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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
