For many travellers, the initial impression of Wilcannia consists of buildings with barred and boarded-up windows, of derelict and burnt-out shops, and of Aboriginal people sitting on the footpath beside the pub that has its windows boarded up too, even though it’s still open for business.

Travellers driving into town fill up with fuel at the service station and hurriedly make their exit. This is not a place to dally, the myth goes. But a first glimpse of Wilcannia can be misleading, and while hurrying through the town without stopping might be the less confronting option, it’s not the best way to get a taste of the outback, or to meet the unquestionably friendly people who have made the town their home.

NOTHING TO FEAR

On arrival, I was greeted with the familiar sight of Aboriginal men sitting beside the pub’s doorway, but not out of a desperate urge for grog. Some were here, they insisted, simply because the wall, illuminated by the early morning sunshine, was the best place to warm themselves on a bitterly cold winter’s morning.

To a white woman slaving over a hot stove in the town’s café, having a yarn to a stranger seemed to be of greater importance than serving up another burger and chips, and she rattled off a list of local Aboriginal people whom she was proud to call her mates. “Sure there are a few troublemakers,” she said, “but most of the local Aboriginal people are a friendly, easy-going lot.” And visitors, she added, have nothing to fear from the town’s indigenous residents.

Aborigines in the supermarket, in the take-away shop and wandering along Wilcannia’s streets all volunteered a cheerful “G’day mate” and their faces gleamed with smiles of welcome as their eyes met mine.

In the residential area, where houses in a derelict state tumbled down beside others with neat gardens and freshly painted picket fences, I was accosted, in the friendliest way, by a group of Aboriginal people who begged me to take their photo. I was happy to oblige, and when they wandered on their way in a huddle of laughter, I continued my exploration of the town.

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HISTORY

The Darling River that slithers past the town attracted the indigenous Barkindji people to the area 40,000 years ago. But it wasn’t until 1835, when explorer Thomas Mitchell passed through the area, that the European chapter of Wilcannia’s story began.

Pastoralists began arriving with their flocks of sheep, and in 1859 the first steam boat journeyed up the Darling to Mount Murchison Station, near the present site of Wilcannia.

The township itself was founded in 1866, and elegant buildings, constructed from local sandstone, were erected as the settlement flourished. By 1880, the town had become Australia’s third-largest inland port, with a population of 3000 who could quench an outback thirst at more than 13 hotels. In the busiest of years, more than 200 steamers arrived with vital supplies for the town and outlying settlements, and returned to southern ports with wool, gold and opal.

In 1896, when a bridge was constructed across the Darling River, Wilcannia’s future seemed assured, but rail transport and motor vehicles soon began to replace river transport and the town began its slide towards obscurity.

Today, many of Wilcannia’s once grand buildings, such as the tumbledown 1894 Catholic convent, have succumbed to the neglect of generations, but the elegant 19th century architecture is still evident in buildings such as the post office, the church, and the bank that has been transformed into the offices of the local council.

MEETING THE LOCALS

Almost 70 per cent of Wilcannia’s 600 residents are Aboriginal people, and the majority, according to a non-Aboriginal social worker I met as I approached the town’s riverbank park, are “genuinely good people”.

“The worst thing they’ll do to you is ask for a cigarette or a couple of dollars for a drink,” he said. And as if on cue, a middle-aged Aboriginal woman wandered towards me, and asked “Have ya got a smoke?” Being a non-smoker, I couldn’t oblige. “That’s okay luv,” she said, as a beaming smile crossed her weathered face. “Why don’t ya come over and look at our lovely river and see what they’ve done to it?” I was more than happy to accept her invitation.

The boisterous and outgoing Colleen introduced me to her mates, and to her family – to her “baby boy” Eric who, I estimated, was in his 30s, to her quiet and reserved husband, and to her brother William who had plenty to say in the most informative of ways. And as the group shared a cigarette scrounged from the social worker, and passed around a plastic bottle filled with cheap white wine, I listened to their fascinating stories.

William, who was employed at the outback Mutawintji National Park, once the homeland of his ancestors, had a passion for traditional bush tucker. He revealed how to cook witchetty grubs on hot coals until they popped and developed a delicious flavour similar to that of peanut butter. And he recalled the times when he had dined on shingleback lizards and emus. “Emu meat is very oily, and too much of it makes you run faster than the emu ever did,” he chuckled, and the group erupted with laughter at the memories of a dash to the dunny as a consequence of their overindulgence of this traditional bush food.

“There’s plenty of bush tucker around if you know what to look for and where to find it,” William said with pride in this aspect of his culture.

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DECLINE OF THE DARLING

However, the abundance of food that the river itself once provided is a fading memory, for the river has become little more than a series of green and stagnant pools. “It’s so sick,” William said with sorrow in his voice, “that it’s close to death.” The fishing that tied the Barkindji to their past and helped to reinforce their spiritual connection to the river, has become a pointless activity with the murky water now populated by European carp, an introduced species that triggered a dramatic decline in native fish stocks.

“In the past”, William said, “we’d spend every day on the bank catching yabbies, fishing, and cooking billy cake while the kids were swimming, but we can’t do that now. There’s not even a yabby to be caught.”

The drought has unquestionably played a significant role in the river’s demise, but the group were adamant that the cotton growers and other agricultural irrigators are primarily to blame.

The river’s decline, William said with his soft voice tinged with sorrow, has had a dramatic impact on the lives of indigenous people, and has intensified social problems.

But the social problems burdening Wilcannia’s Aboriginal people began long before the river’s demise, Colleen said, namely in the early 1900s when tribal people were forcibly removed from their land and sent to reserves. Then along came alcohol and its twin evil of unemployment, and it’s that lack of work, particularly for young people, that is the greatest cause of social unrest, she said.

William insisted that when the river’s health is restored, either by nature or by human intervention, the lives of the indigenous community will be restored to a natural and harmonious balance too. With hope that that day would soon arrive, I said goodbye to the hospitable people who had ensured that my brief visit to their town would be a memorable one.

Travellers who have driven through Wilcannia and seen nothing other than decay and despair may claim that I’m viewing this corner of the world through rose-coloured glasses, and there may be some truth to that. But for those who want a rewarding travel experience that will provide an opportunity to understand the lives, the history, and the aspirations of true blue Australians, Wilcannia is a must-see destination where there is nothing to fear other than fear itself.

WILCANNIA

Wilcannia is on the Barrier Highway 202km east of Broken Hill and 262km west of Cobar. Menindee, 156km south-west of Wilcannia, can be reached via a mainly unsealed road that follows the route of the Darling River. North and east of town is the Paroo-Darling National Park, and Mutawintji NP is to the north-west.

The town has two motels and a caravan park (see below). Meals are available at a take-away shop and at the town’s golf club. There is a supermarket, a service station, and an RTC (Rural Transaction Centre) where email can be accessed. The Athenaeum Pioneer Museum was no longer in operation at the time of publication.

For tourist information, contact Kym Fuller at the RTC on (08) 8083 8924.

The Victory Park Caravan Park on the riverbank has powered sites for $10 per person per night, with unpowered sites costing slightly less. The amenities block includes toilets, hot showers and a laundry. Pets are permitted. For information and bookings, call the park’s caretaker on (08) 8091 5600 or try the CDEP office on (08) 8091 5338.

By Stephanie Jackson, as featured in Caravan World issue 465, May 2009.