They take their racing seriously in Winton. About half the 1,200 population of the outback town was recently on the sand dunes overlooking the track at Long Waterhole billabong as stewards, commentators, bookmakers and trainers clustered around the starting gates. 'They're racing,' bellowed the loudspeaker, and the crowds cheered as nine champion crayfish went for the finishing line, one metre away. The final meeting of the millennium was under way at the Royal Crustacean Racing Club, where freshwater crayfish with tiny plastic jockeys stuck to their backs scuttled across a circular board. The crayfish derby, with A$15,000 (about HK$75,000) prize money, was one of the highlights of Winton's Outback Festival, a week-long binge of beer-fuelled eccentricity that turns the usually placid town into a carnival of rural fun. Usually, you could fire a volley of shotgun shells down the Matilda Highway and unless someone was going from Tate's pub across the street to the North Gregory Hotel, you wouldn't hit anyone. During the festival, however, things liven up. Winton becomes the focus of attention between Cunamulla and the Dimantina River. Tiny Winton, on the dry open plains 1,200 kilometres northwest of Brisbane, has several justifiable claims to fame. It was at nearby Dagworth sheep station that poet Banjo Paterson wrote a song in April 1895. A local girl set it to music and Waltzing Matilda was first sung in the bar of the North Gregory Hotel. Just around the corner from that busy bar, in a low clapboard building which is now the Winton Club, Qantas airlines was born in 1922 when a group of seven men, five of them from Winton, founded Queensland and Northern Territories Air Services. And at Carisbrooke Station, 60 kilometres outside town, a US Air Force B17 which had lost its way made an emergency landing in 1942. On board was a young officer named Lyndon B. Johnson who had to ask the bemused sheep farmer where he was. But the talk in Winton's four pubs and two clubs recently was of more recent events. Just outside town, set amid the semi-arid grazing lands that stretch to the wide horizons, Long Waterhole sees fanatical sporting men and women who race 'thoroughbred' freshwater crayfish. Don't think this is a joke. An official programme is printed. I solemnly placed a A$30 bet at five to one on what turned out to be a useless specimen named Banjo's Echo. It came last. Still, there is more than speedy crustaceans to hold your interest at Long Waterhole. A huge canvas tent gave shade as the Iron Men and Women of the outback splashed, waded, swam and ran through a punishing trail that crossed dunes and waterholes. One male entrant dropped out hurriedly when a spikey three-inch perch found its way inside his shorts. Vast laughter all round. There were contests of rural skills, ranging from whip cracking and axemanship to seeing who could first bring a tin of water to the boil. These may be forgotten talents to young city Australians, but the Outback Festival is all about focusing on the rural pride and tough work ethics that form the basis for country lore and legend. The festival harks back to hard times. It was first held in 1972 when this part of western Queensland was in the grip of a fearful drought. 'It began as an attempt to cheer people up,' explains Peter Evert, the town pharmacist and regional tourism booster. It has continued ever since, held every two years. The popular image of the lean, bronzed, taciturn horseman of the plains is alive and kicking in Winton. Almost every male wears the battered flat-brimmed hat that gives shade from the relentless sun. So do many of the women. Although the town gets television and the most remote farm is linked by satellite to the Internet, highlights of the festival would be familiar to Paterson, were he to visit the museum in the heart of town dedicated to his most famous song. At the official opening of the festival, the visiting Rockhampton Silver Band marched down the main street. They played the national anthem, Advance Australia Fair, the words of which are known to almost nobody. Then they struck up Waltzing Matilda. 'Sing along,' bellowed some politicians. There was much shuffling of feet and a few embarrassed voices joined in, although everyone in Winton knows the words by heart. The billabong where the jolly swagman met his death is just outside town. Next day, I had a drover's breakfast of stewed lamb and potatoes and listened to local poets, including a 10-year-old boy, recite their tales of outback life. Paterson would have been delighted. The old values of mateship and sturdy independence which he prized are obviously still alive in Winton. You can't get much more Australian than another racing event, the Dunny Derby. A 'dunny' is an outback outhouse from before the era of septic tanks. It was usually a modest wooden hut with a tin roof, the seat perched over a hole dug deep into the soil. At the Dunny Derby, 15 local teams had to build glorified replicas of farmhouse ablution blocks, set them on bicycle wheels and organised a 300-metre obstacle race around the local sports field. Half the town turned out to watch. Once again, great hilarity as the teams, all well lubricated with the state amber fluid, XXXX, galloped with their mobile dunnies around the pitch. There were art shows and crafts, bands played in the streets and poets recited bush lore. The crowd sang Waltzing Matilda and in the still quiet of the outback night, the song could probably be faintly heard at the waterhole where the jolly swagman leapt to his doom. Travel pages are edited by Mike Currie, tel: 2565 2650
