Daily Photo – Balclutha
I’d left the heavy cloud cover behind and near a place called Stony Creek I found myself pushing through a dense layer of fog. As I approached the town of Balclutha, the morning fog became fine mist, the mist turned to drizzle, and then hard rain – before the murk suddenly cleared, leaving an overcast, gray blanket hanging low over the town where the sky used to be.
I had it in mind to get a photo of the Balclutha Bridge from up on the hill with State Highway 1 winding its way down the gentle slope to meet the bridge, the rural town neatly placed on the other side. However, this proved impossible as both the slope of the hill and the layout of the road were different from what I remembered. Either that, or in the last couple of months they’d excavated the hill, moved the bridge and realigned State Highway 1. Something that seemed a tad unlikely, even with a progressive town council.
Instead, I pulled into a spot called Arthur Strang Reserve. The rain had left the ground muddy, with small puddles merging on the edge of the walkway. I wandered to the edge of the Clutha River, watched the river flowing under the town’s main feature, the Balclutha Bridge. Built in the early 1930s, the bridge is a sort of make-shift landmark once described as majestic, handsome and a joy forever. Mind you, they said something similar about the Beehive in Wellington, and that’s just an oversized wedding cake dropped on a lawn. A bridge for the town came into existence when the locals got sick of having to cross the swift river by way of ferry, that was until the wooden structure was swept away in a flood, not more than ten years after it was built. Its replacement also appears to have been somewhat lacking, as it was not considered to be completely sound, safe or sturdy before it too was replaced by the current concrete structure which greets (or farewells) visitors to the rural community. On a fine day it’s an impressive and beautiful landmark. This wasn’t a fine day!
I wandered back along the path toward the car, hopping over puddles as I went. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an empty Durex packet, half a dozen crushed Woodstock bourbon cans, and a crumpled Mrs Mac’s Beef, Cheese and Bacon Pie wrapper. Clearly, some people find ninety-year-old concrete structures far more exciting than I do, I thought. Either that, or I’d just innocently strolled through the local teenage pickup spot – probably dubbed ‘copulation point’ by the youth of Balclutha. Either way – it looked like some people had been having a very good time – something that can’t always be said about Balclutha in the middle of winter.
