After the excitement of Rockhampton we decided to head inland for a
genuine farm stay experience. So with 3 days ahead of making our breakfast
over a real camp fire and authentic this that and the other we bowled
up at Myella farm, Balaraba, no later than silly o clock one early fine
morning. We were greeted by a firm but friendly one eyed man who we
later learnt was the original farm owner. Myella being a family business
was now headed up by the daughter, whilst ma and pa helped run the
bookings and the catering. So after an hour on the dusty road to get here
peter informed us of the location of the amenities and that the horses
left in 20 mins. Hold on just a minute peter, its barely 0830,we've been
up since 6 and you expect two city slickers like us to jump on the
nearest horse for a 2 hour trot...me thinks not. at this point I feel it is
prudent to mention that between us Chris and I have been on a horse
once in our lives, which barely meant we collectively knew one end from
the other. But we both figured in for a dollar etc. Once we had donned
our horse riding clothes (all available from the Myella fancy dress
room) we emerged looking like a cross between the village people and new
kids on the block. Yep that's sure to put a nervous horse at ease, a big
fashion faux pas on its saddle. So with that we joined a group of far
more experienced riders and set off for the morning. the phrase 'I shat
my pants' simply will not do justice to the fear and anxiety I had,
despite the assurances my horse was only given to grandmas and children.
Nevertheless I survived and Chris's horse eventually stopped eating and
made its way home via every opportunity to 'mange en roue'. After a
fine lunchtime feed Chris went to play on motorbikes whilst I took
advantage of some relaxing moments on the garden ....stop hammock time. We
then had an afternoon dip in the 'refreshing' pool ( for 'refreshing' see
'bloody freezing') and watched the wallabies hop about the garden,
practised our whip cracking and lasso trowing techniques. Now despite what
people might say the invisible lasso is so much easier on a dance floor
podium than on a real farm faced with real cattle.moreover, the whip
cracking really flipping hurts if you cack handedly manage to slap
yourself round the chops with it. I don't see Indiana Jones doing that,do
you? There are early nights a plenty on the farm and so having stuffed
ourselves silly at dinner and drank heartily from the home brew beer keg
we went to our delightful little room and slept soundly.
I don't know what happened in the night but I woke up as half the woman
I was yesterday.those pesky horses had given me a new walking style
that meant I was unable to sit properly and provided me with a swagger
much like a Kingston bad boy chav or of somebody who had babbed their
pants.yes yeeha indeed. Being unable to move at all horse whisperer Chris
stayed in bed whilst I put on my chequered pinny and grabbed my bucket
for some real life cow milking. This proved to be quite hard work as I
simply did not have a strong enough grip to extract anything from the
poor cow who probably thought she was just having her hot rubbery udders
tickled. So with more shit up my leg than milk in my pale I abandoned
my dairy farming career and so back to the horses as there were cattle
that needed bringing in.mixing a terrified me back on a nervous horse to
muster some large heavy and not altogether intelligent animals was
surely a deadly a cocktail as putting George bush in the whitehouse with
powers of a president. However once I realised the horse may prevent me
from ever having children I finally mastered the trot without any
screams of terror and got my groove on to bounce up and down in rhythm with
my horse. Hurrah. It was almost fun. On the way home a snake was spotted
near one of the paddocks and against everything Steve irwin's zoo had
taught us two of the farm hands came out and killed it with a very large
stick and who says aussie men are primitive? discussions continued
through the evening as to whether it had been a small brown or a
taipan.either way both are in the top 5 deadliest snakes in the world. The snake
did however give me a topic I could discuss with my new German best
friend in her native language. Having progressed from 'where is the train
station?' and 'i would like a cup of tea and a piece of strudel for my
friend' we went onto more complex sentences such as 'wo ist der
schlange?' 'ah der schlange ist im der grass'. Why I never passed German
A-level will always be a mystery to me.
Whilst Jen was frolicking with the cows, I headed off to the motorbike
track for a lesson in 'farming on two wheels'. After a quick tutorial
we donned our helmets and headed out 'Evel Kenevil stylee' for a few laps round the
simple course before zipping onto a 7km loop around the
farm. Feeling like Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman albeit not quite as
good looking or funny, my bike buddy and I cruised along the bumpy
tracks soaking in the barren yet beautiful Queensland countryside. We
arrived back at the farm just in time for a dip in the pool before tucking
into some cakes and biccies. My horse was going to fold under my weight
if I scoffed anymore grub but soon enough dinner arrived and with it a
large rare steak and mash. Tottering off to bed with a lot of food and a
few home made beers inside us we headed back to the room avoiding the
route past the pool in case we fell in and drowned, and slumped into bed
ready for an early start the following day.
The break of dawn brought with it the news that my bike riding
qualified me for horse mustering whilst the 'ladies' milked the cows. With a
mouthful of toast and peanut butter I donned my helmet and enthused by
the prospect of mustering, shouted 'Yee haa' causing my mask to fog up
and me to stall the bike. Twat. My buddy and I followed John the farm
hand out into the fields, weaving in and out of the trees and scrub in an
attempt to spot the horses. Talking with a helmet on is pretty tricky,
so after a series of elaborate hand signals I alerted my buddy to a
stray horse lurking in the corner of the field and we gunned our 100cc
motorised hair dryers to intercept it. Maybe it was the dust or the sleep
in my eyes or possibly just my dodgy eyesight, but we couldn't see it
anywhere. In an effort to find the mystery horse we criss-crossed each
others paths more times than the Royal Tournament stunt team, but
eventually conceded defeat and headed back to the corrall only to watch the
horse trot through the gate just moments before we arrived. It's the
glue factory for you my friend....
We both left Myella slightly sore but surprisingly relaxed, so we
pointed Priscilla east, kicked-in our heels and sped off, sunset at our
backs.
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