Ian Fraser, well-known Canberra naturalist, author, blogger, tour leader and ABC radio presenter, is also a keen reviewer of natural history books (see http://www.botanicalbookshop.com.au/reviews.asp). I was delighted when Ian agreed  to review Southern Cross Safari. Here ’tis.

Southern Cross Safari; around Australia by bus and train

Bruce Gall, Redgum Publishing. 516 pages. RRP $35

This is the tale of a veritable odyssey, and a fascinating tale it is too. It’s a substantial tome moreover, but in the end I returned my library book in favour of Gall’s first venture into publishing. Put simply, this is the account of a journey round Australia, albeit with many detours, with a focus on visiting national parks and reserves, staying in hostels or pubs and using public transport as much as possible (though he hired cars where essential, until guilt got the better of him!).

There are many threads to the book, one of which is his scrutiny with a very professional eye as to how parks are managed, especially with regard to track maintenance and interpretation. Gall has excellent credentials for such observations, having worked in such major parks as Kosciuszko and Sturt and having managed one of the world’s great parks in Kakadu. Further, he has headed the park services of the ACT and Queensland. His observations on signage and track design and maintenance around the country (he is a Very Serious Walker) are sometimes complimentary, sometimes acerbic and always constructive. I hope park managers the country over study the book. However, these asides often break the flow of narrative and could perhaps have been assigned to an appendix, though this is purely a personal opinion.

Another thread concerns the strengths – more often weaknesses – of the nation’s train and bus systems to enable a traveller to get around the country and its reserves, a thread he often allows fellow-travellers, especially backpackers, to make observations on. Again, transport managers could well take note (especially in Tasmania it would seem!). Yet another thread concerns the nature and vagaries of hostel accommodation, a topic most of us don’t get a chance to explore, and gently astute observations on his temporary travelling companions abound.

It is whimsical, lively, astute, with flashes of humour – he’s obviously an excellent informal interviewer and note-taker – and philosophy. My only concern is that he, as a Canberran, omitted any mention of Namadgi National Park or the Canberra Nature Park! Don’t let that put you off though, this could be a minor classic – read it before the movie comes out though.

Happy travelling!

I am delighted to announce, that at 5.50pm on Wednesday 27 May 2015, two pallets of books entered my life. After quick checks – cover colour ok; no inverted text; no pages missing – the books were pronounced saleable. Author and publisher are both doing well. So now, when people ask whether I have a family, I can reply ‘Yes, I have 3 boys and a book!’

There were, of course, several last minute hiccups in the printing, which turned out for the best. For example, when progress stalled while designer Debra and Griffin’s Emma tried to sort out why fractions weren’t printing, I decided to do another final proofread of the already finally proofread document.

The errors one finds when proofreading a travel narrative are intriguing. For example, an incorrect or misspelt place name would only be picked up by readers who live there or are familiar with the place. So, if Bill Bryson incorrectly named an American town, I wouldn’t pick it as an error unless it was obviously misspelt. But if he said ‘East Fuggville’ instead of ‘West Fuggville’, I wouldn’t know it was wrong, but by golly, those West Fuggers certainly would – watch out Bill!

Introduced errors – the ones you make when editing – are a pain in the butt, especially if they are last minute changes because they may escape further scrutiny and get printed. Having done countless hours of editing, rewriting and proofing – and introduced errors several times in the process –  I am well aware of these dangers. When I find an error in a book I am reading, I usually pause to think about how it may have occurred. Often I think it was most likely a last minute change, or the consequence of an earlier change, the editor not realising the potential for flow-on effects.

Simple typos are the worst errors, as every reader will pick them up and wonder why you didn’t! I wrote most of Southern Cross Safari on an ageing computer. Well, that’s not quite right; it was new when I started, but obsolete by the time I penned the final words. Along the way it went on strike, telling me my document was far too big for spell check to work, so from now on I should use a dictionary – or words to that effect. I now use that cheeky laptop for picture storage.

So my last, fast, furious proofread did yield some errors, mainly small ones, but one, along the lines of the Bryson example above, a biggie – was my face red! I’m sure the book will still have mistakes, but hopefully only small ones that most people will read over.

So, the writing/printing/publishing finishes, and the marketing begins – last night! I donated one of my newly minted books to the silent auction at the ACT Conservation Council’s annual fund raising dinner. It sold for $75, well in excess of its $35 RRP, which is a good sign for the future. I also sold several copies to friends who had patiently waited through the birth pangs, so overall it was a good start to my new life as a book seller.

Happy travelling.

I note, with some angst, that it is many days since I last posted. Where does the time go? Well, in this case, it goes to finding a printer for ‘Southern Cross Safari’, my environmental travel narrative.
Most of the people involved in the production of the manuscript – author, editors, designer, map maker, formatter, proof- and beta readers – either live in Canberra, or once did, or have some connection with the National Capital.
So I was keen to find a local printer to maintain this strong Canberra connection, particularly as ‘Canberra’ is one of the threads running through the book.
My first discovery was that digital printing, while good for short runs of little books, doesn’t get much cheaper per unit book for long runs. As I wanted a long run for my big book, we – designer Debra and I – then inquired about offset printing. We found that for long runs (>500 to 1000 books depending on the printer), offset was the way to go.

About this time, I was offered a distribution contract with a Sydney-based company. The standard commission is 30 per cent of the book’s retail price, meaning I would be paid $10.50 for books sold at the RRP of $35. This was useful information as I could now compare potential income with the cost of printing. Unfortunately, the best local printing quote I could get devoured most of the commission, and as a financial venture, was not worth proceeding with.

I had to look beyond the ACT for a more competitive price, so approached Australia’s two biggest print houses, MacPherson’s in Victoria and Griffin in South Australia. Both were competitive but Griffin more so, hence got the job.

I am now  waiting to check the printer’s proof copy before production can begin in earnest. Nearly there!

Now for something different.

For just $2, I recently purchased a second-hand book, Richard Huggett’s ‘The Wit of Publishing’, at Canberra’s famous Lifeline Bookfair. Although a slim book, its 160 pages recount scores of humourous anecdotes about all aspects of publishing.

One of my  favourites – with a local flavour – concerns the late Monica  Dickens, an English writer and great-granddaughter of Charles Dickens.

‘Monica Dickens was signing her latest book in Australia. She took care to find out the name of each customer. A horse-faced woman thrust a copy into her hands, and announced what the author naturally took to be her name. “Emma Chizzit”.

‘Thank you’ said Monica Dickens, and wrote, ‘To Emma Chizzit, with best wishes, Monica Dickens.’

Slightly disconcerted, the woman repeated her name, and it was only after several  angry repetitions, that the author realised that the woman was enquiring after the price.’

Meanwhile, back in contemporary Canberra, we are only one month into autumn, but it feels like winter. We’ve already had a light frost that the basil and tomatoes screwed their leaves at, and today is a miserable, murky, drab affair with a chilly inside temperature of just 16. So, it was ‘flick, flick, flick’ this morning, and on went the in-slab heating. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be as warm as toast – but not as edible.

Happy travelling

Here’s a sample of the real thing – hope you like it.

‘The sleek XPT (eXpress Passenger Train), resplendent in blue, white and yellow livery, was waiting at Central Station. The day’s journey would start with a nostalgic ride through the 22 stations to Beecroft, the names learnt long before the periodic table. For many years I travelled this way to school, then university. Would today’s trip trigger forgotten memories?

First the trains, in those days rusty red and single deck, with green vinyl seats and manual doors – Sydney’s famous ‘red rattlers’, and boy, did they rattle! Hot in summer even with doors and windows open; cold in winter even with doors and windows shut; you couldn’t help but love them. Open doors meant potential disasters. Boys would dare each other to play ‘chicken’ with approaching trains, hanging out with just one hand on the railing, pulling themselves back at the last second.

The memories began here at Central: a summer stop for Sheffield Shield or tests at the Sydney Cricket Ground; in autumn, the Royal Easter Show; in winter, alighting for the rugby league match of the day.

In 1963, I took my girlfriend Peta to the rugby league grand final – it was her first game. St George (Saints) were contesting all three grades. They won third grade, victors over Canterbury, then pipped South Sydney in second grade. And then came the big one, St George versus Western Suburbs for the first-grade title. The crowd erupted as the teams ran onto the ground. Peta turned to me with a worried look and said ‘Those Saints players must be getting tired by now’.

Redfern reminded me of four years of study, alighting here for the 15-minute walk to university, past ancient terrace houses, wrought-iron fences and scraps of garden in Lawson and Abercrombie Streets. The XPT then raced through the inner suburbs – Newtown, Petersham, Summer Hill (where my brother Neil went to school), Croydon, Burwood (where my three sisters kept the family name on the school roll for many years) – before taking on passengers at Strathfield. I thought about a skinny blond kid in short pants and boater hat, getting off here to catch the bus to prep school. Then, coming home with friend Michael, spending a threepenny bit on a raspberry jam and cream tart at the station’s refreshment room – it almost made school worthwhile.

A strong, friendly voice startled me.

‘Mind if I join you?’ asked a fit-looking octogenarian.

‘Please do’ I said, clearing my stuff off the seat.

Col was a talker; I’m a listener. My nostalgic trip was only half over but my new friend was already in full flight. How could I quietly reminisce while absorbing Col’s interesting stories? I compromised, my eyes gazing out the window, my ears tuned to Col – not easy.

After Strathfield, sadness: Arnott’s biscuit factory, closed, a faded sign still proclaiming There is no substitute for quality. Back then, delectable morning aromas of biscuits baking would waft through the carriage, leaving passengers breathing deeply and smiling appreciatively.

North Strathfield, where I first went to school, blurred past, as did Concord West, my first home. And then Rhodes, a riverside suburb that was once an industrial area with chemical factories fouling land, air and water, the stench sickening. As we approached, doors and windows would close and we would take deep breaths, cover our noses with hands or shirtsleeves (ladies used hankies) and try not to breathe till we had left the station. The stink was gone but the malodorous memories lingered. We crossed Parramatta River, then sped through Meadowbank, West Ryde and Denistone, deserted as ever. Next, Eastwood, where my friend Chris lived and my dad had one of his shops. Epping followed, a station I knew well. I had changed schools, trading boater for slouch hat, and bussing from Epping to North Parramatta. The station had also changed, now a major terminus for the Chatswood line.

We approached leafy Cheltenham, crossing the motorway where Devlins Creek had once trickled through rocky bushland – a favourite haunt for small boys catching tadpoles and yabbies. Next the tennis club, the social hub for me and my siblings. My old home was midway between Cheltenham and Beecroft, where I lived after Concord West. The house, ‘Linden’, could be seen from the train and we would wave to mum as we rattled off to school.

‘I used to live up here, Col’ I said, ready to point out one of my fondest memories. It was not to be. The dense bamboo, where neighbour Moya and I built our cubby house, had spread and was now obscuring the house.

I loved living next to a busy railway line, spending many happy hours recording train numbers from my perch on the front gate. Although not aware of it at the time, I witnessed the decade-long change from coal to diesel. I still remember the ungainly Garratt, the most powerful steam train built in Australia, and the elegant, bullet-nosed C38 class locomotives, hurtling past in a cloud of smoke.

Long lines of small, rickety carriages, loaded with sad, bleating sheep, would clank past on their way to Homebush abattoirs. Even if you didn’t see them, you knew they were passing – by the agricultural odour! I always counted carriages – it must be a boy thing, I still do. On the longest trains – 55 to 60 carriages – the engine would disappear around the bend into Beecroft station before the guard’s van came into view.

The train guard – what a job! What did they do? What were they guarding? I imagined a man in shabby uniform, sitting at a table, having nonstop smokos while reading newspapers. The van would be cold in winter, hot in summer, but what a way to earn a quid and see the country. I wanted to be a train guard.

As we slipped past the village green – the local park with its ageless gums and much-loved play equipment – my mind slipped back to 1954. Australia was in a tizz over the visit of the newly crowned Queen Elizabeth and her husband Prince Philip. Beecroft Primary School was next to the park. The Queen was to pass on the royal train; we were to line up and wave joyously. Mrs Paton told us to wear our best uniforms, as befitted ‘meeting’ Her Maj. I wore my Persil-white shirt, pressed grey shorts and shining black shoes, my hair slicked back in a cyclone-proof layer of Brylcreem – I knew a little dab’ll do ya, but I really laid it on for our Queen.

After play-lunch, we crossed to the park for the grand occasion, skipping and laughing and waving our little Australian flags. We lined up at the railway fence; with every passing train, the excitement mounted – we did a lot of practice waving! As a veteran trainspotter, I wondered what sort of train the Queen would be travelling in – steam or diesel? I heard the familiar sound of a diesel labouring up the Beecroft incline, and there it was, the royal train – no old-fashioned steam engine for Elizabeth, no soot in the eye for the Queen of Australia – two diesels, painted royal blue with yellow stripes, proudly pulling its majestic cargo. ‘Wow, blue diesels!’ I cried. My eyes remained riveted on the colourful engines till they slid around the bend to Beecroft station.

It was then I caught sight of a hand, a white-gloved hand, a royal hand, waving to its happy little subjects gathered in the green. As we returned to school, the chatter was ‘Did you see the Duke?’ or ‘Wasn’t she pretty?’, whereas for me it was all about blue diesels, not blue bloods.’

Happy travelling.

I’m continuing last week’s political theme as our Prime Minister continues to amaze his already bewildered subjects. On Australia Day – 26 January 2015 – Mr Abbott made the bizarre announcement that he was awarding an Australian knighthood to Prince Phillip, the Duke of Edinburgh and husband of our long-serving Queen Elizabeth. I won’t discuss this in detail as my readers who do not live in Commonwealth countries will quickly look for something more interesting  to read. Suffice to say, Australians were gobsmacked by this news as Phil the Prince is not highly regarded Down Under.

However, there was a time when Sir Prince Phil was one of our leading environmentalists, as the following extract from the Australian Conservation Foundation website demonstrates.

‘In 1963, distinguished entomologist Francis Ratcliffe was inspired by a memo from the Duke of Edinburgh. He consulted with his CSIRO colleagues and alongside conservationists and community leaders, worked to establish a national conservation body.

The memo was actually a request for help to start a World Wildlife Fund branch in Australia, but instead led to the accidental start of the Australian Conservation Foundation.’

So what’s that got to do with ‘Southern Cross Safari’? Plenty. I was staying in Albany, a delightful regional centre in the southwest of Western Australia.

‘I left for Two Peoples Bay [having just seen a rock parrot at Gull Rock.] Red-capped and ‘twenty-eight’ parrots along with western rosellas raised the day’s parrot count to four. Two Peoples Bay Road passed through farmland, then traversed a section of the reserve for a short distance, before returning to farmland. A long-tailed, canary-yellow parrot flashed across the road. ‘Wow, what was that?’ I exclaimed, stopping to check my bird guide. A regent parrot – my ‘parrot’ day just kept getting better.

When I noticed the timber guideposts and traffic signs were painted ‘nature reserve’ green, I realised I was back in the park. It felt like a well-managed area, a feeling reinforced when I came to a bright, spacious information centre.

It’s unusual for a nature reserve – in contrast to a national park – to have such a high profile, so I explored the display to find out why. It’s all about the noisy scrub-bird. In 1842, naturalist John Gilbert discovered the species in the Darling Ranges west of Perth, and also near Augusta. The following year, Gilbert found them near Albany, though it took him several days of waiting in dense scrub in the rain before [he] caught a glimpse of the elusive bird. He said no bird … has cost him so much in time and patience.

By 1920, after many failed attempts to re-locate the scrub-bird, scientists feared it might be extinct. However, in December 1961, Albany schoolteacher Harley Webster heard a call that really made my ears ring. Convinced it was the ‘extinct’ scrub-bird, Webster spent the next two days searching, confirming his suspicions on 19 December.

It was a fortuitous sighting; the state government was close to approving a townsite at Two Peoples Bay. The politicians were more interested in development than conservation, so despite intense lobbying, they approved the new town in 1962, leaving only a small area for the scrub-bird. News of the decision reached Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. He asked the government to reconsider the decision. This royal intervention was successful and the town proposal was abandoned. The reserve, now covering nearly 5000 ha, was established in 1966.’

Prince Phillip subsequently became president of Australian Conservation Foundation from 1971 to 1976.

In the furore over Prince Phillip’s knighthood, there was no mention of his significant contribution to nature conservation in Australia during the 1960s and 1970s. In this little, obscure blog, I have now redressed this omission.

Happy travelling.