ABC High Country: "The Prospector and the
Wombat"
Program: ABC Rural Hour Host: Eliza Byrne (EB)
Guest: Silas, Prospector from Boomerang
(Sound of gentle stream running, distant kookaburra
chuckle)
EB: Welcome back to Rural Hour. For generations,
prospectors have searched the goldfields of the Monaro Plains. But our next
guest, Silas from the almost-ghost town of Boomerang, recently made a discovery
unlike any other—one involving a very stubborn, four-legged rival. Silas,
welcome.
Silas: Good day, Eliza.
EB: Silas, you have been panning Granite Creek for
decades. Can you describe the moment you realised your bad luck was not due to
poor geology, but to a wombat?
Silas: (Chuckles, a dry sound) Well, it started with
the missing nuggets. Just tiny ones, you know. You would leave your pan for a
minute, and when you came back, all the colour was gone, replaced by little
river pebbles. I thought I was losing my mind, or perhaps it was the light. But
then, there was Kevin.
EB: The kookaburra. Wally’s aerial nemesis, as we
have learned.
Silas: Exactly. Kevin sits in the same old snow gum,
and every time I came near a certain burrow entrance, that bird would just
laugh—not a happy laugh, mind you, but a mocking, judgmental sound. And the
burrow? It was immaculate. No dirt kicked out, no tracks. But after that bird
exposed my failure in Boomerang, it clicked: that wombat, Wally, was a
master thief and, more importantly, a master digger.
EB: So, you went to the General Store and bought a
gold sovereign—a coin Wally had failed to steal the night before—as a kind of
ransom?
Silas: (Sighs) A ridiculous notion, isn’t it? But I
was desperate. I felt he was holding the key to the creek. I held that coin
out, right in front of his door, and I said, "You've been panning my
claims and you're better at it. You want this? Give me a tip."
EB: And he responded?
Silas: He did. Slowly, he pushed out the dirt plug.
He looked at me, looked at the coin, and then, while Kevin was watching like a
beak-driven accountant, he shuffled forward, took the sovereign, and tucked it
into his cheek—just like a little money bag! Then, he used his nose to nudge a
tiny seam of milky quartz running towards a bend I’d always ignored.
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EB: And did you find gold there?
Silas: Enough. Not the monster nugget Wally’s sitting
on, mind you, but enough to make the effort worthwhile. Enough to keep the
heart in Boomerang for another year.
EB: So now you have a symbiotic relationship: The
prospector and the wombat.
Silas: We have a truce. He has his perfect coin, I
have a decent claim, and Kevin has a fascinating, lifelong secret to keep. We
don’t chat much, but every now and then, I leave a particularly good pumpkin
near the entrance. It's a professional courtesy, you might say.
EB: That truly is remarkable, Silas. Now, before we
let you go, you mentioned Boomerang. For our listeners who might not be
familiar with that part of the Monaro, can you tell us a bit about the town's
past? It sounds like it’s certainly seen better days.
Silas: It has. Boomerang—well, she's an old girl. The
name comes from how the gold was: fickle. Men would leave, convinced the lode
was over the next ridge, but they’d always loop back. Our prime was between 1860
and 1890, when it was absolute chaos. Fifteen hotels, two banks! Now, it's
quiet, but the bones are still there. The granite and the iron just
won't let it fade completely.
EB: And speaking of the bones of the town, what about
the General Store? That must be a relic in itself if it still has the
display case with the sovereign. How long has that store been operating?
Silas: The store is a survivor, that’s for sure. It’s
been standing since the mid-1870s, I reckon. It’s changed hands so many times,
but it’s always been the heart of the place. It used to sell shovels and
dynamite; now it sells milk and postage stamps. It even doubles as our library
now. It’s one of the few things, aside from the Granite Creek Hotel, that has
always kept the door open. You could say the store is just as stubborn as
Wally, really.
EB: A town held together by stubbornness and a shared
secret about a gold-hoarding wombat. What a picture. Silas, thank you for
sharing this remarkable story from the High Country.
(Sound of gentle stream running fades)