apartments is the freedom from noise and its privacy. This is accounted for by all the other quarters, fowlhouse included, being placed far in the rear. The members of the Marks family who reside at Gainsford are a small moiety of the whole, consisting of Mr., Mrs.. and Miss Marks. The other members, chiefly sons, reside at Mr Markss two other stations - Saxby Downs and Kamilaroi - two large places out in the Never-never country. Gainsford is an old-established station, and was taken up by its present owner in the sixties. When first occupying it, Mr. Marks did not depend alone on the station, but ran a large hotel, known as the Racecourse, about a mile away from the homestead. At present, on account of the dullness of business, its doors are barred, and it stands a monument to more prosperous times. Being so close to the ever-increasing population of Charters Towers, Mr. Marks found, as his cattle increased so fast that he must find new runs for his surplus stock. Hence Saxby Downs and Kamilaroi, places of large capacity, and where the Galnsford surpluses find comfortable quarters, were taken up. The number of cattle he possesses, including the three stations, is enormous, but the exact total I do not know. The cattle are the large type of Shorthorn. Why I say large should be explained. Once when on a visit to the Alligator Creek Works I watched a draft of bullocks operated upon. The size of these beasts when alive, and their gigantic carcasses when dressed, filled me with admiration and wonder. Being of an inquisitive disposition, I ventured to inquire where they hailed from, and what weights they were. The answer was that they were Saxby Downs bullocks, and that the usual weights were from ten hundred up to twelve hundred. These bullocks being offshoots of Gainsford scions. I assume that the Gainsford herd are the large type of Shorthorn. Besides Cattle, Gainsford possesses a remarkably well-bred mob of horses, many of which are purchased by the Indian buyers. Mr. Marks, being in close touch with so many fat stock markets, finds no difficulty in disposing of all the fats that Gainsford produces. Visitors to Gainsford, although they will find it one of the nicest homesteads in the district, need not always count on a jolly time; for Mrs. Marks and her daughter, unlike most of their country neighbours, spend the greater part of the year in Townsville. Mr. Marks, whose age is somewhere in the sixties, is one of those wiry old bushmen who have fifty times the energy and go that is to be found in the youthful townites. Although, as I say, a fairly old man, he personally manages Gainsford, helping to muster and doing other lively work that is so hard on well-worn horses. With a good nights rest and a hearty send-off, I felt quite up to the task of accomplishing the thirty-five miles that intervene between Gainsford and Southwick. This stage, consisting of raspy basalt and well-used black soil plains, is enough to make a saint swear. Those who can picture a six-mile black-soil flat that has been travelled over during wet weather by hundreds of bullocks and horses, will easily imagine what effect it has on an easy-walking horse. But even while swearing one cannot but admire the magnificent pasture land it makes, and with all its fearful drawbacks as a pleasure drive, it makes amends by being a paradise for quadrupeds. Jogging along at a fair pace, just when the inner man was beginning to cause uneasiness, I pulled up at an old historic spot. Here, on the bank of the beautiful Fletcher River, can easily be discerned the remains of an old sheep station. There to the right is the old site of the spacious woolshed, that knew not the firestick gang. In front is a patch of green couch grass, that invariably denotes an old sheep-yard. And here and there are the other sites of this long demolished station. This station was owned by Mr. R. Stewart, and was once a busy shed, as it not only put its own through, but other sheep from the district were driven here to be shorn. After noting all these remnants of a former age, I set to and brewed myself some tea in a jackshay, or, as it is better known, quart-pot. With energy renewed, I struck out again, with hopes of reaching Southwick within a reasonable time. Banging up against a fence, I was happy in the idea that it was the head station paddock. Just at the gate on the Gainsford side I noticed a lot of Southwick bullocks; on the other side were a lot of Southwick cows. The significance of this did not strike me until I had gone about three miles, and I did not see any signs of the homestead. My weary bones ached, and my head swam when I realised that the fence was only a dividing one, separating bullocks from breeders. But just when I had begun to despair a paddock showed in front, and after passing one, filled with geldings, etc, skirted another with brood mares. Then, just when your spirits are on the ebb, you spy a mushroom object in the far distance, with a black mass beyond. On closer inspection it turns out to be Southwick, with its roof painted with refrigerating paint, and the black mass is that remarkable bulk of lava known as the basalt wall. Southwick station was purchased by the Hon. W. Aplin from Mr. R. Stewart about sixteen years ago, in the days when cattle stations were booming. Its situation is decidedly pretty. Lying on the north bank of the Fletcher River, it commands a lovely and picturesque view of the stream, which rises to the westward, and flows past the house, with its surface and banks covered with a mass of beautiful pink and purple lilies. Parallel with the river, on the other side, as far as the eye can reach, runs that famous basalt wall. When you are at Southwick five minutes you easily discern that the Aplin family do not intend to let their bush existence be dull and monotonous. There they have most of the resorts found in a seaport town. On the river there is a first-class boat and an unlimited stretch of water to row on. Just to show its charms they will row the visitor up to the falls and back. The popular game of lawn tennis is well cared for here, and those who enjoy a fast game will have no trouble in fitting their fancy here. The court is close to the house, and is composed of ant-bed, well laid down, and is fenced In by high wire netting. On the sunny side is a large summer-house partly covered with vines. The ground is often and well used, judging from the play of both boys and girls. Better players could not be wished for. The dwelling house, being large and spacious, and surrounded by a large pine-floored veranda, affords an excellent accommodation for dancing. Of course that ubiquitous instrument the piano, is to be found here. It is well played over by most of the Miss Aplins, and here, as in other of family homes, it leads many a jolly chorus. The Aplin family, including parents and children, consist of ten members, there being four, boys and four girls. With the exception of one son, Mr. William Aplin, jun., who is managing the Burketown branch of Aplin, Brown, and Co., all are residents of Southwick. The boys are of the true Queensland station type—well educated, first-class riders, good athletes, true sportsmen, and thoroughly competent at blacksmithing, saddlery, and every useful job that is required on a bush station. The girls have acquired the accomplishments of both town and country. Mr. Aplin, as head of this place, is, needless to say, the right man in the right place. But being connected with so many concerns in Townsville and Charters Towers, he is seldom at home. Owing to his frequent absences, most of the responsibilities connected with a large household falls upon Mrs. Aplin, who, though through the ravages of some mysterious complaint she is unable to leave her armchair, has complete control of the establishment. (To be Continued.)
Posted on: Mon, 08 Sep 2014 09:40:53 +0000
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