Cowangie Road Trip: The Joy of Music in a Remote Tiny Town
Road trip discovery of an old car in a field near Cowangie.
I’ve had the good fortune to undertake the significant road trip from Melbourne to the tiny town of Cowangie on several occasions. What I discovered on those long journeys makes me eager to return.
Making an epic road trip ranks high on the bucket list of many travelers. When tiny towns become a part of your road trip, the opportunities to explore local history and meet interesting characters will add a whole new dimension of discover to the journey.
Cowangie, a tiny town in the Mallee region of north-west Victoria, can be reached via a significant road trip of 520 km from the state capital, Melbourne.
Proclaimed as the hometown of former Formula One and V8 Supercar driver, Larry Perkins, the population of Cowangie, according to the 2016 Australian census, is 36.
I made the long trip from Melbourne to Cowangie on several occasions to play gigs with Murder of Crows, a band I was once a member of. These shows were a hoot and the locals who turned out to support us were outstanding.
Clear, sunny skies and barely a breath of wind was generally what awaited us in Cowangie. In the warmer months temperatures were certainly high, tipping 104°F (40°C).
Fortunately, during winter day time temperatures were lovely and warm, and evenings cool.
I always took the fact that we arrived along with spectacular weather as a good omen for our concerts in the beautifully restored Cowangie Soldiers Memorial Hall.
Due to on stage commitments I wasn’t able to make any photos on the nights the band played. However, I did manage to get out and about to explore the area and make a few photos before the gig and, when I could, the following morning.
The above photo of an old car, left abandoned in a field, was made around sunrise the morning after one of the band’s performances in Cowangie.
Together with the sheet of corrugated iron, this old wreck is classic subject matter for the kind of alternate landscape photo one might make on a road trip in rural Australia.
Table of Contents:
Tiny town milk bar in Murrayville in the Mallee region of Victoria.
The Death of Tiny Towns
I remember making the long road trip to Cowangie in the middle of winter. Most of the band had been terribly ill with the flu over the previous week, and a few were still under the weather.
I got sick the day before we left Melbourne and, frankly, I knew I was well and truly down for the count.
Not being confident of being able to undertake the long drive, then front up for a gig, I almost bailed out. But I’m not the kind of person to pull out of a commitment so, after speaking with other band members, I made the effort.
Fortunately, one of the other guys in the band drove me. I don’t remember much of the trip and, apparently, I slept most of the way.
The other good news, for all involved, was that I didn’t have to sing.
However, our singer, Sue, got through that night is a mystery. Her performance was stellar, as our last song, Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin, testified.
Though she loves country music that gal has a voice for rock, and the lungs to match.
I always feel a need to make photos when I travel. Despite being sick and worn out, after the long road trip from Melbourne, I managed to get out and about and make some photos in the tiny town of Murrayville, where the band was staying.
At 278 people, Murrayville is somewhat larger than Cowangie.
I arrived in Murrayville around sunset and took my camera out for a few minutes on a short walk around town.
The photo of the closed milk bar tells the story of what happens in small towns as folks move off to the big city for higher education and better employment opportunities.
That’s when the rot starts and, before too long, businesses, schools and sporting organizations close and passenger train services no longer run.
This tragic domino effect can easily be the death of rural communities. Having said that, it’s heartening to see that the good folk of Cowangie and Murrayville are doing what they can to fight back.
Despite the difficulty associated with living in such a remote and isolated part of the state, the communities formed around these tiny towns seem determined to say strong and to keep on keeping on.
Murrayville Railway Station in the Mallee region of Australia.
Facing Down Fear And The Hounds From Hell
After photographing the facade of the historic milk bar in Murrayville I walked around the block, harassed by dogs, to discover an old garage. It looked like it was still an ongoing concern, though the old fuel pumps out the front seemed to echo times long gone.
Small communities used to be able to count on local garages. However, with dwindling populations and cars that are more electronic than mechanical, the chance of finding a mechanic in most tiny towns is now slim at best.
Thank goodness for the ingenuity of farmers and their ability to keep so much of the machinery on their properties running.
While I love an adventure bound road trip, I’m also a big fan of train travel and railway stations. I was lucky to find myself at the Murrayville Railway Station as the last light of the day illuminated the platform.
Once a stop on the Adelaide line, this lovely little station is but a memory of this once important transport link between town and city.
I wanted to photograph the distant silo, but it was too close to those malicious mongrel dogs for me to do so.
I don’t think those dogs were going to bite me. But they made such an almighty din that I felt the need to retreat or risk having the beauty of the day’s last light lost to the raucous racket from those heinous hounds of hell.
Train lines and silos at Cowangie, a tiny town in Australia.
Embracing Tiny Town Clichés in Your Photography
Several members of the band, Marguerite and Gary, are related and grew up in Cowangie and the surrounding area.
I made this photo shortly before the band’s sound check, prior to our gig later that night. I was aware that sunset was approaching, so I ducked out of the lovely Cowangie Soldier’s Memorial Hall and headed down the street to this view overlooking the train tracks and the silos at Cowangie.
It wasn’t the most spectacular sunset, but the quiet at that time of day was, nonetheless, compelling.
Silos are a kind of modernist architecture, where form follows function. They serve an important function, but they are also beautiful in their own right.
The silos at Cowangie may not be the Sydney Opera House but, in the right light, they’re not bad either.
As you can see, by the time I’d made the photo the sun had set. Fortunately, there was just enough light spilling over the horizon from the afterglow to illuminate the sky and the railway tracks at day’s end.
While a cliché, the transition of color in the sky is attractive and the significance of a silo, as an iconic symbol of resilience in rural Australia is there for all to see.
Some folks shy away from making this kind of photo as they see it being clichéd.
Personally, I have no problem with incorporating familiar subject matter, even if it’s been photographed in the same way, many times in the past.
So long as it’s a visually interesting photo it’s worthy of attention.
And if the image is made in such a way that it makes folks pause, look longer and think about what they’re looking at and what that means to them, then you’ve made a good picture.
As a component in a photo essay exploring life in a tiny town in rural Australia, I definitely think there’s a place for this kind of photo due to the nostalgic response it elicits.
Steve Geohegan, playing guitar by campfire, in the tiny town of Murrayville.
Murder of Crows, Tiny Town Road Trip
Later that night, after a successful performance, the band got together for a chat and a sign-a-long by the campfire back at our accommodation in Murrayville.
It was a great fire, fuelled by good burning red gum logs.
This photo depicts our bass player, Steve Geohegan (dec), who was also a very sensitive acoustic guitar player.
Making the photo was a simple matter of moving around so that the firelight produced a strong split light effect on Steve’s face.
Yes, it’s another cliché, but it was a great experience for members of the band to end our night around a campfire. The photo is a good memory for us of our friend and bandmate, Steve, who died in 2024.
Here's the band line up, as it once was:
Bruce Bunn: Lead guitar and a bunch of effect pedals
Sue Hocking: Lead vocals and primary focal point
Marguerite Perkins: Keyboards and vocals
Steve Geohagen: Bass and vocals
Rockin' Rod Lawler: Drums, vocals and security
Gary Bosley: Lead guitar, harmonica and (former) chick magnet
Glenn Guy: Acoustic guitar (I don't brew the tea, I just stir it occasionally)
Steve was quite a shy person, which may well have been why he was sitting back from the fire when I made this photo. Unfortunately, that distance restricted the amount of illumination that reached him from the campfire.
This lack of light resulted in very high levels of noise (i.e., interference) evident in my camera's EVF (i.e., Electronic Viewfinder). As a result I found it really hard to focus and compose this picture of Steve playing guitar.
It’s an issue with older mirrorless cameras, but one that’s being resolved over time as improved models hit the market.
I’ve upgraded my Sony mirrorless camera since I made the campfire pics featured in this post. As a result this issue is far less of a concern than it once was.
Faces in the campfire on a road trip to Murrayville, Australia.
Road Trip Faces In The Fire
Frankly, I wish more of my road trips included playing guitar with good friends around a campfire.
There’s something compelling and totally engaging about a campfire. It’s such a great feeling to watch those flames flicker, dance and throw warm light out into the surrounding darkness, both attracting and lulling our attention.
Gazing at fires is a very meditative experience and a great way by which we can switch our otherwise busy minds off and tune into the reality of the now.
And let's not forget faces in the fire. Look at a burning log long enough, as is the case in this photo, and there’s no account for what you might see.
But making photos in the dark, particularly with a new camera, is no easy feat.
I made the photos in this post with a Sony a7Rii camera, which I’ve since upgraded to a Sony Alpha 1. I was quite practiced and, as a result, comfortable using the camera.
But I hadn’t used it under near pitch black conditions for sometime and, as a consequence, making these particular photos was more challenging than it otherwise would have been.
It was a good reminder of the fact that perfection, and our effectiveness as photographers, comes out of continued practice.
What’s more, if you want to maximize the opportunities for great photos that come your way on your next road trip, make sure you put in the time to get reacquainted with your camera before you begin your journey.
My former band members will, no doubt, find that an ironic statement given the fact that, when it comes to the guitar, practice is something I don’t actually do.
When I bought my first Sony mirrorless camera it was a real struggle getting my head around it’s menu structure, let alone feeling comfortable navigating all the buttons and dials on offer.
It took me an hour or more a night, for a whole week, to become familiar with it. But, by the last night, I was able to find and access all those buttons and dials, and navigate my way through the menu while sitting on my couch, in total darkness.
I then walked outside, and undertook a pretty interesting night photography session, with little more than the odd street light to guide my way.
And that’s no easy feet, as most cameras have black dials and buttons placed onto a black body. It would really be nice if those buttons and dials were backlit at night.
Being able to operate your camera under near pitch black conditions is a great skill to have but, again, regular practice is required to be able to do so successfully.
Silos near the tiny town of Cowangie in the Mallee, Australia.
Tiny Town Nostalgia
During one of our other trips to the area I found this silo, located between the towns of Murrayville and Cowangie. I was out and about, having a great old time exploring on the day of the gig, when I discovered it.
I’d slept very, very late as life had been extremely hectic over recent months and I wanted to be in good form for my friends in the band, and the audience, later than night.
After lunch I drove around and explored the very pretty town of Pinnaroo, over the border in South Australia, prior to heading back to my accommodation in Murrayville.
While post processing the original image file I decided to opt for a traditional black and white rendering, with warm whites reminiscent of the look of Agfa Record Rapid paper from my darkroom days.
That’s a reference for my good friend, and lead guitarist in the band, Bruce Bunn, who worked for Agfa back in the day.
The fact that I used to work for Kodak is, therefore, somewhat ironic and our connection to the photography industry in Australia is one of several mutual interests Bruce and I share.
This photo of the silo relies on structure and a variety of leading lines to bring the viewer into and up through the composition.
I feel the warm tone in this particular black and white image adds to the nostalgic feel associated with this kind of subject matter.
I like the photo, and I hope you do as well.
Road trip portrait of Gary Bosely in the tiny town of Cowangie.
Road Trip Portrait Opportunities
I think it’s really important when undertaking your own road trip adventures not to neglect opportunities for portrait photos along the way.
Whether it’s photos of your traveling companions or interesting people you meet in the tiny towns or at community functions en route, these kinds of informal people photos really broaden the scope of the story you’re able to tell through the photos you make.
No longer is your trip solely focused upon photos of landscapes, buildings and monuments. You now have the opportunity to tell the story of those you meet on your journey.
On the final morning of my last visit to Cowangie I was up early for a sunrise photo session with my old friend, and fellow band member, Gary Bosely.
Gary’s also a photographer, with loads of experience as a professional portrait, wedding, school and kindergarten photographer.
Given that most photographers have few, if any, decent photos of themselves I decided it was high time I made a portrait of Gary.
We were wandering around the tiny town of Cowangie and found this doorway in lovely, soft open shade. Due to the flattering nature of this kind of light, I’m a huge proponent of making portrait photos in open shade.
I love how Gary’s blue shirt provides a great color contrast with the subdued yellowish color of the wooden doors and walls surrounding him. It really added a nice visual dynamic to the image.
Chook in a backyard in the Australian tiny town of Cowangie.
Conclusion: The Value of Life in a Tiny Town
The images in this post are important on several levels. They depict subject matter, like this photo of a chook making its way around a backyard in Cowangie, that many would consider quaint.
As far as my former bandmates Marguerite and Gary are concerned, I hope the photos bring back memories of home, back on the farm.
I’m also a country boy at heart, growing up in Hamilton, the self-proclaimed wool capital of the world. Hamilton is a small town in Western Victoria. I moved back home a few years ago, after many years living and working in Melbourne.
The city’s only good if you work there and actually make the effort to enjoy what it has to offer. And, to be sure, there’s a lot to see and do in the City of Melbourne.
Wonderful public parks and gardens
Beautiful waterways and lovely beaches
Top grade sport and world class sporting facilities
Fantastic concerts
Spectacular museums and art galleries
But rural life, whether that be on a farm or in a tiny town, offers a level of community engagement that, after decades spent living in the city, I can tell you isn’t easily found.
If you have the right job, and can surround yourself with good people, life in rural Australia is hard to beat.
In all my years living and working in Melbourne, I never knew anyone who enjoyed spending several hours a day, in heavy traffic, driving to and from work. No wonder so many people want to work from home these days.
Now that so much of my work is done online, I’m very attracted by the idea of moving to locations that offer a quieter lifestyle, in addition to a great internet connection.
Another great thing about living in rural Australia is that the beginning of an epic road trip, exploring tiny towns on route, is literally only a few minutes away.
Contrast that with a road trip that starts in inner city Melbourne and you’ll find it takes an hour or more before you’re free of the city.
And, of course, there’s that weird tension that begins to build inside your once you experience that long line of traffic lights on your return to the big smoke.
I can tell you, there’s a lot to be said for living in a tiny town.
