TIME FLIES
LIFE ON A STATION
On her first muster, Emma Moss had expected a lot of things, but the flies proved even more infuriating than she could have ever imagined.
MY FIRST MUSTER was in a paddock called West Freeneys: two choppers in the air, six horses, and a bike. It was by far the biggest muster I’d ever seen.
By ‘northern’ standards, it would be considered an average-to-small muster, but coming from 40 hectares, as I was, it was nothing but shock after shock.
We saddled up that morning, put the horses on the gooseneck, and drove to our starting point. We waited at a bore for the helicopters to blow in our
‘coacher’ mob. That’s the mob of cattle we ‘quieten down’ first and remind them of their manners before the rest of the cattle from the paddock join them.
The small mob of about 400 slowly attracted flies as we moved them around, making sure we were comfortable that we could walk them home while other cattle blew into the mob. The number of flies kept multiplying and multiplying. My horse started to jump around in an attempt to escape them. It was nothing sinister, but it was getting on my nerves.
As a first year musterer with hardly any cattle experience, I didn’t pretend to be anything I’m not. I asked lots of questions to make sure I understood instructions, or when I was unsure of things. But being the only first year with a camp of people in their third year or above, I tried not to be too wide-eyed. I was very wary of being that girl from 40 hectares who did pony club, heads up north to take some cowgirl photos for a year and then leaves again. If I thought a fence line was going on and on, I didn’t say anything. When I was asked to bring the horses in on the motorbike and it took me two hours because the paddock was so large and my motorbike skills were minimal, I tried not to show my shock at the thickness of the wattle or the size of the paddock. When I was asked to cut some ties for fencing (to attach the fencing wire to the steel picket), I tried to play it cool when they ‘only’ needed about a couple of thousand. I knew there would be big mobs of cattle, but what I didn’t predict were the f lies. The bloody f lies.
They started crawling all over my face and soon they were driving me insane. I ripped up some cloth and shoved it in my ears and nose, worrying whether the whole day, or the whole year, would entail these incessant clouds of buzzing, infuriating insects.
With that thought, I snapped and, voice cracking, asked the head stockwoman on the radio: “Zarrah, is the whole year going to be a fly attack?” No one answered. “They’re bloody everywhere and driving me insane.” Still no reply; perhaps the flies were driving them mad too. But no, they were laughing too hard at my dramatic voice. “I’ve swallowed 1000 flies already, is the whole day going to be like this?” Zarrah finally replied, “Em, they’ll be gone in 10; at least you won’t need lunch now.” Unbeknown to me, someone had already started to circle the mob, spraying them with an insect treatment, which controls flies and lice.
I learned a lot that whole year. But the lesson I learned from this day is one I will never forget. I learned that a fly can go up your nose at 5.30am, buzz around in your sinuses all day, and then be blown out at 4pm and still be alive. (In the back of my mind, I was terrified the fly would lay eggs in there…).
Now I know that flies are a short-term thing when all the cattle have gathered together – and that insect spray is a musterer’s best friend. Despite, or perhaps because of the flies, this was one of my most memorable musters. I am so glad I kept a diary from my first year on a station because all the things that used to shock me are now norms. I can’t wait to go mustering again, even if I do still think about how annoying the bloody flies are.
Follow Emma on Instagram @life_on_a_station for more.