Tally-Ho in the Goldfields: The Brief, Bizarre Life of Kalgoorlie’s Hunt Club

 In July 1900, the Goldfields echoed with an unfamiliar cry: “Tally-ho!” It wasn’t gold fever or political protest—it was the spirited launch of the Goldfields Hunt Club, where English tradition collided headfirst with the red dust of Kalgoorlie.

Started by Englishman Walter Green and his flamboyant huntsman Bill Hill, who rode the streets in full regalia with hounds at heel, the club promised weekly runs, grand dances, and a flash of colonial prestige. Even local hoteliers ditched horse racing for the thrill of the hunt.

But the sport faced an obstacle: no foxes. (Foxes didn’t reach the region until around 1917)

So they improvised—with imported beagles, brush fences toward Binduli, and in one glorious instance, two strong-flavoured herrings intended to train the hounds. Unfortunately, the herrings were consumed by the hunter himself in an alcohol-soaked supper the night before the meet. The hounds, mistaking him for the trail, chased him all day.

Satirist Dryblower Murphy captured the farce with wit and flair, noting how the hunters “clattered” to the local brewery, “carried its doors by assault,” and scattered the perfume of hops and malt rather than blood and sweat.

“You can’t call it, candidly speaking,

A kangaroo hunt à la mode,

When you’re half the time brewery seeking

And the other half losing your road.”

By 1901, the Hunt Club had dwindled. Dust, satire, and the rising popularity of the Polo Club helped seal its fate. But for one brief, hilarious season, Kalgoorlie chased more than gold—it chased tradition, camaraderie, and the scent of a good story.