From the Big Bogan to Larry the Lobster, why do towns build Big Things?

Big Things first appeared in Australia in the 1960s, beginning with the Big Scotsman (1962) in Medindie, South Australia, the Big Banana (1964) in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, and the Big Murray Cod (1968) in Tocumwal, NSW.

These structures were inspired by earlier North American examples, such as Lucy the Elephant (1882) in New Jersey, and several big doughnuts in California.

While they differed in subject matter, all aimed to attract the attention of passing motorists: in the 1950s–1960s, private car ownership had soared and highway construction spread.

Towns and regions across Australia, New Zealand and North America used oversized landmarks to get travellers to stop, take a photo and hopefully spend money at local businesses.

As awareness of these giant landmarks grew, so did the desire of other communities to have their own.

Within a few decades, Australia’s Big Things had become a beloved fixture of road trips and summer holidays.

A big cultural impact

My research shows the number of Big Things being constructed in Australia hit an initial peak in the 1980s before experiencing a temporary decline.

By the 2000s, however, towns as far afield as Tully in Queensland (Big Golden Gumboot), Cressy in Tasmania (Big Trout), and Exmouth in Western Australia (Big Prawn) were reviving the tradition.

Soon, Big Things became firmly entrenched in Australian popular culture: featuring on limited edition Redheads matchboxes (2010), and on sets of Australia Post stamps (2007 and 2023).

But some of the older structures experienced declining popularity: the Big Wool Bales in Hamilton, Victoria (closed 2020), Victoria’s Giant Gippsland Earth Worm in Bass (closed 2020) and the Big Cask Wine in Mourquong, NSW (closed 2012), survive only in holiday photos and people’s memories.

Icons like Larry the Lobster (Kingston, SA), the Big Prawn (Ballina, NSW), and the Big Pineapple (Nambour, Queensland) have battled changes in ownership, threat of demolition, and closure.

Read more: Australia's ‘big’ problem – what to do with our ageing super-sized statues?

Despite these challenges, and debates over heritage conservation, construction of these giant landmarks has not slowed.

The Big Bogan was erected in 2015 in Nyngan, NSW, by community members who were eager to encourage visitors to the area.

A local progress association in the small town of Thallon in Queensland unveiled William the Big Wombat in 2018, also with the aim to bring attention to the area.

Similar hopes were held for the Big Watermelon erected in 2018 (Chinchilla, Queensland), and the Big Tractor (Carnamah, WA) which opened this year.

Through my research, I spoke with many people involved with projects such as these, and they said they’d selected objects that were iconic to their area.

This could be a product they specialise in, a local native animal, or, in the case of the Big Bogan, a joke based on the name of nearby Bogan River.

Most builders openly acknowledge their primary motivation is to promote the region, attract tourist dollars and investment, and revive towns that have seen better days.

But do Big Things actually achieve these goals? Unfortunately, there is no easy answer.

An economic return?

Local economies are complex, as are the reasons people choose to visit. Many Big Things are constructed on the sides of highways that connect Australia’s numerous regional towns.

People who stop for photos may not set out with the goal of visiting that Big Thing – it may simply be convenient to take a break there while on the way somewhere else.

And if people do stop, it doesn’t guarantee they will spend more than the cost of filling up their car with petrol, if that.

Over the years, tourism researchers have developed several different models for calculating the impact of rural and regional tourism on local economies.

However, none of these approaches has proven to be universally effective. Most scholars agree tourists aren’t likely to travel long distances for any one reason.

They will consider a range of factors including food and accommodation, and the closeness of numerous attractions. In other words: building a Big Thing won’t guarantee a sustained increase in tourism to the area on its own.

Communities should factor this in when considering erection of a Big Thing, especially given the cost of construction.

The Big Mango in Bowen reportedly cost $A90,000 when it was built in 2002, while the organisers of the Big Tractor in Carnamah raised more than $600,000 to cover its price tag.

The spread of social media and easy access to media outlets via the internet offers communities another reason to build Big Things, however.

Australians are not the only ones fascinated by Big Things, and when a new one is unveiled — or an existing one goes “missing”, as the Big Mango did in 2014 — it is often covered by the press and then shared online.

These giant landmarks are also highly “Instagrammable”: a 2015 survey revealed that six of Australia’s 20 most Instagrammed tourist attractions were Big Things.

This sort of coverage doesn’t necessarily guarantee the long-term revival of a town’s economy.

But it can help to remind people of the town’s existence, and it gives locals a memorable image on which to build.