Photo: Photolibrary.Com/
Graham Monro A trip to the Aussie outback is an adventure in rodeos, real men and serious dirt

WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHY GEMMA PRICE

A bona fide cowboy down to his dusty boots, Ted’s moth-eaten Barmah hat, ruddy complexion and checked shirt were straight from a Sunday afternoon Western rerun. As a child, I’d been awed by the gruff, tough machismo of cowboys onscreen, but as a city girl born and bred, this was my first close-up encounter with the real deal.

it’s a bumpy ride at the
Mt Isa rodeo

Farm hand – or “jackaroo” – Ted was explaining his retirement from the rodeo ring. “I saw guys really mess themselves up – one bloke got gored right through his neck. That’s when I decided to stop.”

I’d arrived at the cattle station just 24 hours earlier and had already discovered Ted’s tendency to exaggerate. But this time I suspect he was being straight up.

Fresh from experiencing my first rodeo up-country in Mount Isa, the sights and sounds were still raw in my mind. In this remote Queensland mining town the only thing bigger than the metal works is the annual rodeo. Every time the gate opened my heart leapt to my mouth at the powerful gyrations of the bull and the tiny figure on top being flung around like a rag doll. When you’re on a whirling dervish of hooves and horns weighing around a tonne, the eight-second qualifying time can seem like a very long time.

One of the curious locals

Broken wrists, shattered legs, bruised buttocks and concussion are all fairly run-of-the-mill injuries, but for many outback Aussies, a rodeo’s still the epitome of fun. Now my curiosity about these madmen and women had brought me to this cattle station near Rockhampton in Queensland – self-proclaimed beef capital of Australia. Here, you can get up close to meeting the real people who live their lives among the beef and bucking broncos thanks to a number of working properties around “Rocky” offering farmstays to the intrigued and adventurous. That first morning, as I jumped from the Myella station minibus and followed owner Olive Eather to the homestead, I didn’t have much idea what to expect.

“Eat more beef, you bastards!” ordered the sticker adorning the office door.

this way for fun and farm
games

“Used to be Rocky’s official marketing slogan, that,” Olive grinned, catching my reaction.

At 64, veteran cowgirl Olive has been running the station with husband Peter for more than 40 years. Over a breakfast plate heaped with potato salad, cold cuts and fresh veggies, she explained the beginnings of the farmstay holidays.

“We had our first guest in 1993… It used to be a hobby, no more than a couple of guests per week, but now we can have up to 30 people to stay. Some people only come for one or two nights, some stay three weeks – a lot of people don’t want to leave!”

rise and shine early for
milking the cows

As the first day wore on, I began to understand why. Life at Myella can be relaxing, at least for the guests. Located 125km southwest of Rockhampton, the property sits in warm, yellow fields dotted with several hundred head of cattle. Farm life starts early – the family and station staff rise at 5am – but visitors are free to choose their own timetables.

After the morning’s horse ride, I opted to help Ted with some chores, but it quickly became clear I wasn’t cut out to be a “Jillaroo”, and he sent me off to the chook pen to look for eggs. I would’ve found them a lot faster if I’d known that “chook” meant “chicken”. Ted soon took pity on me again and packed me off to learn some basic cowgirl skills. Lesson one: whip cracking.

feeding the chooks
breakfast

Despite the staff’s tough image and no-nonsense Aussie attitudes, safety at Myella is paramount, so before I was allowed to pick up the whip – a coil of leather Indiana Jones would’ve died for – I had to don my safety specs and stand clear of anything lashable. Another Jackaroo, Shane, demonstrated the technique.

“You bring your arm over your head – like this – then bring it down hard and flick your wrist.” A loud “WHUPPISHHHH” cracked through the air. “Easy,” he said.

In practice, it wasn’t quite so simple. Some of the other guests had a few days’ head start and were making some impressive thunderclaps, but it took me several attempts and near-face misses to make a little snap of my own.

Next up was a crash course in motorbike riding. I wasn’t too keen, but like Ted, Shane was patient and encouraging and after the course I got my “Myella licence”, allowing me to take the bike round the property whenever I liked.

The vast spaces make for
dramatic sunsets

Buoyed up by my new-found skills, I was swaggering up to the homestead when a bag dangling listlessly from a nail on the homestead wall slowed me to a stop – I could just make out the feet of an animal poking from it. I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with the harsher realities of the Outback but morbid curiosity had me inching closer for a better look when another guest strode up and swung the bag off its hook.

“Feeding time,” she smiled amiably. “Want a go? It’s fun” and she turned towards the outdoor kitchen. Feeding time? What monster needed to be hand-fed an entire animal carcass? My mouth was frozen in a small “o” of horror, but my feet plodded obediently after her. In the outdoor kitchen, she laid the bag carefully on the floor. For a few moments, nothing, but then a soft nose appeared and, as the legs untangled themselves, a tiny kangaroo joey emerged.

“He was orphaned by a crash down on the road, so he has to be bottle-fed four times a day,” the girl explained, sensing my confusion. The relief was palpable.

hot wheels provided

I settled the joey on my knee and cooed over him as he drained the bottle; once he was sleeping soundly, my new friend Kirsten suggested we cap the day off by watching the sunset. Donning helmets and revving our motorbikes like seasoned petrol heads, we floored it to the highest point of the station, just in time to catch the last warmth of the sun’s rays as it melted into the darkening panorama of trees and grasslands. As the golds and oranges faded to reds and purples, and finally darkness seeped across the landscape, tiredness wrapped me like a blanket.

Hitting the hay early turned out to be a good move – work started again at 6am and I had volunteered to milk the cows. It seemed pretty simple – teat, squeeze, milk, bucket. How diffcult could it be?

The cows had been separated from their calves the previous evening, so by morning they were udderly good and ready to squirt. After a quick demo by Ted, it was my turn. At first it was easy, but after a few cows my hands started to ache and the satisfying “psshhh psshhh” of jets of creamy milk hitting the tin bucket got quieter and quieter. What can I say? Ted’s stamina with nipples far exceeded mine, so I left him to work his magic while I buried my head in a book for a few hours.

feeding time

That’s the beauty of life in Myella – while the Eather family and farm team run the property, guests can participate as much or as little as they like.
Every day is different: even the regular morning horse ride could involve slow-mo cattle-mustering at a walk, trot and canter, or bottle-tree-racing, where horse and rider snake through three points as fast as possible. The horses also need daily grooming and feeding – although I think Olive’s cooking is so good the guests probably eat more – and there’s a never-ending stream of chores and banter. Visitors are well looked after, but are expected to help clean up after themselves, listen to instructions, exercise common sense and be up for a laugh.

Lesson two of farm life is, never, ever volunteer unless you have a sense of humour.

On my final afternoon, Ted asked me if I wanted to help fix the water pump, and like a child I followed him to the reservoir that supplied the farm water. Waving at the float in the middle of the dam, he told me all I had to do was wade out to the middle, grab the pump hose, untie it from the float and bring it back to the bank so we could check if it was blocked.

one of your charges

Although the dam water was thick with silt, Ted assured me that it was only a couple of feet deep, so I rolled up my trousers and stepped barefoot into the gloopy mud on the bank. As I waded out the water got deeper and deeper. Floundering hesitantly halfway, I realised it was too late to turn back. I was soon swimming fully clothed in seven metres of dirty brown water while everyone else sat bone-dry, laughing hysterically, on the bank.

Admittedly, at the end of my stay, part of me was glad to swing my feet out of the stirrups and back into sandals and “civilisation” – muscles I’d never used before were stiff enough to give me a bandy gait John Wayne would’ve envied. But it’s true what the Myella team say to every guest: “You’ll leave stiff, sore and dirty – but happy!”

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Myella Farmstay

Baralaba, Queensland, tel: +61 (7) 4998 1290, myella@bigpond.com.

A two-day, one-night package is AU$190; three-days and two-nights is AU$275. Farm clothes, accommodation and food are provided. Pick up from Rockhampton accommodation is at 6.30am and drop off at 7pm, seven days a week. Book by phone or email at least 24 hours in advance – three weeks’ notice is advisable.

Rockhampton accommodation

Rockhampton Plaza Hotel
161-167 George St., Rockhampton, tel: +61 (7) 4927 5855, for all your travel choices go to jetstar.com