Another Day in the Outback

As the sun rises over the horizon ,another day starts. For many people this means  a quick shower, breakfast grab your briefcase and join the hustle and bustle  along  the freeway to your office.

However at Suplejack Downs the day is well underway, the gyros and choppers  are in the air and the  mustering on the western end of the station  has started. 

This particular  muster holds great sentimental value to me and my family as it was the same area that went terribly wrong in 2008, leaving me in this wheelchair.        



Excitement builds as quickly as the dust rises, while the helicopter's coach the last of the cattle into portable yards.

Bill Cook with his grandson Braxton has got the station semi ready to start trucking the sale cattle home market

I would like to pretend Brad and Cam were seeking advice from their older (wiser) brother, but they were actually just checking if I was okay.

It was only a couple of seasons prior while mustering the exact same cattle out of the South East corner of Suplejack that the chopper went down breaking my neck, and even though I was observing from a wheelchair, I felt a sense of achievement to watch the same cattle that had taken so much from me, being processed and trucked.

I might look like I am sitting there doing nothing but I'm actually conjuring up a poem about some of the exciting situations the ringers found themselves in that day, so enjoy.

 

 

Lilly's Larrikins

 

Now wooka tooks, both big and small

All shorthorn, polled and horny

Keeps the ringers on their toes

After an early moon lit morning

 

They take a drink of water

And have a well earned break

They blow the white dust from their nose

That's found on Lilly's Lake

 

A single crack of the stockman's whip

As they yard up from the back

A yodel from their comrade

Let's them know ones on attack 

 

The clanking of the draft gate

The whisper of the slide

The quick catch of the head bail

With an unmarked beast inside

 

The slow and steady drafting

On the men it takes it's toll

All the stopping and the starting

Struggling to keep them on a roll

 

The mickey bulls blow snot and swing ivory

As they hone in on their prey

The ringers fake left, step right

And clamber out of their way

 

Now Kendall mans the note pad

And keeps the brand iron hot

While feeding cattle to the crush

There's nothing she's forgot

 

Dingy's back to reclaim glory

As he slams the headbail closed

Bang tail, needles, earmark

Keeps him lively on his toes

 

Brado attempts the job of three men

Working headbail to the force

He has to cover ground quickly

To make it back to chop off horns

 

Experience shows in Gav's approach

While keeping scrubbers on the go

Sometimes to move the wild cattle

You've got to crouch down real low

 

And then there's holy awesomeness

Young Lukey in his prime

Regardless of his position

He's having one hell of a time

 

Cambo barks out orders

As he drafts them two by two

Cleanskin, trucker, bush gate

Let the baby calves go through

 

Young Elliot swings the weaner gate

As he scurries up the rail

He dares not put a foot wrong

With those young mickeys on his tail

 

And just like a ghost in darkness

Sambo covers here and there

From the back yards to the bush gate

He could pop up anywhere

 

One things to yard the cattle up

But getting them home's another deal

The mercedes broadslides to the ramp

With Boss man Billy at the wheel

 

With hard work comes the hunger

And someone has to feed the crew

Cookie won't serve a basic sanga

He creates one hell of a stew

 

With Aunty Jude by his side

They cook over flame and coal

The result of this is splendid

Or so the stories told

 

Now your probably wondering

Who has time to sit and view

And write as these events unfold

It's the cripple with his chew!

 

Nothing beats the smell of branded hides

And those aged bulls are a sight to see

And even though he can not lend a hand

There's no place he'd rather be

 

 

 

Rob Cook 4/7/12 @ Suplejack Station