Old McLarsen had some Farms

Chapter 16: Even Wilder Life up North - the Ecstasy and the Agony

Despite our late night carousing with the station crew I woke early. For a while I lay there listening to the sounds of blowflies buzzing in the earliest rays of the sun, and crows 'caw-cawing'. Kanute was still asleep, so I stayed there in bed, lazily thinking about the bizarre names of some of the stations I had learned the night before. They were even more surreal in the light of the new day. I quietly rolled them around my tongue once again, this time in barely more than a whisper.

Youanmi Downs and Yuinmeri-Ha! I liked that last one. It was pronounced like You and Mary.
Pardoo, Nookawarra and Millbillillee-glad I had no loose teeth with that one. You'd sure need to hold on tight to them.
Kalumburu and Doolgunna. Love that Doolgunna-how many of us say we are 'gunna' do something and put it off for yet another day?

I stretched my arms wide, and then my legs, one at a time-and wished again I could do a 'cat stretch' as good as my beloved Tammy cat. How wonderful to have a few precious minutes to myself, before the rigours of the day intruded. And no wood stove to light, either! Even so, all too soon it was time to move.

Breakfast was gulped down in our eagerness to see the feral goat haul so far-and the sorting of these wild animals. Once again, great billows of dust enveloped the yards, with whistles and lively language flying as fast as the thundering hooves of the stock horses. All the same skills we'd admired earlier at the bush gymkhana were demonstrated-only this time it was in earnest-no friendly contests or games here. These horses and riders were engrossed in the serious business of weaving back and forwards to cut out (or separate) the chosen goats from the unwanted ones. Unbidden, the thought of the stockman's panty-hose story from the night before flashed through my mind. It was difficult to suppress a chuckle as I envisioned these 'rough and tough' horsemen putting on their bizarre underwear.

Finally, the females were isolated from the rest in the final pen, ready for loading the next day and we were all on our way again. After wetting dry throats (with water this time) and with a few handfuls of sandwiches tucked into the side pockets of their saddles, the horsemen rode off to their vast paddocks, to round up the remaining number of goats required to fill the truck.

We trailed behind in Sam's truck, until the track faded away and the land proved impassable to any other than 4WD vehicles. We had known the trip behind these horsemen would be limited, but it was such a great chance to see more of this land of the pastoralist, and his style of farming-so completely foreign to farmers like Sam, who work the land to plant crops and pastures. Farming styles must adapt to the land in relatively short distances, to meet the incredible differences in climate and the land itself. The vastness that is the Australian continent struck us forcibly once again.

We could have gone along all the way with the station hands, had we been prepared to do so on horseback. But, not being horsey beyond patting their noses and necks, we chose to return to the homestead and spend lunch time with Henry and his wife, Joan. The many differences between wheatbelt farmers and station men were discussed in a much more polite and respectful exchange, in the bright light of day. Somewhat different than the teasing the night before, when amongst many other sly suggestions, the station blokes had alleged what we 'croppers' did was "too much like hard work."

"Ahh-hh, you lot wouldn't know what work was! Too busy trying to see what end of a sheep you're at!" was Sam's scornful retort. "... and let's not forget, trying to find your way back home when you get lost in those bloody great miles you call paddocks!" This harmless bantering escalated as the night wore on, delivered with humour and true blue mateship. Nobody gave or took offence at the taunts they aimed at each other.

Sometime later, after a length and lazy lunch, we were back on another track within the property, heading to the distant shearing shed-a mere 20 miles (32kms) away. This time, a variety of wildlife apart from kangaroos, entertained us-although there were still plenty of 'roos weaving across the track. More than a few swerves were required, to avoid contact and potentially serious damage to vehicle and animal alike. Emus stood tall on the side of the road, silent sentinels as we passed, rarely trying to cross, but abruptly choosing to race with this strange mechanical animal.