Gliders, leeches, opera in Winton and the stories that stitched Australia together

Macca began the morning with a confession.

He had walked out of a movie.

Not just any movie, but The Devil Wears Prada 2, lured in by a glowing review in The Australian by Nikki Gemmell. He should have known better, he reckoned. American films, he said, just did not do it for him the way French or Italian cinema could. Macca reckoned Anne Hathaway had overplayed it, Meryl Streep was there, and somewhere before the end, he found himself sitting in the foyer on his phone while everyone else stayed put.

It was, he said, the first movie he had ever walked out on.

A very Macca way to begin a Sunday.

Then the calls started, and Australia opened up.

Two schoolboys take to the sky

Mark rang from Mount Beauty, where he lives on the airfield and has been flying gliders for nearly 50 years.

His reason for calling was simple and unexpectedly heartening: two 16-year-old boys from the local school had just completed their first solo glider flights.

For Mark, that mattered.

When he learned to fly, young people were everywhere in the sport. Now, he said, gliding clubs are increasingly filled with older people. Seeing teenagers come through again felt like something worth celebrating.

Macca wanted to know whether gliding was really as safe as people claimed, or whether it was basically “a wing and a prayer”.

Mark laughed that off. The aircraft are properly controlled, three-axis machines like any other plane. At Mount Beauty they launch by winch rather than tow plane, making it cheaper and more accessible for younger learners. Students generally need somewhere between 20 and 40 flights before their first solo.

The real picture emerged when Mark described where all this happens: in the foothills of Mount Bogong, Victoria’s highest mountain, with spring flights over snow country.

By the end of the conversation, Macca — still suspicious of aircraft without engines — had half-promised to go up one day.

Thomas pedals the continent

Then came Thomas, calling from Ingham, in the middle of cycling around Australia.

Not an e-bike, he was quick to stress. No batteries.

A pushbike.

He had started in Perth in February and already covered about 7,300 kilometres. Ahead lay Cairns, Darwin, Broome and eventually the long road back.

Thomas is German, retired, and formerly worked for Volkswagen — not on the factory floor, as Macca first guessed, but as a development engineer who eventually became an executive.

Now he had swapped the automotive world for a bicycle and endless Australian roads.

Why Australia?

Because it was huge, varied and safe.

But what he loved most was not the scenery.

It was Australians.

People stopping to talk. The openness. The ease with which strangers became conversations.

For a man who had spent a career building cars, slowing down had become the real adventure.

Tony and Avril’s tropical horror story

Tony and Avril Ayling called from Hideaway Bay, where the south-east trades had finally eased after weeks of wind.

The original topic was underwater conditions, but the conversation took a sharp turn toward blood loss.

Unable to dive because of the weather, the pair had been walking instead.

The first trip took them through Conway National Park behind Airlie Beach, a rainforest hike complete with rudimentary camps, old forestry trails — and leeches.

Tony, in what he would later admit was a poor decision, wore sandals.

He ended up with about a dozen bites. By bedtime, his feet were still bleeding, so he put plastic bags over them to protect his sleeping bag.

Unfortunately, one leech had attached itself just before the bags went on.

By morning, the bag was full of blood and the leech, as Tony cheerfully described it, was “very fat and happy”.

Macca tried to shut the story down there.

Tony kept going.

There were also feral pigs around the campsite, grunting near the tent overnight and wallowing in yellow clay “beauty spas”.

That prompted Macca into one of his broader reflections about Australia’s pig problem — plague proportions, environmental destruction, agricultural risk, and the looming nightmare scenario if something like foot-and-mouth ever arrived.

Tony’s second walk was considerably less grotesque.

The newly opened Ngaro Track on Whitsunday Island took them around Whitehaven Beach and Hill Inlet over three days, with good camps, extraordinary views and — mercifully — no pigs.

Avril helped orient Macca geographically through the Whitsunday islands, and by the end of the call he was audibly making mental holiday plans.

Alice Springs and the last beanie hurrah

Phil rang from Alice Springs with an invitation.

The Beanie Festival, one of Central Australia’s more delightfully eccentric institutions, was coming up in June at the Araluen Arts Centre.

And it would be the last one.

Not because people had stopped loving it.

Quite the opposite.

The festival, founded by Jo Nixon and family decades ago, had grown from a small workshop into a wildly successful event selling thousands of beanies, tea cosies and assorted woollen creations each year.

But after 30 years, the organisers were understandably tired.

Phil hoped Macca might bring the show to Alice Springs for one last celebration.

Macca was immediately tempted.

He admitted he owned a couple of excellent beanies himself and described some creations as less wearable winter gear than actual works of art.

Alice in winter, beanies everywhere, perhaps an outside broadcast.

The seed was planted.

Winton turns on a weekend

Anita Salisbury rang from the veranda of the North Gregory Hotel in Winton, looking out over one of those glorious outback mornings that instantly make city listeners envious.

She had come from Monto with a group of about 50 people to support friend and artist Bradley Short, whose exhibition Under the Shade had opened at the Outback Regional Gallery at the Waltzing Matilda Centre.

The paintings focused on hats.

Not neat showroom hats.

Proper hats.

Sweated-through hats, cattle-yard hats, hats with stories and dents and years in them.

Anita explained that Bradley had asked her years earlier to help source hats with character, after being inspired by one worn by her husband.

The resulting cast of characters included cane farmers, bull riders, butchers, mango growers, backpackers and even a long-unsold relic from Searle’s Outback Store in Winton.

And because this was Winton, Graham Connors had casually appeared with a guitar and performed during the exhibition opening.

Anita had also driven in from Longreach and was still awestruck by the country.

Forage sorghum between Longreach and Winton. Vast plains. Late afternoon light. That unmistakable western Queensland sunset.

“It was an absolute pleasure to be an Australian,” she said.

And for once, that did not sound remotely sentimental.

Krista’s unforgettable gardening lesson

Krista from Inverell rang because Tony’s leech saga had stirred a memory.

Her story was worse.

A lifelong gardener, she described herself as someone incapable of seeing an interesting plant without wanting to bring a piece of it home.

After lunch one day, she spotted a tree covered in striking white flowers, snapped off a few cuttings, and carried them in her lap.

Hours later, she started itching.

Then she noticed tiny black dots all over her body.

At emergency, a visiting doctor initially suspected bed bugs.

Krista, firmly unimpressed by that theory, insisted they were baby ticks.

She was right.

Seventeen of them.

One lodged in her groin. Others across her chest. One embedded so awkwardly her GP later had to cut it out.

Macca sounded genuinely horrified.

Krista, on the other hand, told the story with the practical resilience of someone who has accepted that life occasionally becomes ridiculous.

And then, almost as an afterthought, she casually added another cautionary tale about taking a cutting in Port Macquarie, walking into unseen latticework, being knocked backwards, and breaking her right leg in two places.

Gardening, it seems, has become unexpectedly hazardous.

Teenie’s African tick expertise

Krista’s story prompted Teenie from South Gippsland to call.

She knew exactly what Krista was talking about.

In South Africa, where she travels regularly for conservation work through Wildlife ACT, the tiny ones are known as pepper ticks.

The larger ticks are easy enough to spot and remove.

The pepper ticks are another matter.

Tiny, stubborn, miserable little things.

Teenie spends weeks at a time in KwaZulu-Natal helping count endangered animals and contribute to field conservation work, preferring projects where the money directly supports wildlife rather than commercial tourism.

The accommodation is basic. The bush is remote. The wildlife extraordinary.

And yes, ticks are simply part of the deal.

Macca seemed equal parts fascinated and horrified.

Teenie, meanwhile, sounded like someone already planning her next trip.

Judy’s soy campaign gathers steam

Judy Plath from Bundaberg had become one of those recurring callers whose conversations reliably end with Macca either inspired or mildly depressed.

This time, both.

After their earlier discussion about Australian-grown soy milk, Judy reported some tangible results.

A café owner in Bundaberg had heard the segment and switched to Australian-made Vitasoy. Another café manager from the Gold Coast got in touch asking how to source it.

Judy could sense momentum.

A quiet little campaign was underway.

Then came the darker turn.

Macca had recently looked at a tin of baked beans claiming to be 47 per cent Australian made, and found himself baffled by what exactly that meant.

Judy, a navy bean agronomist, explained.

The beans themselves, she said, are imported.

Australia once had a thriving navy bean industry, especially around Kingaroy, dating back to the Second World War, when American troops stationed in Queensland helped drive demand for baked beans.

According to Judy, that industry is now gone.

Cheaper imports, she argued, won.

Even seed stock, she said, has effectively disappeared.

Macca groaned that every time Judy rang, she managed to depress him.

But Judy’s bigger point was serious.

Kingaroy has already lost peanuts and navy beans. The conversation about food security and domestic production is no longer abstract for communities that have watched industries quietly vanish.

A timely vaccination reminder

The program also revisited a conversation with Professor Michael Woodward from Melbourne, who had been speaking about vaccinations for older Australians.

Woodward, from Austin Hospital and the University of Melbourne, said vaccination remains one of the most effective public-health tools available, second only to clean drinking water in its overall impact.

His particular concern was older Australians missing out on newer protections.

RSV vaccines. Pneumonia vaccines. COVID boosters still relevant in aged care settings.

His message was straightforward: if older family members are not discussing vaccinations with their GP, they probably should be.

It was one of those practical public-service conversations that sit naturally among the more colourful storytelling.

Tom’s frustration with the budget

Tom called from Brunswick, near Bunbury, on his way to work at the port.

A stevedore by trade, he had switched the radio on, heard Macca, and decided to ring about the federal budget.

His frustration was measured rather than theatrical, which made it more compelling.

Tom’s concern centred on younger Australians trying to build wealth and eventually buy homes.

He argued that changes to capital gains arrangements would disproportionately hurt younger investors, while older Australians with established gains would largely be shielded.

But the broader emotion behind the call was unmistakable.

Inflation. Interest rates. Housing affordability. Raising a family. Watching the numbers become harder to make work.

He was not delivering a political talking point.

He sounded like someone genuinely trying to understand how the arithmetic of modern life had become so unforgiving.

Macca let him talk.

That was the right instinct.

Kelly’s awareness message — and Cole’s relief

Kelly called from Canberra, where Anna’s Walk for BEAT Bladder Cancer Australia was taking place as part of International Bladder Cancer Awareness Month.

A urologist working in research and education at UNSW, Kelly used the call to push a simple but important message.

Blood in the urine?

Get it checked.

Symptoms that keep being dismissed as recurring urinary tract infections?

Push for answers.

Kelly said bladder cancer is increasingly being diagnosed beyond its traditional older-male demographic.

Later, that message became intensely personal.

Cole from Turrella rang in to say the segment resonated with him.

After not feeling quite right, he had been referred through Hurstville Hospital, seen the right specialist quickly, and undergone surgery that week.

He was still awaiting biopsy results, but the immediate improvement in how he felt was dramatic.

The gratitude in his voice was unmistakable.

Then the conversation shifted.

Cole mentioned the earlier gliding call and proudly noted that his own teenage niece — fittingly named Amelia — was already doing solo flights and aiming to become a commercial pilot.

For a few moments, illness gave way entirely to possibility.

Antarctica, seafarers and the people who keep things moving

The sea ran through much of the latter part of the program.

Former Aurora Australis captain Murray Doyle reflected on repeated Antarctic voyages — the savage Southern Ocean crossings, the spectacle of moving through sea ice, and the strange beauty of watching Antarctica emerge while Andrea Bocelli played in the background.

He spoke like someone who had endured plenty but still missed it.

Once you had been to Antarctica, he said, you always wanted to return.

That memory triggered another call from Jeff in Port Pirie, who had gone south aboard the Nella Dan in the early 1970s.

His recollection of sleeping in violently rolling bunks sounded grim enough. But once the ship entered the sea ice, awe took over.

National service had unexpectedly helped take him there, via a role as a cook.

Macca, who often drifts into reflections about what younger Australians miss out on, mused that structured service of some kind could still open unexpected doors.

The maritime thread continued with Stella Maris national director Tony Cox.

Tony spoke about seafarers as the invisible workforce most Australians rarely think about until supply chains fail.

COVID had made their isolation stark.

Some crews remained trapped aboard vessels for many months, unable to step ashore, dependent on care packages, support and people willing to remember they existed.

It was a sobering reminder that modern convenience rests on workers most people never see.

Gary’s weekend rugby detour

Gary rang from country New South Wales after travelling with Eastwood Rugby for their annual away fixture in Cowra.

The real purpose of the call was simple: to tell listeners what a lovely town Cowra is.

That was enough to send Macca into memory mode.

As a younger man, he said, his band used to play Saturday nights at Eastwood Rugby Club.

Those evenings apparently involved post-match dances occasionally interrupted by enthusiastic lower-grade players forming impromptu scrums on the dance floor and flattening everyone.

Macca described it as fairly low-rent.

He also sounded delighted remembering it.

Gary’s point remained uncomplicated and sincere.

Cowra was worth the trip.

Sometimes that is enough for a call.

Karratha is booming — and Seedy is still de-cluttering

Seedy checked in from Karratha, where he said things were absolutely jumping.

A major fertiliser plant on the Burrup Peninsula. Solar developments. Construction camps full. Traffic building.

For someone who had watched the town evolve over decades, the pace was remarkable.

Seedy himself is retired after 44 years working up there, though retirement seems to involve plenty of tinkering.

He described himself as trying to “de-tinker” his shed so he could eventually move on.

That launched one of those charmingly sideways Macca conversations about clutter, junk, sheds, old habits, and the national inability to throw things away.

Macca described a place near home overflowing with old appliances, trailers and assorted rubbish.

Seedy, to his credit, defended the instinct a little.

People bring him things to fix.

Not everything should be thrown out.

Then the conversation swung back to truckies.

Without truck drivers, Seedy said plainly, the north would stop.

Macca agreed immediately.

It was one of those calls that wandered all over the place and somehow still made perfect sense.

KJ comes home from India

KJ from Blackburn South had just returned from five weeks in India.

His description was vivid.

Heat. Crowds. Extraordinary youth. Deep forests. Elephants. Chai at dawn. Huge social contrasts.

But what stayed with him most was what returning home clarified.

People overseas often ask what is special about Australia.

KJ’s answer was not scenery.

It was balance.

The chance to build a life with room in it.

And compassion.

The everyday kindness of nurses, health workers, ordinary Australians looking after one another.

Then came the line that stopped Macca in his tracks.

Dirty streams, KJ said, may flow into the sea, but they do not change the character of the sea.

Australia, in his eyes, was like that.

It could have sounded overcooked.

Instead, it landed beautifully.

Sharon walks the Cape to Cape

Sharon rang from Margaret River, standing outdoors somewhere along day four of the Cape to Cape Track.

She and her husband had recently retired early, specifically so they could tackle great walks.

The Overland Track in Tasmania was already behind them.

Now they were walking the 132-kilometre stretch from Cape Naturaliste to Cape Leeuwin.

Twenty kilometres or so a day, ocean beside them, snakes, kangaroos and sweeping coastal country.

The phone line was poor.

The picture was excellent.

Macca immediately slipped into that familiar mode where listeners’ adventures become his own imagined itineraries.

You could hear the longing.

Clyde ends the morning exactly right

Then came Clyde.

Seven years old. Nearly eight.

Calling from the car heading from Coonamble to Walgett for an under-eights rugby union match.

He played in the backs for the Coonamble Rams.

His horse was called Bronte.

Next week there were horse sports in Warren.

Life appeared to be arranged exactly as childhood should be.

Macca spoke to him with complete ease — asking about positions, match times, horses, the chance of rain.

No fuss.

No patronising.

Just a warm conversation with a boy on the way to footy.

And somehow that felt like the perfect ending.

Because after a morning that had included gliders, leeches, tropical pigs, art exhibitions, vaccination reminders, budget anxiety, bladder cancer awareness, Antarctic crossings, seafarers, Indian reflections and booming mining towns, the final emotional note belonged to a child heading off to play sport.

Which is exactly what Australia All Over does so well.

It reminds you that for all the scale, complexity and absurdity of the country, most people are simply getting on with life — one conversation at a time.

Listen to the podcast episode here.

isclaimer: ‘Australia All Over’ is a program produced and broadcast by the ABC Local Radio Network and hosted by Ian McNamara. Brisbane Suburbs Online News has no affiliation with Ian McNamara, the ABC, or the ‘Australia All Over’ program. This weekly review is an independent summary based on publicly available episodes. All original content and recordings remain the property of the ABC. Our summaries are written in our own words and are intended for commentary and review purposes only. Readers can listen to the full episodes via the official ABC platforms.