Andy Tyndall Photography
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Out of range at Helena Aurora

8/5/2018

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It must have been more than ten years since I have been here. Back then it was to photograph a couple protesting the planned destruction and removal to an ore crusher of this spectacular and unique range of hills a couple of hours north of Southern Cross.


This time I’m back, finally, to have a closer look at the Helena Aurora Ranges which have, again, escaped the bulldozer and dynamite after a late 2017 Government decision not to grant a mining permit in this Conservation Area.


I won’t dwell on the politics other than to say there are moves to make the area into a National Park not just because of the sheer, rugged beauty of the cliffs and gullies which rise out of the sand plains and woodlands, but because they are home to species of flora and fauna found nowhere else in the world.


This is not a place for the faint of heart or limb. I was following my mate, Geo Bob, or I may well have got lost in the myriad of tracks, trails, diversions and dead ends around the base of the range. It is a fair way from anywhere and rarely visited - we saw no one at all on the three days of our stay - although there was weak mobile signal at the top of the Bungalbin Hill, you really do not want to ‘come unstuck’ out there. Water, hat, tough boots are essential.


A 4WD, too, is highly recommended if you want to get the most out of the trip. Once you leave the bitumen the road, reliable at first, is prone to sporadic potholes and gullies which will defeat low-clearance cars. You might get to the bring-your-own-everything, quiet, level camping area at the base of the ranges in a 2 WD - but you certainly will not get to the top where the most spectacular views and rough walk trails await.


On the lightly-tree’d summit we clambered around outcrops, discovering caves and stunning views, finding signs of past mining explorations. Geo Bob points out a tetratheca plant - the small purple flowers on the spike-like stems appearing to grow straight out of the rock. This is the small plant which almost single-handedly defeated the first attempt to mine the ranges. You will find it nowhere else. From this sentinel rock we survey the scenes below: a rain squall approaching from the West, the clouds allowing a solitary pool of sunlight to fall on the Woodlands below and, next day, the  clear skies, haze and distant hills hunkered down on the horizon. All the time we are under the gaze of a wheeling, proprietorial eagle.


I’m not sure if we even scratched the surface of  what could be discovered in these ranges in the couple of days we were there - there are tales of rock art and sacred sites - but for the solitude, the views and the experience of treading (carefully) in such a unique, timeless place the journey was well worthwhile. An understated gem in WA’s jewel-encrusted crown!

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Under the Gimlet Tree

7/1/2018

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Summer 1922/23: Police discover 22 year-old sandalwood cutter George Harrod under his spring cart after he fails to return to Bullfinch, near Southern Cross for Christmas.  Harrod has one boot missing, is lying face down and is dead. He is presumed to have been killed by a snakebite.


April 2018: I am with a friend (I’ll call him Geo Bob) who knows this region well. We have located a rude trail which winds its way through the glades and gimlets of this part of the Great Western Woodlands, to a long-disused airstrip. The strip, once used to bring mining exploration teams in to the area, 100 kms north of Southern Cross,  is now only recognisable thanks to the occasional tyre which might have once edged the runway and a  small set of star pickets marking where the windsock might once have stood. Otherwise the area could be another glade, large but only remarkable for the expanse of sparsity of tall trees.


A small spinney of young spiralled-trunked gimlets lies a little distance from the old runway, close to a scattering of ancient tin cans, the only signs of camps of sandalwood cutters and prospectors who first ventured out here. A rusting frame and springs of a cart lies in the shade of this whispering stand of trees. A horse’s head collar is attached to it.


This, we suspect, could be the last resting place of George Harrod.


We had heard of the story of a man found dead along with his horse still tied to a cart or a tree but did not come here specifically to locate the cart, nor to search for the gun which, one story relates, was leant against a tree which ‘subsumed’ it, carrying it high up its trunk over the near- 100 years since Harrod’s demise. Although we did search for it, craning our necks to stare high into polished branches, to discern the faintest gun-like ripple among the boles and  whorls of the trunks, and although we ran a metal detector around the hard-decaying, bleached skeletons of trees long fallen, we found nothing but the occasional nail or a rusting bully beef tin.


Harrod’s tale  is just one of so many about men and women who, in the early years of exploration, ventured out, became ‘unstuck’ and perished to be subsumed, like Harrod’s gun in these woods.
It’s even bizarre now, standing in the shade of one of the massive eucalypts, to think there was once a busy airstrip here with all the smells, sounds and detritus which accompanies it; that once men - and maybe women - sat around here planning digs and chucking empty cans into the scrub; that maybe the woods rang to the sound of the sandalwood cutters’ axes and saws. Or that a man died a painful death in such an inoffensive, tranquil place


Lance Stevens of the Yilgarn History Museum is not so certain that our cart is related to Harrod’s death. He points out:


Police  would have gathered all property belonging to the dead man, that carts were abandoned if a wheel broke or the horse went lame and that the Old Coolgardie Track in the early years was littered with equipment and carts 'which never made it.'


All fair points and maybe academic now that, except for the occasional flit and twitter of small birds in the scrub, or the rustle of the leaves in the light breeze, there is the distinct impression that these Woodlands have shrugged away the incursions of mankind and are peacefully carrying on the way they were  tens of thousands of years before Harrod or any other European made his ill-fated journey out here.

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    Author

    Travel has always featured strongly in my photographic work: whether on assignment for a newspaper or on holiday with my family, I have always enjoyed recording the unique scenes and sights appreciated most by eyes fresh to a region. This blog is a small record of some of my travels and experiences - and even some photography tips. Some have been published, some not. Whatever, I hope you enjoy the blog.

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