Greetings from King’s Cross in Sydney - on this, my final weekend in Australia!

I realize that a lot of time has passed since my last update, and even more in the way of events and experiences. The deadline of my visa expiration has been fast approaching, and for some reason putting off this update seemed to make my time here last longer. I’m going to concentrate more on general Australia in this last submission, rather than just my adventures – which would take too long anyway, and could only be best portrayed in a book. Hint, hint. :)

For myself, I will say simply that my time since New Zealand has been a treasure. The journey back to Channel Country was indeed exciting, and included being stranded in Longreach, stuck in Jundah, and then finally being given a ride on a giant Council truck that could cut through rivers, all thanks to flood waters. When I did arrive in Windorah, what a joy! What a joy to see Trudy again, the kids, the tiny one-horse town that brought me so much in the way of Outback
experience, not to mention the red dirt and million mile blue skies. Originally we had planned to stay in Windorah just a few days, go to the Tanbar Christmas party, and then move to Broken Hill…again, enter rain and floodwaters. Remember, this is back in early December, before the monster rains and devastating floods in the Brisbane area were even a concern. We attempted to make it to the Tanbar Christmas party - about 4 utes piled high with kids and party goers braved rivers that were flooded almost up to our windows. One ute gave out and had to be pushed from behind…at any rate, about half way there it was apparent that the waters were just too high for us to continue, so we came back – and took the party to the pub, as you do. I was very sad to not see Tanbar again, and Danielle, Nikki…but there it is. Seeing as all the roads in and out of Windorah were now closed, we passed the days with waking up at 6:00 to go sand dune jogging (NOT an easy thing!) or do some Billy Banks videos at the visitor’s center, YES! After hiking 8 hours a day with 45 liters strapped to me, I could not afford to get out of shape. The days were spent merrily and busily, tending to horses, kids, exercising, and getting ready for the Christmas Tree ceremony, where I was honored to be Mrs. Claus. Truly a treat, I will never forget it as long as I live. Jabba (Santa Claus) and I rocked up to the ceremony with cries of “HO HO HO” and “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” on board a four wheeler, ringing cowbells. We were supposed to be “Outback Santa and Mrs. Claus” so our outfits were not what you would call traditional, but neither is celebrating Christmas in the sweltering heat! It was a great time.


Just as floodwaters were starting to subside and we were planning to leave, the rain struck again. After discussing it seriously, Trudy and I decided to go ahead and get out as fast as we could – if we didn’t we might be stuck there months…which turned out to be true, the roads just opened again recently. We furiously packed up the car and trailer with all the belongings we could fit, and away we went, soaked to the bone from packing in the rain, sadly waiving to Tony and Bec as we pulled away. I knew this would probably be the last time I would ever see good ‘ole Windorah.

After what was probably the most pleasant road trip I’ve ever had, especially considering three
adults and three children were crammed into one car for 36 hours, we arrived in Broken Hill.
Broken Hill is a mining town, and at 7:00 am and pm every day in Trudy’s house you will hear a subtle “boom” and feel a slight shudder as the mines are blown and the next shift starts. It is famous for silver, and opals. The hill of Broken Hill is an enormous displacement of dirt from the mines, tall enough that it almost resembles a mountain, and is about five miles long, dividing the city into North and South. After having been in towns like Windorah, Jundah, and Longreach, I’m used to the Outback realities of no mobile phone service, little if any internet service, and almost nothing in the way of shopping…so when we rocked into Broken Hill, complete with it’s own Wooly’s (grocery store) McDonald’s (called Macca’s here) and even a tiny old movie theater, it was like being in a huge bustling metropolis! Mind you, their population is only 20,000. As you enter the city, a large sign overhead reads “Welcome to Broken Hill, the beginning of the Outback!” It is also home to world-famed artist Pro Hart, whose gallery was legendary to behold.

Our first order of business was to reopen Rob and Trudy’s old house, give it a good cleaning, and move everything in. This took a few days, especially getting the yard under control, but we got it done just in time for Christmas day, which we held outside. The Aussie Christmas is usually centered around a barbie (BBQ), seafood, grog (drink) and Cricket. We had all. Amazing food, delighted kids opening presents, plenty of drink and Cricket in the backyard. A word on Cricket. Have any of you ever played? Coming from a baseball background the whole run back and forth to the pitcher and home base thing is very confusing, as is the fact that you have outfielders behind you. I will admit that I totally prefer a flat Cricket bat because you can smash the daylights out of the ball; but this is almost a trick because the more energetic and enthusiastic you are, the more likely you are to bump into one of the wickets behind you, knock them over, and thus be called out. It’s funny to watch Cricket – their batters have a sort of strained way of hitting the ball; they have to be incredibly strong to blast it – but in a tiny area with little movement…reminds me of the line from Aladdin, PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWERS!!!!...itty bitty living space.

I hit the ground running looking for a job, and got one almost immediately at a pub when we both realized that my RSA certificate (Responsible Service of Alcohol) was from Victoria and did not transfer to New South Wales. There was to be no RSA course held in Broken Hill until February. So, I did what anyone would do, who needs a job, when none are available…I applied at Macca’s. And do you know, that for all my preaching against McDonald’s, for all the stigma that comes with working there in the states…I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT! Now, I wasn’t flipping death burgers - I was in the McCafe, as they call it, which is basically a coffee shop…whipping up cappuccinos, mochas, and pastries (yes, some were gluten free, thank you Dustin.) Macca’s here is like a family restaurant and coffee shop all in one. We have regulars who come in every day. My coworkers were absolutely GORGEOUS ladies who were a pleasure to work with. In fact it wasn’t until I told people back home that I was working at Macca’s that I was reminded of its stereotype…and of the stark difference between American and Australian culture. Here, there is no stigma related to working at Macca’s, just like there is no stigma about being a mine worker, lawyer, plumber, doctor…if you are a good sheila or bloke and you work hard and you are providing for yourself and your family, well then good on’ya! And that’s all that matters. Everyone is respected, and everyone is respectful. Truly refreshing, I’m going to miss it. I will also miss the incredible wages and benefits jobs here have – I was making almost as much money working at Macca’s as I was at my full time job when I left the states. Yes, really. And with six weeks vacation a year…Australia really takes care of its citizens.

I loved working at Macca’s, chatting to everyone who came in for their morning cup of Joe, getting to know them all and their smiles, their jokes, their stories. One day I got the treat of a lifetime. A nice woman came in and ordered two cappuccinos for take away…there was something familiar about her…and as I handed back her change, she started to ask me if we had met before – and then it DAWNED ON ME, hit me like a lightning bolt. One year ago she and her friend Heather had been visiting her daughter in Austin, and as any hip Outback birds would do, they were hanging out at the Broken Spoke, where I met them. That was just a few days before I left for this trip, and I ended up spending most of the night laughing with them and just hanging out. We exchanged contact info, but of course, I lost it…AND NOW HERE WAS KATHY STANDING OPPOSITE ME AT THE COUNTER! Neither of us could believe it. They were so fabulous to me for the remainder of my stay in Broken Hill, and I miss them already. To give you an idea of how cool these two sheilas are, Kathy’s daughter and her friend in Austin were responsible for bringing Mr. John Stuart’s Restore Sanity Tour to Austin. Can’t wait to see Kath and Heather when they come for a visit in November.

I had a gorgeous send off at the train station in Broken Hill…Kath and Heather, Trudy and the kids, and Charlene (coworker) and her lovely family came to wave me off. There were tears. Especially for Trudy, who I am going to miss more than I can say. She is like the tough sister I never had, but am so thankful that I found. I’m trying to get her to Texas as soon as possible.

Ah, Australia. The term now means so much more than a country to me, it’s a lifestyle, an attitude, a way of thinking. This was never more apparent than with the recent natural disasters they’ve experienced. I’m not sure how much coverage you guys were getting in the states, but the floods were biblical style, absolutely devastating, and absolutely unexpected. In Windorah, flooding is normal because it is so dry and flat that rain waters from the north run down through the Outback looking for the ocean, creating many rivers and creeks, hence the name Channel Country. But this year was absolutely insane for rainfall in Australia. When Brisbane was getting inundated with rain, it rained in Broken Hill – thousands of kilometers away – more in one day than they usually get in one year. The news was heartbreaking to watch. Horses swimming in the middle of water that you could see no end to even from the helicopter that was filming it. Horses and cows huddled together on rooftops, some of which were barely visible. There was even a shot of frogs hitching rides on a snake's back. Suncorp stadium in Brisbane, where their footy team plays, was flooded all the way up to the first row of seats. The equivalent would be if Town Lake flooded so much that DKR Memorial Stadium went under. Absolutely unheard of. The worst was footage of people that provoked more questions than provided answers…one man stuck in the middle of an intersection clinging to a light pole with his back against rapidly rising flash flood waters, up to his shoulders…did he make it? People hugging each other on their roofs, looking around as the waters are cornering them even onto their chimney. I could go on; I won’t. The point is that once flood waters subsided, on the news, every flooded home the news team went to, every person they encountered who had lost everything, without fail would say “But I’m all right mate, check on the neighbors across the street, they're worse off.” That spirit of self sufficiency and the desire to drop everything if need be to help a mate. It’s the infrequent but perhaps more needed combination of inherent toughness with a kind, compassionate heart. Helen and Charles, the lovely people I stayed with in Brisbane, had flood waters come right up to their drive way – they live nowhere near water. But she described it as almost a party atmosphere, their whole neighborhood working together to relocate furniture for people whose homes would obviously go under, or who weren’t there to do it themselves. The innate awareness that life is so much more than what we have or what we surround ourselves with.

I’m going to miss the Aussies tremendously. It’s so interesting to be sitting here in Sydney, on the exact same weekend I flew into this city one year ago. Walking around today, I recalled the way I felt seeing these sights and sounds just a year ago…and how much I’ve changed. Now more than ever I’m infused with the belief of what I’ve always known, always felt in previous travels, but can carry with complete conviction: wherever you go, whatever corner of this great planet to squeeze yourself into, whether the bustling streets of upper class London or the smelly slums of poverty-stricken areas of Mumbai…we are all the same. People have so much more in common than differences that set them apart; in fact, if anything I’ve realized that these differences are just illusions. Scary thing is that if you believe an illusion, just like if you can believe a lie, it will be real for you. After all that I’ve seen, families from all over the world here who have allowed me at their table and shared their stories with me…I have a tremendous respect for all human life. We all help create each other, and the best way we can help ourselves and our own families is to be forgiving and compassionate to others. I am so thankful for this trip and for the lessons and experiences it gave me.

There is another huge blessing that came out of this trip: the fact that I was able to share it with all of you. If anything, my genuine hope is that this blog, my stories, my shared experiences will help you see that you’re never too late, you’re never too old, there is nothing stopping you, there is no book of rules somewhere that is the end all be all of what you can or can’t do – or be. It’s all up to you. Our life is such a blessing. We all have unlimited potential – and whether your dream is to travel the world or clean a hospital at night, both are equally noble if they bring you happiness. I believe our number one duty in life is to be happy; because when we are truly happy we are living from our true spirit, and only then can we shine out goodness and love to everyone we meet, and be a positive light for our friends, family, community, country, planet. It has been a supreme honor sharing all of this with you…I hope it has inspired you to believe in yourself. Ha, in fact I’m quite humbled that you guys read this at all, some of them are LLLLLLLONG, I know! ;)

I fly out on Monday. I am so sad to be leaving Australia, though I may be coming back…but I am overjoyed to be seeing friends and family. Simply cannot wait. And, my precious Annabelle and Ellie are waiting for me at home in this cold, cold weather. :)

Goodbye Australia, thanks for everything...and hello, my darling, beloved Texas. It's been a while.

Much love to you all, see you soon!

From the land down under to the land of kiwis and hobbits – New Zealand has proven itself as one of the great treasures of the world for me (as if we didn’t see this coming after say, the likes of Lord of the Rings and The Piano).

I was a bit heartbroken to leave my dear old Outback, and it was with a heavy heart but resolved spirit that I stepped foot onto Kiwi soil. I arrived very late on a Thursday evening, and after learning that my Aussie phone would not work in NZ, I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to find Joey easily, and was contemplating this dilemma when POOF! He emerged from the elevator of our hostel. We spent the next few hours jabbering excitedly about our adventures; after all we hadn’t seen each other since Brisbane three months earlier, when he headed to Cairns and ended up becoming a chef, gardener, scuba diving master and repo-man, among other things…and we all know where my journey took me. The next day or so was spent catching up and buying camping equipment for the tramps we were about to undertake. Friday we caught some beautiful fireworks over Wellington Harbour in honor of Guy Fawkes Day. Apparently back in 1605 Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up the King of England and members of parliament. He failed, and England, Australia, and New Zealand commemorate the attempt to this day. It was very unclear as to whether we were celebrating Mr. Fawkes failure or applauding his effort, but either way those were some rocking fireworks.

Saturday night was a real treat – thanks to Joey’s connections, we somehow found ourselves in the home of Murray, the quintessential laid-back hip Kiwi, who was hosting a private concert featuring Jackie Bristow. Why was this so exciting, you ask? Because Jackie Bristow is an Austin artist! Yes, from the eaves of the Saxon Pub to Mr. Murray’s house in Wellington, Austin Texas music REPRESENTS! She is actually a native of New Zealand but has been living and working in Austin the past few years. She was incredible, truly. A mesmerizing voice and her songwriting and guitar skills were paramount. Look for her to be playing in Austin around March – in fact, please join me in going to see her radiate some good vibrations, I’ll be there. :) That night was quite fun, and everyone was delighted to see and meet Joey and I, real live people from Austin, Texas, the musical wonderland they’ve all heard so much about.

We left Murray’s around 11:00 to check out the nightlife scene…for a few reasons. One, I had been living in isolation in the Outback, and was eager to get out into the mix of things again (though that hunger was quickly satisfied – I’m definitely over cities). Second, we heard that the All Blacks were playing England, and the game would be broadcasted live at 3:20 am in every bar in town. The All Blacks are New Zealand’s famous Rugby team, by far the most important and revered sports team New Zealand has. You might have heard of them for their Haka War Dance, a tribal challenge issued in the form of a dance and chant at the beginning of every game…this of course comes from the Maori heritage in New Zealand. It’s interesting to watch the opponents take in this challenge; some of them glare back with hate, some look around as if the grass on the field is far more interesting, and some just look plain befuddled. Anyway, Joey and I spent so much time discussing the possibility of staying up that before we knew it it was 2:00 am and we thought…well, why not? So at 3:20 AM we were stationed at a sports bar, two amongst at least 150, all fired up, all drunk, all cheering for the All Blacks. It was a good game, from what I can remember…which isn’t much. And no friends, it wasn’t due to alcohol, rather the result of going from being asleep every night at 8:30 pm to staying up almost to my normal waking hour! As I looked around at the people starting to fall asleep all around me, I told Joey that I was leaving at 5:00…he said, yep, I’ll be right behind you. He had to be; we had a 6:30 AM ferry to catch to Nelson the next morning. We made our ferry; it wasn’t pretty perhaps, and I’m afraid that we might have drooled on the ferry chairs we slept on, but still – we made it. And once we woke up, man that ferry ride was incredible. It only lasted a few hours but we got up just in time to see the incredible views of the Cook Strait.

After speaking to the Department of Conservation (DOC) in Nelson, we determined that we would do two tramps: the Heaphy and the Wangapeka. The Heaphy is what they call a “great walk”, meaning it is a treasured national feature, closely monitored, and superbly maintained. This also means that it is an extremely popular choice for tourists – especially as it is rated an “easy” trail. In contrast the Wangapeka is rated moderate, not nearly as kept or monitored, and takes around 5-7 days. Thankfully the two are located near each other…we opted to do the Heaphy first, then take a shuttle from there to the Wangapeka trail head, and push right on through.

Well now. The Heaphy was absolutely incredible. The trail was 78.4 kilometers, and because we were working against a deadline (my parents were arriving in Nelson to visit in 9 days) we pushed to do the Heaphy in 4 days. We marched through mossy downs, grasslands, rainforests, and along the beach of the Tasman Sea on the final day. Came across a lagoon that was only accessible by foot, and tread through moss forests that seemed from another world. The most astounding thing to me is the water; absolutely crystal clear, even in extremely deep places. We stumbled upon one such swimming hole on our second day, and even though it was DAMN COLD outside we couldn’t resist the urge. So, taking turns we shimmied out of our clothes and dove on in. There is something incredibly freeing and joyful in the act of stripping naked in the middle of a magnificent wilderness, where you know that no one could possibly see you, and jumping in to the most crystal clear water you’ve ever seen being fed by a waterfall. As glorious as it was, I have to admit that as soon as I made contact with the water instant PANIC AND TERROR seized me as I thought my heart and lungs were going to freeze in that split second. This ain’t no Barton Springs people; this was more like liquid ice. Joey did a good job of hiding his pain and stifling his screams while I gave him his privacy to jump in - I had no idea what was coming. But it was worth it all the same and it certainly gave me that extra energy I needed to carry on through the day with a bounce in my step.

We were very fortunate in that we did not pass many people on the Heaphy, in fact we only saw others walking on the trail the last day. We would pass a few here or there, but they were always going the opposite direction. If you look at pictures online of the Heaphy, you can see what looks like hundreds of people hiking on the trail at once…we embarked on the trail early in the season, braving the cold – and thus reaped the

benefits of having it to ourselves.

We camped at the various hut stops along the trail, and as I said it is heavily monitored – so wardens would come to check our camping passes every evening once we pitched tents. On our first night the warden asked where we were headed the next day; when we told him – three huts down the path, 24 kilometers away – he seemed surprised. We explained that we were pushing to do the trail in 4 days as we were catching a shuttle the fourth day to the Wangapeka track…he raised his eyebrows. “Wow, I’m impressed. I’ve never done the Wangapeka.” I chalked it up to the general ease and “laid-backness” of the kiwis (truly the most mellow, Zenned- out people I’ve ever met), meaning that he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. This nice warden radioed ahead to let the other wardens know of our plans, and they would come to quietly congratulate us, and one even offered us use of the hut kitchen to cook our food in, which greatly appreciated as we were high in the mountains by that time and extremely cold. (As we were camping, we did not pay for use of hut utilities or bunks; we cooked all of our food outside.) I thought this was all very nice and friendly of them, but in the back of my mind I began to worry about the Wangapeka…I mean who are we but some random Texas backpackers, doing these tracks with not nearly the proper gear and carrying EVERYTHING we own on our backs, not just our necessary equipment? Hmm.

After the Heaphy, we caught a shuttle to Little Wanganui, where we stayed one night at the local pub, doing laundry, eating, refueling for our next tramp. In the morning the owner drove us to the Wangapeka trail head, and thus our second journey began. As I mentioned before, the Wangapeka is classified as “moderate” by the DOC. I knew Joey and I were up for it; the Heaphy was a good warm up, and I was ready to be challenged even more. What’s that saying, be careful what you wish for? The first day was good, hard but good – the trail is not nearly as kept as the Heaphy, there were dangerous river crossings and one ledge that had recently given way to the valley below that we had to tip toe across…try doing that with a big load on your back. :) It was an intense first day, but nothing, absolutely NOTHING could have prepared us for what came next. The second day we knew would be our toughest – only 10.2 kilometers to go, but rising around 900 meters in only 3 kilometers. What could make this even more exciting? The most intense, torrential downpour of a rainstorm that I’ve ever seen in my entire life. For about 2.5 kilometers there we were basically climbing straight up a mountain, and because of all the rain had waterfalls gushing in our face, pulling at our legs, causing rocks and trees to become dislodged…one boulder came loose and went tumbling down the mountain, hitting Joey’s leg and injuring him – however it was thisclose to landing ON him, and well we don’t want to think what would have happened then. Truly, it was like Extreme Sports New Zealand. There was absolutely no time to be scared; you have to just concentrate on one foot in front of the other, one hand after the other, and focus on the task at hand. Plus, the absolute raw power of nature when she’s mad is one of the most magnificent and awe inspiring things I’ve ever been a part of. I say a part of, because I was in it. There was a waterfall that we were climbing upwards next to, and of course it grew larger and larger, to the point where you were nervous it would explode with it’s flood and carry you down the mountain with it…to death or paradise. Finally, finally, we made it to the top of Perry Saddle…and stood, stunned. The entire saddle was transformed into one huge, calm lake, feeding that monster of a waterfall we had been climbing next to all day. Being up that high, you could see the rain come in waves from the clouds, truly like Poseidon’s black curtains closing one after the other. I believe DOC said this is where we would see incredible views of the mountains, which we missed – you couldn’t see far past the saddle because of the rain, and obviously I could take no pictures (Haley, I wish I had bought that underwater camera now!!) but Joey and I agree that it was worth it. Absolutely worth it to have experienced that raw force, to have fought against it and then be a part of it…the challenge, the adrenaline, and the supreme sense of accomplishment when we finally made it to our destination hut hours later. It was one of the most intense experiences of my life, and one that I am most thankful for. I’m hooked, that’s all I have to say. :)

The rest of the trail was fantastic and challenging – though nothing could compare to that second day. Once back in civilization five days later I asked DOC if they had many people remark that the Wangapeka should be classified as “difficult”. They said yes, they had, and took down my name…looking back it was the storm, of course, that made it so challenging for us…but also our loads. It is one thing to be a tramper here, get all your gear and food together and strap it on your back…it is quite another to be a backpacker, who has been living out of their pack for a year, and have nowhere to store most of it. I was able to leave a few things - like my computer- at a hostel in storage, but other than that…everything was on my back, baby. I think something like 40-50 kilos (kilos, not pounds). Yeah. That certainly made it more difficult. Tell you what though I felt like a champ when it was all through!

Ahh, back in Nelson then, the best gift possible at the end of such a taxing and rewarding journey…MY PARENTS CAME TO VISIT! They came for one week, and we soaked up everything the area had to offer; swimming with dolphins, a boat cruise around the famous Abel-Tasman National park where we saw seals, penguins, incredible views…we checked out the Nelson Lakes and, most importantly, cooked up the best Thanksgiving Dinner possible for being so far away from home. It was a delight. After not having seen them in 9 months, it was a little surreal – and much needed.

After they left, Joey and I headed to Christchurch…nice city, but I was itching to get back to wilderness. (It’s hard to go back to concrete and…well, PEOPLE after spending so much time in the Outback and then a New Zealand wilderness!) We went to a Christmas Festival – it’s a strange thing to see kids running around in shorts, flip flops, and santa hats whilst singing Christmas Carols in the heat!

Currently, I’m back in Australia, in Brisbane. I was meant to go back to Windorah a week ago, but they’ve had severe flooding in the good ole Channel Country and the roads have only opened up this week – I’m about to hop on a bus out there (18 hour ride, thank you very much.) I’ve been staying with my friend Helen, she and her family have taken me graciously into their home and made me feel a part of the family…lots of fun family dinners with the grandkids, decorating Christmas trees, putting up Christmas lights…oh and they have me completely hooked on True Blood, but that’s another story.

So, off I am to the Outback once again! It’s where I would like to stay until I leave in early February, though I’ll move around to different parts of it. Last night I was showing Helen’s grandkids pictures of Christmas in Austin, and with my family, and was overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and homesickness. I hope you guys all have an absolutely amazing Christmas, that you are able to see and feel and cherish the mountains of blessings we all
have before our very eyes, and that you and your loved ones are happy. Merry Christmas!!

All my love, Nancy

PS – If you want a taste of stereotypical Aussie Christmas humor, YouTube Kevin Bloody Wilson. “Hey Santa” is a good place to start. Mature audiences only, please. :)

Well, here I sit on the Westerner, the same train that delivered me to the Outback three months ago. Thinking of everything I’ve seen and experienced since then literally boggles my mind. And, at the risk of sounding like a sentimental sook (which you all know that I am), I am crying tears with each kilometer this train puts between me and the Outback. Man I don’t want to leave.

I am going to miss Tanbar so much. It’s a tough life in many ways – the average working day is about 10 hours, the work can be dangerous (I had to scramble up the fence three times last time we worked in the yards to avoid being run over by an angry bullock…and I saw dear Uncle Steve almost get his hand cut off by a bobcat) and there isn’t much time to yourself – especially if you have to work through the weekends. But the people become like your family, and there is something to be said for making a life off the land, completely relying on the resources on the station, not needing anything but your able body and a willing mind to make it happen. (Well…of course if the mail truck was late with the grog or cigarettes delivery, there was certainly some strife…but still :) )

Things continued as usual at Tanbar since the last time I wrote…some days I graduated to jobs such as taking the four wheeler out to help muster horses, working the concrete mixer, sledge hammering metal poles for welding (ooh that one felt good!) helping Cecil dig holes with the bobcat…I even learned how to use a drop saw (thank you Nikki!). On other days however I was left to staring at everyone operate tools and carry on processes that I understood not a lick, but tried to learn as fast as possible. Though I miss Tanbar terribly, one thing I will NOT miss is feeling like a complete dumbass several times a day! If the only jobs necessary were things that I didn’t know how to do, I would often end up standing and staring while people worked – praying that I could be useful, hold a tool, hold a measuring tape, do SOMETHING besides stand there waiting for grass to grow. But my comrades were good – they’ve been doing this since they were young lads and lasses, and I’ve…never. So they would help me out. Also, there were often communication barriers. God bless the staff at Tanbar; I know some days they must have thought I was completely crazy, but so often their lingo or terms would just not translate correctly to my brain! One classic example: We had finished drafting bullocks at Gillpippie, and it was time to count them…meaning that we had to push the herd of about 800 through a gate while our manager sits on the fence to count them as they pass by. You try to push them through steadily, obviously, so that he can get a correct count. Before we start, our manager Peter says “Nancy, be prepared to come back…because they’re gonna come and they’re gonna come hard.” Now, to myself I think “Right. So if they start to charge at me too strong, just back up.” So boy oh boy here they come, they start charging for the gate (these bullocks were especially cranky that day) and remembering Peter’s wise words, I start to back up as the stampede quickens. Over the noise of pounding hooves I hear “GIRL! NANCY! LISTEN TO WHAT I TELL YOU GET BACK TO THE F*CKIN GATE!!” Crap. I should have known that by “come back” he did not mean save yourself from stampeding cattle, but to come back to the gate and steady the cattle so that they wouldn’t hit the fence, bruise their hips and therefore damage the meat. And you know, fair enough – there’s a lot of money running through that gate and this is our job.

The worst, or best example of this communication barrier, depending on how you look at it – was on my last day. Here it’s my last day of work, we’re finishing up an 80K walk with these same darling bullocks…it’s been raining, people are a little tired and stressed…and again, it’s my last day, I wanted to make it a great one. Well, things sort of turned into a general mess as we pushed them through one of the gates onto the Tanbar homestead, and after about 10 minutes of trying to herd the cattle straight and them running in wild scared circles, we had them held up and stable in a corner of the fence line. We let them breathe for a second to calm down, and then Peter calls “Nancy, just go poke along that fence line and lead them off!” Now, please, imagine this. The entire staff, all my fellow ringers in Toyotas and on horseback are watching in silence. Even the awesome Danielle and Kim and our pilot Justin are watching from the porch of the house…man gosh almighty I felt all eyes on me as I started toward that fence line…and from what Peter said, I think “okay they’re jammed in there, he wants to me to walk along that fence line and push them off the fence a little bit…” I get there, turn to look at them, and Carl our fabulous head stockman gives me a thumbs up. HOORAY I’M NOT MUCKING IT UP! I think. Well. He gave me the thumbs up because what they wanted me to do was start walking down the fence away from the cattle, so that they would see me and follow…hence “lead them off”. Yep I heard some cussing as I started walking the opposite direction down the fence and pushing them off the fence line. Talk about Bridget Jones does the Outback! But, we got her done, and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered. Peter and I had a chuckle about that as he drove me off the station…he’s been managing stations in the Windorah area since he was a kid, and has seen it all. He told me I was better than 50% of the backpackers they’ve had. I have never felt so honored and proud to be in the top 50 percentile of ANYTHING!

I will miss waking up every morning and seeing everyone for breaky before the sun comes up. I will miss working hard with them and then yearning for the Smokco or lunch bell to ring and all heading over to the kitchen together. I will miss the sweet, sweet feeling of cracking that rum can at 5:00 in the rec club when we’ve all knocked off and it’s time to come relax together. I mentioned last time that rec club at 5:00 is absolutely required. I reckon it’s a great idea; no matter what has happened during the day, whether it was a gorgeous perfectly run day or some stress or tension occurred, rec club is the time when you come together, leave it behind, have a drink, and relax. And let me tell you WHEW that rum and cola can tastes so sweet when you’ve been working and sweating in the hot sun all day long! A word on this rum and cola can situation…most of you know that I don’t drink soft drinks, and before now, it has literally been years since I had a coke. Well, all they have at the station is beer (hello gluten) and rum and coke cans…so…it is my new vice. Bundaberg rum is all they have out here, made just down the road (a couple hundred kilometers worth) in…well, Bundaberg. It gets a bad rap, and I don’t know why because after six weeks of drinking it MAN I am hooked. I might have just traded my wine habit for a Bundy can habit. I wonder if they ship in bulk to the states? :)

I will miss the people terribly. Danielle, Peter’s wife, is about the toughest and coolest lady I’ve ever met – a real outback lady who doesn’t take shit from anyone and who will do just about anything for you if you need it. I will miss Kim and her animals. Kim is our cook and my roommate, and has a crazy passion for animals that I totally identify with…but she carries it to a level I am not cool enough to get to. She currently has pelican eggs in the house she is attempting to hatch, a centipede in the refrigerator that is about to be framed, a mini pony named Bobo who has every purple accessory imaginable, a guinea pig name Ver (she used to have another one named “Ro”, hence “Ro-Ver” but I believe it got eaten) and a sweet dog named flea. Coming home was always exciting to see what new critter was where. I will miss Nikki, our awesome head stockman’s fiancée (and I’ll miss you too Carl!!) who turned somewhat into my Tanbar translator, as she was the only one I could really hear and understand. God bless Nikki for putting up with my questions and panicked looks of “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!!!” Nik, I’m telling ya – you gotta come visit me some day in my world. :) I’m going to miss everyone. I could go on and on but honestly my computer is running out of batteries and it is just making me too darn sad!

One thing I know for sure after leaving Tanbar is that I want to do something like this for the rest of my life. I am over the city. I know I’m supposed to be in the country – tell you what, I would like to stay in the Outback, and I’m not quite sure how that is going to happen yet – I’m working on it. But it’s really interesting to feel this change in me. I think it’s been a long time coming.

Saying goodbye to everyone was very hard. It was a great ride with Peter out to the main road, and I was truly sad to shake his hand goodbye knowing I will more than likely never see him again.

The light at the end of this sappy sad tunnel? TRUDY! Trudy and darling Bec came to pick me up at the main road. HOLY GEEZ it was so good to see them after six weeks! It felt like it had only been a day, yet a year. We giggled and jabbered all the way into town, and promptly got changed and headed down to Cooper’s Creek for fishing. There were about 15 of us in all with the kids, husbands, and friends, and we caught about 30 catfish and couple of yellow bellies, and cooked them up right there…MMMMM MMMM my mouth is watering just thinking of it! Trudy’s son Brogan also caught a GIANT Goanna (see picture) and let me have a moment with it…I’m telling you Brogan is the next Steve Irwin. He’s always catching some sort of critter.

The next day I caught a ride to Quilpie with Ray’s grandson, Jack. (Remember Ray, the delivery man whom I rode to Windorah with all those weeks ago? ) Ray and his wife were on vacation, but told their grandson to pick me up…he said they also wanted me to stay in their house since they were out of town. This is a classic example of the incredible warmth and generosity of the people out here. I am going to miss them all so much. I spent the next two days hanging out at the pub with Jack and his buddies, just waiting for this train to arrive. The Melbourne Cup was Wednesday, which is like the Australian Kentucky Derby…a horse named Americaan ran, and I remember thinking hmmm maybe I should just put some money on that bad boy…but didn’t, thinking I was being responsible. Well of course Americaan won, and Ray called Jack to let him know they had bet on him for me and won HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS! By George next time I’m betting! The Quilpie pub also got a new internet juke box…and I finally got the dance party I’ve been trying to have at Tanbar. Those pub kids quite liked A Tribe Called Quest, if I do say so myself. Sheri, I shook my tail feather for you on that one. :)

I am so profoundly grateful for my three months in the Outback. I worked at a crazy pub…met some of the most interesting and amazing people…made some life long friends…camped under the stars…got my heart broken…mustered cattle…and changed from the inside out. All in all, a glorious dose of life, and I am grateful for every single drop of it.

Well, it’s time to rap this up, I’m falling asleep and not sure if it has made much sense thus far. I realized last time that I forgot to put “Aussie isms” at the end…so here you go. Please, if you are easily offended, or are not yet a mature audience, do not read further. As you should have gathered, it’s a bit rougher out here, and so is the language…I myself have acquired a bit of a potty mouth, in case you haven’t noticed yet. But I’m including it anyway, because darling friends and family this is where I’ve been the past 3 months.

1. Too easy. – “coming right up!” If someone asks you to do a job or task, whether it’s hammering a nail or finding the holy grail of cattle, you better respond with “too easy”…just to show that you’re ready and willing, and nothing could phase the rock star that you are.
2. F*CKIN OATH! - “That’s the truth!” For example, if someone were to say “Damn that Americaan ran a good race…” you would respond “FUCKIN OATH he did!”
3. F*ck me dead! – “I can’t believe it!” or “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I’ll leave that one right there.
4. I can’t even bring myself to spell this one…so I’ll do it the way Cecil explained to me after I was cringing every time I heard it. Caring Understanding Nice Talk. If you get my drift. Funny thing is, EVERYTHING is the C word. A bullock not cooperating is a C_ _T, and the salt you need passed down the table is a C_ _T. It’s just a word. I think.

And with that, I’ll leave you. I love you all – will write to you next time from the land of Kiwis and Hobbits. That is, if I can get the Outback out of my heart and mind enough to focus on it.

:)

Nancy

It is with suburned fingers and cracked hands that I write this latest update.

HELLO FROM TANBAR STATION!

So, as anticipated, the roads didn’t open up on the Monday that I was to report to work, so their chopper pilot flew me in. It was a gorgeous ride, seeing all the flood waters straining through the channels and geese and cows fleeing us in every direction. The choppers they use are extremely small and lightweight, to enable them to get down close to the cattle and maneuver them with flexibility. Truly it seemed like some sort of battery powered helicopter you see in the consoles at the mall with some sales rep operating it with a remote control…anyhow, this also meant that it wasn’t big enough to hold me, my small bag, and my swag (more on that later) so my left leg was literally hanging out the side of the helicopter…but don’t worry, I was all strapped in! That thing has no doors. It was coooooold.

So that first paragraph was written about 2.5 weeks ago and I immediately fell asleep at my computer after writing it. These days are looooooooooong, and hard….and freakin fantastic. We start anywhere from 5:00 to 6:30 am, depending on what we have to do that day. If we have to draft and muster cattle, then we’ll start at 5 or 5:30 am. My first few days here were spent “at camp”, meaning we were camping out at an outstation called Gillpippie to draft the cattle, and then walk them from there to the loading yards to be trucked off, and just stay with the herd overnight on our way. People, what a way to be introduced to this life. I have to say up front that this ain’t no City Slickers movie; it’s not like a signed up for some tourist package for foreigners to have an “Outback experience” or anything…nope, I am a proper full time employee at Tanbar, jillaroo or ringer or whatever you want to call me. I’m expected to pull my own weight and jump right in, which is what I did. The first morning the chopper dropped me at Gillpippie I briefly met the rest of the gang and then got to work. Drafting means we run the cattle through these chutes into a round pen where they are quickly judged by the head stocksman or other qualified dude to decide where the cattle should go…market, the “bush” (out to pasture to either fatten up or be forgotten about) or somewhere else. Drafting also means you have to herd them, ON FOOT (do we even do that in Texas, are we that crazy????), from one pen to another to get them to the chutes. So here I am, being from Texas and all, wanting to prove myself my first day…we get on the ground in this giant holding pen and are supposed to push these angry wild bullocks into a tiny gate. (I say wild bc these guys grew up in the bush, thousands and thousands of acres of land, and instances like drafting are often the first time they’ve even seen humans.) I just look around and do what the other guys are doing – there is absolutely no training, just a general “yeah ask questions if you have any”…and let me tell you something, YOU try to understand this Aussie Outback mumbling lingo in the heat of the moment! Sheesh. Anyhoo so I’m “oi oi!!”ing at the bullocks and one came for me. It had been raining, as we have already established, and my boot got effin bogged – stuck – in about 2 feet of mud. I thought I was going to die for about 1.5 seconds because as I struggled to yank my foot free I just flat fell over. One of the ringers, Rohan, ran over, scared the bull away, and helped me up all in that time. That’s what I get for trying to be the cool kid in the first few minutes.

Next morning we’re up before dawn and saddling horses getting ready to drive the cattle to the loading yards, about 100K away. Man oh man did it feel good to have a saddle and get on that horse the first day. So good that I didn’t worry about my stirrups being so long that I could hardly keep hold of them for the first few days…to go from not riding regularly in YEARS to jumping on for 8 hours a day with no stirrups and just using your leg muscles…well yeah it’s definitely whipped my butt into shape. They had no other saddle for me so I just had to deal with it. (I have a different saddle now, what a world of difference!) Words can’t really describe what I experienced in the next two days…1,500 head of cattle, about 100 kilometers (and at least a million dollars, by the way). Me stuffing up CONSTANTLY. I mean, I’ve never done this before, so I should have known that I wouldn’t be perfect or anything…but BLOODY HELL I kept messing things up! There are certain tactics to working a herd, you know kind of like people – the whole psychology of the masses thing – that just didn’t click for me in those first few days. But everyone was super cool and nice, and would give me pointers. Rohan was a huge help and happily taught me while simultaneously taking the piss out of me….well, they all took the piss out of me, but that’s allright. A word on Rohan (pronounced Rowen) he is Mr. Sunshine. Once the herd is going, he’ll ride up and down the line belting out songs, anything from Metallica to Paint Your Wagon Tunes, Slim Dusty and Tenacious D. He will also use the end of his bull whip to conduct fake talk radio shows or history triva quizzes. He’s a gem.

After the first day I was…stunned, happy, excited, exhausted, nervous. We camped with the herd that night, sleeping in our swags….a swag is kind of like a sleeping bag, except GIANT and more like a tent/sleeping bag combo. You don’t need a tent if you have a swag, you just roll it out and then zip yourself right up in it, it keeps bugs, snakes, rain, etc. out. So yes that first night I slept under the incredible stars of the Australian Outback. As we watched the sunset and paint absolutely gorgeous colors across the clouds, I asked the rest of the gang if they were just used to that beauty by now or if it still stirred them. I think my notice made them appreciate it for a split second…but yeah they’re just used to it. I was so stirred up by it that I couldn’t sleep, not until well after the thousands and thousands of untouched stars made their appearance for the night. One thing: Peter, the manager, made sure to tell us that when we needed to go to the bathroom to be sure to go “That way”, meaning away from the herd…because if someone were to accidentally scare the herd in the middle of the night whilst having a wee, as they say…and they should stampede…well, yeah. You can imagine. So you know, lil ole me just sleeping meters away from slightly deranged cattle who could possibly stampede…ain’t no thing but a chicken wing….or a giant bull hoof on the head. No worries mate.

The next day was…ridiculous. We were originally going to take a couple of days to walk the cattle all of the way back, but due to a coming storm we walked them ALL THE WAY BACK. 1,500 head of cattle, have I mentioned that yet? What’s worse is that for a lot of the time we didn’t have a fence to follow…if you can push them up against a fence to walk them and then everyone else on the other side to keep them moving and push them back in, well that’s not so bad. But no fence, just mobs of cows and a limited number of ringers on either side to control them…I swear it felt like madness, just because of that and then the mud and the creeks we had to cross and me not knowing what the HELL I was doing…sheesh. I remember one instant when I had just finished galloping off to chase some lone bullocks back to the herd only to send the rest of the herd in the wrong direction, whilst crashing through a creek, when Rohan looked up at me from the other side and screamed “Hey Nancy, you gonna have a drink tonight?!” HELL YEAH I had a drink that night. I needed a few of them after that day!

So, I’ll move on to station life now. That day we arrived back at Tanbar, 2 days earlier than expected, and I was sunburned on the bottom half of my face (my hat protected the top half) and REALLY sunburned on my neck. By now I have a proper farmers tan, super brown hands/forearms, a V on my chest from my workshirts, and my face. The rest of me is as white as the snow I always dream of seeing some Austin Christmas morning, but never quite happens. Back at the station we met at the Rec club for 5:00 drinks. Everything is very strict at a station, whether you’re actually home or at camp. Breaky is, as I said, anywhere from 5:00 am to 6:30 am. Then you have Smokco (I think once upon a time it stood for Smoking Company) at 9:00, then Dinner (lunch) at 12:00, another Smoko at 3:00, Rec club at 5:00, and Tea (dinner) at 6:30. All are absolutely required, and as I learned my first day, when they say a certain time, they really mean 15 minutes earlier. Yep. I think I have at long last been broken of my tardiness habit (I can hear my dad cheering all the way from Texas).

At this point, bc my eyes are starting to droop but I just can’t put off this update any longer, I’m just going to give you general tidbits. I live with the cook in a gorgeous lil house. The guys have their own quarters…then there’s Carl our headstockman and his lovely fiancé Nikki who have a lil house. Nikki is a treasure – one of the best people I’ve ever met, down to earth, fun, tough, hard workin – and seriously looks like a blonde Angelina Jolie, no exaggeration. As I said fellas, she’s taken. They are all great to work with. There are huge tanks here that catch the rain water, and that’s what we drink – the purest thing on the earth, as we are in the middle of nowhere and terms such as “acid rain” have no meaning. We’ve been lucky enough to have the past two weekends off, and we’ve all headed into Windorah to my good ole pub for drinks and general muck running. Last Saturday was my birthday, and I have to say it was one of the best ever...though apologies go out to mom and dad and the grandparents, who called me at the pub (and it was gosh darn great to talk to them) but all the ringers were screaming nonsense into the phone…eh, I think they enjoyed it. :)

Today we walked cattle about 30 K from one yard to another…they were another station, Kerongaloo’s cattle who somehow got mixed up with ours, so we were up early this morning to draft them and walk them to the loading yards…and guess what? It rained. Like, REALLY rained. We were soaking wet. Everyone else was cranky and not liking it, but I reckon it was a bloody awesome adventure. I definitely had a Braveheart moment, “But this is good Scottish weather madam, the rain is falling straight down! Well, slightly to the side-like…” An American girl having a Scottish moment in Australia. Yeah, I don’t get it either, but it was bloody awesome! By the time we were done Nikki and I were so delirious and giggling nonsense that the guys were absolutely disgruntled and wanted nothing to do with us. Whatever cranky pants. :) When we got home I took off my boots and poured at least a cup of water out of each one. At least we got it all done in one day.

On days that we have no cattle work, we’ll do stuff with the horses if we’re lucky…or, I’ve mowed a lot of yards, done a lot of weeding, feeding the pigs/chooks (chickens), sweeping sheds, OH! The biggest thing yet! So, the other day I went with Rohan and Carl to shoot a cow. I helped skin it. Then I helped take out all the cuts, and even the heart, tongue, kidneys, and pancreas, or sweetbread, as they call it. Yes, I tried them all as well. This ex vegan/vegetarian has certainly…well, come a long way, or at least down a different path. There are so many emotions and reasonings going through my mind in both directions with all of this that I will not even delve into it here; don’t want to bore you with my truth musings. It’s definitely a different world I’m living in right now.

Allright then, that’s all folks. I hope this has all made sense, I’m half asleep already. There is nothing like what I’m experiencing. These people are crazy, but hard working, and completely self sufficient…and just tough. Rough and tough, I should say. I don’t begin to cut it, but I’m certainly trying. And thankful for every minute of it.

Love you and miss you all so much.

Nancy

Hello again, folks.

I have been meaning to write an update for a long time, but work duties and the general inconsistency of the internet around here rendered it a waste of time until now. My apologies to anyone waiting on an email from me – the internet has not been working, and the visitor internet is the absolute most painful thing to deal with…slow torture in the form of seeing an email from your parents, for example, but every time you click on it…five minutes later…the words “cannot display page” laugh at you. Ah, the Outback!

And in truth, it is GLORIOUS! I’ve come a long, long way since that last update. Bar, kitchen, hotel rooms…you name it I’m like a hospitality ninja, can whip out a chicken schnitzel burger at the snap of a finger, can pour you a drink in one hand while giving you change with the other. For someone who has a long standing fear of being a waitress, this is a big deal. Sometimes I feel like I was made to work behind a bar, getting paid for chatting to people and making friends, bridging cultures, pour by pour, glass by glass.

One of my favorite things about Windorah are the locals. There’s Mick, who lives next door and we all know exactly how much ice he likes and what kind of glass, and believe me you’ll hear about it if you get it wrong. There’s Brownie, who has the most glorious handlebar mustache I’ve ever seen in my life, who with a twinkle in his eye will tell you about his banjo skills, if you’re lucky. He travels to the U.S. often to play in folk festivals, and one night when I mentioned the yodeling workshop I did in Melbourne, that man opened his mouth and yodeled as if every Swiss maiden in the Alps would come running to his call. Tarpot is a gent in his 80’s or 90’s, I would say, who has lived in the same tiny one room house ever since…ever. At least, that’s how the story goes. We make him dinner at the pub every night and walk it over to his house – which in this small town of 80 people, isn’t far. Most days you can find him sitting on his porch, watching the day go by…I love taking dinner to him and having a quick chat. There is also Caveman, the toothless ringer who blows in to town and after a few drinks dances and sings the way I imagine children do before they are conditioned to harder or sadder things in this world. He’s like pure joy, with missing front teeth, and an energy that will dance and sing for anyone and everyone willing to join…or at least watch. There are countless others…just some of the loveliest people you will ever meet. On a regular day or night, they will pay for a drink and then leave their change, or wallet or purse, at the bar. Everyone will have their own little pile and when you hear a crinkle of a can, you turn around…see that empty can next to it’s own change pile…and you replace it, take the money out, and put back the change. Often if there is a serious dart or pool game going, they just can’t be bothered to actually order the next drink from you, which is fair enough. The best is when someone wants to use their debit card…so many times one person has come up with a card to make a purchase, and when it comes time to enter their pin, they yell across the bar “Oi! Honey what’s our pin number?” and “Honey” always hollers the pin number out…across the bar…for all to hear. This is a far cry from back home where people hide their keypads with nervous fingers and paranoid eyes!

Another one of the locals, Dale, is an absolute treasure and I am so thankful to have her as a friend. She seriously looks like a starlet straight out of 1920’s Hollywood and has the brightest smile and one of the best attitudes of anyone I’ve ever met; she sees the good in everyone, which is something that meshes very well with myself. Not only has she gotten me hooked on Stephen King’s “The Dark Tower” series (the first S. King books I’ve ever read; they’re fantasy, but about a gunslinger – sort of Lord of the Rings meets The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly – BRILLIANT!) but she also takes us pub girls out on our days off to experience Windorah. My first day off we headed to the race track, where the rodeo was held, and played golf. She’s got a set of clubs and someone has dug holes and set up flags and rakes and all that along the course. We’ve gone driving through the sandhills, which are gorgeous, but due to all the rain they’ve had the past year are covered with vegetation, so they aren’t the pure bright red sand hills you see in the post cards from here. We had some extra back packers over the past few weeks (more on that later) and we all went to the sand hills accompanied by their body board, “Bob”. They tried surfing down them, but at a maximum speed of I would say .0000000000000001 mph, I passed on my turn. The drive to the sand hills was interesting; again, due to the rains, the locusts are on the move…we are talking thousands upon thousands of flying grasshoppers, HUGE, I swear they are like flying turkeys. I took a video of it, and am going to attempt to post it soon, but fair warning there are plenty of girls screaming on it so you might want to turn down your volume.

Sheesh the past weeks have been such a blur, I’m trying to think of everything that might be of interest…there are 9 kids in school here, all ages, all lovely. They come over most days after school and I’ll teach them gymnastics or we’ll do yoga poses in the front yard. I reckon Windorah wasn’t quite sure who the heck this Texas chick was teaching all the kids these weird poses in the front yard, but it has really caught on – almost every day they come see if I can quit work to “do yoga” with them. I love it, of course. Being from Texas still seems to excite the people passing through…everyone wants to know why on earth I’m out here, and of course, “is everything really bigger in Texas?” I have to laugh at this…in the bar, there is a great map of Australia, and within in it, a map of Texas. Folks, Texas isn’t even ¼ the size of Australia. I like to tell the inquirers that while we may not be bigger, and may not need helicopters or motor bikes to muster our cattle, the reputation comes from our hearts and generosity (and perhaps sometimes from our big heads, but SHHH!).

Normally my days consist of waking up, either opening the bar, cleaning hotel rooms, or starting in the kitchen…with a break in between…and then walking around town to catch up with Dale or Trudy, or go across to the servo (gas station) run by the blind man Merv, nicest son of gun and completely in charge of that store.

The past two weeks, however, have been a different story. Birdsville, a town not far from here (meaning a couple 100 kilometers) has their annual Birdsville Races, which apparently are quite famous, and people from all over Australia flock there every year. Many of them pass through Windorah, and our big lead up to the Birdsville Races are our very own Yabby Races, held on the Wednesday before. As already mentioned, we imported 6 additional backpackers to help out with the festivities – some truly great people – and boy did we need it. Folks, I have never ever in all my life worked as hard as I did at those Yabby Races. Sure, we worked 8:00 am to 1:30 am that day. Yes, I had a stomach virus the day before with 102 degree fever and threw up so much that I was stuck in a permanent fetal position until I was yanked out of bed to work. None of this matters. What matters is that our tiny, tiny bar, with a maximum capacity of, oh, say 50 – was bombarded by about 800 drunk people crazed with the idea of winning the Yabby Races and simultaneously fearful of being stuck in Windorah and missing the Birdsville Races, thanks to the rain. What do you do when nervous or in doubt? Drink, of course! They did. By the end of the night, I could not feel my fingers anymore, after opening that many beer cans and stubbies. Literally could not feel them. I had slices all over from thrusting my numb hands into gallons of ice searching for a drink for someone. Hey, at least I couldn’t feel the cuts! People screaming at you to go faster from both sides of the bar…people screaming that their Yabby didn’t win…what is a Yabby, you ask? It’s a sort of lobster looking thing, except blue. Pretty neat, huh? Well, I didn’t see one that night…things looked mighty fun outside but we never left that bar. Each Yabby cost about $1200 to race. Teams of people buy the Yabby, then they are all dropped in the center of a large circle drawn in the street in front of the pub. The first Yabby outside the circle wins. I tell you, pure hysteria it was. And it “pissed down” rain, as they say, in the middle of everything.

Now, the rain was a problem. Windorah is located in what they call the Channel Country, referred to as such because when the rivers and lakes flood, the waters form channels all over this area. Floods are common enough that many people cancelled their trip to Birdsville because of the rain, knowing that it might be weeks before they could get out again. Those who continued on were certainly stuck there for at least a week; we had people calling constantly to see which roads were open, if any. For us this meant that many of those people who were just supposed to be passing through ended up staying much longer than they intended…so it was a busy few weeks here, to say the least. Additionally a biker rally group rolled through a week after the Yabby Races, 400 in total…we served dinner buffet style, but I tell you that line stretched on for a mile down the street. I’ve never served food so fast.

There really is so much more to tell, I just have no idea where to start or how to fit it all in…things like the birds that sing all day long, even in the middle of the night…I forget what Dale calls them, but the message is “get to bed, you’re up to late if you can hear me sing!”. Bathing is always exciting…there is usually at least one brown tree frog and one lizard in there with you; sometimes larger green frogs come for the fun, and more lizards. Forget HD TV, it’s like National Geographic, brought right to your…shower. None of the kids wear shoes, except to school. My favorite thing to do on a break is to go in the back yard and have a lie in the grass, though it is getting so hot here that it is becoming almost uncomfortable to do so. Should make my next job interesting.

Speaking of my next job….in one week, I am being picked up and carted off to a local station to be a JILLAROO!!!! In other words, a female ringer; in more words, I will be mustering cattle on horseback and other various duties – really I have no idea, and I don’t care, as long as I’ll be on horseback! Most of you know my history with horses…I can’t believe I am going to be back in the saddle again, I am so elated about it that I am almost nervous, nervous that it’s not really going to happen, nervous that I’ll feel like a foreigner in a saddle after so many years away. But I know that’s not true. It’s where I’m meant to be, really, I’ve just taken the long route back. The station is Tanbar, and they’re known for being really good with their horses.

On Wednesday Trudy and I, and her two girls Abby and little Billy, left at 7:00 in the morning to drive 3.5 hours to Longreach, the closest town with shopping. She helped me pick out jeans, work shirts, a cowboy hat…the hat is a necessity so you don’t burn whilst spending hours under the Australian sun. She’s also lending me a swag, which is like a sleeping bag/tent combo. It’s what I’ll use to sleep in when we’re at camp with the herd. Trudy’s generosity has been absolutely incredible. She is one of the most genuine, fun, sincere, and hilarious people I’ve ever met! And she’s absolutely gorgeous – one brown eye and one blue eye, something I’ve never seen. I love spending time with her and her lovely family – I’m gonna miss being able to see them every day when I’m on the station. I’ll be there until early November, at which time Joey and I are meeting in Wellington, New Zealand, for a series of bushwalks through that beautiful country. Something inside says that that isn’t enough time for me at Tanbar, but – we’ll see how things unfold, and what is meant to be.

For now, I’m going to wrap this up…and end with a few new Aussisms, of course. :)

1. Piss. This is a very important term in the Aussie language, and can really be used for anything… “It’s about to piss down rain”. “Aw she was just taking the piss out of him” (making fun of him) “Are you getting on the piss tonight?” (Are you drinking tonight?)

2. Sweet as, nice as, easy as, etc… “Man these jeans are so cool and they were cheap as!” “Nah mate, I just did it online, easy as…” Basically implying that whatever you are referring to is the sweetest, nicest, cheapest, etc. thing that could possibly be thought of. So much so that it is not necessary to define what said thing is.

3. Fair dinkum. Definitely a country phrase, “fair enough” or “good thing”. Usually a response to someone else’s story or sentence.
4. Righto. My new favorite phrase. I must say this at least 20 times a day. Means “sounds good” or “will do” or “check”. “Hey don’t worry about it I’ll just pick it up later.” “Righto!”

5. Too lovely. Means exactly what it sounds like. A drink well poured? A happy story? A pretty dress? A good mud fight? (As happened here recently.) “Too lovely”.

Until next time, loved ones…ta.

:) Nancy

I’m in the Outback, and I don’t think I ever wanna come back.

There aren’t quite suitable words in the English language to describe what I’ve seen and done so far, but I’ll do my best with a little Aussie slang thrown in.

Last Tuesday I rolled out of Brisbane on The Westerner, a train that runs from Brizzy to Charleville. We left at 7:15 pm and arrived in Charleville the next day at 12:30 pm. Word to the wise: when travelling on an overnight train, best to book a sleeping car. In my enthusiasm to book my ticket I completely blanked on details and accepted an economy car; it wasn’t until they turned the lights out at 10:00 that it dawned on me that this was to be my bed for the night – a regular old bus seat. I’m not too fussed, I’ve slept in worse, however I did not bring a blanket or pillow (except Teddy of course) and their heater was broken. Around 1:00 AM I shivered my way into the service car to ask the crew member for a blanket; he gave me the “I’m sorry I can’t, if I give you one then I have to give everyone a blanket…” but when I asked him for at least some of his newspaper to cover up with through loudly chattering teeth, he took pity on me. I wrapped that thing around me like a cocoon.

Once warmed up I still struggled to get situated, and wrestling with positioning I finally sat up chuckling – the whole situation was quite funny – but when I looked out the window, I literally choked on my laugh. I lost my breath – the sight outside startled it right out of me. Thousands, I mean THOUSANDS of stars were shining in the sky. Some even as big as my pinky finger tip from where I was sitting. I’ve never seen so many stars stuck together in all my life – not in the remotest parts of the states, not in Switzerland, Austria…and they are so close to the horizon! It seems as though right where the ground ends the first star is planted. This is the first time I have ever experienced the feeling and sensation that the earth is actually round, from a flat surface on the ground. It’s like a blanket of crystals draped over a bubble holding you. Am I going on too much? It doesn’t do it justice. I kinda sat in this awed stupor staring for about an hour before falling back asleep.

You would think I would be groggy the next morning, but as soon as I removed my sleeping mask the bright blue of the sky chased that right away. Bright red dirt, the carpet of the Outback, flashed by the train – as well as plenty of green trees, bush, grass. I’m told that this is quite rare – they’ve had an unseasonal amount of rain this year after years of drought, which has made everything lush and green. There were occasional rolling hills, and large vast areas of flatlands. Here and there we would see kangaroos running away from us – sometimes in pairs, sometimes in packs of ten or twelve. Saw a few emus, and one mama with 8 baby emus…also some cows, sheep, and something that looked like a giant wild boar. They are quite popular for hunting around these parts. There were also plenty of streams and large pools of water. One gentleman in the dining car was saying that the north coast gets torrential rains and floods during Christmas time, and then it flows down Australia for the rest of the year towards Southern Australia. So it’s just now reaching Queensland in the middle; should give you an idea of how vast this country is.

We also saw a kid on a bike with his mom waving, in the middle of nowhere; you could see their home in the distance. Perhaps he was on his way to school?

The people on the train were familiar to me. There were some Aussie tourists, but many were from the area and heading home. They were older, weather beaten, wrinkled, and answered questions about the Outback with a slow deep Aussie drawl and a twinkle in their eye. They reminded me so much of my family and heritage on my dad’s side – East Texas farmers who lived off the land and worked hard all their life just to feed their family. I really admire and respect them. In truth so far a lot of the landscape even looks like parts of Texas. So, you could say that part of me feels like I’m coming home.

Once in Charleville, I caught a 2 hour bus to Quilpie, and stayed there for the night. I took a walk around the town (which only took 5 minutes) and then went to the pub to order dinner. A lot of the locals were eyeing me, though they were friendly enough. The pub started getting busy for dinner, and as I was almost done with my meal I offered my table to a family who had just come in – to which they immediately replied “Join us, we’re good folk!” I happily accepted. There was grandma, mom, dad, uncle, two older sons graduated who work for the hospital (still not sure where said hospital is) and their little 3 year old brother, Marcus. They were so nice – bought me wine, asked me about Texas, gave me their contact info and told me to call if I needed anything at all. Some of them are coming down for a rodeo in a few weeks so I should see them there. After dinner they took a football and Marcus’s tricycle and went into the abandoned streets to play football by the moonlight. Such a great feel out here. I turned in early, as I had to catch a ride to Windorah the next morning at 4:45 AM…

This ride to Windorah, with Ray the delivery man, is quite possibly the highlight of my entire Aussie trip thus far. He is called the “mail man” (so I literally came in with the mail) but he actually delivers any and everything to all farms/homesteads in between Quilpie and Windorah. We dropped off food, supplies, tires, mail, anything anyone could need. It was so much fun to see each farm, ranch, house…everyone wants you to stay for tea, and though we stayed for a chat with a few of them, we had to keep moving. At one house a helicopter flew close over our heads – Ray asked the lady of the house who that was and she said “oh, that’s dad, checking to make sure we didn’t miss any bulls during the muster yesterday.” Now, let me tell you something – perhaps the big ranches do this in Texas and I’m just unaware – but the ranches are so large here that they use helicopters, planes, motorbikes, and horses to muster their cattle. This sounded like a bit much to me so I asked one lady, Maureen, why they needed it – “Oh well, we’ve got 20,000 acres, just makes it easier.” As I balked at this, she said “Well we’ve just got a small property – you’ll see more helicopters and planes this morning for the property next to us, they’ve got 1,000,000 acres…” A MILLION ACRES? Yep, the Outback.
Ray and I continued on our route to Windorah, sometimes detouring for an hour off the road to make mail or supplies drops…(and by the way, the road was not paved, or sealed as they say, for most of the trip…just red dirt road) one drop was just hysterical. Even though we drove an hour off the main road, when he started slowing down with absolutely nothing in site but some small sand dunes and plains, I was curious as to what was going on…then I saw an old icebox, from about 1952, in the middle of nowhere. He pulled right up to it, hopped out, and threw some mail in there. “Aw yeah, that’s just old Rick’s drop, he just comes to pick it up from there, he’s too far out for us.” A lone vintage ice box in the middle of the Outback. Love it.

On a solemn note, at the beginning of our drive, we saw many kangaroos…when I commented on this Ray said “oh yeah, we’ll probably hit four or five by the end of the day”…I thought surely he was joking, but nope – we definitely hit five kangaroos. That truck was loaded down with too much weight to stop fast – we would have wrecked – and though he tries to honk and get them out of the way, like our Texas deer, they get confused. I definitely had some tears from the first one, but I didn’t want to seem like a sook in the Outback so tried to take it in stride.

So, here I am in Windorah, working at the pub. The dynamics are interesting – but keeping with my usual mentality I just don't engage with anything that isn’t real or doesn’t involve relishing this experience. Though it can be stressful and sometimes lonely, I’m telling you I’m still having the time of my life. My first day of work was Thursday, the night before the annual Windorah rodeo – what a night to start! Ringers (pronounced “Rangas”) and cowboys travelled in from everywhere for the rodeo – we were a packed house. A ringer is a cowboy who works on a cattle station, whereas an actual cowboy is someone who competes in the rodeos. There are about 40 cattle stations around here – around here meaning within a 500 km radius, which is quite close. So they poured in, and I was definitely thrown in to the mix with no training at all, having a hard time with the accents, and shoot have never worked in a proper bar before! But I did it, and had SO MUCH FUN. Everyone immediately asks where I’m from, and by now my name is “Texas”. Once again, everyone is quite thrilled with the fact that I’m from the lone star state. There were a few foreigners there as well, one Irish and one German girl who both work as jillaroos on local stations, and a really nice Kiwi guy who is a pilot and musters the cattle with his plane on one of the stations.

The next day the pub closed at 12:00 (the entire town closed down, which consists of us, the Post Office, and the servo across the street run by Merv the blind man) so that we could head to the rodeo. Sitting at that rodeo all day, in the middle of red dirt, horses, cowboys and ringers that looked straight out of a book, I kept having to pinch myself. The people are so nice, in a truly genuine way. (I mean, in the bar you definitely get the drunk ones who are yelling at you about anything, but that’s to be expected.) Later in the day I took part in some relay race, running down a race track with a toga on, and spoon and egg in my mouth (yeah, I dunno) and then later the party started. Picture yourself under the insane beauty of the Outback stars, untouched by smog or city lights, in the middle of nowhere, with Lady Gaga blaring, disco lights flashing, and drunk ringers bumpin’ and grinding. Surreal much? (Ladies, a word: the guy – girl ratio here is pretty damn good, I would say about 10:1, so if you’re lookin for love, come visit…although I have to say these guys are pretty wild, so be prepared.) I had a great time. The rodeo grounds are about 6K away from town, and by 12:30 AM I was over the party scene, having stayed up late the night before. So, I started to head home. I had many offers to walk me home, even some piggy back (no one was driving drunk) and though I accepted an escort to the main road, I insisted on walking back to town by myself….family, friends, please don’t be worried! I cannot really express what an incredible experience this was. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of – this time of year, their winter, there are no crazy critters about, except for kangaroos and emus…there are no dangerous characters – everyone alive in that area was either at the rodeo or already in town, and everyone knows literally everyone – and well, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to walk, by myself, under the blanket of the stars, in the Australian Outback. It was something I will never forget, as long as I live. I would describe it as something like God and I, alone, just hanging out together. And of course I stared half dumb at the stars the whole way home. I will cherish that memory forever…all up until the cattle guard, which I thought I had under control until it claimed both of my feet and I went tumbling over. Ah well, bruised pride and a busted hand are small prices to pay for that experience.

The next day brought bronco and bull riding…just great fun. After the rodeo ended around 3:00 we opened the pub back up, and those who didn’t have to head straight home for work the next day hung around trying to prolong the holiday…we didn’t close up until 12:00 that night. I was exhausted yesterday, to say the least.

So, that’s it for now! The pub and hotel is hard work…I won’t lie. But I didn’t come out here to sit on my bum, and even though it can be stressful I’m really enjoying it. It’s a lot of outdoor work, which I love, and I’m meeting so many great people. Tomorrow is my day off, a neighbor said he would take me riding, let’s hope he remembers. I’m also looking into working on a cattle station after this, so please keep your fingers crossed that that works out.

Also, just so you know - there is absolutely no cell phone service, our phone line is dicey, and the internet is something like an old gramophone - not always working, and you have to crank it up really hard and just pray that it lasts as long as you need it. So if I'm slow to respond or unable to write enough, I'm sorry...just know that I'm thinking about you all and miss you loads.

Love you all so much!

Nancy