Ridgeview Station Read online

  First published in 2017

  Copyright © Michael Trant 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Arena Books, an imprint of Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 9781760294205

  eISBN 9781760638702

  Set by Post Pre-press Group, Australia

  Cover design: Romina Panetta

  Cover photographs: Chris Sattlberger / Getty Images (main photo); RelaxFoto.de / iStock (sky); Federherz / iStock (smoke)

  For those I still hold dear

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  Peter Dalton smiled as he drove his battered LandCruiser through the gate. He looked around with pride at the sprawling stone house and metal sheds of Ridgeview Station’s homestead complex. Five years since he and his family had bought the place in a nerve-racking auction, he still felt a thrill about having snared it.

  Back then, most of his friends had thought that he and his wife, Kelsie, along with her parents, Jack and Lisa Simmonds, were mad when they’d said that they wanted to sell their farm on the coast to buy a large pastoral station. True, at the farm they’d enjoyed a reliable rainfall, good soil and nearby services, but Kelsie had always made it clear that her long-term dream was to own a station.

  When Pete had finally agreed with his wife that the time was right to make a move, she’d been on the phone with an agent the next day. Everything after that seemed to happen in fast forward. Within a week, the agent had taken them to Ridgeview, and Pete and Kelsie had immediately realised that it was the station with the most potential for improvement.

  But despite the great price they’d got at the auction, their mortgage had given Pete more than a few sleepless nights ever since. Kelsie hadn’t been as fazed. Although the last season had been a tough one, her eternal optimism helped keep Pete’s worries in check. Thankfully, this year was the opposite, with record rainfall and abundant growth. They’d just come off the best winter since moving to Ridgeview, and everyone was in good spirits. The upcoming muster was going to be very interesting.

  Pulling up at the entrance to the main shed, Pete waited for the cloud of dust to settle, then got out and hefted a tyre from the tray. As he wheeled it into the shed, he saw that Jack was hard at work preparing the motorbikes for the next muster.

  ‘Another flat?’ asked his father-in-law, looking up. Grease was smeared across his stubbled cheek and a half-finished cigarette sat in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Pete. ‘We’ll have to do some work on a few of the roads next year. Staked this one dodging a small canyon.’ Jack nodded before asking, ‘How’d you go with the windmills?’

  ‘Everything’s fine. All tanks full and windmills turning. And how about you? Are the old girls going to make another year?’ Pete gestured towards the five Suzuki motorbikes that Jack was busy with.

  Jack sighed and eased himself up, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. ‘Number one is tired and three is nearly knackered, so we’ll need a couple of handy riders on them. Number five should be fine and the other two just need a service. I’ll order up the parts when we head back for lunch, and Lisa can pick them up when she goes in to get the food stores next week.’

  ‘Great,’ said Pete. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The truck needs a service, and I’ll do a few welds on the stock crate and a service on Kelsie’s ute. After that, we’ll be good to go.’

  Not for the first time, Pete thanked his lucky stars that his father-in-law was an absolute whizz with anything mechanical. While Kelsie could hold her own doing most things around the place, mechanical stuff had never been her strong point—probably because Jack had always looked after it for her.

  Mind you, Kelsie was almost unbeatable on any motorbike. The only person who’d ever matched her on two wheels had been their old stockman, Kev. Sadly, about six months ago, he’d accepted the inevitable and retired on the day after his sixty-eighth birthday. He’d been crook for a while, and between that and the prospect of facing another scorching summer, he’d headed off to live in a larger town where doctors were closer, though he still kept in close touch with the family.

  Their new fulltime station hand, Ash Cook, had started a few months before old Kev left. A young bloke from the city, he was showing good potential, despite not having had much real station experience. These days, it wasn’t easy to find strong, healthy blokes who were happy to come and work full-time for years on a lonely station, so they’d been lucky to find Ash. He was handy on the bikes too.

  Pete ran his eyes over the five Suzukis. ‘If we sell a couple of good mobs, we can maybe replace number three,’ he said to Jack. ‘But you know the bank’s getting nervous again, so you’ll have to coax another season out of the old girl.’

  Jack sighed. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just hard when they expect us to make the place pay while they baulk at spending money on the gear we need to run it.’

  Pete shrugged. ‘That’s bean counters for you. But it’ll be good if we can get young Murray and Gav back again this year.’ The two young local Aboriginal blokes had worked at Ridgeview several times and were very handy on just about any bike. ‘I’ll get Kelsie to call Bethany when I head over to clean up.’

  Jack nodded and passed Pete a tyre lever.

  Along with being one of the local Aboriginal elders, Bethany was the go-to lady for most of the station owners when they were looking for temporary workers. She always knew who was where, whether so-and-so was available and which of the blokes could or couldn’t work with whom for whatever reason. She also had an amazing knack for getting staff at the drop of a hat.

  Jack and Pete had got into the habit of hiring young fellas from families who’d grown up on Ridgeview and the surrounding stations. The lads seemed to enjoy coming back for bits and pieces of work on the places their fathers and uncles had lived, often telling funny stories of their relatives’ antics, and proudly pointing out fence lines and troughs that they’d once worked on.

  ‘You up to riding this year?’ Pete added lightly. He knew that Jack would probably resent the question, but he still had to ask. Jack’s skill wasn
’t in question—but, like Kev, his decades of toil were catching up with him.

  ‘You just tell the young blokes to eat my dust,’ Jack growled. ‘I ain’t completely useless yet.’

  ‘’Course not,’ said Pete quickly, concentrating on the tyre lever to avoid looking at his father-in-law. Jack was a proud man, and the thought that he might be slowing down clearly scared him. ‘Just thought if you prefer to fly this year, I’m happy to ride.’

  ‘Well, I would, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be. I’d probably miss a few. I ain’t useless, but I ain’t a hundred per cent either,’ Jack conceded. ‘Besides,’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘you on a bike would slow us down too much.’

  Pete gave a snort as he worked to prise off the tyre’s rubber. He didn’t mind the ribbing people gave him about his preference for four-wheel drives over bikes. And he was pleased that Jack hadn’t been too annoyed at the implication that he might be showing his age.

  •

  After Pete had finished with the tyre repairs, he and Jack made their way to the house for lunch. As they entered the kitchen, Lisa got up and poured them cups of coffee. Kelsie said a brief hello before going back to poring over the station map that took up most of the table. Grabbing themselves a biscuit each, the men sat down on each side of her.

  One afternoon, not long after they’d bought Ridgeview, they’d been using the map while discussing which fence lines needed renewing. It’d been a hot day and the fan had kept flapping the damned thing up, so Kelsie had used some sticky tape to keep it still. After that first time, Lisa had carefully unstuck the map and put it back on the nearby dresser. But it had become a habit to stick it back on the table whenever they were discussing things like where a mob of sheep should be moved to next, what windmills had goats drinking at them and which direction a paddock should be mustered from. And though Lisa had worried about what dinner guests would think when Kelsie suggested covering the map in plastic and keeping it on the table, it had become such a talking point for friends that Lisa rarely used the linen tablecloth to cover it anymore. These days, a handful of whiteboard markers sat on the dresser for when they made new plans and wanted to draw on the plastic covering.

  ‘You should see the feed in the holding paddock,’ said Kelsie, looking up. ‘Could run a thousand sheep in there for months.’

  ‘Makes a nice change from last year, doesn’t it?’ said Pete with a grin.

  From talking to the previous owners, it sounded as though they’d had one of the best years in over half a century. Now that the wildflower season had finished, the sea of white and purple everlastings gone, and the lush green mulla-mulla bush and wanderrie grass dried off, the resulting feed was money in the bank. Not only would the shrubbery and perennials provide for this year’s livestock, but they would also provide feed well into another season. One less thing to worry about.

  The family all loved seeing their sheep in magnificent condition, knowing there’d be plenty of saleable stock to harvest off while they were trapping and mustering. They’d also noticed an abundance of young lambs in every mob. All in all, it was a good time to be in the sheep game.

  •

  Once lunch was over, Pete helped Lisa clear away. He sat back down with Jack, who was halfway through ordering the motorbike parts over the phone.

  When Jack was done, he handed the phone to Kelsie, who dialled Bethany’s number. A long pause followed, and Kelsie looked like she was just about to hang up when someone finally answered.

  ‘Bethany, it’s Kelsie here from Ridgeview—’ she started.

  Pete watched, amused, as his wife listened attentively, clearly trying to decipher what Bethany was saying. The elderly woman had a major soft spot for Kelsie and was always up for a long, meandering chat with her.

  Finally, Kelsie grabbed an opportunity to cut in. ‘Bethany, we need some good fellas to help us with the muster next week. And they need to be handy on motorbikes. Are Murray and Gav around? They’re good boys, those two.’

  Kelsie listened to Bethany’s answer, nodding and smiling a few times, before grabbing a chance to cut in again. ‘Murray will be great, thanks, Bethany,’ she said, giving Pete and Jack the thumbs-up. ‘Yeah, anytime in the next few days is fine. He just needs his work clothes and some strong boots, and we’ll have the rest. Thanks so much for your help. We’ll see you Thursday.’

  ‘So what about Gav?’ asked Pete once Kelsie had hung up.

  ‘She says he’s got himself a traineeship with one of the mining mobs.’

  ‘So, who else might be up for some work?’ Pete wondered. Staff were always in short supply at busy times, though thankfully it wasn’t as bad these days as it’d been during the peak of the mining boom.

  ‘Didn’t Graham say he has a backpacker who’s finishing up shortly?’ Lisa asked, sitting down. Graham and Joy Lyndhurst, husband and wife, owned Nangoo Station on Ridgeview’s northern boundary. ‘His name’s Alex, I think Graham said. If he’s not done with the bloke, maybe we can just pinch him for a few weeks.’

  Kelsie handed the phone to Pete with a smile. ‘Your turn.’

  Pete sighed and plugged in the number. Unlike Bethany, Graham picked up on the first ring. Pete was happy to have caught him while he was back for lunch. After they’d made small talk, Pete said, ‘Lisa tells us you’ve got a backpacker.’

  ‘Yeah, mate, Alexi,’ Graham replied. He paused, and Pete was about to ask him for more details when he said, ‘Not a bad sort. From Estonia.’

  ‘We’re a man short for a muster next week and need someone who’s comfortable on a bike. Reckon you could swing him our way for a bit?’

  ‘Maybe. Alexi’s a little unsure about where to go next. Very handy on a motorbike. Hang on, I’ll ask.’ Pete heard muffled voices, and then Graham came back on the line. ‘Yep, I’ll drop Alexi off on Thursday. How’s that?’

  ‘Perfect. See you then. And thanks, mate.’ Pete ended the call and turned to his family. ‘Looks like we have our staff sorted. Now just let’s hope they both turn up.’

  Although Pete felt relieved, he couldn’t help wondering why Graham had hesitated before saying ‘not a bad sort’. Surely Graham wouldn’t give them a dud worker, so maybe Alexi just wasn’t the friendliest bloke.

  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a casual worker like that. As long as Alexi could hold his own on a bike, they’d be set.

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘Useless bastard thing!’ hissed Pete. The pipe wrench he’d dropped clattered through the steel windmill tower and thudded into the red dirt, scattering the few goats and sheep waiting for their water to flow again. Blood was running down his knuckles from where the wrench had smashed his hand into a metal strut.

  Taking a deep breath, Pete regained his composure and looked up as the windmill tower moved slightly with each gust of wind. Then he eased himself out of its framework and carefully began his descent to the ground, some seven metres below. Despite his frustrations, he still needed the wrench.

  When he finally reached the mill’s base, Pete jumped the last rung, not trusting the rusty bolts holding it, then strode over to his LandCruiser and swigged from a water bottle. ‘What are you two clowns laughing at?’ he said to the dogs staring at him from under the ute’s shade.

  Mork was a big black dog with a white chest, tan feet and a permanent dopey grin on his face. Despite being from the same litter, Mindy had almost dingo-like colouring and was much smaller than Mork. Both were a little under six years old and in peak working condition, though Mindy was quicker and more agile.

  When the family first arrived at Ridgeview, Mindy’s resemblance to a dingo had caused some concern with their new neighbours, but Pete had convinced them that she was all kelpie. Still, he never let her out of sight in the paddocks, and she wore a large fluorescent blue collar to reduce the chance of her being shot if she got lost.

  ‘Nearly done, hopefully, and then I can get back before Alexi arrives,’ Pete said to the dogs. After Graha
m had called the day before to arrange an arrival time, Pete was even more curious about meeting this bloke. Graham had sounded very cagey.

  The dogs cocked their heads, waiting for a command they recognised. Their hopeful eyes rested on the growing number of sheep and goats gathered behind the wire around a water trough. Thirst had overcome the animals’ natural wariness of Pete, his ute and the dogs.

  Back up the tower, Pete stepped onto the cross rail and assessed the situation. The windmill wasn’t seriously broken. A crucial pair of bolts had snapped, bending the pump rod, and it wasn’t long before he had the rod free. Back down the rickety ladder, he started straightening the bent rod on the makeshift workbench he’d set up in the ute’s tray. With a few well-timed smacks, a bit of elbow grease and the odd curse, he unbent the rod. Then he rummaged around in an old tin toolbox marked ‘WINDMILL’ until he found two steel bolts, each complete with a nut and washer.

  When he was up the ladder again, it took Pete next to no time to reassemble and repair the windmill. He then reached up and untied the fan. Even though it was locked out of direct wind, the fan started turning slowly, its creaking punctuated by the rattle of old gears. Relieved, Pete gazed down as water pulsed out of the pipe running from the top of the windmill column down to the tank wall and over its edge. Satisfied that the windmill was up and running again, he clambered down for the final time, put the tools back in the metal box and gave a sharp whistle.

  Immediately, Mork and Mindy leapt up onto the tray, pleased that they were finally going somewhere and might have a chance to chase stock.

  Sliding into his seat, Pete picked up his two-way radio. ‘You there, Kelsie?’ he said into the handset. After waiting thirty seconds or so, he repeated himself.

  ‘Yes, I got you, Pete,’ the two-way exploded at him.

  ‘Shit!’ he said, startled. He’d set it to full volume so that he could hear it up the tower. Reaching forward, he turned the volume knob to its normal setting. ‘Yeah, I’m on my way home now. Had to fix up Dunooden.’

  ‘Okay,’ came the reply. ‘Everything is fine at my end. The pipe had come off Westie’s windmill, but I’ve fixed that. See you back home.’