Records At Dederang

Traditions like the Dederang picnic races should never be allowed to die.

They define grass roots racing and have much importance in the social life of the country communities around them. They are quintessential Australia.

Attendance at a picnic race meeting should have been a compulsory element in John Howard’s immigrant orientation. It gives a better insight into Australianness than knowing who the Queen’s representative is. Every red-blooded Aussie should go at least once in their lifetime. Our own version of the Hajj.

About 4,000 braved the near 40-degree heat to enjoy a festive day at Dederang on Saturday where the club was established in 1865. It was touch and go whether this year’s meeting would go ahead, what with the EI scare and everything. Bio-security measures (some orange tapes and barricades) were in place. Security personnel who looked like local yokels with fancy vests on were there to make sure people didn’t go where they weren’t supposed to. Someone must have told them I was coming from over the border.

Half the crowd probably never saw a race – there aren’t too many good vantage points – but that’s not important. It’s a big day out for family and friends. A handful of businesses, service organisations and local identities entertained their guests in a clutch of marquees down by the caravan park. Most people desperately sought relief from the sun under trees and shade tents while the concessions flogged their ice creams, baked potatoes, booze and local foodstuffs to a constant stream of customers.

Fashions On The Field, which took place up behind the old tennis court, was keenly contested. The winner, whose name and telephone number I did not obtain, wore a simple purple dress and hat and displayed plenty of sunblocked cleavage and shoulder. However I reckon it was definitely her leopard-skin shoes and matching handbag, bought no doubt on a shopping expedition to Wodonga, that won the day for her.

Young ladies were everywhere in their skin tight outfits or in ensembles cobbled together from whatever was clean in their wardrobes that morning. Halfway houses between fashion statements and fancy dress. They teetered over the gravel and grass in their high heels, risking broken ankles, and were attended by lots of boozy young blokes in t-shirts, baggies, sunnies, carefully messed up hair and with stubbies in hand. One guy turned up in full Derby Day regalia and he must have been sweating like a pig.

Nobody cared that amongst the six races, two had only three starters. Nobody cared than in the first race, a three horse affair, the 3-to1-on favourite bucked for the first 50 yards and had no hope thereafter.

There are 28 men and women on the club’s committee. Everyone rolls up their sleeves in Dederang. Amongst the officials there is a Scratching Board Steward. It wasn’t easy to find the Scratching Board. There’s no photo finish camera at Dederang and no stewards’ towers. The TAB was hooked up to the three phase and the bookies’ ring was crammed all day. I’m told you can get set for a lot of money at the picnics, not like in Sydney where you’re lucky to get $200 on if you fancy one at Kembla. One bookie brought along his fancy new digital screen of the likes you see in the ring at Randwick, others displayed hand-written boards, twiddled their knobs and pencilled the ticket as in days of old. You could bet from Mudgee to Perth and apart from the occasional TV outage caused by the whole place over-heating, you could see and hear all the action.

Dederang (population too few to count) is picture book stuff, God’s country. The racecourse nestles on the floor of the gorgeous Kiewa Valley at the head of which lie some of the best ski fields in the Victorian alps. The track is about 1600m, narrow, with a savage uphill run from the foot of the home straight, past the winning post to the start of the back straight. Must be a 20 or 30 metres incline. You can’t see much action in the back straight, too many trees block the view.

The setting and atmosphere reek of Banjo Paterson. There’s a dilapidated golf course in and around the track plus a smattering of other recreational amenities. The 1650m start point is adjacent to the 1st and 10th tee, a par 4 of 280 metres. It’s $10 to get in, $3 the racebook, everything else half city prices and double the quantities. My admission ticket appeared to have a date stamped on it ‘1985’. City clubs should note the lack of waste.

My host for the weekend, David, farms in the neighbouring locality of Gundowring (population too few to count) on an historic property, ‘Springbank’, bought a few years ago from Mel Gibson. Go to the top of the hills at ‘Springbank’ and you can see right to Falls Creek and beyond, a breathtaking vista. David and wife Chris built a magnificent one-level homestead last year. They run black cattle and a few horses, and never get fed up with the to-die-for views.

David’s horse won the Dederang Cup last year and would have been the third back-to-back winner in the last 20 years but missed on Saturday by three-quarters of a length. He had a modest 71.5 kgs aboard and gave the winner, who came up all the way from Kilmore, 9.5kgs. Got too far back off a moderate pace and the leader had too much gas in the tank when they started the uphill climb to the post. Revenge will be sought in the Balnarring Cup on Australia Day.

One of David’s multiple G1 winning racehorses, now retired to his farm in the valley, led the Cup field onto the track. He looked good enough to win but god knows what weight he would have got! He took one look at the barrier stalls and propped. You could read his mind: oh no, buddy, after 60 starts you’re not getting me near that contraption again.

A young lady rider named Courtney Pace won four of the six races including both features. She sits nicely on a horse. One of her male rivals told me later a couple of her mounts had been ‘specials’. I think it pays to be in the know at these meetings. Global Harmony had not run a place in 21 starts but still started in the red and romped in. Grimhuntamug, a spritely 11-year-old, confounded the experts when beating two youthful seven-year-olds in the other three horse race. There was no judicial enquiry, even though ex VRC Chief Steward Pat Lalor was on track. He’s a picnics fan and has had a bit to do with the Healesville club in the Yarra Valley in his retirement.

The 1050m track record was broken twice. I was privileged to see what might be a world record. The Lanz, a pretty good sprinter on his day (winner of $222,800) was much too good in the open 1050m. The nine-year-old was fresh up since April. His time of 56.2 seconds, the new track record, must be a case of stopwatch heatstroke, or they shifted the barrier. The timekeeper is shown in the racebook as someone called R.V.L. That's collective responsibility for you. Not only did The Lanz have to run uphill for the last 200m but he also carried 76 kgs, or 12 stone in the old money. On his time, he would have beaten my old mate Zephyr Bay by 50 metres at Randwick. Mind you, the pair have something in common – Biscay is the sire of Zephyr Bay and the great-grandsire of The Lanz.

When the horse sports finished the other sports began. There was the Madmen’s Mile. Insane people of all ages ran a lap of the track in tortuous heat just for honour and glory. Some took the short way and cut through the middle. There was a tug of war, blokes v. sheilas or was it Dederang v. the rest? Everyone competing in the Madman’s Mile and the tug-of-war had to first sign a declaration absolving the club of liability in case they hurt themselves or keeled over with a heart attack.

Then there was the dog jumping competition staged in the mounting yard in front of the club house.

Dog jumping is taken seriously around here. These athletes really know what’s expected of them. A few little fellas, a Jack Russell and the likes, went first. As they cleared each height successfully – they were allowed three attempts at each - another plank of wood was added to the obstacle until they could clear it no more.

The outright winner, and the only larger dog amongst a disappointingly low entry, was By Crikey. A kelpie, she finally scrambled over a 6’3 ½” wall, whatever that is in metrics, to land safely on the hay bales on the other side. As long as she can get her front claws onto that wood, she can scramble over anything but I bet her belly is sore today. They ran out of planks and couldn’t make the obstacle any higher, so she retired undefeated. Like The Lanz in the uphill 1050m, I suspect that is a world record for kelpie jumping. Her proud owner was overwhelmed: By Crikey, who in past years had revealed jumping talent, had come ‘straight out of the paddock’ and had no special practice going into this competition. Unbelievable! Every time By Crikey got over safely, cheered on by the very knowledgeable crowd, the little dogs who were knocked out at one metre mark also wildly barked their approval, I kid you not.

I must say I saw no signs of drunken or disorderly behaviour, no mean feat given the day’s testing conditions. The one local policeman, who knows everyone by their first name, and a buddy seconded from another locality, positioned their cars outside the front gate to test the roadworthiness of departing drivers. Their flashing coloured lights got plenty of exercise but as I had slipped out a conveniently available side gate I don’t know if they made many bookings. Safely through that hazard, most people made a beeline for the Dederang Hotel a kilometer up the road, just to have one to lay the dust. One guy said to me on Sunday he didn’t know a pub could hold so much beer. And they did 140 meals at the pub on Saturday night which may also be a Dederang record.

My host David had a crowd of 70 coming for a barbecue and shindig the day after the races. Everyone will get drunk on the magnificent views and on the fine Gundowringla reds – 2002 cab sav, 2004 shiraz viognier – made by young vintner Mark Adams. Willie Nelson was making a guest appearance at the party (David swears it’s Willie Nelson and nothing would surprise me) and the band will be playing into the wee smalls.