As Victoria burned during the horror 2009 bushfires, the world gasped as one when heartwarming footage emerged of a brave koala guzzling water from a drink bottle. Sam, as her admirers came to know her, climbed out of the flames and into our hearts. The plucky little survivor became the furry face of the tragedy; a chubby-cheeked sliver of hope.
Sadly, Sam soon passed away from chlamydia (it happens to the best of us), but she was not to be forgotten. The owners of another famous Victorian marsupial – The Giant Koala in Dadswells Bridge – made the stirring decision to rename the statue Sam, in honour of Australia’s favourite bushfire survivor.
Assigned male at birth, it was a moment of clarity for the 14-storey-tall rural icon. But the story of this beloved arboreal herbivore goes back much further than that. Way back to the the late-1980s, when a couple of visionaries had a dream to erect a gormless koala on a lonely stretch of the Western Highway, halfway between Melbourne and Adelaide, smack dab in the middle of nowhere.
Grab a bottle of water, load up on gum leaves, and settle in for the mesmerising story of Sam the Giant Koala.
How much can a koala bear?
With a population of 69 people (and a few koalas), Dadswells Bridge has never been a hive of activity. So in early-1988, local legends Beryl and Jim Cowling did something drastic to draw visitors to their salubrious Koala Kountry Motor Inn and the adjoining roadhouse.
Inspired by the success of other icons such as Ploddy the Dinosaur and Scotty the Big Scotsman, they tapped Ben van Zetten – yes, he responsible for the ruggedly handsome Map the Miner – to build them a koala of immense proportions. Sure, they could’ve gone for two-for-one schnitzels on Tuesdays and some of those flappy tube men, but I’m glad they decided to go BIG instead.
The Giant Koala was constructed on site out of koala-ty materials including bronze and fibreglass, wrapped around an immense steel structure. The head was built separately and attached crane at a later date, with a revolutionary fibreglass paste used to create the koala’s eerily-realistic fur.
There’s even a viewing platform inside the koala’s beautiful bonce, but it never opened because of the lack of a fire exit. Honestly, the risk of burning to death in a concrete sarcophagus is a small price to pay to be able to peer out of a giant koala’s eyes.
The plump, maudlin beastie took almost a year to complete, which is much longer than it takes for a real koala to gestate. But they’re born visionless, hairless and fairly useless, so it’s a good thing Ben took the extra time to get things just right.
The Giant Koala opened to rapturous applause in December of 1988 (what a Christmas present!) and proved so popular that – in a moment none present shall ever forget – the gift shop ran out of koala-shaped key chains. There were even rumours the population of Dadswells Bridge might expand to 70 people.
Let’s see schnitzel night achieve that sort of success!
All’s well that Dadswells
Imagine my surprise when I arrived in Dadswells one balmy summer afternoon to find no cars full of koala-obsessed groupies backed up bumper-to-bumper across the bridge. No riots outside the motel as the ‘no vacancy’ sign went up. Not even a braying mob jostling for position to take a photo with the village’s most famous resident.
The Giant Koala, to my dismay, was abandoned. Gordon was reduced to a blubbering mess as well, and not without reason. Our journey to rural Victoria served as a pilgrimage for our adopted son Rory, who identifies as a koala and uses Blinky/Bill pronouns. As co-parents, Gordon and I agree that it’s important for Rory to interact with other members of the LGBTQIA+ (lesser bilby, glider, bandicoot, Tasmanian devil, quokka, island kangaroo, antechinus) community as he discovers his true self.
We’ve also taken Rory to visit the Big Koala Family in Port Macquarie, of course, and shared stories of our dalliances with Phascolarctidaes in Salt Ash and Doonside, New South Wales. But I digress.
Rory was devastated to discover the gift shop betwixt Sam’s powerful hind claws shuttered, but found solace inside the nearby Koala Tavern, with its small selection of souvenirs. After a hearty steak sandwich and an oh-so-creamy cappuccino, he was ready to open up his heart to us.
“Dads,” Rory said quietly, choosing Blinky/Bill’s words carefully. “Your commitment to helping me discover my species identity means the world to me, but my burgeoning mammalia dysphoria may dictate that I won’t always want to be a koala. Perhaps I’ll transition into a platypus, or even another genus entirely – like a snake. It’s a little scary, a little thrilling, but it’s my unique story – and I’m alright with that.”
“Maybe you’ll choose to identify as a handsome, charismatic alien, like your old man?” said Gordon with a small shrug.
“There’s always a chance, Pops,” our trans-species offspring replied with a sanguine smile. “As long as I have your support and a healthy dose of species-affirming hormone therapy, I can’t go wrong. I don’t know what I am just yet, but I do know who I am. I’m Rory, and I’m loved.”
“You are loved, Rory,” I wept, ruffling the ragamuffin’s fur as the three of us cuddled in Sam’s shadow. “And you’ll always have a home here in the Land of the Bigs.”
