The Beauty to Riding Breakers

Today I rode Wilbur, my 3 year old breaker. It was, shall we say, a bit of an adventure. For the past week or two we have been doing a lot of yard work so I have had very little time in the saddle to split between my 5 horses. As a result, young Wilbur has been out to pasture for a few weeks and today had forgotten much of what we had covered previously – namely focusing on the job and not your friends, and not throwing temper tantrums at work.

We started the day tailing cattle – leading a mob of cows that had been penned in the yards out to graze in the paddock for a few hours before returning them to the yards. This is a fairly low key activity and is usually Wilbur speed, but today he was just not in the mood. He was stubborn and fussy and cried out constantly to the other horses. However, we made it through 4 or 5 hours of calmly herding cows, including riding in the lead, the rear, and as point – all more challenging positions than simply the wing and all new for Wilbur.

Then, at about 1:30, with ominous clouds sweeping in from the south, Cameron drove up and reassigned us. Instead of lazily following cattle, we would be moving 1,500 heifers back to the house yards – a trip that would take several kilometers and several hours. Not only that, but unlike the doughy cows we had been moving all morning, these heifers were feisty and pushy. To top it off, once the motorbikes and chopper had gathered the cattle in from the holding paddock, it started raining, a slow, steady drizzle. Needless to say, these were not optimal conditions for Wilbur on his best day, and, let’s be honest, this was not his best day. Not by a long shot.

With the mob all gathered, Adam, our head stockman, said “Jena, take the lead.” A whole muster riding lead! I haven’t ridden lead for a muster on ANY horse, let alone Wilbur. I was stoked! I gathered my reins, urged my steed full speed ahead and then… disaster. Wilbur lost his mind. He reared and whinnied, he kicked and spun, and then he learned his new favorite trick – he took the bit in his mouth and violently shook his head. With this one moment’s outburst, the whole tone of the day changed. Suddenly I was demoted back to the wing, and instead of riding a charmingly inexperienced breaker, I was seated on a monster.

Although the drive went well, Wilbur’s mood did not improve, and he spent the whole afternoon pitching a fit. Imagine a 2 year old going to pieces in the floor of a grocery store. Most of it was manageable and we were able to get our work done in spite of him. After a few hours of this, with the cattle moving smoothly, we reached the point in the drive where the road passes through thick scrub. After only a few minutes of this, Wilbur thrashed his head so hard that his bridle was thrown forward off his ears and was left with only the bit dangling from his mouth. Suddenly I was riding a half trained, unbridled breaker in the bush. With images of me being run off with helplessly, I leapt off my horse and grabbed the reins around his neck. It seems like I saw it happening even before it did, and, as I pleaded “No, no, no!” Wilbur reared up, broke away from my grasp, and bolted. He didn’t just run off into the bush though. That would have been bad enough. No, my horse burst into the mob of cattle, setting them into a gallop and scattering them into the bush.

There I was, on foot, bridle in hand, alone in the bush, swearing profusely. Within a few minutes Adam rode up, following the stream of profanities. “It happens,” he said. “That’s the beauty to riding breakers.”

I spent a few minutes walking behind the mob, watching the helicopter sweep up the debris and listening to Adam and the other horsemen mending my mistakes. As I watched, Fonzie, the chopper pilot, swooped back around the tail of the recollected mob, and settled in the road in front of me, shaking his head and laughing. He then pulled out a second headset and pushed open the passenger side door. In a few short seconds, my whole day turned around. Suddenly, instead of being the idiot who loses her horse and has to walk home, I'm the idiot who gets to fly!

We spent the next hour watching the progress of the work below, first as the long line of white cattle filed down the red dirt road and pooled at the fence line waiting to be let through the gate, and then the drama as Adam and Jesse, the top hand, tried to catch my renegade mount. Clearly Wilbur was pleased with the freedom he had stolen, and he gave them the run around for at least half an hour - coming just out of reach and then dashing off again. In addition, Fonzie pointed out landmarks that I had only ever seen from ground level and showed off a little with his chopper, zooming down on cattle in an adjacent paddock, hovering just above the swishing treetops, and climbing high into the air so I could get the full view of the landscape.

Later that evening I had to go to the Rec Club and sheepishly apologize and profusely thank everyone who had helped retrieve my horse. In the end they simply added him to the herd of cattle and drove him to the house yards with the rest of them where they were then able to catch and unsaddle him. I am truly and immensely grateful and I do feel terrible that I made so much extra work for everyone. but honestly, it's hard to fully regret the situation when I got a helicopter ride out of the deal! And let's be honest, that's worth a few blows to my pride.

Kent Saddelry

Needless to say, with the nearest town of any size 5 hours away, there are not many chances to go shopping here in the outback. In light of this fact, the travelling salesman is a breed of entrepreneur that is still alive and well and doing a booming business across the Territory and beyond. During the dry season, hawkers travel across the country moving from station to station peddling their wares, catering to the folks who lead this isolated lifestyle.

Last night we got our first hawkers of the season here at Walhallow. The good people from Kent Saddlery, Lyle and Helen Kent rolled into the station just before sundown in their truck full of goodies. The Kents spend four months out of every year driving their RV rig across Australia, starting at their shop in south Queensland and working West. As the name implies, they specialize in horse tack, all handmade in their workshop, although they carry everything a stationhand could need- work shirts, pocket knives, candy (“lollies”), beautiful handmade belts, and more. When they arrive at a station, they open up the sides of their truck and set out several folding tables of merchandise. Most of their wares hang fixed to the inside of the trucks fold-out walls and everything they sell is packed efficiently and conveniently in pull-out bins.

Now, before I continue, let me remind you that a. I don’t get out much, b. I’m a girl. So yes, I did a little shopping. I bought a saddle bag, ferrier’s roll, fly veil, and a stock whip – all very Australian purchases (and useful! – or so I am telling myself). American saddlebags are two bags that are connected and tied onto the back of the saddle using the saddle strings. Australian saddlebags come separately and clip onto D rings, since Australian saddles don’t have strings. I only bought one, large enough for some food and my camera, which I plan to balance out with a water bottle on the other side. Now I have no excuses for not taking photos! A ferrier’s roll is a piece of leather with pockets for all of the basic horse shoeing tools. It rolls up into a tidy bundle and buckles closed. It’s far more portable than a shoeing box and way more accessible than stuffing everything into a bag. Now my floating tools will all have a convenient home. A fly veil is a leather band with leather strings that you strap to the brow band of your horse’s bridle. The strings hang down its face so that when it shakes its head they swat at the flies. My poor fly crazed Candid will love it. And finally, the stock whip. The one I bought is about 8 feet long, made of kangaroo leather with a handle that is wood and leather. Fonzy, the chopper pilot, is adamant that every good ringer should know how to handle a whip and should always ride with one. At the moment, I am worthless with a whip. I tried cracking one earlier this week and succeeded only in wrapping it around my head. I’m not quite a natural.

In the course of making these purchases I got to talking with Lyle and Helen about the differences between American and Australian saddelry and work wear. Lyle asked to see some of my gear, so the next morning I brought over some of my embroidered pearl snap shirts, my wildrag scarf, the classic Western hat, and of course, of course, my gigantic, blinged out belt buckle. They do not wear belt buckles like mine in Australia. At some point, the conversation turned into dress up, which turned into a photo shoot, followed by an interview. So suddenly I guess I’m going to be in the 2011 Kent Saddlery catalogue as the Walhallow Yank and proud owner of a Kent Saddlery stock whip. Oh boy.

Ladies' Day

Last Saturday was Ladies’ Day. Officially called “The Barkly Women’s Day at the Barkly Homestead,” Ladies’ Day is a chance for the women of the Barkly Tablelands to get together for a morning of lectures followed by lunch. This year’s speakers included 2 cooks, a homeopath, a chiropractor, and a personal image consultant. All of them related their talks to the lifestyles of women in the outback- far from services, with few resources at their disposal, and surrounded by a male-dominated world. Some speakers were better than others, but overall it was a good morning. The lunch that followed was especially nice because it wasn’t beef. We had lamb and chicken ceasar salad – both rare treats on stations where anything that isn’t beef has to be trucked in great distances in a refrigerated truck. There was also pumpkin salad with avocado (another rarity), spanikopita, asparagus quiche, and other tasty varieties of “chick food” that no self respecting jackaroo would be caught dead eating. Naturally, I loved it. For desert there were several types of pie and cheesecakes, and an ample supply of champagne.

Once the legitimate purpose of the day had been concluded, the drinking began. The women had come from all over the region, some from as much as 4 hours away, and ranged in age from 18 to 60+. The younger girls, there were maybe 20 of us, were mostly governesses and jillaroos, while the older women, about 80 of them, tended to be the wives of station managers and employees. Following lunch, the women rounded up their children and either headed home or went outside for a wine and cheese picnic. The Barkly Homestead (affectionately called “the Bark Hut,” or just “the Hut”) is a road house, and like any Australian road house, is mostly popular for its bar, which we younger girls made sure received ample business through the afternoon. At about 6:00, once they had finished work for the day, some of the boys from the closer stations, mostly Brunette Downs and Walhallow, drove out to show their appreciation for the ladies of the Barkly.

It was wonderful to escape the Walhallow bubble for a day and it was especially great to meet the jillaroos from the other stations. Some of them have been at this work for a while and are really awesome tough cookies, with lots of war stories about crazy horses, psycho bosses, and nightmare musters. It was such a relief to sit around and laugh about all the things that can, and often do, go wrong in the bush, regardless of where you work. The governesses (called “govies”) were fun too – mostly 18 year old girls on a gap year before university. We all enjoyed the company of other females for a change and a break from the constantly male-dominated conversation.

That night Lucy (the other Walhallow jillaroo) and I rolled out our swags in the back of the Toyota and slept under the stars. A “swag” is a bedroll complete with sleeping pad, sheets, comforter and pillow, which rolls up in a big canvas envelope. It’s huge but everybody here has one and they are surprisingly comfortable and warm. In the morning we rolled them back up, ate a quick breakfast, and made the 2 hour drive back to the station where we promptly went back to sleep for the rest of the day.