Wednesday 2nd May 2007

   I awoke to a bright, clear day with the promise of an interesting time working alongside the Wirrealpa family, running the sheep and cattle station and looking after their bus load of visitors.

   By the time I had showered and wandered the 50 metres to the homestead dining room, Barbara and Warren had all the breakfast materials laid out to feed the mob. We loaded it all onto the 4WD trayback and drove the 200m to the visitor's quarters. There was little movement there with a few early starters kicking a soccer ball around while the others slowly drifted out of their rooms to the communal dining area. I imagine most were up till all hours talking about their day tour through the Flinders and Warren's afternoon sheep shearing display.

   Helping with last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast is a new experience for me. I have never prepared, or assisted with feeding such a number of people. And the breakfast was relatively simple with a choice of juices and serials, toast and jams followed with coffee or tea.
But it seemed endless. Jugs of juice to be refilled, instructions to every third person on how to use the toaster, clearing used dishes and cups, washing and drying. This was only 30 people but the room was filled with noisy, excited chatter that added to the experience for me. I guess I'll have more respect for kitchen hands in future when I next am on the other side of the coffee pot.

   The big discussion as the breakfast came to an end was the morning's adventure for about half the guests that had chosen to take a joy ride in a plane from the Wirrealpa strip over the homestead and then to the edge of the Flinders Ranges. Warren's pilot's license enables him to fly his plane with passengers but not with paying passengers. He had phoned his neighbour, Ian, who was a license for commercial passengers and he would be arriving around 9.30. I was the designated driver to ferry the passengers from the accommodation, along a two tyre track road, across a fairly big dip down into and across a dry creek and then up the other side and further on to the strip. The total drive was just over a kilometer but it became a highlight for the visitors. These Asian students were late teen - twenty something, definitely cityfied, first timers into any "bush" let alone this arid, bare aussie outback. And they were being carried standing up on the back of a 4WD truck inside a stock transport "cage" bumping and swaying over what could hardly be called a road. They were already grinning ear to ear when we arrived at the strip just as Ian was taxiing the Cessna 172 to our end of the strip.

   After the talk about who would be first seemed to be taking far too long, Ian just pointed and said "You, you and  you first," and opened the passenger side door. He pulled the seat forward and guided two into the back and the third one into the front passengers seat. Very efficient. Obviously used to getting sheep to where he wanted them.

   I tried to get the others moving to well off the marked runway as Ian taxied to the other end for the takeoff. But they were excited, wanting to watch the "lighty" all the way for the taxi, turn and departure. And, in spite of the English lessons they were taking, they had not progressed far enough for me to converse easily. My knowledge of Japanese or Korean or whatever was non-existent so with gestures I managed to get them off the centre-line just at the 172 passed 5 metres over our heads to the "Oohs" and "Aahs" and clicking of cameras. Ian put on a show for those on board and also to the delight of those on the ground. He climbed in a straight line to establish height and airspeed then put the plane into a turn slightly more adventurous than is normal with passengers but well within the limits and regulations. More "Oohs" and "Aahs" and clicks and we watched them get smaller as they circled the homestead on the way to the ranges.

                 

   15 minutes later, as the excitement and babble that followed the takeoff was subsiding, I heard the plane approaching but could not see it. I pointed in the general direction of the hills and the other followed my point but, although we were all expecting it, we were startled as Ian came into view at tree top level (well, it seemed like tree top level) and flew above us to the other end of the strip. Here he pulled up to gain sufficient height for a safe turn to get into a position to turn back and land. We were still not far off the centre line and the excitement level again climbed to ten out of ten as we watched the approach and landing with the plane coming straight at us. I had to hold them back as the plane came to a stop near us till the engine stopped. It was hard to pick whether the passengers alighting from the aircraft were more excited than the spectators.

   This time there was no delay in 3 more stepping forward to be next to take the flight. Ian did his thing again while those on the ground who had been up all spoke at once, smiling endlessly and cameras catching it all. The ones that had been for their flight wanted to head back to the accommodation to tell the other about what it was like so I loaded them up while the current flight was on.

   When the last flight was loading, there were only two "customers" left, so Ian beckoned to me to join in. I had been talking to him between each flight and managed to squeeze in that I had held a pilot's license in Broome. Needless to say I jumped at the chance. I got some great pictures of the homestead and the ranges from the air. After the flight, you couldn't pick me from the other passengers if you were only going by the level of excitement and the extent of the grin.

                  

   We watched and waved as Ian took off heading back to his property and executed an "I've got no passengers" turn. Coming down a little from our collective high (pun intended), we drove back to the others who were gathering outside the bus now positioned in the centre of the compound. Dennis had been busy preparing the Genesis tour coach for the return drive to Adelaide and more or less had the mob organised. Well, it looked organised. There was lots of luggage stacked near the under-floor storage and the passenger door was open wide. I waited around for 30 minutes, taking pictures, saying goodbyes but not one had entered the bus. I eventually gave up and, waving, got in the 4WD and headed over to the homestead where Warren would be waiting for me to return. We were heading out to round up some sheep!

                   

   Over a tasteful lunch, which Barbara had once again managed to put together between her larger catering and other duties, we discussed the afternoon to come. John and Anna were heading back to the "big smoke" and there was much family talk about their near and distant futures. Warren told me that he had done some initial mustering of some "woollies" and had seen a ram in a paddock with ewes where it should not have been at this time of the year.

   Sheep are traditionally depicted as being dumb. But lots of sheep station owners disagree. I have heard both sides and still sit on the fence. I am very comfortable with cattle and, although cautious enough to work safely, I am happy to be "in amongst them" when I get down into a yard full of cows. This will be my first time "working" sheep and I am looking forward to the new experience.

   We loaded up one of the vehicles for me to drive while Warren got a trail bike from the shed so he could more effectively cut out the sheep that he wanted from the general flock. We headed out along a station road through lightly shrubbed, flat country and I was delighted to see three emus run across the road just in front me. After about 5 kilometers, weaving between occasional,  relatively thick stands of small bushy trees and crossing always dry, creek beds, we came into a clear area where several paddocks came together in a common area containing a windmill, tank and piping to troughs in each paddock.

   Warren handed me a UHF hand held radio. We stood while he pointed out a couple of "woollies" he could see. I couldn't. These sheep missed shearing at the last muster and they were significantly "woollier" than their shorn mates. But, at first, I couldn't tell the difference. They were a 100 metres or so away and I had several other excuses but Warren persisted and eventually I pointed out another one. I was to stand by ready to open a gate and he went off to gather them up. Around to the back of the small mob, he threw the bike back and forth, sheep prancing around, running this way and that and eventually he came back with 4 sheep to guide through my gate and into a yard near the windmill.

   We repeated the operation and eventually had 11 woollies and 2 others that had dingo bites on their sides (flanks?). The wounds looked horrible to me, being half bushie but the other half still pretty cityfied. If these wounds were on a human, they would be hospitalised for treatment and recovery for days, or even weeks. The wounded sheep were taken back to the homestead, treated with some magic powder and put in a holding paddock for observation. Warren finished off his trail bike mustering trick bringing back the wayward ram that had somehow crossed into a forbidden paddock.

   We left the sheep penned up there while we went back for a trailer fitted with grate (fence) sides to transport them back the shearing shed area. Convincing the sheep to get into the trailer wasn't easy but eventually they were all tucked away. Somehow I don't think the sheep will find the trip as exciting as the Asian students did!

   It was getting late by the time we had finished with my new experience. I gathered up my radio gear and, selecting a couple of trees just outside the homestead garden gate, down by the chook pen, I threw my cords with rocks attached and set up the antenna. I connected the battery and turned on just as Warren joined me. "Mind if I listen in?"

   Not too long ago, Wirrealpa, and all the stations around here, and indeed, throughout Australia were using this technology as their only regular contact with the world outside. You might have heard of it as short wave, or HF, or in Australia, the "Flying Doctor" radio. Or even "School of The Air". It differs from what we normally think of as radio as it requires a long aerial. For a pastoral station, this would have been a permanent tower with the aerial going from the top of the tower back to the homestead and through the wall into the radio. This form of radio works where no other does over large distances. And this is why I renewed my amateur radio operator's license and went to the expense to buy my little Yeasu transceiver. Warren was intrigued with my successful communication with Roger and Bill, and a couple of others, not so much that I could do it, but because the radio was so much smaller, neater, so much more "technical" than his old equipment, now lying in the shed more or less as junk. The only part of the set up that was recognisable was the aerial. The experts have not yet come up with a way to make that smaller.

   But they have brought the telephone to the most remote areas now with satellite technology. I delight in seeing the Telstra satellite dish, small equipment shelter with solar panels on top and cables running to the homestead at every station I call into. And sometimes even to a public phone booth.

   As I was dismantling the radio antenna, I questioned Warren about his large array of solar panels on the equipment shed. He told me of the agonising decisions they had to make, balancing the cost of the new installations with small daily running costs against the never ending, budget draining diesel fuel bills to run the noisy, aging generators. Eventually, humanly, they settled on a system that would meet their current needs (at the time) with occasional use of the generators when they had visitors or when there were continual overcast skies. Not that that happened very often around here.

   However, with solar power, stored in batteries during the day, the station now had power available 24 hours a day. that's a good thing, of course. But soon after the costly installation, they started to up size their standard of living. Now, on a rare trip to town, they could start to include household items that city folk take for granted. Hi-fi equipment, microwave oven, electric water heaters, dare I say electric blankets. You get the idea.

   Before too long, they found that they were now using more electricity than in previous years and the generator had to be run nearly as long as it was in the past.

   But they were very happy with their modified lifestyle.

   We had a quiet dinner, just the 3 of us after a hectic time with family and farmstay visitors and I retired early to prepare for the next "leg" of my walk. I studied my maps and worked out I would be heading NE 53km to Wearing Gorge, due East 6km to Teatree, then almost due North to Wertalooma Station 30 km further on. From there, 10km North to Balcanoona Ranger Station and another 30km to Arkaroola which has a resort and caravan park where I will stay. This will be a total 130km and the longest leg I have traveled so far. I will be calling in at Wertalooma but I don't intend to stay. I will also drop into the Balcanoona ranger Station as I have been told to say hello to "Charlie", a ranger there.

       
   Tomorrow, big walk and camp at turnoff to Chambers Gorge