The Habits of Nocturnal Wildlife

Everyone has their little falling-asleep nuances. But none I have found more strange than the one that I am currently experiencing. Some people turn on night-lights (but they wouldn't willingly call it that). Some drink a warm beverage. Some people, like me, have a teeny-tiny background noise. I play a movie on my laptop but have the volume so low that it can only just be heard.
Helping a friend move into the home of a bachelor that works away saw me temporarily staying at the same residence as was offered by the man himself. It was quiet and peaceful and we went to sleep early so we may feel refreshed for work the next day. Then the bachelor went on his fortnightly break...
He cracked open cans early in the morning and got around all hours of the day or night in his vehicle or on his quad bike. He had sessions with the neighbour and fixed flat tyres at 7am. But at night, when he went to bed, he did what I thought was rude and strange. He turned the stereo up. And I don't just mean up a dash, I mean up alot. Whatever was on the radio be it ABC or Hot100, it was blaring out of the speakers at goodness knows what decibel! And here were my friend and I, lying in our beds, wondering 'what the hell, could this bloke be serious?'
I slept one night with the pillow wrapped around my head, window and door closed and I could still hear that racket. The following night I just bailed. I'd fallen asleep but around an hour later the bachelor cranked up the radio and hit the hay. I was wild. I felt like tearing out the radio from the shelf and throwing it in front of my car and running over it a few times. Instead I grabbed my swag and threw it in the tray of my toyota and drove out the gates to camp further down the road, away from the din, so I could get some sleep while being attacked by mozzies.
I returned the next morning to find I should have been a little more patient. At some point during the night the power had run out (the solar panels charge batteries which provide electricity for the house. If it's too overcast during the day or too much power is drawn then the batteries run out of power therefore so does the house). I should have waited out for the power outage. I would have got alot more sleep. Instead I camped up down the road to the sound of frogs and crickets and cattle in the scrub. When I woke in the morning everything was soaked in condensation. When I returned to the house, he didn't even know I had left until I arrived back.
But seriously, who does that kind of stuff? Who turns the radio up before going to bed rather than down or off like most normal people would? I know who. They don't have to work (they're on break or have no job). They drink when most people are at work. They come in at all hours and wake everyone up with their noisemaking and their cooking of strange concoctions they regard as dinner. They watch their movies loud or play their music loud and keep everyone else awake. Yeah, I know who. I've lived with a few and I am definitely more than over it!

Silly Skinny Funny Finny

Born to the floodplains south of Darwin, she took her name from a river that flowed nearby, the Finniss. Black and tan and full of bounce, but no brains, she found a home at weaning on a Sturt Plateau station with some friends. They did their best to get her to work cattle but the pup thought it was her job to ride and sleep on the rack of the quad bike. Eventually they gave up.
At odds at what to do with their non-productive dog I was keen to take her on. I didn't care that she wouldn't work, she's a happy, boisterous dog that would make good company for Lacey. So Finny became mine.
I didn't give up on her cattle-wise. When walking away some cattle on one place I have been working on, I asked if I could bring her along. She found her place on the back of the quad bike and once again fell asleep. I tried to convince her to get off the bike and walk with me behind the cattle but she just looked at me with that absent look of hers and went back to sleep. Another half a kilometre up the laneway I pushed her off the bike and sped off in the hopes that she would just stay on the ground and tail the cattle. Nope, she jumped straight back on. I tried over and over again. At one point I stuck my foot out just as she was about to jump back on and she rolled on the ground, got up and jumped up on the rack. I laughed and just gave up. There was nothing else I could do. She was just plain not interested.
The next place I worked on there wasn't a great lot of opportunity to take her anywhere. So she just spent her days playing with her new toys that I bought her, chewing on bones, chasing wallabies for hours on end and sleeping.
Advice from various friends and my Poppa were all consistent: "Don't give up on her, not until she's at least two". So, I haven't. I was determined that one day she would work, that one day she would show some interest. That day has finally come.
Three months after leaving the station she came from we were back for more work. The offer to bring Finny along mustering one day I saw as an opportunity to give her another chance.
With my friend and her working dogs out in the middle of the scrub somewhere on foot and my other friend also out in the scrub somewhere on the quad bike, I got out on foot along the fenceline and let Finny out of the cage. I jogged up behind stragglers and motioned for Finny to join me. I'd call Finny over, hold her by the collar, start jogging and she'd jog with me then I'd let her collar go and she'd jog along faster behind the cattle. At one point she chased a cheeky heifer then realised what she was making it do. I was ecstatic. She'd figured out that what she was doing made the cattle move off her. I made such a fuss over her for her brilliant effort. The light had switched on in her head. Finally.
We continued on the tail together, me occasionally stopping to go back and bring the toyota up. When my friend on foot caught up with us I let Finny stay with her. She had an old veteran dog called Stretch and Finny stuck by him like glue, going where he was going and doing what he was doing. Although when Finny got bored she started to lick his balls... which of course he quite enjoyed.
When the cattle took off into the tea-tree my friend sent her dogs off to bend them back and Finny headed out there too. A report came back from the tea-tree later that afternoon: My friend on the quad reckoned Finny was quite interested in what was going on and although hesitant, gave it a go. My friend on foot was more worried at that point that Finny was more interested on getting on that bloody quad bike than the cattle so we were both surprised to hear that she wasn't.
Another observation that was made that Finny worked her cattle wide when bending them back around. A trait her mother has that she has obviously passed on. I couldn't see what was going on out there for the density of the trees.
So after three months of seeing dear Finny cower behind her kennel when there are cattle grazing beside her or humbugging around the quad bike because the amount of cattle at a water trough is too overwhelming for her, I have hope.

Finny ready for her big day of work.

My Life In Boxes

From the age of 18 I have not stopped moving around. Nearly every year since leaving high school I have been living and working in a different place. I get a job, unpack my belongings and at the end of the mustering season or a year or so later, I'm packing and moving on again.

This year, though, has taken it all to a new level. The beginning of the year saw me leaving my job and life in town to only a few months later leaving the station me and my former partner in crime were on and since then I haven't stopped moving being anywhere from three days to two months on a property before heading to the next place living off of whatever I need and whatever can fit in my Landcruiser.

Most of my belongings are in a rented storage shed. Everytime I lift the roller door into it, there it is: Reality in a box. His stuff on the right wall, my stuff on the left.

There's that old saying about keeping the home-fires burning. At Dad's this rings very true. My bedroom has barely changed since I was 10 years old. In fact, I've actually moved more stuff in much to Dad's annoyance.

"You're supposed to be moving out, not moving more stuff in," he reckons. Yeah, not going to happen till I have my own house on KI to move it all into.

At Mother's it is a different story. My boxes and stuff is moved around to new locations across the motel according to convenience and necessity. Everytime I go back I am sleeping in a different bed, in a different building.

But I don't really want to keep this nomadic life. I would love to settle down. I would love to hang my dresses in a wardrobe, put my clothes in drawers, put all my books on a shelf and display my stuffed toys beside my bed. I'd like to establish a garden that doesn't get eaten by poddy calves, have a carport to park my toyota under, have a yard so my dog doesn't have to be tied up all day. But all that I hope for seems so faraway. So for the time being, my life is in boxes.

Sump Oil and Spanners

It's so easy to go take a car to a mechanic. It's so easy to go out and buy filters and oil in an effort to service a vehicle by oneself. It's not so easy to go out and buy motivation though. In fact it's impossible. Even when I know that my car, poor, old Bruiser, hasn't been serviced since January 2011. I bought what I needed to get the job done over a month ago. It sat in a stack by the front door of the quarters since I took it off the back of the ute when I returned from town. I would walk past it numerous times a day but I still ignored it. But this weekend I finally decided to give procrastination the flick and after coming back from a water run I pulled the toolbox out from behind the seat, grabbed a plastic tub and slid a big piece of cardboard under the car and finally undid the sump plug.

I laid under the car for a while staring up at the oil filter and casually watching to oil pour out of the sump. 

'Can't stop now', I thought to myself as I realised that I had just committed myself to servicing old Bruiser.

Eventually I undid the oil filter. I took out the air filter and gave it a good blow out. It was in pretty good nick considering the roads I drive down and the length of time it's been since it was looked at last. I got the fancy filter-undoer-strappy-thing again and went to undo the fuel filter. A radiator hose, the cooling fan and fuel lines were all in my way making it a fickle task and be buggered if I could undo the stupid thing. I did, however, manage to put an impressive dent in it that will probably somehow, at some point, stuff something up and create bigger problems for me than when I first began. But the patience was tested and it failed. The damn thing can stay there.

I crawled back underneath the car with the new oil filter filled with new oil and put it in its place. I tightened it with the filter-doer-upper-strappy-thing and then laid there watching sump oil drip, drip, drip into the tub.

Then I woke up. I could feel the sun burning my legs. Not good. I don't know how long I had been asleep for but it was no surprise that I did because it seems that everytime I crawl under my car to work on it I nod off. The last time was when Dad and I were replacing the cooling fan and water pump (that had decided to fall out on the edge of the northern suburbs of Adelaide making the rest of the way in a very noisy and tedious journey) leaving Dad to do all the work himself while I had a little nanna nap.

After scolding myself I did up the sump plug and climbed up on the bullbar and filled the engine with new oil. Once the level was right I could finally lower the bonnet albeit still a little annoyed at myself that I couldn't do the fuel filter. I packed everything away and then slathered my hands and arms in heavy duty hand cleaner. The oil slick on my upper limbs all cleaned up, I drove back to the quarters to have forty winks on the cool tiles.

The evidence of my mechanical morning didn't wash off my legs though in the shower. I am sunburnt from where my shorts end to where my boots start and there are beautiful, artistic patches of black to compliment my pink, sun-stressed skin. But my car is serviced... only 9 months late and I'm sure the old boy will appreciate it so long as the oil filter doesn't fall off or anything.

It's Big, It's Black and It's Mean

So, I'll tell you a story. A little altered for the purpose of protecting the identity of a person and property. I don't think they'd like it if everyone knew that they were being chased and not being the one doing the chasing.

A number of years ago during the Build-Up the stockcamp, the manager and myself were all out mustering sale cattle from a paddock that backs onto pastorally unused land. Out of this land comes all sorts animals.

On this particular day, all was going well. I was parked up on the tail, moving out of way for cattle being brought in by the chopper then closing the gap again once I'd finished bringing them in to the mob. I'd go out around the ones coming in once they'd reached a certain point along the fenceline. As I sat there on my horse waiting for two particular head to come in my partner-in-crime of many years told me that I might want to move right out of the way for these two. As usual I ignored him and second guessed him till the cattle came in that little bit closer and his tone became a bit more urgent. I screwed my head back on and heeded his warning and moved a few places around the mob.

"Further than that!" he reckoned. By this point, the bovine pair were close enough for me to see what they were and 'further than that' I did move... right around to the lead of the mob. And I'm glad I did because when they got to the mob, one of them was a very unhappy camper. With speary horns and a shiny black coat, 600kgs of testosterone fuelled madness set his eyes on the nearest culprit of his agitation. The big cleanskin bull lined up the manager on his horse that we'll refer to as Big R. The manager set Big R, who's blind in one eye, in a tail turn and off they galloped with the scrub bull right up their clacker. I'm sure they felt the breath of that bull heating their behinds. One false move by the horse and they would have been gone but Big R kept his feet as they raced away from the mob till the bull gave up the chase and headed off into the depths of the paddock. I watched the event unfold with my heart in my mouth.

Years later, on a nearby property that also backs onto the pastorally unused land, I saw that mean, cleanskin bull again. Pulling down an old fence I kept a very wary eye on his whereabouts. I knew his potential and be damned if I wanted to be caught out. I told the boy I was working with to keep his eyes peeled too because Blacky wasn't the only scrub bull there. But after a while I became complacent while tending to my task and next thing I know, I look up and he's merely metres away from me. I looked over at the boy and mouthed "Holy f***!" while I tried to figure out what my next move should be or if I should make one at all. I looked around me. I had one thick tree to my left and one to my right but despite that there was still too much distance between me and the trees and I decided that once I was behind one I was good as stuck because all the other trees were too thin to use as protection. Nope, not using that option. What else?

After a moment I decided upon a wide berth around the bull back to the old toyota. I slowly and carefully stepped over the old, falling-down fence and backed away. As I placed my feet one of the old cows spooked and took off, bumping into the bull as she spun round and leading him and a few other cows away as she scampered off. My heart skipped a beat as I took the opportunity to move just that little bit faster away from the bull to the safety of the toyota where I calmed my nerves and had a drink of water. I did not like being caught out like that but I was fortunate that he was as worried as I was. He's still out there, impregnating cows that have been removed from the herd bulls. But sure as hell I don't want to be there the next time a chopper is out there mustering that paddock or next time his mood won't be so accomodating!

Roadtrain

It's always satisfying to finish loading a roadtrain with cattle and watch it pull out and head to its destination. I love the uniformity of the wheel tracks left behind in the dust. I'm always pleased when I see clean, cared for crates and truck drivers that aren't jigger-happy.
Back in the day before NLIS*, loading roadtrains was a simple task. No reading of tags or checking to see if the cattle even had a tag. It was straight on the truck in pens of 10 to 20 according to the size of the cattle.
What I liked about working on Legune Station up near Kununurra, Western Australia, was that when we were loading roadtrains we weren't stuffing around. Over two days we loaded 16 triples destined for Indonesia. 10 on the first day, 6 on the second. It was an impressive sight to see so many trucks curving around the turn-around waiting to be loaded. I regret not taking my camera with me to the yards that first day as I have not loaded that many roadtrains in one hit since.
When the roadtrains get moving it's a slow start. The cattle poke their heads out of the goanna holes to see where they are going and the country-side around them. When the truck stops for whatever reason, left behind is the poop and pee of the cattle on board in the shape of the crate. People that pull up behind the big rigs at traffic lights complain about the smell. While I was driving concrete trucks in town I would question myself what the hell was I doing there if I got stuck behind a fully loaded roadtrain on the highway, the smell had me yearning to go back out to the station. If we had a slow day at the concrete yard I was so frustrated with myself because right next door was the depot of one of the local livestock transport companies.
So it was a good morning this morning, doing what I love. Loading two roadtrains destined for the Barkly Tablelands area. The truckies were a nice pair of blokes and the crates were spotless. Other than two sour cows early on, the cattle loaded really well. After they were all penned off and the doors shut I watched the trucks drive away in a big billow of dust in the distance. A sense of satisfaction came over me when I closed the cockies gate behind them.

* NLIS - National Livestock Identification System: A mandatory electronic ear tag that each beast must have in their offside ear for transportation or droving. The NLIS tag is read by a reader when either the cattle are loaded or unloaded with the data then uploaded to a national database.



Loading a roadtrain at Willeroo Station 2008



Farm Day

May 26th to 27th saw farmers across Australia open their gates to city folk to better create an understanding of where the food and fibre we use and consume comes from. Organisers painstakingly matched willing farmers with keen urbanites to make sure that everyones needs and requests were catered for.
I put up my hand for Farm Day after someone in a Facebook group I belong to gave an urgent call out for land owners and managers to participate. At that stage there were way more city people than country people wanting to take part. But after a bit of a hiccup though, my plans to host a family had to make a sudden change. But alls well that ends well. The venue was shifted and everything was back on track. After their own application to Farm Day mysteriously went unresponded to, Lakefield Station thankfully bailed me out.
The organisers at the Farm Day office sent me and email to notify me of the family I'd been matched with, a mother, Leonie, and her two children. We contacted each other via email and as the days grew closer I got more and more excited.
Finally the day arrived.
Damian and I moving had me in total chaos. All organised of course. After dropping Diamond the horse off at where I am agisting the horses, Damian and I unloaded all the gear off the back of my toyota, Damian then took me shopping and after refuelling I was continuing on my way and Damian on his. I had hoped to reach Lakfield at smoko time before Leonie and her kids arrived but by the time I got down there it was already midday and they had beated me there.
We quickly had lunch and then unloaded Capone, my bull, off the float. He was quite happy to finally be off the float and make some new friends. He didn't even let me pat him goodbye.
Next thing you know, Lakefield had an influx of children as it was Kirra's birthday party. All the kids, Leonie and her two children and I all headed off to visit a sinkhole and some rock formations. It was nice and cool exploring around. The kids scratched their names and stick figures into rocks on a red earth flat while Leonie's boy smashed ant mounds. When we got back to the house I got the dreaded news that Lacey, my little dog, had buggered off. My friend Sarah was looking after her for the weekend and had spent the last hour and a half trying to look for her till she gave up and left a message for me at Lakefield while I was out with Leonie and all the kids.
I unhooked the horse float and lead-footed it all the way to Mataranka to help look for my cheeky dog. Three calls of my "special" call (only I am able to warble to create this "special" call) and Lacey appeared out of the scrub. I thanked and apologised Sarah for her troubles and headed back to Lakefield.
While I was gone all the kids had water bomb fights, Leonie's kids had a go at riding a horse and dinner was in the process of being cooked. During my abscence we also scaled down in children by two. But dinner was still crowded, but in a good way. Some relatives of Garry were staying and the grader driver and his wife also came over for tea. There is was also Safitri, an Indonesian university student, who cooked nasi goreng as part of the evenings meal. Soon the night was over and everyone headed to bed. I was so thankful to be able to sleep in a bed rather than the side of the road. I slept like a log.
In the morning, Leonie, her kids, Safitri and I vaccinated, tagged and recorded the poddies. It took a while to convince the kids to stop jumping all over the hay bales and have a go at this little activity. They got to have another crack at riding the horses again too until smoko.
Then Leonie got to have her go on a horse. She, Chelsea, Tahlia and Saifitri cut out all of the weaners by horse from the stud cattle with Michelle and I on the ground. Then the three horse riders rode off and we didn't see them for another half an hour. When they returned it was lunch time. This time we had even more people come and eat as a lady, Sal, from a nearby property came to visit and also brang her Indonesian university students with her. There was plenty of food to go round as well as discussion.
After cleaning up from lunch, Leonie, all three Indonesians and I went out to start walking some cattle up a lane. The students all got to have a go at riding on the quad bike pushing the cattle up. When we pushed them as far as time would permit (closing the gates behind us of course) we headed back but at Cockatoo Bore Leonie spotted something and next thing you know she's running and diving across the flat with only loud squeals to be heard. She had caught a ginger coloured pig.
When we caught up with Sal, she informed us that the piglet had lice. The Indonesian's stayed with her as they wanted to see meat get processed, station style and Leonie and I continued on.
Soon it was time to pack and say our goodbyes. I enjoyed playing part host to my Farm Day family. Leonie wants to come back! It seems they all enjoyed their time too.
So for anyone out there who is a property owner and liked the sound of that, there is always Farm Day next year!