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by John Wiley
First time I came to Byron Bay was in the 1950s. I was ten.
It was a dump. I came (on the train) from the Cathedral City
of Grafton with my dad - the Mayor of Grafton and the Member
for Clarence. He was visiting Byron to inspect the whaling
station which was at the time considered an exciting innovation
- something like growing rice at Humpty Doo or mining uranium
at Mary Kathleen: I think dad had it in mind that he might
push for something similar at Iluka.
We were met by a double breasted delegation and taken straight
to the jetty to board the whale chaser. There was a fairly
nasty northerly blowing and the narrow little ship rolled
its (and our) guts out as we headed out due east past the
cape.
The captain (or maybe he was the gunner or both) explained
about the exploding head on the harpoon and about the cable
and how dangerous it was as it snaked out after the harpoon
- then he went up to the great gun on the bow and we to the
open bridge to watch the action.
There were whales blowing all over the place, heading north
- pregnant I guess, heading up the Queensland coast to give
birth.
In no time at all we were along side one. I remember the
cable more vividly than anything else I saw that day - screaming
out behind the harpoon as though it was alive - driving the
blade home with terrible force.
We dragged the whale back to the jetty. Along side the jetty
was a ramp. A winch cable was attached and the tattered corpse
- its skin torn by hundreds of shark bites began to emerge
from the sea. But the sharks were reluctant to give it up.
Lots of them , many as bigger than me, still hung on - still
chewing gummily as the whale was dragged slowly up the ramp.
They must have been practiced: Just when it seemed they must
end up on the flensing floor with the whale they flipped off
the ramp into ankle deep water and bloatedly made their way
out to wait for the next one.
By that stage - for me - the whalers and the sharks had merged
into one verminous parasitic horde. The eck withmen on the
flencing d their great flencing knives looked like thieves
slicing the pockets of some quiet man that they had murdered.
And the smell. We were proudly escorted through the factory.
It was low and mean and dark - corrugated iron and filthy
floors - The stink of boiling putrefying blubber choked the
whole town. On the train home my dad said ŅIt makes you feel
ashamed doesn't it.
I saw the place again a few years later when I came to "do
my bronze" (Surf Lifesaving test) a hundred yards or
so down the beach from the whaling station. By then the business
was failing but the town still stank and the sea around the
jetty was full of blood and seething with sharks. The beery
old life savers said "Don't worry - they're too full
to bother about skinny kids like you. We walked on water that
day."
I wish I could bring my dad back to see the place now: To
show him a place that can be proud of itself.|
John Weiley has provided exciting feelings and adventures
to thousands around the world through the world of Imex film
(the giant screen format seen at Dreamworld, Disneyland, ect.)
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