I Lost the Crowds & Found Victoria’s Most Underrated Region on a Road Trip to Wimmera Mallee

What does Australia’s best climbing, a Nobel Prize nominee, and dachshunds have in common? Why, Victoria’s Wimmera Mallee region of course. We sent Pat on a road trip to find out what magic is in the water.

Recently, my mate Jake and I spent five days road tripping through western Victoria. The sparsely-populated Wimmera Mallee served up plenty of surprises, just a 3-4 hour drive from both Melbourne and Adelaide. We climbed at Dyurrite/Mount Arapiles, explored the lakes and rivers, took an elbow at some classic country pubs, and eventually came to know the region through the eyes of the locals. 

But before I get to all that, I want to talk about dachshunds. I want to know how the Wimmera Mallee became the sausage dog capital of Australia – possibly the world – yet nobody can tell me why.

I want to understand the social, political, cultural, and economic conditions that led to Jake and me encountering more Wimmeran wieners than tourists over the course of our five-day road trip. In short, I want to know what the hot-dog hell is going on.

These dogs were everywhere. It’s as if they roamed wild. We visited Edenhope’s Dachshund Museum in search of answers but it was closed. I bailed up a local at the Pub in the Scrub and he became defensive. Swore there were no secrets. He said, ‘They’re just good dogs, aren’t they?’ but it sounded more like a threat than a question. I’d later discover he had a dachshund at home.

I’m also telling you this to illustrate a point: the Wimmera Mallee is full of surprises.

Have you travelled west of Gariwerd/the Grampians? Or east of Coonawarra? Jake and I hadn’t, save for the occasional climbing trip to Dyurrite/Mount Arapiles. We struggled to envision what a road trip through the Wimmera Mallee might look like.

Sure, I could grasp the big picture – the huge skies, the vast plains – but filling in the details proved difficult. I saw names like Harrow, Dergholme, and Apsley on the map and drew a blank. And this, I’d argue, is a good thing.

A spot of filling-in-the-gaps with Wayne

How often do we travel somewhere with expectations? With pre-conceived ideas? From Big Ben to the Big Banana, putting ourselves in the picture is all too easy. We arrive knowing what we want from a place and how to extract it. A couple of swipes and we know where to find the best meal, where to snap the most iconic photo. We’re standing on the shoulders of influencers.

But not in the Wimmera Mallee.

We asked Josie, from Harrow Discovery Centre, why people travel to the region. She spoke about history and cultural heritage. The quiet and quirkiness. Then she said, ‘A lot of people love the Wimmera for what it isn’t, rather than what it is.’

We asked the same question of Wayne, a fourth-generation farmer who runs tours on the side. ‘It’s never been recognised as a tourist area’, he said. ‘There’s nothing big or spectacular you can hang your hat on, but the whole area is a gem. That’s how I think of it. The whole package.’

Nothing to hang your hat on? Perhaps, but then the Wimmera Mallee is home to a quarter of Victoria’s wetlands and a third of its native flora. In a single afternoon we came across emu chicks, echidnas, Blue tongue lizards, freshwater turtles, Black swamp wallabies, and an enormous mob of roos bounding across a ridge.

A quarter of Victoria’s wetlands call this region home

‘It’s the vibrancy of life’, Wayne said, when we asked why he was so enamoured with the region, wetlands specifically. Zoom out and you’ll see a body of water; dive in and you’ll find an intricate ecosystem hosting countless native species of flora and fauna.

He took us into eucalypt forests – all manner of greys and greens – and found a cache of colourful wildflowers hidden out of sight. Yellow, purple, orange. You have to look closely, he insisted. You have to notice the subtleties.

A decorated friend saunters around Rocklands Reservoir

I think this advice can be applied to the Wimmera Mallee more broadly. The region rewards those who pay attention. Take Dyurrite/Mount Arapiles, for example. Its sandstone massif rises out of the plains like western Victoria’s own Uluru. Zoom out and you’ll see an enormous rock.

Look closely, however, and you’ll see hundreds of world-class climbing routes and evidence of thousands of years of Wotjobaluk culture. 

‘Framing the Wimmera’ feat. me. Fitting – I’m a part of the story now

There’s a sculpture on the road to Dyurrite/Mount Arapiles; a large wooden frame in a field, through which the mountain can be viewed. The artwork – called Framing the Wimmera – was installed by artist Greg Pritchard for the Nati Frinj Festival.

Pritchard explains that an artist’s role can be to frame reality in a way that the observer reappraises what they previously took for granted. He says a poet can do this with words, a painter with their use of colour. I’d argue a traveller can do the same with their curiosity.

Our Wimmera Mallee road trip became an exercise in curiosity, in adding detail to our maps. We collected experiences and conversations and began putting together a patchwork, stitching together an impression of this underrated region.

Chat to the locals, they’ll tell you why they love it here

The town of Harrow became the story of Johnny Mullagh and Australia’s Aboriginal cricket team, of Donald Bradman’s bat and Ned Kelly’s death mask. Tiny Goroke, with a population of fewer than 200 people, became the scene of an unforgettable interaction with Nobel Prize nominee Gerald Murnane.

Sauntering to Bailey’s Rocks

We did yoga in Victoria’s oldest lived-in homestead and were instructed to let our bodies simply be where they are.

We put this into practice on the banks of the Glenelg River, by the stream running through Baileys Rocks, under countless stars on our one clear night, and while climbing the slick sandstone of Dyurrite in drizzle.

We learned to pull over in places we’d have once rushed through, to pull up a stool at a bar we’d have previously given a wide berth.

The stars out here remind you what the city’s missing

We were told – repeatedly – that the best part of the Wimmera Mallee is the locals; their kindness and generosity, their sense of humour. We met countless people who’d fetched up in western Victoria for work and never left.

They said they’d fallen in love with the open space and laidback atmosphere. They spoke of the high and lows of isolation and how, despite the challenges, you’re sure to hear laughter echoing around the bar of whichever town you’re in.

Deeply immersing ourselves in the culture

We were reminded, too, that life’s too short to not do things. This from a caravan park’s caretaker, who’d moved home to look after an elderly parent. And if you’re going to do something, I’d argue that experiencing the Wimmera Mallee – adding detail to your own map – is worth your precious time. Especially if you’re partial to dachshunds.