Friends of the Box-Ironbark Forests

Eighteen people turned out for the May FOBIF walk led by Barbara Guerin and Lionel Jenkins. The walk was largely focussed on the area’s mining history and Dominique Lavie took a series of terrific photos which are reproduced below.

The morning began with a walk to the top of the Monk with views like the one below.

View to the east from the Monk.

Along Cobblers Gully there were many overgrown remains of an early mining settlement.

Remains of the Cobblers Gully settlement.

The walk along Spring Gully is covered one of Victoria’s most intact collections of quartz reef mines with well preserved machinery foundations and mullock heaps.  The mines worked from the mid-1850s to the late 1930s.

Spring Gully Mine and Battery ruins

Mullock heap, Spring Gully.

Lunch was enjoyed overlooking an enormous quartz tailing dam.

Walkers having lunch at a crushed quartz dam, Spring Gully.

The walk back was mainly off-track. Towards the end we came across this extraordinary chimney pictured below. It was discovered after the walk that according to notes made by Jack Cocks on the Eureka Reef and surrounds the chimney is in the area of the Eureka South mine, which was not particularly rich and closed in the early 1900s.  The reason for the chimney is unclear as the building next to it is not big enough to have housed a steam boiler. It may have been a roasting kiln for mineral recovered from the Eureka Mine battery.

Thanks to Barbara and Lionel for leading their first FOBIF walk and to Dom for her photos. The next walk will be to Tarilta Gorge. Doug Ralph will be the leader.

Readers who have followed the intermittent controversies over whether vegetation along creek valleys raises flood levels might be interested in the picture below, showing Campbell’s Creek, looking downstream from the Gaulton St bridge in 1946:

Campbell's Creek, looking downstream from the Gaulton St Bridge, 1946. Lack of vegetation didn't improve flood levels

This is a photo of part of the above scene in 2011:

The same section of creek, 2011: the cliff where the creek takes a sharp turn to the left is visible in the background. This section of the creek featured in complaints that vegetation caused flooding in the last year.

The photo shows the result of years of revegetation work. Vegetation in the creek was blamed by a local businessman for raising flood levels last year. What is frustrating about such claims is that they could easily be judged if only the relevant authorities could refer to accurate flood  maps which would show water levels reached in previous floods–when there was little or no tree cover along the creek. Amazingly, it seems that such mapping is not available–not here, and not elsewhere in the state: which means that many planning decisions are made without vital knowledge of the places they’e dealing with. In the absence of such knowledge, we thought we’d run an occasional series of very short items recalling past floods [ones that happened when there was very little vegetation cover around our waterways], starting with 1909.

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A fascinating collection of old photos of our waterways collected by the Catchment Management Authority gives a bit of a sense of how far things have changed in the last sixty odd years. The picture below of the Loddon river bank upstream of Newstead, for example, shows a bank seriously prone to erosion, with erosion producing activity continuing.

1946 was the year work started on the building on Cairn Curran, in the romantic age of dam building. The project was not without its detractors, however: Newstead councillors expressed the fear that banked up water would flood the town, for example. For their pains they were the object of a tremendous blast in the Castlemaine Mail in March that year from one John Somer: ‘feebleness of brainpower’ was their problem, according to Mr Somer. Newstead was built in the wrong place, he said, seeming to look forward with some enthusiasm to the prospect of the town being flooded.

Loddon River bank near Newstead, c 1946: The top four feet, above the dark line, is 'muck, slum and sand' washed down from past dredging operations upstream. The tunneling is prospectors' work.

‘What if it is?’ he asked, before suggesting that everyone would be better off if Newstead was wiped off the map, so that a new, better town could be built on a more sensible site: ‘A new Newstead will arise in all its glory with properly designed alignments and something considerably more elegant in architecture than the higly pigly hotch potch of habitations that now exist.’

Mr Somers’ complacent contemplation of the drowning of Newstead was probably helped by the fact that he lived in Maldon. It’s also a bit hard to understand his negative portrait of a town most people [well, pretty well all people, actually] find very attractive. He did make some interesting points in his letter, however: he suggested that Aborigines, who knew the ‘vagaries of the Loddon’, made their settlements out of reach of floods, and were much more sensible than early white settlers who repeatedly went back to their houses after floods, only to be flooded again a few years later; and his description of the Loddon river flats as being covered with mining debris of ‘muck, slum and sand’ isn’t a bad description of what you can see in the photo above.