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thedovephoto · 11 years ago

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Brumby Hunting in the High Country

Mike’s Mob

The dark grey curled up its white lip, it wasn’t smiling for the camera, I had been smelt out. No wonder, even though I was down wind from the mob, I hadn’t showered in two days and had just slept the night in my car in below freezing temperatures. I have to admit I was scared being alone in the Kosciusko National Park; I just hoped my physical fatigue would wash over me and drown out my mental noise. I managed to sleep for a while before my aching kidneys woke me, I was so bitterly cold that I realized if I didn’t get warm immediately I would probably wake up with hypothermia. So in the pitch black I dressed in my full ski clothes, wrapped my head and face in a turban mess of jumpers and bunkered down inside my ill equipped sleeping bag, twisted like a pretzel around the steering wheel and gear stick. When the kookaburras woke me I just had to pull a lever to make my bed, scrape the frost off the driver’s side of the windscreen and off I headed back to Kiandra to resume my hunt for Brumbies.

I had watched them yesterday, from several kilometers away. They were set back near the mountain, so small their shapes indistinguishable from that of kangaroos. I could see evidence of brumbies in and around the creek and boggy wetlands, mounds of territorial dung piles and trampled swamp tussocks where they had grazed or bedded down. I wondered if I waited would they come to me? Whilst I pondered that I had a little snooze, although surrounded by melting snow I got a little sunburned before waking smothered in ants. I looked up to see the ant Foreman scratching his chin and saying “How do we get this one back to the nest Boss?” Luckily they weren’t biting. I sat up to see the horses were still pretty much where I had left them. Damn it, how could I get to them, as far as I could see I had two major obstacles? A. How the bloody hell was I supposed to get across the creek with a camera in hand and B. Even if I made it across how could I get close enough to the horses to get a great shot without being spotted?

Photographer, Mike Bowers who had given me the brumby coordinates had not discussed the finer points of crossing the icy cold river fed by freshly melted snow! By now the sun had sunk behind dark clouds and it was 4.30pm. I thought, I might not see them tomorrow, there are no guarantees, I’d better get over there fast and back before I get caught out in the dark. I finally found the narrowest point along the creek and from a standing position I balanced on a tussock ball and launched myself to the other side, throwing my bodyweight forward so even if I didn’t make it, my camera importantly would. Now flat out on my stomach on the other side, I picked myself up, I needed to get to those horses. It is tough going, the ground was boggy and the tussock root mass means you are balancing on balls; your feet, legs and hips are constantly being twisted. Throw in some steep hills and thin air and it makes for an exhausting yet exhilarating experience.

Long story short, my photos that afternoon were crap. Ok, so I had proof that I had found Mike’s elusive mob but they were barely publishable. The pleasure of witnessing the magnificence and movement of a wild mob with the Stallion halting the group and spurring it on was momentous, but I was here to do a job. At one stage they had stopped in their tracks and the mighty grey stallion’s attention turned to his right, no longer at me. When I followed his gaze I noticed what he was wary of, another mob, this one headed by a spectacular jet-black stallion. So after safely getting back to the car, eating a cold can of soup on dusk and trying desperately not to think about Wolf Creek, I slept.

When I arrived back the following morning at 6.30am I retraced my steps beneath a cloak of fog, leaping the river again this time with frost underfoot. The air was still and visibility was low so once I found a trodden path I stuck to it. Imagine my surprise when out of the stark white, the silhouettes of wild horses appeared. It was like magic, like being back in the darkroom again. My heart was racing; the sweat dripping in my hair was turning to icicles brushing against my cheeks. It was like a winter wonderland, I was like a child, in awe. My camera struggled to focus through the fog interference and manual focus was useless because the eyepiece was so clouded. Damn you equipment, it doesn’t matter how much money you spend, nature still calls the shots over technology.

The mottled grey was the spotter and once he noticed me the mob started to flee over the rise, I walked around through the gully attempting to preempt where they would appear, I was right. The black stallion, just a silhouette stood guard at the rear, he was proud and so very handsome. This mob was flighty and my camera fired once more. I walked toward their bush hideout not expecting to see them again when from behind me I heard their feet striking the ice, the stallion stood for a moment to watch like a gallant stag and then joined the group in the safety of the shadows.

I headed high onto the hill, wow, that was awesome but where was this other group? I couldn’t spot them so I gave myself 3 hours before I would pick up and leave. Thankfully within twenty minutes I heard a neigh from the other side of the range, I walked toward it and was greeted by the spectacular colours of the grey stallion’s mob. This one had several white horses, greys and bays; it was at least twice the size of the other mob. I wondered how I should approach them, they were busy feeding and warming in the morning sun, in full view I managed to scale down the hill into the gully unseen before crawling up the side of the mountain. Almost at the top I had to stop and calm myself, control my shaking from adrenalin and fatigue, you don’t want to get this close just to stuff it up. Believe me I have learnt the hard way.

I peeked over, one lifted it’s gaze and then looked away, shortly after I got the curled lip ‘smile’ from the other and it was on, I had no choice but to shoot now before they got away. They didn’t run far though and the Grey Stallion stood strong in front, protective and assertive but not threatening. I managed to get a few more before they too galloped off to their safe bush haven, a sound and sight seldom seen, but one I will never forget. For the coming weeks whilst I make school lunches those memories will feed my soul. Sure, it’s a gamble, there is the investment of time, petrol and self sacrifice but for the split seconds of satisfaction you get from capturing something alive, free and unscripted it’s worth it!

So how did Mike Bowers get across that river…well in his words “stripped to waist and waded across, did it a few times it was character forming”, he added, “I overnighted in a car at Dead Horse Gap a few months back, bloody lonely and not too glamorous life at times but its worth it when you get results like that.”

Agreed!

Thank you Mike Bowers who shared his Brumby co-ordinates with me. Below is a link to his amazing work, which inspired me to follow this path; his beautiful imagery accompanies the ongoing debate about how to manage numbers of feral Brumbies in our sensitive Australian Alpine regions.

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/aug/20/-sp-a-time-to-cull-the-battle-over-australias-brumbies

#brumbies #high country #melanie faith dove #dovephoto

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