Let me tell you about Hooker Creek and a legend that began there a long time ago.

Drive west from the township of Katherine in Australia's Northern Territory for about 400 miles and the small community of Hooker Creek will rise up to meet you. Ending the journey is the best part of this trip. There is little to stimulate the senses along the way in a landscape that consists of red sandy desert interspersed with low-lying mulga and spinifex. Occasionally an emu or kangaroo may be seen, but little else. This is desert country in the raw: harsh and unforgiving. Being located on the edge of the vast Tanami Desert does little to attract passing trade. Only the traditional owners and a few non-indigenous community employees call Hooker Creek home.
The name 'Hooker Creek' has a story of its own to tell. Those machines that are all-knowing in matters of language and grammar say that 'Hooker' is a colloquialism and that the proper word should be substituted in its place. This may be so but the notion of the proud traditional owners referring to their little piece of Heaven as 'Prostitute' Creek never seemed credible.

On a Hooker Creek day that was as dull and uninteresting as the next, one community employee bright spark said to another of similar voltage "Let's have a race meeting". The idea was novel and exciting and spread throughout the community like wildfire leading to the birthing of what eventually came to be known as 'The Hooker Creek Cup'.

Now race meetings of any standard need to be well planned to be successful as the good burghers of this remote community well knew and so to achieve this end a Planning Committee was formed.

The inaugural meeting of this committee began well enough with common agreement that the meeting could support four races in all, given the number of stock horses the community's small cattle operation had. To support the horse races a number of novelty events for all members of the community were then organised with a greasy pole competition for the kids and a fancy hat contest for the ladies primary amongst them.

It was then agreed that The Boss and His Wife would serve as judges for the meeting if for no other reason than that he was a keen student of the turf and she was considered knowledgeable through association with him. That no-one else wanted the job was considered irrelevant.

And so the meeting continued. The making of decisions went as calmly as a gentle desert zephyr breeze until a difficulty arose from a most unlikely source. The Resident Baptist Missionary rose to speak and stated that he was excited about the possibilities of a race meeting but could only take part if there was no gambling involved. This put him in conflict with the Ganger who claimed that it was un-Australian not to have a bet on a horse race. Warming to his task he then made some extremely derogatory comments about the Most High and His representative at Hooker Creek and their attitude to wagering. This outburst caused deep shock amongst those present with some fearing the Almighty would exact revenge upon our gambling friend that would be terrible in the extreme. The Ganger laughed dismissively at this thought and for good measure then proceeded to add some further blasphemies as if to thumb his nose at the Creator.

Eventually the Committee assured the Missionary that he need have no fear that gambling might ruin the dignity of the big day. This decision generated no little amount of ill-feeling between Ganger and Missionary with repercussions of this ill-feeling resurfacing quite unexpectedly at a later time.

With this unpleasantness at an uneasy truce someone changed the subject and asked how a racetrack could be constructed for the big race. This was The Cattle Manager's cue. "I have always wanted to build a racetrack" he claimed in a frank admission that surprised everyone. 'I have some knowledge of the Canterbury racecourse in Sydney and wondered if I might use the bulldozer to create a track in its image" he enthused. His enthusiasm was infectious and so the task was allocated as requested and Hooker Park was born.

Arrangements for the Cup proceeded smoothly in the days and weeks that followed. Everyone was anticipating a bumper day, including the Ganger who saw the chance of making some good money and spiting the Almighty at the same time.

Two days before the meeting he decided to mow his lawn and thus have it looking as good as he was feeling. Slipping on his thongs he started the mower and began to cut that grass with a spring in his step.

That was to be the last time he ever had a spring in his step.

Mowing too closely to the rocky garden border, the mower suddenly rebounded violently with those revolving blades going straight to his feet removing several toes and badly mangling what was left. The whole community shared his pain and grief as he screamed from the excruciating pain that went through his body like a lightning bolt. Only morphine eased those fearful sounds. The community nurse cleaned and dressed the wounds as best she could in preparation for his air evacuation to Darwin for emergency surgery. And so it was that no gambling took place at the Hooker Creek Cup that year.

In reflective moments after this tragedy opinion ranged between the views that this seemed a rather drastic way for the Almighty to exact revenge to those who thought He hadn't exacted enough. Some wondered if he might have repented of his blasphemy before being injured. Most felt that if he hadn't he was probably now wishing that he had. The Missionary himself laughed the whole business off as an accident that had nothing to do with Divine Retribution. Some respected his view but most folk could not move beyond feeling that it was an unusual coincidence that this event occurred when it did. In case it was the Most High at work on that fateful day, everyone exercised great circumspection about anything that might be said about the Missionary and his Employer in the future. 'It never did any harm to be careful' became the predominant thought.

In the fullness of time the much anticipated day arrived. The Cattle Manager had been working since dawn to finish his masterpiece. Using the bulldozer to great effect he carved out an interesting track from the desert terrain. He beamed with pride when he had completed the work but while everyone did their best to be positive, the truth was that any comparison to Canterbury was purely coincidental.

The day itself went according to plan. Everyone had enjoyed the novelty events and the three races run as a prelude to the Cup. With keen anticipation the crowd now waited for The Traditional Spear Throwing Competition to begin. Three of the older traditional landowners had nominated for this event. A huge bag of precious life giving flour was both target and prize with the winner being he who could spear the target from the farthest distance away.

Tied firmly by a short rope to the branch of a tree that bag of flour began to swing violently and erratically in the increasingly fierce desert wind. Only a superior marksman would be victorious today.

Throws began at 50 metres from the prize with all men throwing successfully. 75 metres was a bridge too far for one of the contestants. The mark was then moved back to 100 metres. This was a huge distance to throw a spear that was designed to kill animals at much closer range.
It was all too much for one of the remaining contestant whose spear fell well short. The crowd surmised that this would be the fate of the last contestant as well and conjectured that he might forgo his last throw and save face and honour amongst his peers by so doing. When it seemed that this was precisely what would happen the man quickly grabbed his spear, attached it to his woomera and let fly. The crowd watched in stunned silence as that magnificent implement whistled through the air and with its cruel sharp barbs glistening in the sunlight penetrated deeply into the flour. What seemed impossible had been achieved. Everyone went wild with excitement but the centre of attention simply put his woomera away whilst grinning happily. His grin widened even further as he thought of all that could be made from the flour that was now his. His family would eat well tonight.

A sense of deep expectation then went over the course as everyone realised that the stage had now been set for the running of the Hooker Creek Cup itself. All eyes peered out into the distance at the five runners who were about to do battle. Following the race, a giant victory barbecue would end the day. The idea that those horses performing poorly would form the basis of the barbecue was quickly dismissed as an absurdity.

And so it was that Fred, Dumb and Dumber, Everybody's Fool, Weary Willie and Not Likely faced the starter. These were Hooker Creek's finest primed to give it their all. Here is how the race caller saw this epic battle:
"The starters are lining up for the Hooker Creek Cup. Weary Willie is looking about as frisky as he has ever looked. Everybody's Fool, Dumb and Dumber and Not Likely are quivering with expectation of the race. They stand ready to race and- they're off!! That is to say all of them have started except for Fred who simply stood there and has refused to run. The stewards will undoubtedly have more to say after the race about this non-performance. The other four starters have jumped as one and before long are all searching for the early lead.

Eventually Not Likely goes to the front followed by Dumb and Dumber and Everybody's Fool with Weary Willie settling down last. Down the back of the course they are still racing in the same order with no-one willing as yet to reveal any surprise winning strategy.

They're approaching the home turn now and what's this? One of the runners failed to negotiate the bend and has run off into the desert. It's hard to see through the dust but it looks to be (yes, it is) Not Likely. He's taken complete control of the jockey and has bolted and I can report that it is now 'Katherine here we come!!'

That leaves just three as they straighten up. Everybody's Fool is starting to tire as Dumb and Dumber and Weary Willie race to him. The crowd begin to go wild with nulla-nullas, spears and boomerangs being waved around. Just keep those weapons in hand folks because we'll never be able to explain how a horse got killed by a member of the public mid-race.

There is 100 metres to go and the three runners are in a straight line across the track. Everybody's Fool suddenly stops as if he has been speared (He hasn't been has he?) Leaving Dumb and Dumber and Weary Willie together in front. Which one will achieve equine legend status? Will this be the first time Dumb and Dumber has done something? Or will Weary Willie have just enough energy to make it? They go to the line absolutely locked together. I'm so glad I'm not the judge. The Boss and His Wife are going to have a tough time sorting out the winner here"

Initially the crowd cheers boisterously but starts to quieten down as no result is announced. Many start to ponder why there is a delay. Then something totally unexpected happens. The gathered throng cannot believe it yet there it is for all to hear. The judges have a split decision.

The Boss is adamant that Weary Willie has won. Just as adamantly His Wife believes that it has been Dumb and Dumber by a nostril. Neither will give way and then the best entertainment of the day begins as the discussion deteriorates into a full-blown domestic argument with both sides losing their tempers and shouting at each other.

The Boss says '"Surely you can see Willie stuck his head up right on the line and won" His Wife fires back "The only thing stuck up around here is your arrogant attitude that always has to believe that it is right. Dumb and Dumber won the race'" At this point all the women in the crowd cheer at this show of defiance.

This angers The Boss who is now almost out of control and screams back. "I suspect that you picked Dumb and Dumber to match your own personality". At this all the men in the crowd start to cheer.

Encouraged by this support The Boss pulls out his big guns. He has been waiting for months to use this line in an argument and now sees his opportunity as he says "How is it that God could make you so beautiful and so dumb at the same time?" This sends the men into apoplexies of laughter and has many of them repeating the insult to their own wives. This insult turns out be a big mistake by The Boss who in his rage has either forgotten or hasn't heard the rejoinder to it. His Wife has had no such lapse of memory and has heard the response before. Like shooting fish in a barrel and fully savouring the moment she says ever so sweetly, "My darling He made me beautiful so you would marry me and then made me dumb so that I would marry you!" This response causes the women to collapse with hysterical laughter. So much laughter and derision is there that the mood of the men starts to turn ugly. There is jostling and pushing and shoving and few punches are being thrown.This is starting to get out of hand so The Boss raises his hands for silence so that he might reply. He is about to speak to the hushed crowd when a quiet voice in the crowd says "'Dead heat". Those two words have a similar effect to a pin bursting a fully inflated balloon. The voice continues "If two judges can't decide who won without a photo finish machine then it must be so close that it could only have been a dead-heat"

And so it was that the Hooker Creek Cup ended with two horses being declared joint winners. Honour was restored between men and women thus avoiding possible serious injury induced by hot tempers. The committee decided to double the prize money for the winners while The Boss and His Wife beamed as their marriage survived to face another day.

The Hooker Creek Cup meeting was only ever run once. It brightened the lives of that little community almost fifty years ago. Most of those who were there that day have now passed. Those who haven't are old.

Memories are precious things and those whose minds are still able to remember will have many a chuckle at the antics of that race meeting when it is brought to mind. I know I do.