Wednesday, 23 October 2013

TRUE TALES OF THE OUTBACK. THE FLOOD. TWO.

Dad returned to Lornesleigh as soon as he found out about the first flood. By the time he reached the boundary of the property, the Cape River was now in full flood.

 He was met at the top of a ridge near the house by a stockman named Gallagher, and George Riggs, the mailman. The ridge was about a mile or so from the homestead. The water swirled around the ridge, turning it into an island and they knew they’d have to wait there until this second flood subsided, stranded without any food or proper drinking water. 

 Fortunately Dad had his rifle, but only a limited supply of bullets. Not knowing how long they’d be stuck there, they’d have to resort to living off the land.

Dad was a bushman, born and bred. I guess you could say he was Crocodile Dundee and Macgyver rolled into one. Without exaggeration.

 He was equal to any challenge and I never ever saw fear in his eyes. If there was a solution to a problem, he’d find it. Or invent it. There was nothing he couldn’t fix with a length of number eight wire and a set of pliers. He was also a boxer, a show rider and a crack shot with the rifle.

 But back to the flood. With nothing to eat, the livestock either drowned or gone, the kangaroos all on higher ground, all he could find was a Brolga in flight. In case you don’t know, brolgas are birds, a bit like a crane. Anyway, Dad took aim and brought it down with a single shot. They cooked it up and Dad said that it was by far the worst food he had ever tasted.

When the waters finally started to subside a week later, the trio waded into Lornesleigh to survey the damage—and obtain better food supplies. 

Part three coming soon.