I was set straight about the intention behind the lift offer within five minutes after leaving for the NT (and got another lesson days after, I will get back to that). I was asked if I could drive and handle a manual gear. I could, well I did succeed at my drivers exam only days before my departure to Australia. I did not qualify as an experienced driver but I soon noticed that my co-driver was not in any stage to judge. He was drunk in no time and stayed drunk for the next couple of days.
I drove about 2000 km in three days straight. I must say I totally loved it. I have learned to appreciate the vast plains in North Queensland, Dwight Yaokam and I am hooked on Toyota Landcruisers ever since. The company was not impressive. I never felt at ease with the bloke neither threatened. The first day amongst many other things we got to talk about cultural diversity in The Netherlands (he was from New Guinea) and one particular anecdote impressed the hell out of him, as I found out later nearly literally. The anecdote concerned a Suriname creoles woman who got back to her partners infidelity by putting a hot ironer on his private parts when being asleep. We camped out on the back of the ute in his swag somewhere along the road. He never even tried to touch me, which saved me from having to find another ride. The combination of story telling and booze must have done it and I counted my luck.
We past through Mount Isa and I think it was there were the bloke picked up a young blue heeler he'd left behind months earlier. The woman who'd taken care of her nearly did not want to give the dog back, but she clearly recognized him. She jumped on the back of the ute and joined our company. That first night out she couldn't settle down on her chain, so the chap let her loose and thought she'd stay around. We found her dead on the road the next morning. He was devastated and couldn't get over it.
The night before arrival at the cattle station on the border of Arnhem Land we spent the night at Mataranka hot springs. That was really great. Touristy, but when arriving after dark one doesn't notice. We had the spring to ourselves and enjoyed drifting about under the stars.
Passing through Katherine I noticed a pet shop and went in. There were three heeler pups, two blues and a red. Intending to comfort the hitcher man I bought him the six weeks old blue bitch that jumped up and down trying to get my attention. When presenting him the pup he fumed, I was insensitive and he would have nothing to do with the dog. As we were already on our way out to the cattle station 300 km out there was no way back. Niki and I got together (and still are).
The station owner hired the bloke, whom had worked there before and got fired before. The managers partner wanted me to stay on and offered me the position of station cook, as the British girl that cooked at that time soon was about to leave home. As no-one was to be convinced that we weren't a couple, we got a house to stay in. Luckily it had two bedrooms.
I focused on raising Niki and started working in the kitchen. Within a few days the hitcher showed his true ugly face. The booze had taken the edges off before and now he was in withdrawal as it was a semi dry camp. Maximum two beers a day and six on the weekends. He saved up his beers. And got nearly drunk and thus very frustrated twice a week. By then I had heard the story about his earlier leave: he used to beat up his misses so bad that she fled the house stark naked to ask for help one night. As it turned out he was convicted for domestic violence before and was on the run for an another trial. When he got verbally aggressive towards me and tried to get me into the sack I moved to the cooks house near the homestead. He moved into the men's quarters, bragged about our supposed sex life and left the next evening never to return. My bill to the ride from Hughenden to here was the total costs of petrol and food along the way, as he kept saying that he had trouble with his bank account he would soon solve. It didn't really bother me. I realized I must have a guardian angel with support worker skills and was grateful to be where I was.
Hilton in the bush
One phone call to Goomeri and I had an option for work at a cattle station in Hughenden. Despite the warnings I hitched up North. Stationed myself at a truck stop and checked people out before approaching them for a ride. Luckily I just met nice people and got to Hughenden within a day. There I was picked up by the station manager with his teenage lady friend, whom seemed to have a bit of a habit. Anyway, they were hospitable and took me to the station. The manager appeared to have another living in friend, a pig that became his pet. I spent one night at the homestead and the next day I was driven to 12 mile.
After a brief introduction I was expected at the yards and there the real cattle work began. Lick runs, bore runs, windmill fixing, fencing, mustering, shifting, injecting, dehorning - the lot. Thank G I never had to castrate. The yard work was a bloody mess in every sense of the word.
The evenings were spent having a very necessary shower, dinner (cooked by the head stock man's wife) and reading or watching telly. This would be the one period I actually wrote in my diary regularly.
I only realized later why the men seemed to dance and jump towards the outdoor billy. It was the necessary means to get past a zillion cane toads. It seemed they were preparing to take over the land and everything on it at night.
The four stock men were nice and friendly. I remember bright Southern blue eyes and mystic dreamy black eyes, especially those of Potty - the sweetest jackeroo I came across in Australia. They all slept in the big shed. One night I spent on a bunk bed in the head stock man's guest room. It was impossible not to hear the couple. Apparently they watched telly in bed. At some time followed the sound of creaking springs and some grunting. Then a yell: 'Get of me RIGHT NOW you filthy bastard!' followed by the sound of a slap. He answered by starting a fight over de dog: 'But the fucking dog is allowed to sleep on the bed, you always...'
The next morning I opted for the old butcher shed. 2 x 3 m2, gauze all around, tin roof and a door. The station manager brought a double box spring over with fresh ironed linen and a warm blanket. There was an old shelve to put my gear on. The view at night was great: stars, stars and the odd wallaby grazing about. I called my little shed the Hilton hotel. And woke up to reality every morning at 4.30 h when the generator got started and we all headed for the ice cold showers in turns. The workmen's breakfast was a bit to heavy for my system, so after a while fruit and cereal where ordered in and I actually ate something in the morning. During sunrise we were already setting up at remote locations for further mustering and yard work. One morning, while driving up to the yards over a big flat, I saw the sunrise and the moon set at the same moment. Two huge orange circles at opposite sides of the horizon, a picture to remember.
The treat for a girl on adventure was of course the mustering. Very few times by car, more often the quad (better!) but best was flying. The station manager was a pilot and he took me for a thrilling ride into the air. It was amazing and great to oversee the station from air and good fun to muster the huge number of cattle feeling like a giant fly roaming about them.
It didn't take long before it became clear that the camp was only dry for the ringers. The head stock man had a liquid breakfast and kept a little supply under his seat in the ute. Every time he went for a piss he filled up the losses straightaway. As he held a key position shifting in the yard, the work got riskier as the day progressed. He missed, closed gates to early or to soon and didn't realize his contribution to the faults made. It got messier. Dip wasn't used after dehorning as it was found to expensive. Too many calves did not survive as their brains were exposed to the outside world. Once five bullocks out of eight whom were lined up in the ramp for injections and cutting the horn tips did not survive. They rammed into each other and were paralyzed instantly. There were so many 'casualties' I couldn't bear it, though of course I did not know what was normal or not. When a new stock man came along and left within a week, I took the offer for a ride to the NT and quit. As the pay was good and the expenses about zero A$, I actually saved up quite a little stash within six weeks time.
After a brief introduction I was expected at the yards and there the real cattle work began. Lick runs, bore runs, windmill fixing, fencing, mustering, shifting, injecting, dehorning - the lot. Thank G I never had to castrate. The yard work was a bloody mess in every sense of the word.
The evenings were spent having a very necessary shower, dinner (cooked by the head stock man's wife) and reading or watching telly. This would be the one period I actually wrote in my diary regularly.
I only realized later why the men seemed to dance and jump towards the outdoor billy. It was the necessary means to get past a zillion cane toads. It seemed they were preparing to take over the land and everything on it at night.
The four stock men were nice and friendly. I remember bright Southern blue eyes and mystic dreamy black eyes, especially those of Potty - the sweetest jackeroo I came across in Australia. They all slept in the big shed. One night I spent on a bunk bed in the head stock man's guest room. It was impossible not to hear the couple. Apparently they watched telly in bed. At some time followed the sound of creaking springs and some grunting. Then a yell: 'Get of me RIGHT NOW you filthy bastard!' followed by the sound of a slap. He answered by starting a fight over de dog: 'But the fucking dog is allowed to sleep on the bed, you always...'
The next morning I opted for the old butcher shed. 2 x 3 m2, gauze all around, tin roof and a door. The station manager brought a double box spring over with fresh ironed linen and a warm blanket. There was an old shelve to put my gear on. The view at night was great: stars, stars and the odd wallaby grazing about. I called my little shed the Hilton hotel. And woke up to reality every morning at 4.30 h when the generator got started and we all headed for the ice cold showers in turns. The workmen's breakfast was a bit to heavy for my system, so after a while fruit and cereal where ordered in and I actually ate something in the morning. During sunrise we were already setting up at remote locations for further mustering and yard work. One morning, while driving up to the yards over a big flat, I saw the sunrise and the moon set at the same moment. Two huge orange circles at opposite sides of the horizon, a picture to remember.
The treat for a girl on adventure was of course the mustering. Very few times by car, more often the quad (better!) but best was flying. The station manager was a pilot and he took me for a thrilling ride into the air. It was amazing and great to oversee the station from air and good fun to muster the huge number of cattle feeling like a giant fly roaming about them.
It didn't take long before it became clear that the camp was only dry for the ringers. The head stock man had a liquid breakfast and kept a little supply under his seat in the ute. Every time he went for a piss he filled up the losses straightaway. As he held a key position shifting in the yard, the work got riskier as the day progressed. He missed, closed gates to early or to soon and didn't realize his contribution to the faults made. It got messier. Dip wasn't used after dehorning as it was found to expensive. Too many calves did not survive as their brains were exposed to the outside world. Once five bullocks out of eight whom were lined up in the ramp for injections and cutting the horn tips did not survive. They rammed into each other and were paralyzed instantly. There were so many 'casualties' I couldn't bear it, though of course I did not know what was normal or not. When a new stock man came along and left within a week, I took the offer for a ride to the NT and quit. As the pay was good and the expenses about zero A$, I actually saved up quite a little stash within six weeks time.
Small town, small talk
A grocers family took me in. For 200 dollar a week I kept the house neat and tidy and picked the kids up from school and dropped them at their sport clubs. The three kids cooked in turns and both parents worked the majority of the week in the local grocery shop. I had more time off than I could handle. I ran laps around a pond down town, followed a course in line dancing (great fun hopping about with man and woman of all sizes and ages) and went to martial arts. The kids allowed me to join their social circle and so I socialized accordingly. There was a B&S ball and the odd weekend on a cattle station of a befriended family. The mother and the son were gifted piano players and the station was very well kept and preserved. Some of the sheds way out could have easily been part of an outdoor museum. I loved the time spent there. And there was a but about this town. My Dutch big city mentality and style was tolerated but not approved of and in the end it got to me. I did not feel like adjusting as I was convinced 'they' were narrow minded and I came to Australia to broaden mine. Also there was not much to do. When I got a secretarial position offered at the mines I realized it was time to move on.
Milk, olives and a broomstick
I started working at a farm near Clermont, QLD, for a 81 year old lady. She was deaf, had one eye and could not stand up straight anymore. She ran her farm for years with little help and decided to start an olive orchard. I was impressed with her personality, aghast about her living conditions and eager to get into it. I worked seven days a week for 80 dollars (I am not sure about the share of wages being transferred to the arranging party). I was happy seeding a veggie garden, planting trees, putting in the irrigation system and weeding and ploughing acre after acre by hand and spade. Even the flies that covered my face almost the entire day did not make me falter. The facilities almost did. They were situated beside the lady's bedroom, lacked a door and only needed flushing after the bigger messages - so she believed. Cleaning was a word that wasn't used for a very long time. You could describe her interior as extremely 'zen'; there was almost nothing there. Still, pests of all sorts found enough to linger about and leave their traces, which she hadn't seen or bothered about for many years before.
Better were the odd muster jobs we did together. The more then thirty year old ute existed out of four wheels, a rusty carcass and a steering wheel and that was really about it. The diesel needed to be sucked out of the barrel. The gear did not work properly so we buck jumped along the way. Once we had to make our way around a yard on foot to shift twelve odd cows and got covered in what I think was called spear grass. We both had to get undressed to be able to sit in the car to get back home and laughed our heads off doing so. Maybe cackling is the better description of her laughter. Less funny was the cow she expected me to milk. After all I was a Dutch girl wasn't I? I never even seriously tried to catch her (the cow that is) as she had a murderous look on her face and still hadn't weaned her last calf which was more then halve her size. I cooked and cleaned between jobs and occasionally I was able to ride an old friendly horse without any gear but a little piece of string. Although officially that was a chore too; checking the paddocks.
You could hear the phone ring miles away through the outdoor speakers. Of course I was never in time to pick it up, I wonder if she was. Meanwhile the villagers came by every now and again to see if I was fine, as the lady had a reputation. When she started to be really nasty when I wanted an afternoon off once a fortnight or when doing my laundry I gave in to another job offer coming from someone out of town. I became a home help.
Better were the odd muster jobs we did together. The more then thirty year old ute existed out of four wheels, a rusty carcass and a steering wheel and that was really about it. The diesel needed to be sucked out of the barrel. The gear did not work properly so we buck jumped along the way. Once we had to make our way around a yard on foot to shift twelve odd cows and got covered in what I think was called spear grass. We both had to get undressed to be able to sit in the car to get back home and laughed our heads off doing so. Maybe cackling is the better description of her laughter. Less funny was the cow she expected me to milk. After all I was a Dutch girl wasn't I? I never even seriously tried to catch her (the cow that is) as she had a murderous look on her face and still hadn't weaned her last calf which was more then halve her size. I cooked and cleaned between jobs and occasionally I was able to ride an old friendly horse without any gear but a little piece of string. Although officially that was a chore too; checking the paddocks.
You could hear the phone ring miles away through the outdoor speakers. Of course I was never in time to pick it up, I wonder if she was. Meanwhile the villagers came by every now and again to see if I was fine, as the lady had a reputation. When she started to be really nasty when I wanted an afternoon off once a fortnight or when doing my laundry I gave in to another job offer coming from someone out of town. I became a home help.
Instant Jilleroo
In Brisbane I realized I did not want to linger in the big city longer then I needed to. I am not very interested in what cities have to offer. In the newspaper I came across an advert for a course in rural Queensland. It was promised that one would learn basic station hand skills within a weeks time and there was a job guarantee. So, I got onto the bus to Goomeri and learned working with horses, cattle and sheep, tractor and header driving, fencing, chain saw work, horse work at stables, yard work, maintenance and ag bike work with cattle and sheep. I did things I never believed I could and managed to survive. Considering my length (short) I found it pretty creepy to handle a motor bike on rough territory; I had to stay on as I was unable to kick start it again or even mount it on uneven grounds. So on I stayed. I still wonder if I was 'sold' as a 1st or 2nd year jilleroo to prospective employers, hence their surprise when I arrived at their property. But I was glad with the jobs offered.
Falling in love
It turned out they were right. The moment I stepped out of the airplane I felt totally at ease. It felt like coming home, never knowing what home was before. Of all places, as I am not particularly fond of concrete, at Brisbane airport my heart was stolen.
From that moment on it didn't really matter what I would do or where I would go from there. I was in Australia and that was enough. But of course in a years time a lot can happen and so it did. Looking back at this year now, 10 years later, I still find it one of the happiest in my life.
From that moment on it didn't really matter what I would do or where I would go from there. I was in Australia and that was enough. But of course in a years time a lot can happen and so it did. Looking back at this year now, 10 years later, I still find it one of the happiest in my life.
How it all started....
Ten years ago I decided to experience a different part of the world before settling down. Too many people around me said 'if I could, I would, I should have' a bit too often for my taste. Also I realized life was easy having the safety of a home, a circle of dear friends and a job. These ties became part of my identity. I wondered how I would do without. Could I be happy without it all?
When exploring possibilities to live abroad for a while, the option of a working-holiday visa (valid in Australia) was advertised. This was of course a great opportunity to travel a long period of time without having to save a substantial amount of money before take off. I had no idea what Australia was like, never really paid much attention to her. This changed when the ticket office asked me where I would like to arrive and from where I would like to depart within or after a years time. I got a Lonely Planet at the book shop and started reading. There were three things that pointed my direction: first of all my eagerness to experience the real Australian way of life, to avoid the 'been there, done that'-backpacking scene and gut feeling. The places that drew my attention were Arnhem Land, Broome and Esperance but the latter less then the first two places. So a logic travel route for me was to arrive in Brisbane and to travel towards Perth. I booked, quit my job, sublet my apartment in Amsterdam and took off within six weeks.
Although friends were shocked, sad and convinced I would stay away the full year, I thought I might also be back after three weeks if it turned out that Australia and/or traveling did not suit me.
When exploring possibilities to live abroad for a while, the option of a working-holiday visa (valid in Australia) was advertised. This was of course a great opportunity to travel a long period of time without having to save a substantial amount of money before take off. I had no idea what Australia was like, never really paid much attention to her. This changed when the ticket office asked me where I would like to arrive and from where I would like to depart within or after a years time. I got a Lonely Planet at the book shop and started reading. There were three things that pointed my direction: first of all my eagerness to experience the real Australian way of life, to avoid the 'been there, done that'-backpacking scene and gut feeling. The places that drew my attention were Arnhem Land, Broome and Esperance but the latter less then the first two places. So a logic travel route for me was to arrive in Brisbane and to travel towards Perth. I booked, quit my job, sublet my apartment in Amsterdam and took off within six weeks.
Although friends were shocked, sad and convinced I would stay away the full year, I thought I might also be back after three weeks if it turned out that Australia and/or traveling did not suit me.
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