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GENESIS OF YEPPOON AND EMU PARK

THE MORNING BULLETIN 1923

[Part 2]

       The word “Yeppoon” was one of the aboriginal words for thunder, or the roar of the surf, or any very loud noise, and was pronounced with a deep and prolonged accent on the “poon.”

       An old Rockhampton black, in 1876, told me that in times the coast people gave the name to the rocky point where the hill fronts the beach, and that there was a cave there in which a heavy surf made a tremendous noise.

       They called Ross Creek “Cooramin,” or “gooraman,” the name of the old man kangaroo.

       He called the hill at Yeppoon “Caggara Boonbah,” or the “big porcupine” (Echidna hystrix).  That word “Caggara” for the echidna, was exactly the same in the Moreton Bay and old Sydney dialects.

       The North Keppel blacks called the hill “Toomboorawa,” strangely enough the name of a Moreton Bay aboriginal quoted by Dr. Land in his “Cooksland.”

       From that hill, one of the chief glories of Yeppoon, there is a magnificent view seaward and landward. The North and South Keppels lie away due east eight and ten miles, and south from them is a whole archipelago of beautiful islands spread over Keppel Bay far away to Curtis Island, whose hills are seen in the distance, terminating to the eastward in Cape Capricorn with the lighthouse on the great scarfed rock named by Cook in 1770 because it was so near the line of the tropic of Capricorn.

       The coastline from Emu Park to Yeppoon represents nine miles, but to follow the beaches would mean probably two miles more. Nowhere is there any great depth of water in Keppel Bay, the deepest between South Keppel and Cape Capricorn being 72ft and only 24ft between Emu Park and Yeppoon. Outside Emu Park the depth is only 20ft and about 25ft between the coast and the Keppels. The North Keppel is deep all around the west side, but shoals to 2 fathoms or 12 ft on the east side. The dimensions of that island show a length of two and a quarter miles, and a width of one and a half miles, the South Keppel being three and a half miles in length and breadth, the same distance each way.

       There are over twenty islands in Keppel Bay, most of them having oyster leases. The famous rock oysters of the Keppels are gradually diminishing, and the oyster men are drawing more and more on Rocky Island, near Cape Capricorn. Those rock oysters, of which little is known south of Keppel Bay, practically end as a marketable article beyond the Keppels, the extreme southern limit known to me being a few on the rocks of Point Lookout on Stradbroke Island. They do not grow with the rapidity of the rock oyster, and you rarely see new ones growing to replace the old ones removed, so that the period of total destruction cannot be too far ahead. Vast quantities have been removed in the last thirty years. This prospect of extinction is not pleasant to consider, as these Keppel oysters at their best are among the finest in the world.

       A Mount Morgan man put opossums and Guinea fowl on the South Keppel where they flourished amazingly until the usual white savage, who is pleased to call himself civilised, comes along with a gun, and snares, and cyanide, or some other infernal device, to proceed with the work of destruction. But the South Keppel is now a sanctuary for native birds and animals, and a severe fine awaits prowling marauders, part of whose penalty should be fifty lashes.

Yeppoon 1900

There is deep water all around the South Keppel, which is covered by thick stunted trees, there being only one piece of good soil near the west and where there is permanent fresh water.

       Originally before the fatal advent of the white man, the aboriginal people on the North Keppel probably remained fairly stationary at about 200, and it is doubtful if there were more than from two to three hundred on the South Keppel. The men of “Wonnara,” the South Keppel, interchanged visits with the men of the “Conomie,” the North Keppel, and they spoke the same language, but they held no communication with the mainland blacks, who spoke quite a different dialect. They were mutually afraid of each other, and kept apart. Finally Robert Ross removed the remnant of the Conomie tribe to the mainland on the plea that they disturbed his stock on the island. They camped beside the sea and looked sadly away across the eight miles of water that separated them from their beloved Conomie. Some died of broken hearts, for, as Byron says in “Manfred”:

“This last is a malady which slays

More than are numbered in the lists of Fate.”

Some started to swim back and were drowned or taken by sharks, and some got safely across to either the North or South Keppel, one of the latter being in after years an old man named “Tuh-ow,” removed by me, with all the remaining natives of the Keppels to Fraser Island during my period of Queensland government protectorship.

       He, and an old woman, called “Oyster Maggie” by the whites, from her incredible dexterity in opening oysters with only a stone and a piece of wood, told me some astonishing stories of their past history, and their treatment by the whites, much of it not pleasant to hear, but the “Tragedy of Wonnara”, and the even worse “Tragedy of Conomie,” are no part of this chapter, so we shall return to Yeppoon, and ride, drive, or walk along the beach to Corio Creek, distant eleven and three-quarter miles.

       Another sixteen miles and we reach Cape Manifold, beyond which, a further nine miles, is Cape Clinton, and near that is the beautiful romantic Port Clinton, visited by Home Secretary Foxton and myself, when it was suggested as a suitable settlement for the Keppel blacks. We went there in a cosy little steamer, I command of that genial fine old sea rover, Captain Sykes. It is an ideal spot for a party of friends to go there in a motor boat to camp and bathe and fish for a couple of weeks.

       Cape Manifold was named by Cook, in 1770, from the very peculiar geological formation, and Clinton was named by Flinders in 1802 from Colonel Clinton, of the Eighty-fifth Regiment. There is only a narrow necked peninsula between Port Clinton and Shoalwater Bay. From that splendid lookout on the Yeppoon hill, looking westward, there is a grand view of an astonishing variety of romantic looking hills and mountains in many picturesque forms, spires, domes, turrets, tabletops and pyramids. Conspicuous, not far away, is the rough stone face and towering crest of Mount Wheeler, which gave a name to a goldfield of 1868, famous for the discovery of a nugget by a small boy. While his father was at dinner he amused himself with the pick, and in the first stroke, he stuck it into a nugget weighing 247 ounces, bright yellow underneath and dark on top. That little golden plum, which the Mount Wheeler little Jack Horner pulled out of that dirt pie, weighing 20lb 7oz, was worth nearly £1,000. His dad had a joyous surprise on his return from dinner. Does any “Bulletin” reader know the after fate of that marvelous small boy?

Ross Creek Yeppoon 1900

The readers may care to know something about Wheeler, whence he came, and whence he went. Wheeler, in 1861, was an inspector in charge of Native Police, and his performance among the aboriginals were not excelled by those of any native police officer on record. Finally, when out after blacks on Fassifern and Dugandan stations, not far from Ipswich, there were so many of them died suddenly in the vicinity of Wheeler that there came an imperative demand for an inquiry, strongly supported by Dr. Challinor, the result being a very elaborate Parliamentary inquiry into the Wheeler deeds, and many other episodes in various parts of Queensland, and a general review of the whole treatment of aboriginals.

       Finally, Wheeler was prosecuted, charged with manslaughter and committed for trial, being allowed out on bail of £1,000.

       But no judge or jury or Queensland police ever saw Wheeler any more. He vanished as if the earth had swallowed him. He was said to be well connected and he certainly had some good friends. He was probably out on his own bail, and in that case, took the £1,000 with him on the voyage to London, where some Queenslander saw him live years afterwards.

       So that on your way to Emu Park and Yeppoon, you can gaze at Mt. Wheeler and remember the policeman who did the vanishing trick, and the little Jack Horner who pulled out of the dirt pie the gold plum of 247 ounces.

       And when you are on that Yeppoon hill, look away south to a hill just beyond the mouth of Cooramin Creek, and you will see a heap of red dirt at the mouth of a shaft about 200ft above the sea. That is all that is now left of the once very famous Taranganba gold mine, which was to make Mt. Morgan “pale its ineffectual fires,” and Golconda and the mines of Solomon retire into oblivion.

       In Ross’s Creek, Yeppoon’s cosy safe little harbour, ordinary tides have a rise of 8ft and spring tides go up to 10ft and 12ft. All my figures of depth and distances owe their guaranteed accuracy to my genial courteous friend, the Rockhampton Harbour Master. That navigable creek is one of Yeppoon’s best assets. The hill can be made perfect by removing all prickly pear, having a charming winding road through the scrub to the summit, the apex cleared sufficiently to give a clear lookout with a neat roofed kiosk, and a table and seats for spectators and small picnic parties. A small roof would collect enough rain water for a little tank to supply all needed for drinking. Under no circumstances, or persuasion, should any more of the scrub be cut on those hills.

       Very little commonsense improvement by man would make that sensible resort perfect, for Nature, with a lavish hand, has already made it by far the most attractive watering place in Australia.