Just so that I’m not bombarded with spam from porn sites, allow me to explain.

In Australia, a blowhole is a geological feature. It occurs when the action of waves pierces the roof of a seacave. The incoming waves force their way up through the hole in the rock, causing a plume of water to spray high into the air.

There’s a blowhole not farm from here. Imaginatively, it’s called The Blowhole. We’ve taken visitors there, mostly in Autumn, only to find that the viewing platform offered little to view but a stagnant pool of water.

Yesterday afternoon, planning a short drive to a place of interest where we could toddle without exerting ourselves, we set out for Breakneck Gorge. We failed to arrive.

Rest assured, dear reader, this was not through any misadventure as suggested by the name of our destination. No, it was because we passed the sign to The Blowhole which immediately suggested: The Blowhole + recent rain = something to see.

Australia’s positively lousy with blowholes of note. In New South Wales there’s the Kiama Blowhole south of Sydney. I have a photo taken some time in the 1960s of my family standing around it, hoping for a drenching after a hot drive to the coast from the suburbs. These days, after a number of accidental deaths, a fence and warning signs protect visitors from the dangers of the aperture.

In Victoria there are blowholes in Port Campbell National Park and there’s the Flinders Blowhole on the Mornington Peninsula. Western Australia has the Caiguna Blowhole and Tasmania has the Tasman Blowhole.

Despite its nondescript name, The Blowhole distinguishes itself. While others were formed by wave action, ours was man-made.

Dug in the early 1870s, The Blowhole formed a diversion tunnel on Sailor’s Creek, directing water from the creek through a spur of basalt.

That left the creek shallow enough to wash away (or sluice, if you’re a panning enthusiast) the lighter soil and gravel from the gold.

It was a harsh environment. In Winter the area would often flood, while in Summer and Autumn water was so scarce that illness and death were frequent visitors to the families who camped around the creek and on the ridges.

Presumably, after heavy rain and local flooding, the volume of water rushing through the tunnel spurts in a spectacular display. We’ve yet to witness that. Yesterday, it gave us a pretty waterfall.

The Blowhole is a fascinating aspect of the history of gold in the region, made all the more intriguing by the mystery that surrounds both the identity of its builders and their methods.