doing the right thing. So, as soon as I landed back in Melbourne I
talked to my Dad. "I really want to do it, Dad, and I just can't think
of a reason why not," I said. Dad said, "That's coz there isn't one".
And I'm glad I listened. Three weeks later, I was on a flight back
to Broome.
An indirect flight to Broome, a lazy afternoon eating cackleberries
with Doug and a 2hr~ish bus trip to Derby was not a clever thing to do
the morning after my naughty niece's 21st birthday. I would not have
made that flight if not for my Mum, so thanks Mum.
After a night at the Boab Inn, I was hoping to be collected by someone
from Mt Elizabeth Station, but for one reason or another, they
couldn't get to town. Instead, I was collected by Pat Lacy's
sister-in-law, Ann Jane (nee Lacy), to spend a night at the lovely
house she and her husband Rick have built at Woolybutt Rise, just out
of Derby. And a very nice introduction to the extended Lacy family it
was.
Early the next morning, Ann drove me to the turn off and I was again
collected, this time by Andrew an employee of Kimberley Recruitment on
his monthly trip out the Gibb to visit his clients in the Aboriginal
Communities.
A great day was spent driving the 350+ km to Mt Elizabeth stopping off
for avocado and vegemite sandwiches (courtesy of Andrew); a coffee
with Neville at Imintji, who suggested he'd be out to see me for lunch
at Mt Elizabeth the following week; a quick walk in to Galvan's Gorge
and a look at some rock art there; a nice afternoon dip at Barnett
River Gorge, soon to become a favourite; and finally a late afternoon
arrival at the Mt Elizabeth homestead, surrounded by lush green
gardens and populated by a friendly bunch of young staff.
I spent the first couple of nights staying at the cook, Sharran's
place, with poor Sam (a ringer on the station) booted out onto his
swag to make room for me, and Sharran started to introduce me to some
of the highs and lows of working on the station straight up, telling
me about difficult guests (of which, I was to find, there weren't
many). Amidst her tales came the comment, "...and then I get a fucken
vegetarian..."
I'd already picked the beef out of my curry at dinner that night, much
to the boys' amusement and had privately wondered how I'd manage with
this aspect of station life, but figured it would come out soon
enough, so I told her nervously, "Yeah...I don't really eat meat
either", trying to kind of play it down by not using the "V" word.
"Oh, true?" was Sharran's response, an example of the new lingo I
would also have to get used to.
