Larrikins of the hill: Bathurst 1000 crowd in images
Sure, there’s still a totem pole of empty tin cans, enough beer to float a race car, and mullets galore, but there’s a softer side to Bathurst these days as women and kids join the throng.
NSW
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The year is 1999, and Luke Walters has just had a flaming toilet roll thrown at his head. It’s his first time at the Bathurst 1000. He is camping upon the infamous McPhillamy Hill, a mecca for bogan petrol heads, and the race is chaotic.
This was a wild place, where people burned unregistered and stolen cars, threw homemade bombs into the crowd, and hoons deliberately ran over spectators.
But 25 years later, Mount Panorama couldn’t be more different.
These days, camping spectators raise money for mental health, teach kids how to play pool, welcome women in, and could better be compared to a campsite on a racetrack.
Sure, there’s still a totem pole of empty tin cans, enough beer to float a race car, and mullets galore, but there’s a softer side to Bathurst these days.
“The mountains changed. For one thing you don’t get a dunny roll on fire thrown at your head,” chuckles Mr Walters, the self-appointed CEO of his campsite, “Sky Bar.”
He is part of a crew of men who head up one of the few remaining extravagant campsites at McPhillamy’s Hill. The over-the-top camps that marked the 90s are few and far these days. Fans adore the few that remain.
He heads up an impressive camp with a trailer-turned-rooftop bar, complete with a slide to whiz down after a few drinks (it’s safer than taking the ladder).
There’s also a pool table and Mount Panorama replica slot car track. The most important part of the camp, however, is the reason behind it.
The crew behind Sky Bar have decided this year they want their campsite to raise money for Beyond Blue. Everyone’s welcome at the site; they just ask, and they chuck a few dollars to the mental health foundation.
“There’s a lot of middle-aged men that are struggling I have noticed over the years, and I just thought this would be a cause that would touch the hearts of people,” he said.
He and his mates have been coming here for 25 years, and each year, they work to make the place and atmosphere “just 10 per cent better.”
They, like thousands at Bathurst, have made some lifelong friends along the way.
“Some of these people we only meet at Bathurst when we come back every year. We are just a family. It’s all about making smiles and making memories,” he said.
It’s a legacy he hopes the gaggle of random kids that have congregated at his slot car race take on.
Happily some things will always remain the same at Bathurst – like the towering pole of empty beer cans at Canpole Corner, built annually by the same blokes for nearly 30 years.