Thursday evening we drove an hour and a half out of Sydney to the Tobruk Sheep Station. The Fairer Half decided she would stay at the hotel, order room service, and read a book. This was fine by me as I needed to go and do some manly activities and what better place than an Aussie sheep ranch.
Halfway there, the weather turned nasty.
We picked up a hitchhiker along the way who happened to have a guitar with him. He sat at the front of the bus singing songs about sheep and for the first time on the whole trip, I heard the song "Waltzing Matilda." It's the national song of Australia and is the tale of the swagman (a vagrant) who decides to steal a jumbuck (sheep) from the local squatter (itinerant farmer/rancher). The swagman camps out beside a billabong (oxbow, bend in the river to the laypeople) drinking his Billy tea (brand name tea) and stuffs the jumbuck in his tucker bag (backpack). The trooper (militiaman) arrives to arrest the swagman. Waltzing Matilda refers to gathering your gear (Matilda) and going on a walkabout (Waltzing). Well, it ain't exactly "This Land is Your Land", but when in Oz......
Each bus just so happened to pick up guitar playing hitchhikers as well. I believe a plot was afoot.
When we arrived at Tobruk, the tour guides passed out disposable ponchos as it was raining koalas and wombats. I made the comment that it looked like a Klan meeting and that I imagine the folks at Sundance would just love to get their hands on this pic:
(Date discrepancies on pics due to camera set on Texas time)
We loaded up on beer and wine and commenced to learning about life on a sheep ranch. The stockmen started off showing us how to shear a sheep:
It is rough business for tough men. A shearer gets paid $1.70 per sheep and is expected to shear at least 100 a day to remain employed. Experienced shearers can do 300 a day and the record is 436, I believe.
We then learned what it's like to live out on the range. The beverage of choice is Billy tea which they boil in huge pots. They also enjoy damper bread with golden syrup. The bread is cooked in a dutch oven buried in the campfire ashes. One of me mates, Dennis, pulls a fresh loaf out of the fire:
When I went to get my samples, two young teenage girls were passing them out. I asked for some "Dunny bread and billygoat tea, please."
Their eyes got wide and one of them said "But sir, it's not billygoat tea, it's Billy tea. And the bread is damper bread. A dunny is the loo (watercloset)." My attempt at humor was wasted on the young.
Another of me mates, Lee, put on a bullwhip exhibition that was incredible. Every time the whip cracked, it sounded just like a .22 rifle. They let some of us Yanks giverago and most of us sucked, but some of the ladies seemed to have had some experience. I hit myself so many times that I started to feel like Kunte Kinte:
MY MOMENT OF GLORY
Boomerangs!!! Weapons of choice in the outback. One of me mates (Graham) gave us a quick orientation on the finer aspects of the boomerang. He then asked for volunteers. Silence. Well, I love to throw things. I played quarterback in high school and pitched in college, and even at 39 can still throw a football 60 yards in the air. So I figured if anyone here can giver a fling, it'd be me.
I walked out in front of all my associates and took the boomerang from Graham. I asked "Should I throw it hard?"
"Giver all you got, mate."
So I did. I threw it low and hard. Graham said under his breath "Oh, that's a beaut, mate."
The boomerang flew far and high, circled back over the crowd, came all the way back to me, and then took off again, came back again, and finally landed about 20 yards from me. I'd pulled off a double looper in my first try. Graham said "I've never seen one flung like that!"
The crowd cheered, I took a bow, and bought me a boomerang the next day.
Time to eat. Giant tent full of wonderful food, beer, wine, desserts, and an Australian folk band. All you can eat lamb chops, tater salad, cole slaw, and mint jelly. I was in hog (or sheep) heaven.
An Aborigine dance group performed later, but I was out by the campfire chatting with Graham, Dennis, Lee, and Owen, the stockmen. When they found out I was from Texas, they had a lot of questions for me about their counterparts, the cowboys. Now, I ain't no cowboy, but I told them all about the enjoyment of living in a place where I can tote my shooting iron while traipsing through the woods. They wished their government would allow them the same freedoms.
Out of everyone in Australia I met, these guys were the best. They were genuine, loved to "jake about", and were tough, tough men. I wanted to take them home with me (in a brotherly way, not Brokebutte Mountain style.)
To be concluded.....
