Thylacine at Beaumaris Zoo, Hobart, about 1936. Photo: National Museum of Australia
By Catherine Watson
WE ARE haunted by that photograph. Hobart Zoo, July 1936. A lone Tasmanian tiger in a rough wire cage in a Hobart Zoo. It was the last one.
Or so we're told.
Wonthaggi has its own long relationship with the thylacine. It began in the 1950s when legendary Powlett Express editor Tom Gannon started reporting sightings of what became known as the Wonthaggi monster.
WE ARE haunted by that photograph. Hobart Zoo, July 1936. A lone Tasmanian tiger in a rough wire cage in a Hobart Zoo. It was the last one.
Or so we're told.
Wonthaggi has its own long relationship with the thylacine. It began in the 1950s when legendary Powlett Express editor Tom Gannon started reporting sightings of what became known as the Wonthaggi monster.
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In her Plod essay, The Wonthaggi monster, Carolyn Landon cites the first article:
“A strange animal, with a blood-curdling yell, startled Fred Rollinson of Inverloch Rd Wonthaggi and his employee, Mrs Sturgess, at 7:30 am Monday morning. "‘And I hadn’t been drinking,’ laughed Mrs Sturgess. ‘It was up a tree, big as a dog, with large claws, large head, furry body, striped like a zebra with a long tail … "‘When it saw me, it sprang 15 ft. to the ground and disappeared. I’ve seen goannas, frill-necked lizards, wild cats and foxes, but it was none of them.’” That report opened the floodgates. On December 8 Gannon wrote: “The Monster’s got us! Not since the 1937 mine disaster has Wonthaggi been so stirred. Nobody is talking about anything except the Animal. The Monster some call it. Shop assistants are quizzed. If the customer doesn’t raise the subject, shop assistants do. One hotel notice board reads: IT HASN’T BEEN CAUGHT YET.” |
The star of Eyes Like Diamonds, modern-day thylacine hunter Neil Waters, will be on hand to answer questions at a thylacine open day in the Cape Paterson Hall on Saturday, August 8, 1-5pm. Waters promises “a safe space” for people to open up and share their stories. |
At first Gannon treated the story with gentle amusement. Long before anyone coined the term "clickbait", he knew that every mention of the monster sold newspapers.
Melbourne newspapers sent reporters south in search of the beast. They always seemed on the verge of finding something extraordinary before it slipped away around the next bend.
Melbourne newspapers sent reporters south in search of the beast. They always seemed on the verge of finding something extraordinary before it slipped away around the next bend.
Argus, Friday June 22 1956
It gave Gannon another chance to poke fun at city slickers who couldn't tell a kangaroo from a greyhound.
Over time, though, the monster jokes became harder to sustain. There were simply too many reports from people Gannon respected. As he observed, they weren't all drunk. By the late 1960s he was describing the animal as "Tasmanian tiger-like" – light fawn, short-haired and striped across the back and hindquarters. In 1965 he wrote that 52 people had reported seeing it around the district in recent years.
Many of us have caught a glimpse of … something. Mine was about 20 years ago, approaching Wonthaggi from Inverloch at dusk. An animal crossed the road some way in front of me. It crossed at a leisurely pace and disappeared into the paddocks on the other side. It wasn’t until I was past that I thought “What was that?” Too big for a cat or fox and it didn’t look like any kind of dog I knew. My mental picture was of stripes.
I can’t say it was a thylacine, only that I still don’t know what I saw.
Others are definite. Nola Thorpe is convinced she saw a Thylacine. She was with a group of bushwalkers in late 1999, heading towards the Bald Hills Wetland Reserve between Tarwin Lower and Walkerville, when they saw it. It crossed the road and disappeared into a patch of ti-tree. Three of the group followed and watched it closely through binoculars. All were convinced of what they saw.
Being a librarian, Nola later researched the animal and found the scientific descriptions were exactly as she and her companions had seen.
"I can still see it in my mind," she says. "It sat like a big cat and groomed itself. It had the strangest tail which was like an extension of its spine."
Over the decades Tom Gannon continued to be inundated with information about sightings. Many were in uninhabited sections along the coast road. I’m inclined to agree with artist Mark Schaller who reckons the Wonthaggi Heathland and Coastal Reserve is a perfect spot for a thylacine to hang out undetected.
Other sightings occurred near the Bass/Grantville area. There have long been tales of thylacines in the former Holden Proving Ground.
Over time, though, the monster jokes became harder to sustain. There were simply too many reports from people Gannon respected. As he observed, they weren't all drunk. By the late 1960s he was describing the animal as "Tasmanian tiger-like" – light fawn, short-haired and striped across the back and hindquarters. In 1965 he wrote that 52 people had reported seeing it around the district in recent years.
Many of us have caught a glimpse of … something. Mine was about 20 years ago, approaching Wonthaggi from Inverloch at dusk. An animal crossed the road some way in front of me. It crossed at a leisurely pace and disappeared into the paddocks on the other side. It wasn’t until I was past that I thought “What was that?” Too big for a cat or fox and it didn’t look like any kind of dog I knew. My mental picture was of stripes.
I can’t say it was a thylacine, only that I still don’t know what I saw.
Others are definite. Nola Thorpe is convinced she saw a Thylacine. She was with a group of bushwalkers in late 1999, heading towards the Bald Hills Wetland Reserve between Tarwin Lower and Walkerville, when they saw it. It crossed the road and disappeared into a patch of ti-tree. Three of the group followed and watched it closely through binoculars. All were convinced of what they saw.
Being a librarian, Nola later researched the animal and found the scientific descriptions were exactly as she and her companions had seen.
"I can still see it in my mind," she says. "It sat like a big cat and groomed itself. It had the strangest tail which was like an extension of its spine."
Over the decades Tom Gannon continued to be inundated with information about sightings. Many were in uninhabited sections along the coast road. I’m inclined to agree with artist Mark Schaller who reckons the Wonthaggi Heathland and Coastal Reserve is a perfect spot for a thylacine to hang out undetected.
Other sightings occurred near the Bass/Grantville area. There have long been tales of thylacines in the former Holden Proving Ground.
Wilsons Promontory has generated similar stories for decades. Persistent rumours claim thylacines were released there in the early 1900s.
The rumour isn't entirely fanciful. Between about 1910 and the 1940s the Prom's committee introduced dozens of native animals as insurance against extinction elsewhere. Historian Ros Garnet lists 27 mammal and reptile species. Thylacines aren't among them.
And yet the legend continues to grow, as shown by healthy audiences for the indie documentary Eyes Like Diamonds that recently screened at locations around South Gippsland, including Wonthaggi’s Union Theatre.
Directed by Jonathon Buckland the film follows Tasmanian conservationist Neil Waters over more than a decade as he searches for evidence that the thylacine still survives in the wild.
The last confirmed thylacine died in Hobart Zoo in September 1936. Fifty years later the species was officially declared extinct.
Why then does it still loom so large in our consciousness? Most animals disappear quietly as their habitat shrinks. Humans set out to destroy this one.
Tasmania introduced a government bounty in 1888, paying £1 for an adult and 10 shillings for a juvenile. More than 2,100 bounties were paid before the scheme ended in 1909. By then the animal was already doomed.
Perhaps our fascination is less about proving the thylacine survived than wanting to believe we didn’t destroy it.
The rumour isn't entirely fanciful. Between about 1910 and the 1940s the Prom's committee introduced dozens of native animals as insurance against extinction elsewhere. Historian Ros Garnet lists 27 mammal and reptile species. Thylacines aren't among them.
And yet the legend continues to grow, as shown by healthy audiences for the indie documentary Eyes Like Diamonds that recently screened at locations around South Gippsland, including Wonthaggi’s Union Theatre.
Directed by Jonathon Buckland the film follows Tasmanian conservationist Neil Waters over more than a decade as he searches for evidence that the thylacine still survives in the wild.
The last confirmed thylacine died in Hobart Zoo in September 1936. Fifty years later the species was officially declared extinct.
Why then does it still loom so large in our consciousness? Most animals disappear quietly as their habitat shrinks. Humans set out to destroy this one.
Tasmania introduced a government bounty in 1888, paying £1 for an adult and 10 shillings for a juvenile. More than 2,100 bounties were paid before the scheme ended in 1909. By then the animal was already doomed.
Perhaps our fascination is less about proving the thylacine survived than wanting to believe we didn’t destroy it.