The May carnival at The 'Bool is the stuff of legend among Australia's racing fraternity. Indeed, in equine circles, the name 'Warrnambool' signifies not harpoon, lance nor oily cries of 'Chimney's afire!', nor the lonely lighthouse's sporadic distinction of blackest rock from blackest night; but instead timber fences topped with brush and cleared with courage, and the stormy prospect of yet another night holding up the bar at the Whalers Inn, armed with bended elbow, exaggerated punting yarn, a
The May carnival at The 'Bool is the stuff of legend among Australia's racing fraternity. Indeed, in equine circles, the name 'Warrnambool' signifies not harpoon, lance nor oily cries of 'Chimney's afire!', nor the lonely lighthouse's sporadic distinction of blackest rock from blackest night; but instead timber fences topped with brush and cleared with courage, and the stormy prospect of yet another night holding up the bar at the Whalers Inn, armed with bended elbow, exaggerated punting yarn, and a melancholic red-eyed longing for the restful reprieve of a good sea burial, for surely even death would be fathoms better than sinking another drop - let alone schooner - of the publican's once-fine ale?
Last week was my first carnival experience in Western Victoria's most iconic coastal town, and I sincerely hope it is not my last. The sense of community pervading the track was incredible. You could literally stroll up to anyone and have a potted discussion about which of the local contingent had been specifically set for hometown glory in the next, or from which food stand one might procure the course's finest, most-expertly grilled chicken burger. Though I was only in attendance for the first day and night - having in the frosted morning driven the beleaguered rib of road that links Cressy and Camperdown and negotiates the endless yawning grey that is Lake Corangamite - it felt like far longer. Jumps racing will always be a controversial topic in Victoria - perhaps until, inevitably, the last jumps race is run - and I was exposed to both its thrilling best (a truly epic Brierley Steeple) and heart-rending worst (the unfortunate death of Shine The Armour in the first), at this track where the inaugural Grand Annual Steeplechase was claimed by Prior in 1872. 140 years is a lot of history, but as this year's event proved with just two runners managing to complete the course, 5500m and 33 fences is a lot of running and jumping.
From a punting perspective, it's fair to say my day was undulating, like the Southern Ocean. Things started well with A City Girl - partially-owned by my colleague Farmer Dixon and the original inspiration for setting foot on the 'Bool's hallowed turf - running a bold race to finish 3rd at $4.20 the drum, despite enduring a wide run. The biggest on-course whisper for the day was for local Royal Katsu in the seventh, with pretty much everyone I spoke to mentioning that it was a good thing before unfurling their mainsail and churning towards the betting ring. So loud was this whisper, in fact, that it must have either deafened me or thrust the ravages of amnesia upon me, as I somehow neglected to mark his number 15 in the first leg of my Quaddie ticket. He won well and scuppered said Quaddie, but I at least managed a collect with runner-up Be Tolerant at $6.00 the place. My biggest go was on Irish High King, who ran okay but was comfortably beaten into second behind yet another local, Sagwala. The 100/1 pop East Versus West upsetting them all in the last was perhaps a sign of things to come, as by then that 11am Crownie had kicked in, and my proverbial ship was listing dramatically. But forge on indefatigably into those rugged seas I did, and a fantastic time was had in the warm raucous pubs that night.
The rest of the carnival wended its natural course without me, and I unfortunately missed Tinamou's dominant Cup win, who - incredibly - saluted for the third consecutive year on the Thursday. Next time, however, I pledge to be barnacled to the craggy mahogany hull of this charismatic festival of horse for the duration.