by Paula Boer
“Don’t worry. Simon said he’d let the main mob go before they started. There’s no point upsetting their horses in the rush. The first few miles will sort the leaders out. Better to stay out of the crush.”
As he finished explaining Louise spotted the horses trotting side by side across the ride base. Ben and Simon crossed the start line with only a few stragglers behind them. Simon tipped his hat as they passed. Ben didn’t seem to notice them, his whole focus was on controlling his spirited young stallion.
The camp fell quiet once the horses had departed. A few people milled around the start line after the last competitors had headed out, swapping tales from previous years. Most went back to their camps to tidy up and rest before the return of their riders.
Graeme lit the gas cooker and rummaged in the boxes for a frying pan. “Fancy a bacon sandwich?”
Plopping down on a hay bale, Louise nodded. “How much time do we have?”
“A couple of hours at least. I gather we’re allowed to watch part of the race from certain vantage points. Do you want to drive up there after breakfast?”
“That would be great. I haven’t seen the mountains from this side.” Louise mucked out the horse yards while Graeme cooked and tidied up the camp. Everyone had been too busy earlier to roll up their swags. She threw out the old feed that the excited horses had left, not wanting them to pick at it on their return.
Graeme found a metal bucket on the back of the ute. “I’ll fill this and put it in the communal fire. We might need hot water for strapping if the weather stays cool. Mind you, if it turns out like yesterday, we’ll need ice instead.”
Louise absorbed all the information she could from Ben’s uncle. She’d thought she’d learnt a lot from Patti, but Graeme had a different wealth of knowledge about horsemanship. Glad she had come along, despite Ben’s temper, she tried not to think about not riding or working horses for the next couple of years.
Graeme returned clutching a scrap of paper. “Here’s a rough map of where we can go. I’ll unhitch Simon’s ute and we can take that.”
Without towing the float the vehicle made quicker time back along the winding mountain road. After about fifteen kilometres Graeme slowed at a dirt track. “I think this is it. Apparently we follow this up to the park boundary. We should be able to see the riders as they head up and around Mt Danger.”
They parked at a locked gate alongside a few other vehicles, where people stood with binoculars to their eyes. Louise suspected they had missed the front-runners. “I hope we’re not too late to see Ben and Simon.”
“If they’ve any sense they’ll be going steady at the start. There’s a lot of hill work ahead of them.” Graeme perched on a fencepost and peered into the distance.
The vantage point was too far from the course to enable people to assist, though it provided access in case of an emergency. Graeme had explained on the drive yesterday that the riders would be eliminated if they received any form of help during the race.
A holler from one of the other spectators alerted them to oncoming horses. Three riders cantered along the trail below them, their horses already sweating from the fast pace along the river. A rocky bluff marked the boundary between the grazing country and the park. As the horses reached the passage Louise marvelled at the terrain they had to cross. “That doesn’t even look like a track.”
Graeme agreed. “It probably isn’t. I gather there’s a Queensland gate there that enables them to get through into the scrub. Providing they make it to the checkpoint before descending to Wagon Wheel Pass they can go up any way they like from here. That’s all part of the strategy for the race, picking the easiest route.”
A gruff voice called out from behind a pair of binoculars. “Next ones are numbers 72 and 73.”
“That’s them! Can you see them yet?” Louise jumped up and down in excitement.
As the riders approached Louise could see that Simon and Ben both fought to keep their horses from charging too fast. Brandy lunged at the base of the slope as if to throw himself up the mountain. Simon kept a tight rein on Magnet, sitting deep and still to collect the horse beneath him. The faces of both riders were tight with concentration. Louise waved as they went past.
“I doubt they’ll see us.” Graeme commented on the next few riders as they went by, pointing out to Louise where he thought a horse was struggling or a rider using too much effort. A few slower horses trotted along at the end, taking their time.
Louise was pleased to see at least a few women riding, though they were far outnumbered by the men. She asked Graeme if he thought the tailenders were using a strategy of being slow or that their horses were unfit.
“Probably not interested in winning. A lot of these guys only come for the pleasure of riding in the mountains. Not everyone has the luxury of having country like this on their back doorstep.”
Once back at camp Louise double-checked they had everything ready for the arrival of the horses. She knew that it was crucial to get them washed clean, any stiffness massaged out, and their heart rates down before they presented to the vet. She and Ben had practised their strapping routine so each knew what to do. As the day warmed up she removed her fleece and changed the warm rugs she had hung on the truck dividers for lighter sweat rugs.
Everything prepared, Louise and Graeme supped on cool drinks in the shade of the awning that hung from Simon’s float. Louise kicked off her boots and rested her feet on an upturned bucket.
Graeme swatted flies away from his face. “So tell me more about your future. What’s this about moving to Africa?”
An involuntary groan escaped Louise’s lips. “Part of me wants to go, but mostly I want to stay. I’ve spent so much time working on Honey. At least she’s in foal to Brandy, but I won’t be here to see it born. It was amazing when Shadow had Peach. And of course there’s Eve to look after.”
Graeme tried to highlight all the good about her father’s new job. “I’ve always wanted to see the big game animals of Africa. I never got the chance. I think you’re really lucky.”
Louise knew she should be more excited. “Dad is already there, looking for somewhere for us to live. We’re due to fly out next week so I can start school at the beginning of the term. I’d rather finish high school here.”
“And after that, what then? I seem to remember you telling me you wanted to go to agricultural college.”
Shaking her head, Louise felt it easy to confide in Graeme. “I really want to be a vet, but the university fees are too expensive. That’s also why I’d rather stay here. At least I have a chance of getting a job. I wouldn’t be able to work overseas.”
The pair continued chatting while they waited for the loudspeaker to announce that the front-runners were in sight. Louise shared her concern about Ben. “I really hope Ben gets a job offer from someone this weekend. He’ll be heartbroken if he has to sell Brandy.”
Graeme chucked his empty can into a sack hanging on the float door. “Don’t worry, I’ll take Brandy if he can’t take him with him. I won’t let that stallion go, he’s too good.”
“Does he know that?”
“No. I think there’s a good chance he’ll get work after today’s ride. I thought it better to say nothing at this stage.”
Thrilled at this news, Louise asked if Graeme could take Ben’s other horses.
“I don’t have any feed out west for my own with the drought. They’re much better where they are at Mirraburra.”
Louise was surprised that Graeme seemed unconcerned about the other horses. “But they can’t stay at Tumbleford Farm when it’s sold. What’ll Ben do then?”
Graeme sat up in his chair and turned to face Louise. “What do you mean, when it’s sold?”
Shocked that Graeme didn’t seem to know his brother needed to sell the farm, Louise explained. “They have to move into town and use the money from the farm to live. That’s
why Ben has to move away.”
Graeme rose and paced in front of the float. “No-one’s spoken to me about that. That’s my family home. We grew up there. What does my brother think he’s doing?”
Chapter 12
Brandy snorted as Ben rode up behind the black mare that he’d spotted at the vetting. She was blowing hard with her head low. Ben could see that the hill had started to sort out the fit horses from those unaccustomed to hard mountain work.
They had already passed many of those that had galloped across the grasslands. “Steady boy, hold back.”
To his side, Simon still fought to hold Magnet, the gelding’s neck lathered with sweat. “I need to let this guy run. He’s using more energy fighting me than getting on with his job.”
The rocky track that wound up the hillside through the giant ribbon gums widened enough to let them pass the mare. Ben thanked the rider with a wave of his hand as Brandy lurched onto a lichen-crusted boulder. His sure hooves dislodged crumbling granite as he sprang from rock to rock as if climbing a staircase.
Reaching a false horizon where the trees thinned Ben could see the mountain track continued to climb far higher than he had thought. He puffed as he called to Simon. “You go on ahead. I don’t want to strain Brandy and risk injuring his leg.”
Not wanting the black mare to catch him up, Ben kept his stallion at a steady pace as Simon and Magnet leapt ahead. Although Brandy fought to follow at first, he settled down once the bay gelding was a few hundred metres in front. Relaxing the reins, Ben had time to look at the view for the first time since the start of the race. The trees had been replaced by spindly shrubs clinging to the scree. The early morning mist had cleared and a solid blue sky provided a sharp contrast to the sombre grey of the mountain’s bulk.
Reaching a downhill run, Ben jumped off Brandy and ran alongside his horse, his leather soles slipping on the loose footing. Wishing he hadn’t worn his fleece jacket Ben struggled to remove the coat while he jogged. Tying the arms around his waist he perked up with the cool breeze prickling his sweaty arms.
As the ground started to rise Ben called for Brandy to halt and mounted with a quick spring. The stallion recommenced his trot before Ben had retrieved his offside stirrup. Catching up with a small mob of riders, Ben used his inside leg to push Brandy over to prevent being kicked as they went by.
Creeping up the order Ben felt more confident of his stallion’s abilities. He knew it had been the right strategy to hold back at the beginning even though it had galled him to let the others race ahead. Now he could see the wisdom of letting the other competitors burn their horses out early. Some of them already looked as if they had done enough at what was probably only a third of the distance.
An older bloke headed in the wrong direction leading the hogged paint horse. Ben pulled up to let him go by. “Everything okay?”
“Threw a shoe. Damned thing. Can’t go on without one.” The man strode onwards, not seeming worried by having to tackle the long walk back to base.
Ben felt sorry for the guy at the same time as being relieved to lose a strong competitor.
The track continued through a stand of scribbly gums until it came out onto a ridge. Ben admired the hills melting into the distance in a haze, craggy tops layered with rolling hills. Steep gorges and winding valleys appeared on either side of the crest. White chunks of quartz sparkled on the trail, catching the sun as Brandy cantered along.
The wind tore away all sounds, making Ben feel like a moving island on his horse amongst a sea of tussocks and rocks. Loving the feeling of Brandy covering the ground with ease Ben tried not to think about the clear-felling of the forest to the north, the plight of the brumbies being shot, or his own future. For now all that mattered was enjoying riding his horse and passing the vet check at the end of the race.
As the track turned north, Ben could see a four-wheel-drive parked ahead. He guessed this must be the first checkpoint. As he neared he jumped off and led Brandy in, knowing from the pre-ride talk that there would be water provided. He wanted Brandy to have stopped puffing in order to drink. A couple of other horses lined up at the barrels, splashing their muzzles in the water.
“Seventy three!” Ben called out his number as he approached a woman marking off competitors on a clipboard. She called his number back in acknowledgement. Seeing a spare drinking place Ben led Brandy to the water. The stallion guzzled without raising his head.
While waiting for his horse to finish Ben called across to the volunteer marker. “Number twenty six has turned back because of a lost shoe.”
“Thanks. We’ve radioed for a float to meet him at the bottom of the hill.”
Relieved that the man wouldn’t have to walk too far Ben chatted a bit more while Brandy finished his drink. Once he showed no more interest in the water Ben used the opportunity to get in front of a few more horses as they took a break. At the next steep climb he slowed to a walk. Brandy lowered his head and threw himself into his breastplate. Ben leaned forward to take his weight out of the saddle and enable the stallion to thrust his hind legs beneath his powerful quarters.
The blue ribbons that Louise had used to tie Brandy’s plaits stuck to his sweaty neck. Ben shook his head at the feminine touch, wishing he had prepared his horse for himself. He knew he had been abrupt with his friend and promised himself to make it up to her later.
Brandy started to pick up his pace as he spotted another horse walking ahead. Not wanting to tailgate Ben allowed the stallion to break into a trot. As they approached, Ben called out a warning. “Coming by on your right.”
When the other rider moved over Ben drove Brandy by. He kept going to ensure they left a good distance between them and the other competitor. As he was about to let Brandy walk again they caught up with another horse. They trotted past that one too.
At the next steep descent Ben could see a line of horses snaking down the path. He knew he wouldn’t be able to pass on the narrow track and didn’t want to get caught behind them so he stopped to give Brandy a brief rest for a few minutes. The next hill proved to be free of rocks and the track widened into a grassy expanse dotted with stunted tea-tree shrubs. Ahead of him, horses spread out as they trotted and cantered on the better going. Brandy also tried to pick up his pace.
“Okay, let’s get a move on.” Without needing further encouragement Brandy spurted to catch up the other horses. Barely checking their pace they went by each one, the brumby’s long stride eating the ground as he thundered along. Ben stayed forward in a two-point seat, grinning with pleasure as his horse stretched out.
Encountering another steep descent and not wanting to lose more time Ben remained mounted. Brandy slid and slipped down the scree on his hocks, scrabbling to maintain his balance. As the ground levelled out he surged into a gallop. Ben whooped with joy as the wind stung his eyes.
A white rump came into view. When he saw the purple shirt of the rider Ben recognised the horse as Robert Smythe-Water’s Arabian stallion. The horse looked strong as he powered across the mountaintop. Trying to decide whether to catch up and go by or slow Brandy to keep the horse ahead, Ben saw the horse stumble and almost fall.
Yanking the stallion to his feet, the rider lashed its sides with the ends of his reins. He swung his fist at the horse’s head and belted it around the ears, making the grey flinch and duck.
Furious at this behaviour Ben cantered up and shouted. “I’ll report you to the steward if you keep doing that.”
The jockey swiped at Brandy’s head while spinning the grey stallion in a circle. “Get out of my way!” A string of foul language followed.
Ben drove Brandy forward, trying to get near enough to grab the man’s arm and stop him beating his horse. Brandy snapped at the other stallion and barged him with his shoulder, almost knocking both horses over. The jockey yelled and slashed at Brandy’s face. Not wanting his horse hurt, Ben spun Brandy around and
calmed him down.
With a sour look, Robert Smythe-Waters’ jockey kicked his own stallion in the ribs and galloped away.
Ben watched the horse disappear over the horizon, not wanting to see how the horse fared. He feared that if it came to a challenge the rider wouldn’t hesitate to hurt anyone to stay ahead.
Brandy still seemed full of energy. Reminding himself that winning was not the purpose of the day, Ben concentrated on watching the track and keeping his horse sound. As long as he kept ahead of the horses he had already overtaken he was content to ride steadily back to base. Looking at his watch and gauging how far they had come, he calculated they were making good time. If they carried on this way he expected they’d come in the first ten percent of horses. That suited him fine.
The next river crossing roared with swirling floodwater from the previous night’s storms. Brandy ploughed through the chest-deep water without stopping to drink, forcing Ben to lift his legs to avoid the icy current. The country changed back to grazing land with cattle dotting the paddocks. Access tracks for station vehicles led off on both sides. With the last of the severe hills behind them Ben shortened his reins and encouraged Brandy into a rolling canter.
Following the race arrows Ben turned Brandy up another slope and back into a thick forest of candlebark trees. The stallion tried to pull away to the left. “I bet that’s the way back to the ride base. You’re a smart horse. Sorry, we’re not going that way.”
A couple of kilometres further on Ben rode into a small clearing. No horses waited at this checkpoint. Ben didn’t stop to let Brandy drink, keen to maintain his place in the race. With his ride number acknowledged he trotted on with a wave.
