Cardwell to Ravenswood

Not the least bit hungover we said our goodbyes to Ray and Marg and headed for Townsville. Before leaving, however, Rob called Rowes Bay Caravan Park, Townsville, a place recommended to us by our neighbours and dinner companions in Bowen.

The road in front of the park runs along the foreshore looking over Magnetic Island. It would be part of The Strand were it not for a small headland that separates the two. That being the case, the park is a desirable destination for caravanners.

The unusual thing about Rowes Bay Caravan Park is they do not take bookings; however, travellers can ring in the morning of the day they would like to arrive and be placed on a waiting list. At 10.00am, when those departing have gone, vacant sites are filled, firstly by those who were unsuccessful the previous day but who elected to stay overnight on an unpowered site then strictly in the waiting list order. Anyway, we were lucky enough to get a powered site. Most of the sites are very generous in size and ours was extremely so. A great spot in a great park.

After setting up, we did a drive around the city and generally lazed around to recover from the previous night's activities at Cardwell Country Club. However, on the following day we took the ferry across to Magnetic Island to meet up with Tom & Jo Talbot, good friends from down home who were having a few days break on the island. With them, we purchased a day bus pass and spent a few hours exploring the place by bus.

Next day, Tom and Jo came over to the mainland so we did a few touristy type things, including having lunch at what is now a brewery but what used to be the post office. They make a pretty good malt beer and have an excellent $10 lunch. All very nice.

After delivering Tom and Jo back to the ferry for their return to Magnetic, we went home and got ready to meet up with Philip and Christina Latham, also from down home. Rob sings in the choir with Christina and they were passing through town on their way to Thursday Island. We all went to dinner at a place called Ribs & Rumps and as I am a sucker for ribs, I ordered a trio, a mixture of beef, pork and lamb ribs. Very nice but they sure do know how to charge in Townsville.

On our last full day in town we called on good friends John & Heather Purdie. John and I worked together in the Commonwealth Bank many years ago and as we both lived in the same area in Brisbane, we used to socialise a bit and played squash together each week. I could recount a few of our experiences both on the squash court and on motor bikes but they would be too painful for John to recount. Suffice to say, there was plenty of blood spilled and one trip to the hospital.

Ravenswood Pyromaniac

Next day we were off to Ravenswood, a little town off the beaten track between Townsville and Charters Towers that we found on our previous travels in the area.  

We loved it last time because it is a place where open fires are encouraged and, when we arrived, it was just as great as we remembered.

It wasn't long after we had set up that the family pyromanic had a roaring fire under way.

Ravenswood's old Gold Mine

Ravenswood was quite a large gold and silver mining town in the 1800's and early 1900's with a population of more than 4,500 and 30 pubs. There were many mines in the area and, in one small part of the town we counted 6 chimneys, evidencing some of the mills that operated. There is a large open cut mine that is now unusable because of the amount of water in it but mining company Capricornia Gold, has taken out a number of leases and is currently mining directly beside the old hole.

Ravenswood featuring the old Catholic Church

The current population of the town would not exceed 200 and the only retail businesses are the post office/general store and two pubs, one of which is said to be haunted. There is one church, that used to be catholic, the hub of a rather large catholic enclave. As well as the church there was a presbytery (priest's home), a school and a convent.

 With the decline of the town, the school closed, the nuns and priest moved out and all the buildings, except for the church, were sold for relocation. The church, also said to be haunted, now stands a solitary vigil atop a hill with only the ruins of the front gate and a couple of flower beds around it. It is now a community church, not just catholic.

It is recorded that one of the priests was rather an authoritarian. He would not allow men and women to sit together at mass and quite regularly berated some of the women for showing bits of flesh in the church. He is also said to have once stared at one parishioner during a mass and thundered that one of the flock was prone to praying to God on Sundays and preying on his fellow townsfolk during the week.

It's not that much has changed since the last priest moved out. The old style catholic altar and statues of the Holy Family are still in place as they would have been 100 years ago. The only thing that indicates the church is no longer catholic is the confessional, a tattered curtain in a the back corner surrounding a rotting chair and kneeler. It looks like it has purposely been left to rot and gather dust. Maybe it is haunted, maybe it isn't, but it certainly gives that impression.

The church has one other function that makes it a popular gathering place. It is one of the few places in town where the mobile telephone reception is acceptable. When we wanted to make a call we would walk up from the camp-ground, sit on the steps and make the call.

One night we decided to go to one of the pubs for dinner. We ordered it and went into the old dining room to await its delivery. The only other diners, also awaiting their dinners, were two women who turned out to be mother and daughter. We asked if we could sit with them, which they readily agreed to. It turned out that they lived over on the coast near Mackay but whenever they felt the urge they would travel to Ravenswood to stay at the pub, hoping to meet up with one of the ghosts. To date they had not seen any but they totally believed the wife of the publican who told them how she had encountered the ghost of a woman in an upstairs hallway who said that “they” were all happy about them taking over the pub as the previous owner had not been good for the establishment. She then disappeared.

We had a great meal and chatted for ages. In the meantime a couple of blokes came in to have their dinners. When he had finished, one left, leaving the other to finish his meal. I felt sorry for him and asked him if he would like to join us for a coffee, an invitation he readily accepted. As I was asking him to join us I felt a sharp jab in my ribs and wondered if I was having an “experience”.

When he finally left, mother, who was sitting next to me, explained it was her trying to indicate she didn't want the extra company. She told us how the two blokes had been trying all afternoon to crack on to them with offers of wine in their rooms. They were not impressed but assured us how much they had enjoyed the rest of the evening, just as we had.

Woody - Caretaker at Ravenswood Camp Ground

Back at the camp-ground, our host was a bloke known to all as Woodey. a one legged Vietnam vet who has been a resident of Ravenswood for many years. After he had booked us in for our three night stay, he asked Rob if she intended going up town after we had settled in and if so, if she would call at the post office and ask for “Woodey's stuff”.

Much to his delight she did but not as happy as he was when she collected his “stuff” the next day without being requested to do so. We picked it up on our way back from a quick visit to the Burdekin Falls Dam, just on 80kms from Ravenswood. It's a very pretty place and the lake behind the dam was over 90% full at the time of our visit. The view from the lookout, of water four times the capacity of Sydney Harbour, was quite spectacular.

Burdekin Falls Dam, 876 metres long with a 504 metre spillway.  It holds 1,860,000 megalitres at full capacity.

The road from Ravenswood runs along the very base of the dam wall and continues 64kms to Belyando Crossing, which, in a few days time, was to be our next overnight stopover. However, when we heard from a vanner that one of the vans staying at the dam that had come from Belyando lost the door of its frig along the way, we decided to take the alternative route which was 280kms from Ravenswood. Some of our roads do leave something to be desired.

Ravenswood Camp Ground.  The old Catholic Church can just be seen on the horizon centre picture.

That afternoon as we were walking across the camp-ground on our way back from church (that we had visited to make a couple of phone calls), Woodeycalled us to come on over to his shanty. It is really a very small old style caravan with an adjoining annex of sorts. The council has built him a substantial ramp from the door of the van down to the entrance to the little enclosure reserved for him as the care-taker. Above the ramp is a bold sign that reads “Keep Out”; not really welcoming to intended guests. Another sign points to a narrow pathway down the side of the ramp to the edge of the “office”. On this occasion, however, we were invited up into the Keep Out area. Very privileged we were.

The “office” is the annex, the floor of which is down two steps from the top of the ramp so he has two wheelchairs, one on the ramp and the other at the bottom of the stairs in an already very cramped space. When someone comes to book in, he has to hop onto his one good leg and somehow get down to the lower level chair to attend to them.

Anyway, Woodey wanted to chat. He had had a few beers so he had plenty to talk about right from when he was three months old. He was taken from his mother at that age and placed into State care. He was eventually adopted out and never met his mother. However, a few years back his three natural sisters found him and told him about his history. He was pretty impressed they knew so much about him.

Some time after returning from Vietnam, Woodey moved to Ravenswood where he took on the voluntary role as guide in the museum. It has been established in the town's old Court House. He takes great pride in the fact he was often in trouble with the local school teachers who, from time to time, would bring their students to the museum for history lessons. He would conduct mock trials in the court room at which all the kids were participants. It was always the case that the girls would win and the boys would be sent to jail. Such was the realism that he would generate that it would often take the teachers days to settle the kids down after the visit.

During our talk, Woodey's very much overweight cat sat eyeing us. He told us how his one true buddy, his dog Grendall, had died not too long before he lost his leg. He corrected himself at this point assuring he had not lost the leg, the bloody doctor had taken it.

Shortly after his return from hospital, after the amputation, the cat appeared for the first time, came up to him, and laid its head on his stump. Woody knew at that point they would become close friends. He bent down to pick it up but it clawed him and snarled, letting him know that although they would be buddies, it was to be a hands off relationship and that is how it has been ever since.

Although Woody and the cat have become very close, he still greatly misses Grendall who he buried in his back yard complete with headstone. While he was telling us this, a few tears rolled down his cheek which was a bit surprising from such a rough and tumble type of bloke. With the sentimentally, came out a couple of dog-eared scrap books. One was full of jokes he has collected over the years and the other of very personal mementos.

In the latter book, Woody showed us his pride and joy, a poem about him by a woman who had known him in the past and obviously held him in very high regard. He allowed us to photograph it and gave me permission to include it in this blog.

To another of the Characters we have met whilst on the road.