On a visit to Brisbane I caught up with the 60th annual World Press Photo exhibition at the Powerhouse in New Farm. The exhibition profiles the world’s top press photographers who captured an event or issue of great journalistic importance in the last year with 80,000 images from 5000 photographers from 125 countries.
The World Press Photo of the Year award was given to Turkish photographer Burhan Ozbilici. Ozbilici’s picture captures Mevlüt Mert Altıntaş, a 22-year-old off-duty police officer, who assassinated Russian ambassador to Turkey, Andrey Karlov, at an art exhibition in Ankara in December 2016. Shouting out “Don’t forget Aleppo, don’t forget Syria”, Altıntaş wounded three other people before being killed by officers in a shootout. The image also won first prize in the Spot News Stories category.
If the Ozbilici shot was the best of the year this one wasn’t far behind. Jonathan Backman’s photo captures the almost Zen-like arrest of Iesha Evans, 27, at Baton Rouge. Her elegant flowing dress and stately demeanour is contrasted to the heavily armoured and almost fearful cops. Evans (who was later released without charge) was protesting against the fatal police shooting of Alton Sterling at a time when black males were nine times more likely than other Americans to be killed by police.
The war in eastern Ukraine has trundled on for three years mostly outside media view, yet intractably caught up in the rising geopolitical power of Vladimir Putin. This photo by Russian Rossiya Segodoya shows a local man surveying the damage to a building in the city of Luhansk, held by the rebel group Luhansk People’s Republic since 2014.
Iran has been run on theocratic lines since the Islamic revolution of 1979 though is gradually opening to the world via internet and satellite television. Photographer Hossein Fatemi wants to show the world some of the less well known features of Iranian society such as this memorial site near the border for victims of the 1980-88 Iran-Iraq war.
The tide of human immigrants has risen across the world thanks to the globe’s many deadly conflicts. Hundreds of thousands are taking difficult and dangerous journeys to come to western Europe which is still mostly peaceful and the standard of living high. However residents of those countries are becoming increasingly resentful of these waves of undocumented arrivals. This photo by Romania’s Vadim Ghirda shows refugees trying to cross a river from Greece to Macedonia after the latter country erected a fence to keep them out.
Libya is another country with a forgotten war. Since the fall of Gaddafi the country has been split into rule by rival groups with a second civil war which started in 2014 still unresolved. The vacuum is allowing Islamic State gain more influence across the country. The Government of National Accord is recognised by the UN but does not have control of the east. This photo by Italian Alessio Romenzi shows a GNA attempt to take the coastal city of Sirte, an IS stronghold on par with Raqqa (Syria) and formerly Mosul (Iraq).
But of all the world’s conflicts, Syria seems the most complex, brutal, intractable and devastating in our times. This photo by Syrian Abd Doumany shows a child in pain in a makeshift hospital in the town of Douma, held by rebels. Situated 10km north of Damascus, the town has been the centre of a siege and major fighting since the war started in 2011. Children, as always, are the first casualties.
The rise of terrorism across the world has led to a corresponding rise in authoritarian regimes. One of the worst is that of president Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines whose so-called anti-drug offensive is an excuse to commit legalised murder on a large scale, with over 7000 extra-judicial killings in the last six months of 2016, many just caught in crossfire. This photo by Australian Daniel Berahulak shows the mourning family of Jimboy Bolasa shot dead by unidentified gunmen.
The giant panda is coming back from the verge of extinction thanks to Chinese conservation efforts. Most pandas live in the bamboo-rich forests above the Sichuan Basin and China has stepped in to save the bamboo habitat. American photographer Ami Vitale captured this image of a keeper releasing a young panda into the wild. The keeper wears a panda suit in the hope of keeping the bear as free as possible from human contact. 
Identity politics appears on the rise everywhere. Identity is as old as politics but in an individualistic era, the idea that one’s identity is political is potent, especially for minority groups. Italian Giovanni Caprioti took this photo of members of gay friendly Toronto rugby union team Muddy York preparing for a drag performance fundraiser for the club.
Beyond identity lies the problem of our environment and the combined impact of seven billion people on the planet. Mumbai is one of the world’s fastest growing cities, fast approaching 20 million people. In the nearby Sanjay Gandhi national park is a colony of 35 leopards. The leopards are attracted to the garbage dumps of nearby slums where they prey on stray dogs. Human contact is also increasing with damage on both sides though the numbers are hopelessly lopsided against the leopard. Nayan Khanolkar took this photograph at the residential Aarey Milk Colony.
Queensland is full of gorgeous gorges no one has heard of. There’s 
I was blissfully ignorant of what was ahead when I rolled into Hughenden on Friday night. Hughenden is the nearest town, about 70km south of Porcupine Gorge, and five hours east of Mount Isa ,four hours west of Townsville). I was in Hughenden last year to talk to railway workers losing their former state rail jobs as privatised Aurizon sees them surplus to requirements. It was a tough visit but as we waited to fly back to Isa I saw the Mayor’s car advertising Porcupine Gorge, a local tourist attraction. An amazing place and very beautiful, the mayor told me. I promised her I would definitely look it up some day.
The excuse came with the Great Western Games, a festival of 32 sports from June to July 2017 held in six towns across the north of Queensland from “The Isa to 
After an early night in Hughenden, I left around 7.30am this morning. I headed 70km north along the bitumen part of the Kennedy Development Hwy (an inland back way to Cairns).
Then in the distance I saw the Gorge. It was silhouetted, dark and ominous while the sun struggled with early clouds. I don’t know what the green light is, either a property sign sparkling in the sunshine or an alien warning me to go no further. 
I didn’t listen to the alien and soon arrived at the Gorge. The campsite is near Pyramid Lookout which had a helpful sign explaining the local geology. About 280 million years ago, the creek began eroding the rocks eventually turning it into Australia’s “Grand Canyon”, as a book in my motel claimed. 
That was a big call but it wasn’t a bad one. This photo on the phone (I didn’t want to lug my camera around the track) doesn’t do it justice but it was magnificent to look at. The creek disappeared off into the distance to the north and I would be forced to chase it for several bone-jarring kilometres.
The view south was even more spectacular. Pyramid Hill was sculpted out of the rock as the creek slowly gouged out the ancient savannah landscape. This was my start point so I had to get down there.
But first I had to register. I though my number was appropriate in the last day of my 52nd year. I was wearing the t-shirt I brought not the official one I was getting for entering as they hadn’t arrived when I got there. I made a note to collect mine at the end and set off down the hill.
About half way down I got the first glimpse of the Porcupine Creek trickling through the gorge, lined with 
After a 1.2 km descent, it was a short distance south to the Pyramid.
The Pyramid got altogether more impressive the closer you got to it.
These rocks tell a 280 million story. If only I could read it.
Almost every river system between Isa and Hughenden is empty including the Flinders River at Hughenden. Cyclone Debbie did promise to bring rain but turned south at the last moment keeping Flinders Shire dry. But there was a surprising amount of water at Porcupine Gorge. Maybe they got some recent local rain or the rocks have dammed the water into place.
I was one of the first at the start line but slowly they started dribbling in, including the helicopter dropping off State Emergency Services at strategic points along the gorge.
Not everyone was here to run. This guy had the right idea. This would have been a much more sensible birthday present to myself.
But I was here now with a 100 or so others ready to race, including this mob. I asked where they were from. “Karumba?” I thought they said. No, they laughed, “Columba” they said. That’s Columba Catholic College, a boarding school in Charters Towers, 250km east. I chatted with a guy who looked in his late sixties and who wasn’t racing. “Couldn’t get you to run this year,” I said jokingly and perhaps a tad patronisingly. No, he said, he was injured but he had done it many times and might do again next year. “Oh,” I said. “Any advice to a newcomer?” Yes, he said. Do up your shoelaces tight, you’ll be going through sand and water and it will get slippery. I said thanks and rushed away to tighten both laces – twice.
Then the littlies (12 and under) were given the signal. I was jealous of them. They would just run back to the turnoff and up the hill.
The under 16s were next out. They had to run further down the creek but only half the distance as the adults before turning back for the climb. So I was jealous of them too.
Then it was the 70 or so adults, mostly unlike me, in their proper shirts. The guy with the starter pistol in the hi vis vest decided he wanted to count us all but that wasn’t working well after two goes at herding cats. He asked someone did they count them last year. “No,” that person replied, “But it’s a good idea.” Everyone laughed. Eventually someone suggested we should all hold up our hands and put them down as he counted us off. It eventually came to 69 of the 72 registered runners. Dissatisfied but unwilling to hold us up any longer he started the gun for the race.
I didn’t take too many photos during the race so many of these photos were taken beforehand. But this was the terrain at the beginning. I was sucked into a faster start than I would like, despite the danger of falling over if not careful on these rocks. And those early clouds had gone away, so the sun was getting serious.
There was also climbing involved, as well as wriggling between rocks and over dangerous pebbles that could turn an ankle in an instance.
Then it got sandy and while that was less dangerous it was tiring to run in and I was feeling the strain less than a quarter of the race in. With a big hill at the end of it, I realised my hopes of doing this in under an hour were badly misplaced.
Last but not least it got wet with a couple of expected and unexpected drops into the drink as we criss-crossed Porcupine Creek several times. At least my laces were tight.
The water one and this photo of people walking the other direction were the only two I took during the race. There were markers in the trees that helped you follow the course but I still took a couple of wrong turns. I also wouldn’t believe the guy who told me I had got halfway and was heading up the next gorge before he called me back. Though walking more than running at this stage I was surprised there were many behind me. I was either the slowest runner or the fastest walker. Take your pick.
By the time I got back to the climb I had little left in the tank. Any pretense I had of running up the 1.2km were gone. I was walking, or stumbling. I was breathing very fast. I was stopping frequently, head bent over for a five second break. At one point I overtook tourists who took one look and said “are you alright?” I didn’t have breath to answer and shuffled past them silently. 
Eventually I got to the sign alerting me to the last 200m and I broke in to a run, which barely lasted 50m. Determined not to look geriatric I managed to find one last burst before the final corner and ran over the line. I bent over double for about 30 seconds before I could finally tell someone I was okay. Hell, I was more than okay. I was ecstatic – I had finished it. A time of around about 1hr 15 mins for the 8km course so plenty of room for improvement. Maybe next year I can get a few more tips from old mate when he races again. I grabbed my shirt at the end and posed triumphantly, my first Porcupine Gorge Challenge successfully negotiated.
But I was going someplace too and I reluctantly turned down an offer to go to a dig site as I still had another 400km to drive. And on I went to Charters Towers. Charters itself is in Gudjal country, a people who lived across the region but they had their favourite places – along the Burdekin and Broughton Rivers, in the lagoons of basalt country and west to what is now White Mountains National Park on top of the Great Dividing Range. I always stop at White Mountains to enjoy the astonishing view.
The word budget has a long association with money. It comes from the Latin “bulga” which became Old French “bougette”, as a diminutive of “bouge” which was a type of leather bag. The word originally described a pouch or wallet and later by metaphor its contents. In the mid 18th century, the British Chancellor of the Exchequer, in presenting his annual statement, would “open the budget” and only in the last 150 years would the term be extended to other finances.