The next major step on our convoluted travels around Victoria involved revisiting Walhalla, an old gold mining town where we had taken Sally, Tracy and Holly back in what was probably 1979 – close enough to 45 years ago.  This was really the first of a series of much anticipated “memory lane” moments, with many more to follow when we eventually make it to Queensland in early-ish May.  Ha – putting a timing on it virtually pre-determines failure!

Nonetheless, before Walhalla, Bemm River deserves a quick mention.  Mostly to right a wrong, where I had previously called it BREMM River (no R it seems).  My excuse is that this tiny town is devoted purely to fishing – mostly bream fishing!  You can see the confusion?

In any event, whilst bream is undoubtedly the local favourite, and we saw a couple of beautiful 1+kg specimens being butchered by whatever is the opposite of a Master Filleter, pretty much any fish will do.  If you haven’t got a tinny, you’re nowhere (remember: 3.85m, 15hp – it’s all you need).  So, a few days here, a bit of washing, maybe some fresh bream at the pub?

What a disappointment the pub was.  Saturday night, beautiful setting, cold beer, 70 thirsty patrons in, all telling fishy tales – and the only fish available was flathead tails (frozen for sure, probably reconstituted, Helen).  I had a steak in protest, Lesley said the flathead tasted fine and they said, “No, we never have bream on the menu”.  Well…really!

We went for a decent hike to pretty Pearl Point and less pretty Dock Inlet in part-preparation for upcoming Alpine adventures.  Ocean Beach gave us one of those great Oz moments – 15km of golden sand, crystal clear water, gentle surf and exactly two people on the entire beach.  But, march flies arrived so we left, heading for Walhalla.

The tourist information people (and what excellent services they all seem to offer👍👍) had scared us a bit with descriptions of the narrow, winding track up to Walhalla, littered with roadworks, but it proved painless.  Rawson is a another tiny town nearby, but it has a caravan park so we stayed there (happily) and went van-less to Walhalla, just a few kms down the road. Definitely down!

Walhalla itself (current pop. approx. 11) was ridiculously pretty and well groomed, which was not as we’d remembered it.  Our abiding impression had been formed by the dark and possibly grimy Walhalla Pub where we’d all stayed – communal bathroom at the end of the corridor, coir mattresses in ticking, but enlightened and enlivened by the presence of Dominic(que?), the resident wombat who waddled up and down the bar area and appeared to own the joint (might well have managed it too!)  The kids were entranced although Holly claims no memory.  We vaguely thought there may have been a peacock too, a thought later confirmed by one of the locals.  Sadly, and mysteriously, our pub burned to the ground in 1986 – we found the site but that’s about all.

Walhalla has become a tourist “destination” and even some of the original buildings have been either heavily renovated or completely rebuilt, all in perfect old-time harmony.  We thought it was charming and those 11 locals must get a bit of DIDO help to tend their gardens and picnic grounds, none of which we remembered at all.   We did remember doing a gold mine tour, which has also been renovated (the tour, not the mine).  Ben, our friendly guide took us along a fascinating 250m hand-hacked tunnel into the hillside in search of the elusive quartz seam.  8 years of hard slog before an ounce of gold was recovered.  He both demonstrated and explained how it must have been back in the 1860-1900 heyday.  Conclusion: we’re all a bit soft!

The mining here was the same as always – some got filthy rich, most stayed dirt poor and every tree within 10km was cut down and burned.  Extraction rates at their peak were 64 parts per million.  Apparently, anything over about 30 parts per million was solidly profitable.  For reference, Kalgoorlie today extracts 3 parts per million.  They took about A$4.5 billion of gold in today’s money – so, in a stroke of bureaucratic genius, the state government put in a railroad in 1910, exactly at the right time for everyone to take their machinery and buildings out of town as the gold ran out.  Plus ça change…

Today, the railroad has been reborn – and it’s magnificent!  Last time we were here, it was not much more than a thought, but a dedicated (crazy?) group of volunteers have rebuilt bridges, relaid track, encouraged engines back into life and now run a 10km return journey along the perilously steep gorge between Walhalla and Thomson on Wednesdays and weekends.  The engine now is diesel (really old diesel), not steam, but the rest is pretty much as was. There’s hard wooden seats or a posh upholstered 2^nd class carriage, there’s a café with good coffee which converts into a rural wedding reception venue and there’s a delightful, knowledgeable and chatty crowd of people running it all.  We were so enthused by it all that we sponsored a sleeper for the girls with their names on it – pic to follow in the fullness of time.  Imagine how pleased they’ll be.  Without doubt, 👍👍

We’d stayed on an extra day to catch the train and had a picnic in a beautifully tended park on the edge of Stringers Creek.  There we met a young film-maker who we’d seen at the train station.  He was making a documentary about the various local districts with a particular reference to volunteering, for the Baw Baw Shire Council.  He interviewed us for a few minutes, then took a great photo on Lesley’s phone (here it is).

He then raced off across the park to get close enough to film a large goanna that had appeared – he asked if it was dangerous; we said probably not.   What could possibly go wrong?