Gibson and the Soak             

Dorothy Henderson

In a small town about 26km north of Esperance in the far south-eastern corner of Western Australia, there is a hotel known colloquially as “The Soak”. It could be accurately described as the heart of the town that shares its name.

Gibson is a small town, with a few urban homes on large blocks focused around the highway that describes a line between Esperance and Norseman. There are larger semi-rural properties making the transition between the very rural town and the broad acre farming landscape it sits in.

Shaded by Moreton Bay Figs that are apparently 100 years old, the Gibson Soak Hotel opened in 1896, and has been a social focal point for many in the region ever since; it could be described as the sticky-tape that holds the town together. The small shop attached to the pub building serves as the local post office, with pigeon holes for mail awaiting collection, and milk, bread and newspapers, chocolate, hot pies and lemonade: staples to soothe the hunger of the traveller---or the local with a chocolate craving, and no desire to visit the “bigger” smoke of Esperance.

The shade the big fig trees offer in summer makes the pub a perfect place for a beer on a day when a harvest ban makes driving the header impossible, and in winter there is a friendly fire and huge bowls of heart-warming pumpkin soup to fill the soul and drive away any lingering chills. Towering pines serve as playthings for Carnaby’s cockatoos who like to visit, filling the air with their raucous chatter. Sometimes the cheeky parrots chuck pinecones at the corrugated iron roof, shattering the conversation with clanging metallic interjection signalling their presence above.

But like many almost locals, we didn’t really appreciate what we had until it was nearly gone. On June 12 2019, a fire started in the pub, and the chequered police tape that is familiar to viewers of any CSI type crime show, now hangs limply from the patio. It reminds us of how close we came to losing our regular source of fish and chips.

Luckily for us all, and especially for owners Paul Willoughby and Megan Raseta, the response of local emergency crews was swift, as many were within sight of the erupting blaze. Truck drivers passing through were among those who downed their glasses to help rescue the precious memorabilia that hung on the walls, swiftly moving it out of harm’s way. Damage has apparently been restricted to the building’s ceiling and roof area so while we are all lamenting the lack of dining opportunities available to us, we are at least now able to access take-away food…and the shop still has milk, papers and chocolate.

In January 2011, Fleur Bainger described “The Soak” in an article for the RM Williams’ “Outback” magazine, providing a potted history of the pub.

Not much is known about local Billy Gibson, the first white bloke to come across the soak while he was searching for stock. The permanent water source was officially recorded by surveyor A.W. Canning in 1896, the same year the pub was licensed.

Bainger quotes the pub’s owner at the time, Phil Waddington, as saying the pub was a busy place when it was opened, and its license was a precious commodity.

 “This is the last fresh water between here and Norseman, so that made it very important,” Phil says. “This was the first stage of the camel and bullock trains that used to take mining equipment overland to Peel … It was a Cobb & Co station at one stage. Anyone who left Esperance going to the goldfields would stop here overnight. It used to take them a day to get here.”

The pub has had a number of incarnations over its 115-year lifespan. It started out as a tin and timber construction and was run by a miner from Marble Bar. Today, its outer skin is regal white Ravensthorpe stone, built over the top of the existing rooms over a long period of time, with the most recent additions being about 35 years ago. About 20 years ago, the pub was teetering on the edge of insolvency and was taken over by a syndicate of farmers who lived in the region. “I think they drunk more than they sold,” Phil says, laughing. “But they lasted long enough to prevent the pub from going down the gurgler.”

While the little pub with a big heart is treasured by locals, it will soon be seen by many as a result of the role it plays in the celluloid version of Tim Winton’s book, “Dirt Music”. The bush pub underwent an artistic transformation which turned it into a place frequented by the fisher folk who dominate the Winton tale: the ACDC collectables were removed from the walls and replaced with shark’s jawbones, photos of fishing expeditions and bits and pieces which gave it the persona required to play its part…a part it plays well in its everyday life when it allows locals to catch up with one another, in their work togs over a beer when the headers have been stalled by unexpected rain, or when mum doesn’t feel like cooking and the fish and chips beckon.