Saving the Snowy Brumbies

by Kelly Wilson

  There were really only two, and neither was ideal. We could head to Australia alone and completely unfunded; or we could pull out. The timing of the Brumby Challenge was part of the problem — we were still in the middle of taming the Kaimanawas we’d saved a month earlier after the 2016 muster, and were also preparing our team of showjumpers for competition. It was never going to be practical or feasible to be based in Australia for five months to train Brumbies, so instead we’d planned to spend only a part of our time there — about 30 days in Australia and the remaining 120 back in New Zealand. The TV production company had budgeted for flying the Brumbies back to New Zealand to make it possible for us to work with them; return flights for the horses were too costly for us to manage ourselves (although we could cover the other costs). On top of this, Vicki — our most experienced trainer — was still suffering from bad headaches. Pulling out completely wasn’t the ideal solution, but it was the most sensible. We still wanted to go — we were sure that we could still make an impact without a Keeping Up With The Brumbies series, but everything just seemed to be stacked against us.

  When our sponsors, Isuzu Utes New Zealand, heard about our dilemma, they offered to pay the costs of the horses’ flights to ensure that our work with Australia’s wild horses could continue. This was a very generous offer, but not wanting to spend their money unwisely we thought long and hard about why we were wanting to work with the Brumbies. Finally, confident that it was for the right reasons — solely to benefit the wild horses — we gratefully took Isuzu up on their offer. Alexa, who was originally planning to compete but had given up the idea as she couldn’t justify the extra cost, decided to join us anyway (although wouldn’t be competing). Within days we were at the airport, en route to Australia and the beginning of a new adventure.

  WE ARRIVED AT THE BRUMBY JUNCTION SANCTUARY at Glenlogie, a three-hour drive northwest of Melbourne, just on sunset and, I have to be honest, we were quite disappointed with our first impression of the Brumbies assigned to us. They were smaller and plainer than we’d expected; there were certainly no creamies like the legendary Thowra among them, and they were also smaller than the wild Kaimanawas and Mustangs we had tamed previously. As darkness set in — early because it was the middle of June, at the start of winter — we quickly fed hay to our new charges and then ventured into our cabin to warm up, unpack and talk. Mostly we were questioning why, of the hundreds of thousands of wild horses all across Australia, these specific Brumbies had been chosen to represent the breed. Of course we had no answer to this, so soon fell asleep.

  The next morning, we got bundled up in scarves and headed outside to brave the cold, eager to see our Brumbies in the light. Twenty-seven horses and their trainers were competing in the Australian Brumby Challenge, and all but six trainers had collected their Brumbies the previous day. In the yards were just the three mares assigned to us and a yearling for the youth challenge, who was getting collected later that day. The other two Brumbies — almost-identical black mares with big white faces — had been turned out into paddocks until their trainers could arrive to collect them a couple of weeks later.

  Our second impressions of the heights of our mares weren’t much better than the first; the last time we’d ridden ponies this small, we’d been young children. Amanda’s bay mare was a tiny wee thing, standing less than 13 hands high; she eyed us warily, leaping forward and spinning when someone accidentally banged against the rail. Although small, she was very striking and, apart from her size, Amanda was impressed by her type. The chestnut that was assigned to me was about 13.2 hands, with only a few white markings. Nondescript was the word that came to mind — a small pony that was plain in both colour and looks. Not a horse to catch your eye, she seemed to fade into the background as she stood quietly in a corner of her yard, ignoring us.

  Vicki’s Brumby was the biggest of the three, standing at about 14 hands, and slight in build. She was beautiful, with a rare and striking bronze colouring, but grey flecks around her eyes and a generally poor condition hinted at her being the oldest of them all, bringing its own problems. Unlike my mare, she paced restlessly, stressed about humans being so close; Amanda and I were both relieved that she hadn’t been assigned to us.

  We were to be based at the Brumby sanctuary for the whole time we would be in Australia. Privately owned and funded, the sanctuary consists of two 50-acre paddocks where wild Brumbies roam in herds during their initial transition period, with the remaining land fenced into smaller paddocks and yards where other horses are kept in training. The VBA, also based at the sanctuary, was formed in 2007 after several years of informal Brumby rescue. Their main goals struck a chord with us: to rescue and re-home wild Brumbies; help develop humane, sustainable and effective management systems; and educate the general public — showing them what Brumbies actually are, and how the same qualities that make them successful wild horses also mean that they are eminently suited to domestication. Since 2007 the VBA has tamed, trained and re-homed more than 480 Brumbies, which have gone on to be very successful in a variety of disciplines.

  Our first sighting of Arana (left) and Shyla (right) in the yards.

  Amanda’s Bogong Brumby whom she would later name Ballarat.

  Colleen O’Brien, the property owner and also the president of the VBA, soon joined us at the rails and, while watching the horses, we asked her questions about our three. All of the Brumbies competing in the Australian Brumby Challenge were from the Snowy Mountains, which stretch from Victoria through to New South Wales. Amanda’s mare, along with most of the black Brumbies, was from the Bogong High Plains; our other two were from Kosciuszko National Park. Like all the other horses competing in the Australian Brumby Challenge, they were coming to us completely untouched.

  Colleen told us that the National Parks and Wildlife Services (NPWS) were currently capturing about 600–800 Brumbies each year from Kosciuszko, passively trapping them at various sites on and around Long Plain Road. While many were chestnuts, there were also plenty of roans, blacks, bays and greys in the region, and also the occasional palomino. Each week during the winter months, the trapped Brumbies were available for re-homing. Only about 11 per cent are saved, sadly; the rest go to ‘dogger dealers’ who sell them for meat. The smaller ones tend to go to local knackeries, while some of the larger ones have been known to travel on trucks for up to nine weeks to be slaughtered on the docks and exported to Europe for human consumption. It wasn’t unheard of for the more aggressive stallions to have sacks forced over their heads to make the trip in darkness so that bite marks wouldn’t mar the other horses’ flesh and make the meat less desirable.

  We asked Colleen whether our assigned Brumbies represented the average colour and size of the horses that roam in the Snowy Mountains; she shook her head. Her reply answered many of the questions we’d had the previous night. After making the seven-hour journey to the holding yards to save a truckload of wild horses, Colleen had arrived to find only small ones left. The meat sellers had already been through the yards and taken out the biggest horses, for which they would get the most money. Along with the smallest of the adults, those left in the yards were foals and weanlings. Colleen had a tough decision to make; her truck would fit only 10 horses and there were more than 40 still in the yards — and since it was Friday and no wild horses were kept over the weekend, any horse she didn’t save would be on its way to the local abattoir by nightfall.

  Colleen had to override her emotions and be sensible about selecting the horses she believed would have the best chance of settling into domestication and being re-homed. For her, the most important factors were temperament and conformation, but she also knew how important size and looks were to potential owners. A horse with lots of white markings would be more appealing, and sometimes this was enough to differentiate between which ones to save.

  Although my mare, who was heavily pregnant at the time, was one of the plainest in the yards, she stood out because of her relaxed demeanour, seeming unconcerned about the
people watching her — she was the first to be chosen. Colleen had also selected a few other pregnant mares and a number of young foals who would soon forget their wild beginnings and transition to domestication much more easily than adult horses that had run free for years. With all but one horse chosen, Colleen’s eight-year-old daughter, Bridie, had pointed to Vicki’s mare nervously pacing in the far corner and begged to save her; Bridie was convinced that the mare was from the same family as her own Brumby, Millie, as they were so similar in colour. Colleen agreed, and the park rangers set about sorting out the chosen ones. As Colleen drove away with a truck loaded with Brumbies, she had to shake off the heartbreak of knowing the fate of those left behind.

  Vicki and I looked at our Brumbies, seeing them in a new light; rather than their size being a negative thing, unrepresentative of the breed, we now saw it for the positive it was. In a world where big means being sold for meat and small means a chance at being saved, they were indeed the lucky ones. Our Brumbies’ small stature was a constant and vivid reminder of the fate that befalls the majority of Snowy Brumbies culled each year.

  Amanda’s mare had a different story; she had never been destined for slaughter. Years earlier the VBA had committed to saving every Brumby that was trapped in the Bogong High Plains, since only 125 horses live in this region. Most are bay or black with white markings, ranging in size from 12.2 hands through to 15 hands. While Amanda’s mare was at the smaller end of the scale, she was a fairly good example of the genetically isolated Bogong Brumbies.

  Knowing the history of the horses was hugely important to us developing an emotional attachment to each one — something that is vital when working with wild horses. Entering the yards, we quietly separated them so that we could begin working with them. Vicki’s mare, who hadn’t stopped pacing since we had first seen her, grew highly agitated when Vicki stood in the centre of her yard, and circled her, unsettled. Moving to the gate, Vicki left the yard to give the bronze mare more room, but it had little effect. She continued to show stress, pacing along the far fence line, and never once took her eyes off Vicki, whom she obviously perceived as a threat.

  Hoping that Vicki’s mare would settle down with fewer people around, Amanda and I left to work with our own horses. My mare stood quietly with her head lowered; although she appeared quiet, it was obvious that she was uncomfortable with her situation and I was careful to give her the time she needed to process my presence. Amanda’s bay was the bravest of the three, boldly approaching her a number of times before her courage failed her and she darted back to her corner. For the next half-hour, Amanda and I stood in our horses’ yards barely moving; the occasional raising of one hand or the shifting of a shoulder was enough to gain their interest. At first they would just flick an ear towards us; later, once they had become more attuned to our body language, they would turn to face us. At once we would softly step back, while praising the horses with our voices. Stepping back from the horses was a way of rewarding them, by reducing the threat of us being so close to them. From a young age we found that horses, especially wild ones, respond well to a relationship built on trust and friendship, so we have developed this quiet and gentle approach to taming them.

  Satisfied with their progress at this initial meeting, we left them and moved to the raceway to watch Vicki’s Brumby. The mare hadn’t stopped moving once in the hour since we’d arrived at the yards to feed and muck out, and although Vicki hadn’t shifted from her spot leaning against the rails the mare was still on high alert; sweat was starting to show on her coat. Not wanting to cause her further distress, we all left as soon as the mare paused, even though it was only for a fraction of a second, and headed out to see the other Brumbies on the property. We were keen to see and learn as much about these wild horses as possible.

  CHAPTER 2

  High Alert

  From the moment we laid eyes on her, Vicki’s Brumby, Arana, would pace in her yard if humans were near.

  Colleen’s Brumbies in the house paddock at the Brumby sanctuary.

  A herd of wild Brumby mares and their foals running with an older Brumby gelding during their transition time at the Brumby sanctuary.

  As we walked from paddock to paddock, visiting wild horses at varying stages of their training, we were interested to see the range of types and colours. A stunning silver roan gelding, standing at 15 hands high, caught our eye; in the next paddock over, a handsome bay roan watched us warily. Both were from Kosciuszko and looked more like what we had been expecting for our own Brumbies in terms of size and colour.

  In one paddock of mares and foals, one foal was very thin, with every rib visible. When we pointed him out, Colleen sighed heavily and told us his story. It wasn’t pretty. The foal had been mustered from the wild in the deserts of the Northern Territory and then been trucked with his herd all the way down to Petersburg in South Australia to be slaughtered for meat. Due to their size, Brumby foals aren’t worth much to the meat sellers. To save having to feed extra, low-value horses, this particular truck driver, who had unloaded the horses at holding yards overnight, was planning to shoot the foals out from under their mothers at daybreak before reloading the mares and stallions and continuing on the journey.

  Someone had overheard him talking about this, and snuck out in the dark to rustle the foals away from the mares — managing to steal away with four of the youngest. Too young to be weaned, and traumatised by the experience of being mustered and trucked, three of the wild Brumby foals had died trying to transition to bottled milk. The fourth one was so weak that its rescuer loaded it up and drove it to the VBA in the hope that they would have the experience needed to save it. When the foal had first arrived at the sanctuary he had been skin and bone, but now, three months later, his condition had improved a little and he was enjoying a herd situation and supplemented feed. Colleen told us that shooting the foals like this was a common practice among truck drivers transporting wild horses for meat; it was a sickening story.

  As we watched the foal interacting with the other horses, we questioned Colleen about the Desert Brumbies. It had taken us a while to realise that the Snowy Brumbies we were working with were just a small, genetically isolated group and represented only a very small percentage of Australia’s Brumby population. It had been hard initially to understand why there was so much fuss about 800 of the 6000 horses in Kosciuszko being culled each year (and the New South Wales government’s plan to exterminate 90 per cent — 5400 — of them); we’d heard that 20 times that number were being killed annually across Australia and had been for years. Were our facts wrong, or were they horrifyingly right and the general public had no idea of the fate that was befalling their iconic horses? We felt that we needed to weave together a proper understanding of the sheer scale of the problem.

  Only 10,000 wild horses live in New South Wales and Victoria, with about 6000 of those living in the Snowy Mountains. Another 20,000 live in Queensland, the number having dropped significantly over the past decade, where more than 6000 Brumbies were shot during government aerial culls. Most of the rest, estimated at anywhere between 370,000 and 970,000, roam throughout the sparsely populated and harsh environments of the Northern Territory, South Australia and Western Australia. (The higher estimate comes from the government, which has the job of managing the wild populations; Brumby activists claim that the lower estimate is more realistic.) Privately owned stations, some hundreds of thousands of acres in size, have become the home of the majority of Australia’s wild horses; vast expanses of desert land, barely able to sustain stock, mean that in severe droughts the Brumbies often die in huge numbers from starvation or lack of water. In an attempt to control numbers, the state and federal governments send out helicopters to do counts; if a particular ranch is overrun then a letter of compliance is sent out demanding that the owners remove a set number of animals, often numbering in the thousands. Refusing to comply means that the helicopters will return for an aerial cull and a hefty bill will be sent to the land-owners. Instead,
mustering the herds and trucking them to the abattoir is often a more cost-effective solution, but in some regions this isn’t possible due to a lack of road access — and thousands of Brumbies are shot down from the skies.

  Unlike the herds in the Snowy Mountains, the Desert Brumbies are a range of completely different types, sizes and colours. Brumbies of every colour, including pinto, are often seen, and horses as large as 16.2 hands have been caught. In the early twentieth century, some station owners purposely released pedigree sires into the wild herds to improve the quality and size of the horses, making them more desirable as ridden horses for use as stock horses and in the cavalry. After World War I the demand for ridden horses decreased, and in the following years machines increasingly replaced horses in farming. Across Australia, unwanted horses were often set free, increasing the feral populations that were first recorded in folklore and history books in the early 1800s.

  Like in America, where the wild horses are descended from animals brought to the New World by the Spanish in the sixteenth century, only the sturdiest horses survived the initial trip by ship to Australia, resulting in a hardy horse that thrived in difficult conditions. In the 200 years since they first escaped or were released into the wild, their numbers escalated rapidly, and they have now become the largest wild horse population in the world. Their situation is not unlike that of Australia’s population of feral camels. Like the Brumbies, the camels were also shipped to Australia during the nineteenth century, to provide transport during the construction and colonising of central and western Australia. They were released to turn wild at a similar time to the horses, for similar reasons; and being well adapted to desert conditions their numbers also grew rapidly. At their peak, in 2008, the number of camels was believed to have reached over 1 million (although this figure was later revised downwards); the following year, A$19 million was set aside for a four-year project to reduce the population to 300,000 through a mixture of aerial culling, ground culling and mustering. Unsurprisingly, feral camel numbers are on the rise again.