Yarns from the outback

Hi all, poets like Banjo Patterson, Henry Lawson and Dorothea Mackellar wrote of the beauty of the Australian outback and brought many of its characters into our worlds with verse.

When you’re traveling out west there’re three things you should always carry with you – your respect, your sense of humour and your ears.

I can’t believe the conversations and laughs we’ve had with so many locals that start with a simple ‘g’day mate’ and a smile.

The people can be anyone from station owners and workers to townies who have lived there all their lives.

Everyone has a story and suddenly the town you’re in comes to life with history and yarns.

After spending time out here, I have truly found meaning in the saying ‘if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry’.

That same humour is shown in the words of “A Mountain Station” by Banjo Patterson where the opening verse reads:

I bought a run a while ago
On country rough and ridgy,
Where wallaroos and wombats grow
The upper Murrumbidgee.
The grass is rather scant, it’s true,
But this a fair exchange is,
The sheep can see a lovely view
By climbing up the ranges.

 

I read this and find it hard not to smile at that same Aussie humour still alive today.

I just thought I’d share a few yarns that have recently been replaying in my mind.

It wasn’t that many years ago we came across an old bushie on horseback moving about 60 head of cattle along a section of main road.

It was late in the afternoon of a hot, dry day and it became obvious by the smell that old mate must have started re-hydrating a little earlier than normal.

Under his Akubra you could see a nose and a face flushed bright pink.

There was no way this old chap was capable of stringing two words together and he struggled to deal with the forces of gravity as he swayed in the saddle.

 

His old horse moved carefully forward, aware of his master’s condition, while a team of five kelpies pushed the cattle along a boundary fence, turned them across the road to a hidden dirt track and disappeared into the afternoon light meandering their way home.

I’ll never forget that afternoon and have often wondered if the horse and dogs also took off the old bloke’s hat and boots and tucked him into his bed that night or if the next day he couldn’t think for the life of him who’d moved that mob of cattle.

Another story happened a few years back at a family reunion in western Queensland.

One of the uncles had a whole side of lamb on a rotisserie turning over an open fire.

The tables were set with a range of salads and those tarts and cakes you only find at a County Women’s Association event.

By the end of the afternoon the charred lamb carcass was sliced into plates of succulent meat and served to the starving quests.

I was famished and hoed into the crisp, slightly burnt meat with a vengeance.

Early next morning as the eyes opened my stomach alerted me that something was just not right.

The groans of others soon joined in.

 

Breakfast was considered a dirty word as everyone’s body rejected last night’s meal.

The investigation began and concluded it had to be that bloody sheep and questions were asked.

Remember that saying ‘if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry’?

Well, I can say that now, but I wasn’t so understanding at the time – especially when we discovered that mouthwatering lamb was in fact roadkill.

The last true story comes from Boulia where a Canadian adventurer was travelling the outback dirt roads on a motorbike.

The bike had mechanical problems about 20km out of town as the light was beginning to fade.

The uncles made the decision to tow him back to town by securing a rope to the Falcon’s bull bar and the other end around our Canadian friend’s triple trees on his motorbike.

 

As the convoy began its journey, the uncles soon found that the only visible thing behind them was the rope disappearing into a cloud of dust.

Common sense predicted that if the rope was angled high then all was well and the bike was still upright but if the rope was running low, the bike was on its side.

With that highly scientific formula in place, the towing challenge was undertaken and the task successfully completed without a problem thanks to good old outback initiative.

The only downside was one Canadian motorcyclist covered completely in dust with white knuckles that had to be massaged to get him to let go of the handle grips.

This story got me thinking – these memories have been laughed about for years but it has been the recent passing of my wife’s young brother Brad Willmington that has brought back so many special times.

Brad worked in remote places at times and would spend months living out of the Landcruiser and swag.

He loved the area around Boulia and whenever passing through he’d throw his swag on our veranda.

I knew he wasn’t travelling well when his sister offered him a bedroom last trip and he accepted for the first time.

RIP brother. outback