Sydney Morning Herald 23 May 1872

A TRIP TO HILL END.

BY OUR SPECIAL REPORTER

II.

A STRANGER who should judge of the cultivation of the colony by such roads as that from Bathurst to Hill End, would come to the conclusion that his lot had been cast among one of the most barbarous people of the age. For miles at a stretch there is nothing to indicate tint any money has been spent upon the road for years, and it is doubtful whether any portion of it has ever been properly made. The district is one which has been long settled but the population though at times large, has hitherto been migratory, and up to the last year or two there has, no doubt, not been anything to justify a largo expenditure. But things are completely altered now, and the neglect which has been suffered for the last twelve months is a reflection upon the administrative rapacity of any Government. The road is essentially a mountain track and in many places the gradients are very steep. The bridges, or rather culverts are fearfully and wonderfully made. Several of the saplings of which they were constructed are completely rotten, some are broken, and it is marvellous how horses and vehicles can be got over them. Unless something be soon done, you may expect to hear of some serious casualties from this quarter, more particularly if the winter season prove very wet. Probably a more careful survey would discover a better route but, if not, a comparatively small expenditure would put the worst parts of the road in a passable condition. Loose bluestone occurs plentifully for nearly the whole length: and all that seems to be required is labour promptly applied. The scenery along a large portion of the track is grand and beautiful. The rounded outline of the hill tops arc fringed with gum trees, which also clothe the mountain slopes and run down into the valleys. The character of the vegetation is, however, monotonous and poor; and the district has been

"skinned"

of all the good timber that ever grew in it. The rich golden tints of the drooping willows which have been planted along the margins of some of the creeks near Bathurst tell of the approach of winter, and are about the only prominent variety in the vegetation noticeable. If as has been asserted, all the willows m the colony owe their origin to that old stump which toppled over in Pitt street a few years ago, which in its turn, came from the resting place of Napoleon at St Helena, the parent stem could count a numerous progeny. For a few miles after leaving Bathurst the cultivation of wheat md barley is engaged in, but the rest of the country is little better than a waste, ~~ a farm or an orchard being of very rare occurrence. The dairy produce of these farms finds a ready market at Hill End, at good prices; and the supply of butter and eggs is not at present equal to the demand, while, as for milk, it is a commodity not dispensed at the hotels. Much of the district between Bathurst and Hill End appears to be adapted for grain growing, if the bright red soil is not too clayey for profitable working. The herbage just now is scanty and miserable in the extreme, quite sufficient to account for the almost total absence of sheep and cattle on the country at this time of the year. Wattle Flat is the first settlement met with after leaving Peel, and here we observed that the Chinese and other diggers have not entirely lost faith in the auriferous nature of the alluvial soil. Something is also being done in the way of reeling. Sofala occurs a few miles further on, and is situate in the valley of the Turon. The hills here become more precipitous (of course excepting Wyagden, which is not a baby, and has to be climbed on foot), and it is not until the coach has slided halfway down the side of one of them that that old gold mining township can be seen in the narrow ravine at the bottom. The township may be said to consist of two rows of squat cabins, which confront each other, the intervening space being not more than broad enough to allow of two vehicles to pass each other. The arrival of the mail coach is obviously the event of the day at Sofala, and who so important as the driver of the omnibus, who exchanges cheerful greetings with everybody, and whose head and boot are crammed with the business of half the people on the road. The chief attraction to travellers at this place is the hot dinner, served with a hearty welcome in the long room of Mendel's hostelry. The vacuum so abhorrent to Nature having thus been filled, we go on our way, feeling at peace with all mankind, benignantly unmindful of

"that Heathen Chinese"

who stares stolidly at us from beneath the dingy verandahs of half the mud hovels in the place. There has been a good deal of gold digging done at Sofala at different times within the last twenty years; and water tor sluicing operations has been brought by races, which wind about the hill tides for some miles. The bed of the river was almost dry, and John Chinaman has made several races in the channel which the winter's rains will no doubt obliterate. The points round which the river turns are the places which have been chiefly washed out, and it is no doubt that there some of the largest finds of gold were obtained. The scenery about Sofala is rather pretty. The hill sides are thinly grassed and very lightly timbered with a stunted growth of eucalyptus, the bluish tint of whose foliage gives a peculiar softness to the landscape. The road follows the winding course of the stream among the hills until the Wallaby Rocks (blue mountain like masses, which remind one of the weather beaten headlands along the coast) are reached. The Turon flows round the base of these rocks, entering a gorge which lies between them and the mountains to the left, and is not again seen until we reach Hawkins Hill. The shingle in the bed of the stream makes a fair causeway in dry weather; and, as the river is said to fall very rapidly, it is not likely that traffic would be long obstructed in times of flood. A few miles past Sofala you come upon a remarkable cutting known as Cockatoo, though, had the place been named a few years ago, the very mildest designation would have been Hell Hole, Devil's Pinch, or some other term more consonant with bullock driving classics. This cutting is high up on the hill sides, and it overlooks a declivity ranging, I should say, from twenty five feet to fifteen hundred feet in depth. The roadway (fourteen feet) is dangerously narrow, for some of the turns which occur at the steepest part of the bank are uncommonly sharp. Until you get accustomed to

"spills",

a little timidity lest you should be shot out into the gully may, perhaps be pardonable. The driver sounds his bugle before he starts on the cutting, as a signal to travellers ahead to keep off. If, unluckily it should happen that a team or a buggy were to be met with half way, then would come the tug of war. It would be a very risky business to back out for half a mile or more. If the Government ever become sufficiently alive to their responsibility to the district, no doubt this sidling will be made wider, as it could very easily be done with pick and shovel. It was dark when we got to the foot of Monkey, when we found a large number of horse teams camped for the night, intending to tackle the hill when their horses were fresh the first thing in the morning. There was more than the usual amount of

"chaff"

~~ which has lately been selling at 25s cwt at Hill End ~~ on the wagons, and a good deal of another commodity which passes under the same name was bandied about the camp fires. Having received the benediction ~~

"God bless all travellers"

~~ dolefully bestowed by a sort of patriarchal teamster, we made for Monkey under the impression that we still stood a very fine chance of breaking our necks, and the long avenue of felled trees and saplings (used as brakes by the teams coming down the mountain) which strewed the roadsides was, not particularly reassuring. We had the privilege of walking up the steep and rugged face of Monkey; and as for the time we were favoured with moonlight, there was a certain amount of charm in the excursion to the passengers, if not to the horses, which had to give many a long and strong pull before they got their last spell at the top. It is said that a new line by which Monkey will be avoided has been surveyed, and that money is all that is wanted to form it. Having reached the summit of Monkey, the road goes along what appeared to be a table land, and is comparatively level, though villainously bad the whole way. What with ruts, boulders, and forests of stumps, it is really marvellous how any driver, however experienced, can pilot his horses along it after dark. Constant vigilance, firm nerve, promptness, and decision are indispensable requisites in a driver; and these are qualities fortunately possessed by Tom Coyle, into whose hands we were committed at Wyagden. As a general rule, nearly all the journey is done in the daylight, and when the next length of railway is opened travellers may reckon on reaching Hill End before dark. In our case, however, we did not get in until 11 o'clock, and were almost disposed to regret that we had got in even then. Every hotel in the town was crammed. Beds were spread out on sofas, tables, and, floors, and away from the bar there was nothing but an expanse of blanketing wherever you turned. This, I am told, is the normal condition of things; and many Sydney men, who have been accustomed to more comfortable quarters, are glad to obtain shelter even under these conditions. So far from grumbling at Boniface, I am disposed to applaud the effort which he makes to provide for this unexpected strain upon his resources; though, at the same time, if I were an adept at floating companies, I should certainly lose no time in placing upon the market a grand scheme for providing hotel accommodation at Hill End. When a few miles out of the town, I inquired whether a bed was to be had at any of the inns, and received the comforting reply,

"No, not even if you hang yourself on a clothes line."

Not being particularly well acquainted with the laundry business, I despaired of accomplishing a feat which, however desirable on the score of ventilation, held out so small a prospect of warmth, when I had the good luck to meet with Pat Coyle, (it's the fashion here to call folks by their Christian names), the fame of whose hostelry has followed him from Sofala, I lost no time in opening negotiations for a room. The request for only one room, however small, which I preferred, appeared to my unsophisticated ideas modest enough, but I was quickly convinced of its absurdity, when told that a room was not to be had even if I paid £20 a day for it. Being of rather an economical turn of mind, I felt considerably relieved at the enormous saving it was now in my power to effect, and prepared myself for a lodging on the

"cold ground,"

or, better still, in the watch-house, for there remained a ghastly chance of getting oneself apprehended under the Vagrant Act. If my experience were singular it would not be worth mention, but as I am given to understand that it is one which commonly falls to the lot of others, I have thought it might be useful to record it. No doubt this state of things will soon be obviated by efforts to provide increased accommodation, but, until it is, it may be well that those who travel merely for pleasure should be advised of what to expect. Anyone who, like Mr Mark Tapley, for instance, wants to have some credit for being jolly, has a fine chance of coming out

"pretty considerable strong"

here just now; or if any of your youthful readers should be suffering from the prevailing epidemic ~~ quarts on the brain ~~ a trip out here in wet weather might be prescribed with advantage as being likely to allay feverish symptoms.