Bush Station - West Leichhardt Life

West Leichhardt Station

At the entrance, we meet David, a station hand. Ron, the owner, is in the yard branding cattle. Next advice is don't drink water from the green hose because of all the dead things like kangaroos fallen into the dam.

The latest news is that yesterday's muster finally caught old Mickey the scrub bull, but the younger scrub bull with him jumped clean over the yard rails. Old Mickey is pawing the dust in the pen now very upset and the cows separated from their calves for branding can be heard a long way off making their displeasure known.

David is from Wollongong, ex army and has an opinion on everything, local or world politics, it all leads to the world going to the dogs. Behind a gruff manner are talents with bark painting, piano playing, and a soft spot for kids.

We hop in the old battered Toyota Landcruiser to check a couple of bores on the property. Pride of place goes to a can of Start yer Bastard engine spray. David drives, a French couple from Lyon hops in the back, and a couple of cars from Tassie tag along.

David drives through the bush pointing out bloodwood, snappy gums, and more. No rain to speak of for three years. A fire in 2013 destroyed two thirds of the feed plants which had no rain to recover. The cattle are hanging on, but need salt to drink more to digest the rougher grass.

We reach a mob of cattle of all colours and sizes clustered round pens and a water trough next to the bore. David starts the windpump and points out a day old calf plus mickey cleanskin cow lurking with long horns.

Our little convoy continues to another bore with trough and mob of cattle. No sign of the big red mickey bull that had been sighted here before.

As we return we go a short way up a side road to a ruined shack once lived in by a gold fossicker who departed when he grew too old. An abandoned JCB sits next to scattered, crumpled tinnies; and fragments of quartz the oldtimer used to crumble for gold.

Ron the owner comes and pulls up a chair at our site under a mango tree. His family has been here for 140 years. His land stretches for 500 sq miles down to Cloncurry; the neighbour has twice that. Ron now runs 5-6000 head of cattle reduced by drought, but his real love is to meet all the people passing through and share with them the bushlife he has. 

The Frenchies are a group of four from Lyons who clearly enjoy the bush experience. Two lanky bearded ones are spending a few weeks here as jackaroos in training. Ron and David take them out to the yards or let them drive the Landcruiser.

Mid afternoon is time to visit the dam to watch whistling kites, and a lone brahminy kite, making spectacular swoops to snatch fish from the surface.

At the edge of the camp, a trio of volunteer tradies from Brisbane have set up tent and campfire. They are part of a charity that is building two mobile cabins on trailer sleds next to the tent. The cabins are for an aboriginal project near Camooweal. The tradies spent a few days earlier training ten aboriginal youths here how to set up the structures. The female aboriginal elder who organised the project hopes this involvement will prevent the trashing of buildings.

Happy hour is when the station residents gather round the barbie, a solid build of crushed termite mound to retain heat; and bricks.

We have a lamb stew in our camp oven that takes less than half an hour to cook over the hot embers.

Noel, a grey nomad out for more than twelve years on the road, sits at the table next to the barbie. He uses a wheeled walker to get around and yarn about his travels. His small brown dog, Alice, keeps pace. If he leaves her behind and scolds her for barking, she just keeps barking until she has the last woof. Ron brings out the beef roast he has been slow cooking all afternoon to feed the station mob. Next to our table is the family from Tassie who have an enormous bus.