Tag: Gordon

  • The Big Trout, Oberon, NSW

    The Big Trout, Oberon, New South Wales, Australia

    Want to enjoy a scrumptious Chinese dinner whilst admiring an enormous fish? Then head to the charming haven of Oberon, New South Wales, where you can have a photo with The Big Trout as you wipe succulent sweet ‘n’ sour sauce from your chin.

    The scaly scamp, with his flabbergasted expression, lives in front of the Oberon Rainbow Chinese Restaurant and the adjoining Big Trout Motor Inn. He arrived in 1989, a few months after the hotel opened, and has become a beloved symbol of the village, which is famous for fly fishing.

    Why anyone would want to fish for flies, I don’t know – teehee!

    The Trout may not be as large, famous or – let’s face it – handsome as that other Big Trout in Adaminaby, but he radiates with a folksy charm that could warm up the coldest Oberon morning.

    The Big Trout was refurb-fished in 2012, with the motel’s owners casting a wide net to find the right man for the job. That turned out to be local artist Mark Taylor, who not only tackled the task of repainting the fish, but also added the gorgeous mural behind him.

    Thankfully, The Big Trout is in good hands (which is ironic because, being a fish, he doesn’t have any). The motel and restaurant were sold a few years ago, with Chandra and Pav Ratnam taking over the fish-ility in 2020.

    They’ve splashed the cash renovating the hotel’s rooms, so you can spend all night peering out the window at their wet wunderkind, with all the comfort of clean bedsheets and reverse cycle air-conditioning.

    Chan and Pav, your spacious and well-appointed rooms really are the catch of the day!

    A Big Fish In A Small Pond (but it’s empty, so you can get up close and perch-onal for a photo)

    My chum, Gordon, is hooked on fly fishing, so it didn’t take much to convince him to head to Oberon with me. After spending the day with our rods in our hands we were famished, so we splashed off to the Rainbow Chinese for the deep-fried duck with plum sauce and a side of hot chips.

    No seafood for me – I didn’t want to upset the big guy out the front!

    The restaurant is is popular with the locals, so there was a long (fishing) line out the door, but it was definitely worth the bait. Fresh and juicy lamb, pork and chicken, with just the right amount of Oriental tang, tantalise the tastebuds.

    Unfortunately, things soon took a distasteful turn – and I’m not talking about the Szechuan beef, which was magnificent.

    Wanting to show off to his angling buddies, Gordon took to drinking like a fish. Inebriated on rice wine, he stumbled out of the restaurant and started breakdancing beneath the bosom of The Big Trout. Our finned friend, unaccustomed to such boorish behaviour, must’ve mistaken Gordon for a chubby little mealworm, and tried to eat him.

    Trouty, I’ve shared a car with Gordon after he’s had a Chinese feast – so trust me, you don’t want to do that!

    Showing nerves of steel, I grabbed the nearest Ugly Stik and rescued Gordon from the oversized mackerel’s jaws. A cacophony of cheers from the other diners, however, soon gave way to judgemental jeers at the small alien’s vulgar exploits.

    Fortunately, he passed out shortly after I took him back to our room, and I was able to finish my meal and go back to gawping at the big, concrete fish.

    Here is my handle, here is my trout

    When he woke up in our conservatively-priced twin cabana the next morning, Gordon was feeling a bit green about the gills.

    “I’m so embarrassed, I just want to get out of here,” he mumbled, putting on a pair of dark sunglasses. As I smuggled him out of there, Gordon barely even acknowledged The Big Trout. I know it’s a bad hangover when he can’t even be bothered worshipping an overside roadside attraction.

    Reversing the Bigsmobile out of the driveway, a hairy landed upon mine.
    “Don’t forgot my Mongolian lamb with a side of dim sims before we leave,” Gordon grumbled, jabbing a finger at the restaurant. I grinned at him and took off my seatbelt.
    “And some spring rolls?” I asked.
    “Of course, Bigs, and the special fried rice,” he chortled, before giving The Big Trout a cheeky wink. “Oberon out!”

  • The Big Footy, Ungarie, NSW

    The Big Footy, Ungarie, New South Wales, Australia

    Ungarie, a speck of a town hidden in the scrub between West Wyalong and Lake Cargellio, is remarkable for two reasons. Firstly, the Daniher brothers, a quartet of fearsome footballers who rose from obscurity to become the most celebrated sportsmen in the country.

    Secondly – and most notably – The Big Footy, which was built in their honour and looms large over the sleepy village of less than 400 people.

    Terry, Anthony, Neale and Chris Daniher made their marks with the Essendon Bombers, and in 1990 became the first set of four brothers take the field together. All up, the gang played 752 games in the AFL. Their legend has only grown in Ungarie, where the lads have taken on almost mythical status.

    The Big Footy, which is five metres long and weighs 800kg, was revealed to the public just after specky – oops, make that brekky! – on March 10, 2018. There must’ve been a lot of people calling out, “Baaaaall!” that day!

    “It’s very much indeed an honour,” Terry told a clearly-impressed reporter from the ABC. “It’s not something we ever thought would happen, but I think it’s wonderful.”

    “The Big Footy is great for our family but also for the community,” Neale added. “Ungarie is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere but a big-hearted community. If this means a few more people stop in town, that’d be a good thing.”

    More Than A Game

    Andrew Gordon and a couple of mates built The Big Footy in a workshop in Albury. Working with steel and fiberglass, the boys obviously had a ball making it!

    “The three of us have been working pretty hard. It had to be done and it had to be right,” Andy chirped after unveiling his creation, which cost just $60,000 – about the price of a pie at the MCG these days. “We started in September and the last 20 per cent of the job took 80 per cent of the time, which I guess is always the case.”

    You always give it 110 per cent, mate!

    “I reckon the last month or so, there weren’t many finishes before midnight and plenty and 1am and 2am finishes,” he added. “I wanted it to be as perfect as possible, and I’d say it’s perfect enough – but only just.”

    Thanks for ‘sherrin’ that story with the world, Andy!

    Up there, Bigs Bardot! Have a go, ya mug!

    Egged on by my travel buddy/personal concierge Gordon (the cherubic alien, not the chap who built this Big), I kitted up in a traditional Aussie Rules tunic for a photo sesh with The Big Footy.

    “36-24-36 – hike!” I chuckled as I played kick-to-kick with my petite friend, deftly goose-stepping around the verdant grounds of downtown Ungarie.

    As I was catching my breath, a funny little man trotted over with a look of astonishment on his face.

    “Bigs, I’ve never seen a display of athleticism quite like that,” the fellow gasped. “My name’s Eugene Kransky and I’m a talent scout for the Sydney Swans. I’d like to offer you a $5 million contract and a three-bedroom apartment overlooking the harbour.”

    The little guy held out a contract and a pen, hopeful tears pricking at his eyes, and my heart broke for him.

    “Eugene,” I said gently, “I appreciate your offer, but you know my loyalty lies with with the Big Things of Australia. Becoming a highly-paid sporting idol and sex symbol would just get in the way.”

    “Bigs, please,” Eugene wept. “The Super Bowl is this weekend, and we’re no chance of winning it without you. The whole country’s counting on you, mate.”

    “Alright, Eugene, keep your wig on,” I reassured him, as we walked into the sunset. “But make it $10 million, and I demand you sign Ernie the Shepparton Giant to be our wicket keeper.”

  • Lizzo the Lizard, Somersby, NSW

    Lizzo the Big Lizard, Somersby, New South Wales, Australia

    It’s Big Thing o’clock, yeah, it’s lizard-thirty
    I’m here in Somersby and it’s real purty (okay)
    Is everybody set for someone scaly?
    Who you can visit all up on the daily
    Lizzo can make you smile quite gayly
    How you feelin’? How you feel right now?

    Ooooh, Lizzo the Big Lizard’s a treasure
    Find her near the Aus Reptile Park, yeah
    Oh, she’s not the creature she was or used to be
    Uh, Biggies, she’s even better!

    Turn up Pile Street, then on the right
    I got a feelin’ you’ll see something nice
    Okay (okay), alright
    It’s about damn time!
    Stop for a photo, yes that’s the way!
    I got a feelin’ she’s gon’ make your day
    Okay (okay), alright
    Lizzo is damn fine!

    In a minute, you’ll go completely mental
    ‘Cos Ploddy‘s nearby to pump you up
    So is Frilly, she’ll make you feel really silly
    But remember you’re fabulous
    I enjoyed Lizzo so dang much
    I split into like two Bigs Bardots
    One to get up, one to get down
    Both will help you smile, not frown

    Ooooh, Lizzo the Big Lizard’s a treasure
    With her frilled neck and toothy smile, yeah
    Oh, she’s not the creature she was or used to be
    Uh, Biggies, she’s even better!

    Liz might be ageing, but don’t have a fright
    I got a feelin’ she’s gon’ be alright
    Okay (okay), alright
    Oh yeah she’ll be fine (fine)
    Older Big Lizards can, still celebrate (alright)
    I got a feelin’ Lizzo wants to go out and play
    Okay (okay), alright
    She’s still in her prime

    Lizzo’s comin’ out tonight, she’s comin’ out tonight (uh-huh)
    To Club Troppo tonight, ‘cos it’s Saturday night (wooooo!)
    Vodka Cruisers tonight, get in a fight tonight
    Okay (okay), alright (alright)
    It’s Troppo time!
    Club Troppo’s closed tonight, (oh no) has been since ’06, why? (closed since ’06, why?)
    Nowhere to go tonight, Gosford is dead tonight (woo)
    Need a plan for tonight, let’s break the time-space continuum tonight (break the time-space continuum tonight)
    Okay (okay), alright
    Let’s go back in time!

    And that’s the story of how Lizzo the Big Lizard, Bigs Bardot the much-loved roadside attraction savant, Gordon the rambunctious alien, Gideon the gooey guacamole, and Bigs Bardot’s evil-yet-whimsically-handsome clone invented time travel, just so they could head back to 2001 and dance to Craig David’s 7 Days whilst sucking on watered-down frozen cocktails and avoiding the near-constant dancefloor scuffles at the legendary Club Troppo.

    A brief note on Lizzo’s current legal situation

    It’s recently been brought to my attention that Lizzo – the remarkably talented, deliciously robust, African American pop singer, not the remarkably large, deliciously anatomically accurate, Indigenous Australian lizard – has been cancelled due to some rather serious sexual misconduct charges.

    Please be aware that the passionate and diverse Land of the Bigs team does not condone such behaviour. After months of negotiations with the Australian Reptile Park, I’ve been assured that Lizzo’s open invitation to the Quoll Experience has been revoked.

    Woo child, we’re just sick of your bulldust.

  • The Big Mower, Beerwah, QLD

    The Big Mower, Beerwah, Queensland, Australia

    Tidying up the backyard can be as exciting as watching grass grow – unless you have the world’s largest mower! Yes, the lawn and the short of it is that Beerwah’s Big Mower is a grass-terclass in roadside architecture and a true celebration of Aussie culture.

    Not much information exists regarding The Big Mower – just a few clippings here and there – but we do know it was built in 1974 and stands a 11m by 3.6m (or 12 yards tall for my American fans). Originally emblazoned with a Honda logo, the Mower had started looking a bit rough around the hedges in recent shears.

    With a fresh coat of paint, it now proudly bears Victa branding. Anything else, apparently, is on a need-to-mow-basis.

    The Big Mower rests peacefully outside a lawncare shop known, quite appropriately, as The Big Mower. The boutique went under the hammer in 2024 for the bargain price of $1,750,000. I had a bit of a snipper round for funds, but ended up $1,749,950 short. Oh well, maybe the wheels will fall off the business and they’ll cut the price.

    The store has the perfect mower for any occasion, which must be fantastic if you have a big, burly man in your life who’s ready and willing to use it to chop the buffalo grass. I, unfortunately, have Gordon, who would rather sit around guzzling cheap beer and watching professional wrestling bloopers on his phone than keeping a trim and presentable front yard.

    Oh well, Raoul the yard boy was more than happy to pop around to manicure my garden. His technique was impeccable, his attention to detail second to none. And you won’t believe what he did to my rhododendrons. In fact, Raoul might need to come over and cut Gordon’s grass once a week!

    BONUS BIG JOKE

    Q: Why was The Big Mower so cranky?
    A: He was tired of being pushed around!

  • The Big Rocking Horse, Gumeracha, SA

    The Big Rocking Horse, Gumeracha, South Australia

    To journey into the Land of the Bigs is to see the world through the eyes of a child, with all the wonder and excitement that brings. The massive melons and mega marsupials, scattered haphazardly across Australia like toys on a playmat, harken back to a more innocent age. They make us feel small again.

    Never is this more true than when standing in the shadows of Gumeracha’s Big Rocking Horse.

    Rising 18 metres above the verdant knolls of the Adelaide Hills, this 25-tonne pony is a grandiose tribute to the playful, whimsical and – dare I say it – immature nature of the locals. Upon first seeing the Rocking Horse, who reins supreme from above the treetops, one can’t help but be overwhelmed by his immense size and robust, idiosyncratic construction.

    But the full majesty of this Big can only be appreciated by clambering to the viewing platform atop his handsome head. This epic endeavour costs just $2, and those valiant enough to make the journey shall be rewarded with a certificate. Yes, there’ll only be one long face when you’re atop The Big Rocking Horse, and it shan’t be yours!

    If nothing else can convince you to load up the wagon and gallop over to Adelaide, consider this your invitation. As local singer-songwriter – and lifetime admire of all things Big – Paul Kelly once sang,

    All the Big Horses and all the Big Men
    Would certainly drag me back again
    To Adelaide for some orange marmalade, sitting by The Big Apple in the shade, thanks to The Big Hills Hoist my day’s been made

    Or something like that. Thanks, Paul!

    Between a Rocking Horse and a Hard Place

    With his carefree grin and enchanting eyes, you could be forgiven for thinking this Big has nary a care in the world. Living so close to Scotty the Big Scotsman and The Big Pigeon, why would he? There is, however, a rocky story behind this horse.

    When local businessman Wal Wilkinson opened a toy shop in Gumeracha in 1973, he was not met by the expected scenes of jolly jubilation. Facing an uphill saddle to attract customers, he dug into his toybox and produced a kinda-sorta-large effigy of a giraffe, which he plopped outside the front door.

    When this foaled – oops, I mean failed! – to yield results, he turned to a series of wooden rocking horses, the first three metres tall, the second five. They drew in a few curious onlookers, but one thing had become abundantly clear; if Wal wanted to make it big, he had to go BIG.

    In 1980, Wal enlisted David McIntosh Taylor, a structural engineer of great repute, to build a gee-gee large enough for people to climb. A night-mare task for some, but not for this savant of roadside attractions. Not wanting to rock the boat, David rolled with the request, and the resultant stallion took eight months to build at the respectable cost of $100,000.

    Criminy, you wouldn’t be able to get a Bangladeshi-made hobby-horse for that price these days!

    The brumby-lievably big bronco was officially opened in 1981, and immediately became a colt hero. Wal’s vision was off to the races, and his business was finally financially stable.

    Disaster struck in 1999, however, when the viewing platform was shuttered after a youngster, brimming with youthful exuberance, took a tumble whist navigating the Rocking Horse’s labyrinthine staircase. A tragedy, sure, but is the potential for a few maimed kiddies reason enough to prevent the rest of us from enjoying the view?

    Oh, you think I’m being selfish? Get off your high horse and quit nagging me!

    It’s Only Rockin’ Horse (But I Like It)

    The Big Rocking Horse has been bought and sold more times than a narcoleptic racehorse. The complex was sold to dapper South African chap Anthony Miller for almost a million dollars in 2004, who subsequently passed it on to fellow Saffers Frans and Lyn Gous in 2009. Maybe they thought he looked like a Big Springbok?

    This Aussie icon is now back in Aussie hands, with Mell and Mark Penno taking over in 2023. Their unbridled passion for the horsie means they have big plans to expand the park, which already has a large gift shop, animal park and cafe. Try the lamingtons and thank me later!

    This ex-steed-ingly vast horsie stands as one of the biggest – neigh, the biggest – children’s toy around, and was even recognised by Guinness World Records as the largest rocking horse on the planet. What was an immense source of pride for all South Australians became a state-wide sore spot when, in 2014, The Big Rocking Horse was unceremoniously stripped of the prestigious title, which was handed to a proportionately petite plug in China.

    Some say the Yi Jinping ordered the change as part of his merciless war on the West, others say it was simply because the oriental version is actually able to rock. Either way, our little friends in the People’s Republic don’t have democracy or the ability to go to bed at night without being watched by the government, so we’ll let them have this one!

    If I mysteriously disappear, you know I’ve been dragged off to the Big Laogai – teehee!

    Rock, rock, rockin’ on heaven’s door

    Amidst the island of misfit toys that was my youth, only one person was there for me through the really dark times; Gordon. Whenever my dysfunctional home life became too much, Gordon and I would hide away out of sight, dreaming of all the slot cars and Barbie dolls we so dearly wanted but knew we would never own.

    More than anything, we yearned for a rocking horse. Oh, how easy things would be, sitting astride a wooden pony, swinging back and forth, galloping away from life’s complexities.

    Come Christmas morn each year we would emerge from our bedroom, eyes full of hope, and timidly tiptoe towards the pile of cheerfully-wrapped gifts placed ‘neath the glittering tree.

    And each Christmas morn our little hearts would break as the pile shrank, the other family members laughing and smiling as they tore open their treats. But there would be no holiday cheer for Gordon or I. No Thunderloop Thriller. No Peaches ‘n’ Cream Barbie. Certainly no periwinkle rocking horse with lime green tassels. Just jeers and torment from my uncles and grandparents.

    “Maybe next year,” Gordon would say, a tear in his eye

    But the rocking horse never came and we were dragged, kicking and screaming, into adulthood. Psychiatrists have pointed to those hellacious festive encounters as the catalyst for my litany of personality disorders. I prefer to think that it simply added a few stitches to the ritch tapestry that is Bigs Bardot.

    So it was with hearts aflutter that Gordon and I rolled into Gumeracha in the Bigsmobile and then stepped, blinking, into the crisp country air.

    The Big Rocking Horse was more than we could have imaged; more than we dared hope for. His magnitude beggars belief, his majesty is all-consuming. Gordon, understandably, was reduced to a blubbering mess. We stood, clutching each other as we had all those years ago, and soaked in the majesty of the moment. For one sun-dappled afternoon, we found our lost childhood.

    “Looks like we finally got that rocking horse, buddy,” Gordon finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of the situation.
    “Sometimes,” I trembled, “stories do have happy endings. I love you, Gordon.”
    “I love you too, Bigs.” We walked, hands clasped together, to the top of the enormous horse, and stood there for the longest time in complete silence. Gordon flashed a bittersweet smile and put one furry arm across my shoulder.

    “Come on, dry your eyes and let’s go get something to eat,” he posited. “I know a place in Cudlee Creek that makes the world’s best jalapeño poppers.”
    “Lead the way my brother,” I grinned, taking one last look back at The Big Rocking Horse, “lead the way.”

  • The Manchester Lamps, Manchester, England

    The Manchester Lamps, Manchester, England, United Kingdom

    Looking for something to light up your life? The head oop norf, because there’s never a dull moment when you visit The Manchester Lamps! The quintet of elaborately-designed nightlights were installed within the cosy confines of Piccadilly Place in 2021. But please be warned that they may turn you on!

    Lanternationally-renowned art collaborative Acrylicize really caught lighting in a bottle when they created this bulbous bunch. Each has its own quirky, roguish personality that holds a mirror up to Mancunian culture. From centuries-old relics to sleek contemporary office furniture, it’s their time to shine.

    Best of all, each lamp doubles as a bench, so you can bask in their glory whilst nibbling on a heavenly vegan blueberry croissant from the nearby Coffee Hive. Try it with a decadent dollop of locally-sourced honey – go on, I won’t tell anyone!

    This monument is light fitting – oops, I mean quite fitting! – because lamps are the only thing the locals enjoy more than football hooliganism. But don’t worry, there’s nothing shady about them!

    I was fortunate to visit the Manchester Lamps with my growing gaggle of Land of the Bigs groupies – Gordon, Gideon and my roadside attraction-obsessed half-sister Bigella Fernandez Hernandez. It was heartwarming to see their little faces light up at the display.

    Yes, I certainly give these Big Things my lamp of approval!

    I love lamp!

    Whilst the rest of us were content to gawp in wonder at the Manchester Lamps, it was Bigella who had spent months – even years – researching their significance.

    “¡Arriba, arriba! ¡Ándale, ándale!” Bigella yelped, whilst munching on a black pudding-and-eccles cake taco. She paused, disposed of the remains of her meal, and took a deep breath. “My sincerest apologies for lapsing into a comical depiction of a common Méxican. It happens whenever I get particularly emocionada about a Big. So you can imagine that a collection of five giant lamps can make me mucho loca.”

    “It’s perfectly understandable,” I assured Bigella. “I was so overcome by emotion upon first encountering The Big Watermelon that I took to behaving like what’s commonly known as a ‘bogan’. It took several years of quite invasive therapy to snap me out of it. But I digress.”

    Unperturbed by my display of self-flagellation, Bigella perambulated over to the nearest Lamp and gestured dramatically towards its arcuate base.

    “Please allow me to shed some light on the fascinating stories behind these Lamps. The Art Deco-inspired Lamp, with its flagrant use of blue and oranges, salutes Earnest Rutherford, whose research at the local university led to the splitting of the atom.”
    “A noble cause,” I intimated. “Well, except for all the bombs and death and pollution and misery his work inevitably led to. But please, Bigella, continue.”

    “Ensconced in the loving embrace of books and pens, the Art Nouvea Lamp serves as a homage to the nearby Chetham’s Library.”
    “The oldest in the English-speaking world?”
    “The very same.”
    “Hmm, I wonder whether they have the autobiography of Estonian stage, film, television and voice actress, Anu Lamp?”
    “Oh Bigs! Despite what people say, you really are quite humorous.”

    Lady and the Lamp

    “With its quirky, aphrodisiacal honeycomb lattice, the Mid-Century Bedside Lamp harkens back to Manchester’s famous – yet morally ambiguous – worker bee mantra,” Bigella lectured. “For a more literal representation of this, the extremely intere-sting Big Bee can bee found in the nearby Sackville Garden.”
    “That’s un-bee-lievable! And the Green Desk Lamp? It wouldn’t be a flamboyant tribute to the cult of personality that is Alan Turing, would it?”

    “You sure know your socially and professionally-divisive theoretical biologists, Bigs.”
    “Alan was convicted of gross indecency for being a homosexual, you know. He was sentenced to chemical castration.”
    “Don’t worry, Bigs,” my younger sibling imparted, placing a reassuring hand upon my shoulder. “They overturned that law years ago”

    “And as for the chic Anglepoise Lamp? Does it cast our minds towards Manchester’s impact upon the European fashion industry? The sporting triumphs of these proud people? The brash, yet melodic, music industry for which the city is synonymous?
    “It’s just a Big Lamp, Bigs. Not everything needs to have some deeper meaning.”

    National Lamp-oon’s Vacation

    As we were departing the Manchester Lamps for an opulent meal at the nearest Weatherspoon’s, Gordon and Gideon, Land of the Bigs’ mascots, stopped me in my tracks. Their impish grins told me they were up to something.

    “I found the display quite….” Gideon piped up, “illuminating!”
    “Yes, it was very…” Gordon added, with his trademark comedic timing, “enlightening!”
    As Bigella groaned, I hurried the kids to a quiet corner of the square and sat them down.

    “Guys,” I said gently, ruffling their hair, “I know you mean well, but I find your pithy attempts at humour to be both purile and rather condescending. The Big Lamps hold a place of great significance to me. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but, since I was a child I’ve slept with the bedside lamp on.”

    “That took great courage for you to admit, Bigs,” Gordon assured me. “But it’s still pretty strange.”
    “I don’t know,” I replied with a smirk. “I think it makes a great hat – teehee!”

  • The Loch-Eel Monster, Lochiel, SA

    Lochie the Loch-Eel Monster, Lochiel, South Australia

    For time immemorial, word has been passed down from father to son about an eel-like creature of immense proportions lurking in the depths of Lake Bumbunga. Once in a generation, when the silvery moon shines just right upon the lagoon, a terrified local may catch a glimpse of the Loch-Eel Monster and run frantically into the hinterland. Then, once more, nothing.

    Deciding that the good people of Lochiel had suffered enough, Gordon and I donned our detective caps and travelled into the wilderness to investigate this ages-old mystery. Well, I popped on an audacious cultural headdress whilst Gordon championed an understated, windswept motif, but you don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to discover that we looked fabulous!

    Approaching the rolling hills 90 minutes north of Adelaide, we hoped our bravery would allow this proud community to eel their damaged hearts. With scuba tanks and searchlights, we set about the arduous task of locating this elongated fish.

    Well, it turns out the Loch-Eel Monster was actually pretty easy to find. He is, after all, four metres high and 10m long metres long, and sits in the middle of a bone-dry, iridescent pink, salt lake. Despite all reports, he’s a friendly chap, and it’s not unusual to find dozens of bewitched visitors posing for cute selfies with the beast.

    ‘Lochie’, as he’s known by his legion of admirers, has become a much-loved feature of this bizarre and beautiful region. But his backstory is every bit as bonkers as he is.

    Can you eel the love tonight?

    Lochie can trace his fam-eel-y tree back to a similar, if cruder, Big that was built back in the mid-80s. Known, amusingly, as the Lochiel Ness Monster, this critter was constructed from car tyres and simply appeared one night.

    Despite her grotesque appearance, ‘Nessie’ wriggled her way into the hearts of the community. Her popularity caught the attention of local mechanic Wayne Dennis, who saw an opportunity to app-eel to an even larger audience.

    “Just about everyone who goes past Lochiel knows the one that’s out there with the tyres,” Wayne told an bew-eel-dered reporter. “My mum used to live at Lochiel and, after I’d heard the monster’s head had gone missing, I thought, well, this could be a good time to make something better and put it closer to the town. I thought if we can make something bigger, it’ll put Lochiel on the map.”

    Wait a second, Wayne, don’t plonk the entire town of Lochiel on Map – he’s strong, but not that strong!

    “So, I started thinking about what I could make it out of. Originally, I was going to use a TV tower, and thread all these tyres on there. I knew it had to be a cross between a Loch Ness Monster and a prehistoric eel because the town’s called Loch-Eel.”

    Very droll, Wayne, but I’m the one who tells the jokes around here!

    Fortunately, Wayne didn’t have to beg, borrow and eel to finance the project. He negotiated a good eel with the local council, who slithered in with a sizeable grant. He built his snazzy serpent from fibreglass and paper mâché, wrapped around a stainless-eel rod and wire mesh.

    This brave man rarely slept, so consumed was he by his passion project. He barely even stopped for his evening eel – teehee!

    Even better than the eel thing

    A true savant of the Bigs, Wayne did things his own way as he forged ahead with the Loch-Eel Monster.

    “I had a red reflector, the same as what’s on the signposts on the road,” he revealed. “I thought that would make a good eye. So, I made the whole thing in proportion to that. The mouth opens and shuts. I’ve made a funnel, so that when the wind blows, it opens the mouth, and when the wind stops, it shuts.

    “I also wanted to make it high enough so that if you’re standing in front of it, you can’t reach up and pull on its mouth.”

    So remember, guys, loch but don’t touch!

    You need a thick skin to be an aesthetically-pleasing ray-finned fish in a rural community on the edge of the outback, and Lochie has that in spades.

    “I’d never fibre-glassed anything in my life before”, Wayne pontificated. “The skin actually turned out right because it wasn’t all smooth; it was sort of rough. With the help of grey and black paint, it made it look like skin.”

    Yes, when it comes to creating eerily-lifelike Bigs, Wayne was determined to reinvent the eel.

    The eels on the bus go round and round

    The completed sculpture was plonked onto twin trailers and carted out to the salt flats. Locals could barely conc-eel their excitement about having their very own Big! But how to ensure Lochie wouldn’t eel over in a strong breeze?

    “I spent lots of nights thinking about how we were going to put it in the ground,” Wayne explained. “In the end, I came up with the idea of digging holes, putting tractor tyres in there, and backfilling them with dirt.

    “Tractor tyres won’t rot away – they’ll last forever – and there are stainless-steel rods going through it. So, hopefully, it’ll last a long time because it’s in real salty water.”

    Wayne, your eerily-eel-istic masterpiece shall terrify and tantalise generations to come. The majestic Loch-Eel Monster makes for a truly surr-eel sight in the midst of a flaming fuchsia fields. Yes, Lochie certainly gets my eel of approval!

    Eel the world, make it a better place

    Lake Bumbunga, with its salmon-hued salt flats, provides a breathtaking and, at times, confronting backdrop for an encounter with Lochie. It’s a quiet place, an ancient place, where the crackle of one’s own feet crunching across the sodium crystals can create a cacophony.

    The setting of the sun is a time of spiritual awakening at the lake. With the mystery of the Loch-Eel Monster solved, Gordon and I relaxed on banana lounges upon the roseate landscape and, drinks in hand, watched a rich tapestry of stars roll out across the sky. For the two of us, it provided a moment of quiet contemplation

    Lochie’s mouth opened and closed gently in the breeze, and I plucked several granules of salt from the lakebed to add to my decadent goblet of caramel and pomegranate liqueur.

    “You know, Bigs,” Gordon said sleepily, before taking a contemplative sip from a margarita glass rimmed with coral-coloured salt. “I think we have a good life.”

    “Me too,” I smiled.

    “Me three,” came a surprisingly soft voice from the immense eel who towered above us. The three of us laughed as the Milky Way blazed above us, and all was well in the universe.