Cattle

Working cattle here has been a learning experience, to say the least. This part of Queensland used to be Hereford country, but they've gone to Brahmas and a breed called Droughtmasters, which look to me pretty much like red Brahmas. Charlais and Angus crosses can also be found here. The average herd is around 1000-2000 head, but far larger herds are common. Like anywhere else, the number of acres needed to support each animal varies, but twenty acres per head is a good estimate around here.

The order of magnitude difference between herd sizes and acreages in Australia and in Montana may make ranching in Australia seem unmanageable, but the lack of having to put up hay should be considered. The cattleman here are no doubt busy and are very hardworking, but hay is a very expensive and time consuming necessity in raising cattle, and not having to deal with it is a big time saver. The efficiency of Australian cattleman, at least the ones I've met, is commendable. Don't think I'm ready to give up on Montana yet though.

The cattlemen and women I've worked with are all first class horse hands. Spending 150 or more days a year in the saddle is not uncommon. Many riders carry stock whips. One character I met was a horse breaker and trainer. I guessed he was my age or less but was actually close to thirty, and was already well-known and well-regarded among stockmen. I didn't find out until after the ruddy-complexioned, very red-haired Aussie clearly of Irish descent had finished up and gone south for other contracts that he was one of the best saddle bronc riders in Australia.

Handling entire herds here at once would be madness. Instead, branding and shots are administered to one manageable bunch at a time, usually less than a hundred. This is made possible because each station (ranch) is divided into several paddocks (fields/ranges/etc.). All branding is done on tables. Ropers are not common, cattle yards are not set up for roping, and crews of only three or four are usually available.

The first full day on the place, Larry and I helped sort about seventy pair. These were dipped, which meant sending them down an alleyway filled with solution and making them swim about twenty feet, something for which Montana cattle would be unlikely to volunteer themselves. This submerged them in pesticide, which was the only way to get rid of ticks. I'd like to note that Brahma bulls can make a big splash.

The calves were all branded the next day. This bunch was all stud or registered breeding stock, so they received the brand of the owner, an “11” for the year, and a three digit ID brand. They were also tagged and dehorned as needed, which was almost always. The bunch was then turned out.

The two days of branding I was sent to the place near Alpha for were a bit more work. About eighty were done the first day, and about seventy the second. These calves weighed at least 200 lbs and several were over 350 lbs. I pushed calves up the alleyway, but also had to hold back legs if they were wild, or if a bull needed to be cut. You would be mostly right if you thought I am not quite tough enough to handle calves that big, as many of them definitely worked me over. I caught on to the tricks the Aussies use, though, and had a much easier time after that. Grabbing the leg before the calf starts fighting makes a big difference.

The second day was the bloodiest ordeal I've ever seen. All those calves were Brahman, so they were light gray. Every one of the seventy calves were soaked red after they had been dehorned and the bulls cut. One bull had also slammed himself into a steel panel for all he was worth, then went stiff and his eyes rolled back in his head, something I had never seen before. Once he came round, he was on the fight, albeit slowly, and further beat himself closer to death in the alleyway. It smelled like a butcher shop.

Most of the cattle here are flighty. Contrary to my experience, in which you slow down to keep them calm, this meant you've got to be more aggressive with them, or they'll just stir up more. Keeping them calm was very difficult because almost any movement, especially climbing over fences, walking, breathing, or sweating in their general direction sent them to the far corner of the corral. Only a very small minority of the cows are mean, and they're just over-protective. One cow at Alpha did seem to be out for blood, and wouldn't let anybody within thirty feet off the fence.

Helicopter mustering (herding) is common here, but I haven't gotten to see any. Some cattle can only be handled by chopper because they travel so much, the paddocks are so big, or both.

I haven't done any riding. I didn't bring my boots with me, and even if I did, I'm pretty certain I look like I have no experience whatsoever with livestock because they do things so differently. It's just as well I suppose, because getting lost or bucked off in the middle of a paddock somewhere is about the last thing I need at the moment.

Ranching

I don't really intend my online ramblings to be of any consequence to anyone, so I've decided to not fully name the cattle company I have been working for for the last few days, just in case.

I have checked email at the office whenever possible, but have otherwise been mostly out of touch. I'm hoping I still have a few readers.

Larry and I took the train from Brisbane to Emerald, Queensland on Tuesday the 23^rd and arrived the next morning. Linda, the wife of the owner, picked us up and took us out to the closest property, about twenty miles out of town. This property was about 42,000 acres and had about 6000 head on it.

We were set to fixing one of their flood-washed fences and helping them sort about seventy pair the first day. The fence stretchers they use are pretty different from the American variety, and I consider them to be fairly clever. My attempts to describe them, however, would probably confuse just about everybody. After a few hours of getting used to the equipment, I got a bit too hasty and the steel pipe handle of the stretcher slipped loose from under tension and hit me in the jaw. Trust me, it wasn't any gentle love tap either. I was pretty stunned and immediately found myself to be bleeding. After a few concerned moments, I determined that my jaw was not broken and my tongue was still intact, but I did spit out a few bits of broken tooth. This was a less than ideal way to start off a stint in this part of the world, or any part of the world for that matter. It also got me to wondering really hard about how much dangerous work I care to do this far from home. The dentists in Emerald are apparently booked solid, and are difficult to get into. I have yet to get the tooth fixed and I'm a bit worried about how that will work out. Thankfully it doesn't hurt and my jaw didn't bother me much.

I've kept a running list of the more questionable aspects of the station. Larry and I are bunking in a small manufactured house set inside a shed. The tap water in our shack isn't drinkable, but the water from the rain barrel apparently is, which troubles us because the Ihles had advised us not to drink their rainwater. In any case, the rainwater has a distinct, worrying yellow tinge. Neither of us has any idea how we haven't get sick from it. The shack has its own collection of resident bugs and spiders, along with a number of frogs and toads that come and go as they please. We threw out the first few of these we found, but then remembered that frogs eat bugs, so we decided to let them stay. The first one we kept we named Sasquatch. We tried to take pictures of him but they, naturally, all came out blurry. A washing machine that belonged to another employee is outside the shack, but was found to be full of frog crap and was thus unusable, even after several hot rinses with industrial cleaning solution. Most irksome was when we discovered a baby brown snake (one of the more poisonous yet timid types) in the kitchen. We both supposed that he had gotten in by sliding along the extension cord from the washer into the kitchen. After this, our screens and doors remained firmly shut, and luckily, we could use one of the other washers on the place. Working with cattle was another story, and will be accounted for in another post.

We started 2 kilometers of new fence on Monday the 28^th. This involved putting in “strainer” brace posts every 200 meters, wooden posts every thirty meters, and steel posts every ten meters. Holes for wooden posts were dug with an auger on a skid steer, but steel posts were pounded in with the back side of an ax, or a 387 lb sledge with a steel handle if we were so inclined. The ends of the fence are fabricated steel corners, which are cemented in. The project was expected to take about two weeks. As could be guessed by my impression of the place, I had little desire to stick around longer than necessary and planned to stay only long enough to finish the fence.

I had to go to another station to help brand calves Tuesday afternoon. This 52,000 acre station was near Alpha, 100 miles to the west, then another 40 miles down a half-paved, one-lane road. The details of this will also be covered in another post, but to summarize, I got my ass thoroughly kicked and I have never been more drenched in sweat.

On the drive back Friday afternoon I got a message that Bechtel was wondering when I would be back in Brisbane. I can only guess this is for an interview. My plan to stay until the fence was finished now seems a little dangerous because of the threat of rain and the possibility of getting flooded in. It also doesn't seem very courteous to make an opportunity wait like that.

There have been a few upsides, or at least interesting bits, to being this far out from everything. We spend virtually nothing because housing and meals are provided. Both Linda and Mel, the wife of the manager of the station near Alpha, are wonderful cooks, and insist we pack it on. We also don't have a vehicle of our own to go to town in, but they do loan us trucks to go to Emerald to get anything we need on the weekend. Larry and I have both adjusted quite well to driving on the left, I might add.

The owner of the whole outfit insists on calling me “Nat” and, at least for a while, (hilariously) called Larry “Lloyd”. I prefer “Nate”, but “Nat” actually works fine here because “Nate” can get confused with things like “mate” and “hey” too easily. The Irish also tended to do this quite a lot, as “Nate” to them sounded like “net”, hardly a proper handle for anyone. Colin, the top man, usually goes by just “Col”, but I'm unsure whether everyone is saying it like “call”, or “Cole”. I call him “Cole”, and I honestly hope that that's wrong, because it'd only be fair if both of us constantly got the other's name wrong.

Larry is doing fine. He has remained unscathed and doesn't seem to mind some troubles as much as I do; he puts up with an awful lot from me. He will likely stick around longer than I plan to, but will hopefully meet up with me later, depending on how other prospects look in the coming weeks. He has been an ideal travel companion, and I've been very glad to have him with me.

I realize my tone has been a bit on the down side in many of my writings, and I apologize for being a little pessimistic when I am stressed. In my own defense, it really is quite stressful to fly thousands and thousands of miles into a totally new country/hemisphere, begin to worry a bit about what I'm doing, head 700 miles into an even more remote area, very nearly shatter my jaw and encounter many other very real dangers and nuisances, all while living in questionable conditions. Please, bear with me.

Hired

Larry and I got a solid job offer Wednesday last week. We will be working for a cattle company about 550 miles north of Brisbane, near a town called Emerald. They need some help gathering, branding, and fencing for a few weeks. After that, they might find other stuff for us to do, ask around the neighborhood if anybody needs any help, or we can head back south. Should it turn out to not be a good deal, we aren't obligated to them for too long, and either way, we should collect a couple stories up there.

We've done some painting and mechanicing for the Ihles during the week. The five doors finished up nicely, even with my poor painting skills, especially when compared to Larry's, who was a house painter for four years. Jeff, Larry, and I replaced the timing belt in Jeff's Hilux on Sunday. It was an all-day job, but we managed it without any flying hammers, tantrums, or broken knuckles.

My friend Mike Natoli studied at Bond University on the Gold Coast in the middle of 2009. When he found out I was headed to Oz, he eagerly volunteered his advice, his old phone and converter plug, and some contacts he still has down here. Larry and I headed that way on Friday the 18th. Mike's friend Rosie met us at the train station and very graciously showed us around and gave us a place to stay for the night. We got our feet wet for the first time in the South Pacific at Broadbeach. The surf was really very intense, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have had the heart to try surfing on that particular day. The beach, sand, and sun were great though. Later we went to Surfers' Paradise, more to people watch than anything else, as neither Larry nor I are hip enough for the club scene.

Saturday morning Rosie took us to the Burleigh Heads, where Tallabudgera Creek comes into the ocean. This spot couldn't have been more amazing. The rather large creek flowed blue green, with sand and rocks along it, a rock spit extended out about a quarter mile. There was a beach at the mouth of the creek. The Surfers' skyline could be seen from the end of the spit, around the end of the very jungle-like hill. From a pile of rocks underneath a tree, we watched the surfers enjoying the sun and waves, kayakers riding the waves back up the river as they came in, and families soaking up the fierce sun all around. There was even a pleasant breeze.

Austin Ihle, the middle Ihle kid, had a baseball game nearby on Saturday afternoon, so Rosie kindly dropped us off there so we could watch. Jeff coaches the team, and after the game, he lined up a ride for us with one of the player's parents to save us a train ride. We rode back with another Jeff, who happens to work for Bechtel. We chatted at length about the possibilities for a new-grad engineer there. Apparently, they can't get enough engineers, and Jeff sent my resume into a recruiter. Coincidentally, I emailed another Bechtel engineer whose info I had gotten through a friend of my dad, and he responded yesterday. As could be expected, a Working Holiday visa befuddles them a bit, so I have yet to find out what their HR department would want to do.

Sunday, the day we spent in the Ihle garage, was one of the hottest days of the year at just under 100. After the job was done, Jeff suggested we find somewhere to cool off after the heat of the day. We drove about twelve miles west of Ferny Grove, their suburb, to Cedar Creek, and swam in a water hole. The creek was extremely cool and welcoming. It was even deep enough to jump off of the rocks along it, which were eight to twelve feet high. And there was a rope swing, which was like the cherry on top. My getting nipped twice by an eel notwithstanding, there could have been no finer end to the day.

Larry and I are truly thankful to Jeff, Leanne, Ryan, Austin, and Morgan Ihle for letting us stay at their place. Having had their house to use as our base for the while it took to get situated was invaluable, and we are in their debt. I really wonder how we would have done anything if we had started out in hostels.

Uncertainty

As can be expected, Larry and I have been stumbling around, constantly asking and worrying what we're going to be doing now that we're here. We are at the moment still staying at the Ihles', and have struck up a deal to help them out with a few things while we are here. Their house is a work in progress, though very comfortable. We put the first coat of paint of two on five doors this morning, and will help Jeff pull the radiator out of his Toyota Hilux later today, so it will be ready to put in after we replace the timing chain on Sunday. These few things and the bags of sunflower seeds and Hershey Kisses we brought for them are not even wildly close to repayment for letting us be bums at their house while we sort ourselves out, but we will certainly help them out with other work on the house as it arises.

There have been a few prerequisite things to deal with upon arrival. We got cell phones to make ourselves easier to reach by potential employers and those we meet. We went with prepaid phones as opposed to plans due to flexibility and the fact we won't be here forever. Tax file numbers, which are exactly what they sound like, are a boring but important detail to have a handle on when talking to both banks and employers. We applied for them early in the week, but oddly even in this day and age they are still received by the lucky tax-payer via snail mail.

Transportation is also a big question. Getting around the city is possible with public transportation, but is much simpler if a car is available. Getting around outside the cities is just short of impossible without a vehicle. We are considering getting something, preferably a Toyota Hilux "ute", which is essentially a Tacoma. Here, much like everywhere but America, they are diesel as often as not. There are many obvious question marks with this issue, and whether we pursue it or not will depend on what we settle on for employment.

We've job searched quite hard the last couple days. The fact that we are here temporarily and are looking mainly for casual employment is reason enough for many types of employers to wish us good day. I applied for a place at a hydraulic cylinder manufacturer in Brisbane and was promptly told they needed someone permanent. I have yet to hear from Bechtel, which has an office in Brisbane, but I am pretty sure they will tell me something similar. Casual employers are fairly common though. We got an offer to live on an island north of here a ways, cleaning or fixing stuff a couple hours a day in exchange for a couple weeks in a cottage with access to kayaks and fishing gear. We won't make any money but it still sounds like a slick deal. Ag jobs of various kinds are also proving to be a very real option, though this will no doubt dismay my mom a bit.

We did some exploring around the city on Monday. It is a big, crazy, impressive, and really very clean tropical city. It was a hot, sweaty day, pretty much like every other day. We wandered around various areas, and made our way to the river and botanical gardens. From either the lazily winding river or questionable city planning, the roads and streets in and around Brisbane can be considered bewildering at best, and preposterous at worst. I was blown away by the twists and turns we took just getting from the airport to the Ihles' house on Saturday. Google Maps shows the layout of the city well, but the hilliness of the greater Brisbane area obviously cannot be seen from above, and only complicates things. I've found my way around Manhattan by myself, painfully sleep-deprived with less hassle than Larry and I had just figuring out where we were. I'm sure Brisbane is a wild place to live, but it's probably too much city for this kid, and we agreed not long after we got there that staying in the very heart of the city would be less than ideal.

Pictures will come eventually. I've taken a few here and there, but I will have to wait until later to upload them.

Many, Many Miles

Larry and I flew out of Bozeman mid-day Thursday the 10th and arrived in San Francisco without incident. We had a 6-hour layover there so we went downtown, as I had never been to San Fran before, nor even California for that matter, and neither of us wanted to sit in the airport for that long. We had some Mexican food on Powell St because we likely wouldn't have any for awhile, and just wandered around. As it turned out, Larry and I were behind a girl from Gardiner, Montana in the security line. She was also flying to Auckland, then had a connecting flight to somewhere else in New Zealand. We chatted and had a beer with her before the flight. This situation was oddly familiar (see post "Finding My Way To School" from Sept 2008).

The flight across the Pacific was exactly as expected. We left San Francisco at 7:45 pm, 2/10 and arrived at 5:10 am 2/12. It took 13 hours. I'm still troubled by the idea of an entire day just not happening, for me anyway. I watched three movies in this time, and slept roughly 2.5 hours, mostly tossing and turning. We arrived in Auckland and promptly went through immigration and customs because we again had a long layover. We spent the morning downtown, which we found to be asleep. A guy in his mid-20s from Cali wandered around with us, with a chief goal of finding a decent breakfast. By mid-morning we had done plenty of walking and decided to rest in a park by the University of Auckland. I passed out on a bench for about half an hour.

Please forgive me, any Kiwis that happen to read this. Auckland was a lovely, clean city. However, when I am traveling, time doesn't really exist after awhile, and everything is sort of hazy, like I'm in limbo. Also, some of its features struck me as a bit odd, such as the fact that NOTHING is going on before 11:30am. Thus, I will likely have a skewed opinion of the city. For now anyway.

We got back to the airport and flew to Brisbane on a seemingly instant four-hour flight. Again in typical Nate fashion, besides scheduling a trip with weird long layovers, leaving all the airports for wandering also meant that we had to go through security three times and immigration twice. Jeff Ihle, the brother of my family friend Beth Ihle of Townsend, had arranged to meet us at the airport, and got there with his son Austin about 15 minutes after we landed. So far, we've just been relaxing and getting adjusted to Oz at his house, which has a great view of some wooded hills. We were woken up Sunday morning by screeching Kookaburras.

I'll also note that the previous post "Delirium" was written in the Auckland airport after many, many hours and many, many miles. I wrote it after lying down on a bench underneath a large tree with constantly changing colors and projected images of birds and fish. It also apparently played the soundtrack from Jurassic Park, or at least the sound effects. When I finally went to bed Saturday night, I had been up for 46 hours save for the lousy sleep on the plane and the park bench nap.

Delirium

Wait, what time is it? 1:50? pm? What day then? The 12th? But I left on the 10th? So I've been awake for how long? Not two days? It feels like I've been awake for a long time. That sunshine is bright. It must be 80 out. What month is it? What season is it then? Late summer. But I felt -20F wind chill a couple days ago. And Larry's sunburnt. We're gonna get Solar Shield tans.

Australia

For the few of you who have not heard from me or on the wind, I am more or less moving to Australia on February 10. The vast majority of the people whom I have talked to about it were not very surprised that I would once again be leaving Montana; my feet are itching and I have grown stir-crazy over the past year or so.

The idea for this little adventure started forming in the spring of 2010. Larry Lee, a very good friend, roommate of some years, and himself a seasoned traveler, was graduating from MSU and would be gainfully employed by the Forest Service, but only until the fall. I was on track to graduate in December, and have since finished school. I had had a rather discouraging year searching for internships for the summer, and only half-heartedly began the search again for a full-time entry-level engineering gig. Despite having connections within several engineering firms around the country, I still came out empty-handed, feeling I had accomplished little after frittering away countless hours emailing resumes and filling out online applications.

This was the motivation that caused the travel plans to sprout legs. After Larry got back to Bozeman in October, we settled on Australia because of the many, many great things we had heard from several sources, and because of the potential for work. South America had been considered, but after spending so many years as a virtually broke student, I was, and am, ready to be more productive than the typical backpacker.

We bought our tickets in mid-November. I had hinted to my dad that my leaving again was a possibility, but due to my mom's penchant for gossip and her tendency to skew stories between tellings, she was left in the dark about all plans until after the tickets were bought, much to her dismay. She soon realized though that I wasn't rushing into this without any thought.

On to some frequently asked questions:

1. How long will I be there?

I don't really know yet. My visa is good for a year, but I am supposed to stand with a good college friend who is marrying another good college friend in Seattle in July, and I told them that I WILL be there. Plans to come home around then, and whether I will return to Australia after the wedding, have yet to be made.

2. Where will I be living?

Larry and I fly into Brisbane. Through a stroke of luck and an excellent example of knowing the right people, we will be staying temporarily with Jeff Ihle, whose sister Beth I know quite well. After scoping out work possibilities (outlined below), and developing a game plan, we will likely find something more permanent, such as a van on a beach. Yes I know that Brisbane was flooded recently, and yes I know that Cyclone Yasi aimed itself at the state of Queensland only a few days ago, which leads me to...

3. What will I be doing?

There is a strong possibility that we will look into recovery work from the flooding and recent cyclone devastation. Besides this, job prospects are apparently quite good in Oz in just about every field, should Larry or I be so inclined.

And a couple other things that need clearing up:

1. I said it before I went to Ireland, and I'll say it again: chances are quite slim that I will develop an accent. Anybody ever thought that I might like the western US accent, (yes we have one) or at least have some disdain for fake accents?

2. If an opportunity strikes for me to bring home an Aussie bombshell, I'm probably gonna jump on it.

This adventure really is all about opportunity, and not just with women. I wasn't liking the opportunities I was looking at in the US, so I am going to Australia to find other ones. It seems sillier to me to blindly move to Seattle, Phoenix, Houston, or any other large city and dig hard for scarce, less than ideal employment when I can instead blindly move to the other end of the world, have better prospects, and quite likely develop one hell of a story.

I have no job, no wife or even a girlfriend, no kids, and no house to my name. All I've really got is a fiddle and a computer. For the moment, I'm not tied down to anyone or anything. The most reassuring thing about this whole scheme has not been what Australia has to offer, nor the good things I keep hearing about that place. It has been the countless friends and neighbors of mine who wholeheartedly understand and encourage my desire to fall off the map, explore, and gain some more perspective. Just about all of them wish they had done exactly what I'm doing.

I will try to be as regular about posting updates on my whereabouts and whatabouts as I was in Northern Ireland, but I can't make promises just yet. Stay tuned anyway!