The Wild Australia Stories

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The cane-train’s haunting whistle filtered through the fog of sleep. Zoe opened her eyes as a knocking sounded at the door. She opened her eyes, checked the clock and groaned. Seven o’clock. This was her day off. She was supposed to have Mondays and Tuesdays free in return for working weekends. ‘Move over Captain, you big lug.’ The border collie was taking up half the bed. He thumped his tail, but didn’t move.

Zoe gave up and stroked his handsome head. She’d always wanted a dog, and had invited him to stay last night when he came to visit. His warm, solid presence was very reassuring. ‘Who needs a man when you have a dog, eh?’ Captain smiled and snuggled further down into the doona. His weight on her left leg had made it go to sleep and when she dragged herself to her feet, she almost fell over. Should she get dressed? The knock came again, more urgent this time. ‘I’m coming.’ Zoe stumbled to the front door.

Bridget stood in the doorway wearing snow-white breeches, gleaming black boots and carrying a leather crop. She looked like a model from Country Life magazine. Zoe stood agape in her pilled, pink nylon nightie. ‘We’re riding to the Hump,’ said Bridget brightly. ‘Quinn and me. You’re invited.’

‘Riding?’ said Zoe. ‘I’m afraid I can’t ride.’

‘Oh, come on. There’s nothing to it.’ Bridget fastened a stray strand of shining hair into the knot at the nape of her long neck. ‘It’s too beautiful a morning to waste. I’ll meet you down at the stables in ten.’ And with that she was gone. Zoe stood for a moment, decided there wasn’t any getting round it and hurried off to boil the kettle. She couldn’t face the coming humiliation without a strong brew.

This dream job was proving more of a challenge than she’d expected. So many things conspiring to wrest her from her comfort zone. For one thing, her day started at seven and she was not a morning person. For another, the work was physically hard, much harder than she was used to. There’d been some disappointments. Still no car, and the promised research trips to the reef hadn’t materialised yet, but she didn’t mind. It was early days, and Zoe loved being surrounded by so much natural beauty. The stunning view of cane fields and rainforests sweeping down to meet the rocky coral coast. Working with the animals. It filled a hole in her heart. .She’d been missing such a connection to nature, without even realising.

It was hard yakka though. First thing in the mornings she sorted, rinsed and weighed out fish that had been thawing overnight. She added vitamins to the portions and helped Karen clean the equipment and preparation areas. Afterwards she assisted with the morning feeds and filled out food and behaviour records for the dolphins and each patient in the recovery unit.

At twelve noon came the big event for the day, the Dancing Dolphins show. There was always a good crowd seated along the small portable grandstand set up above the sandy cove. Bridget would emerge from the seaquarium with a bucket of fish, and saunter ‒ there was no other word for it ‒ towards the little lagoon. She wore short shorts and a gold bikini top that showed off her bronzed body in a spectacular fashion, like some sort of surfer version of Queen Cleopatra. For many male members of the audience, this was show enough. Bridget remained composed and ignored the odd wolf-whistle and catcall. She turned to wave at people when she reached the water, and was met with a flurry of applause before a single dolphin had even slapped its tail.

And, amazingly, Josh was there with her for the show, right in the thick of it, every single time. He didn’t do much ‒ fed out fish on cue, blew his whistle and clicked his clicker, motioned occasionally to the dolphins. Half the time he seemed to be in the way, but Bridget treated him with unfailing sweetness. Her patience and kindness impressed Zoe deeply. How lovely of Bridget to indulge Quinn’s kid brother like that. Although Josh was a genuine help where Mirrhi was concerned. The young bottlenose was skittish and shy, unsure of her tricks and reluctant to perform them. She kept a close eye on Josh, whose presence for some reason calmed her down and gave her confidence.

Each show began with the theme from Swan Lake echoing through the tinny public address system. Two pelicans resident in the lagoon always seemed to puff out their chests at this point, as if in in clumsy imitation of swans. The three little spinner dolphins would start things off by launching into the sort of behaviour for which they were renowned and named — leaping into the air and spinning like tops before losing momentum and crashing back with a splash. Meanwhile Kane and Mirrhi, the much larger bottlenoses, balanced on their tails halfway out of the water and scooted backwards. When the animals performed these actions in rough unison, it resembled a dolphin ballet.

Karen narrated the performance, providing an informative spiel. ‘In the two-hundred-thousand years that humans have been on this planet, we’ve caused a lot of damage. By contrast, dolphins have lived for twenty-five-million years in total harmony with nature. Did you know their brains are forty percent larger than ours?’ The audience listened politely. Some people were surprised to discover that dolphins were mammals, not fish.

Kane was the star of the act. For a reward of sardines, he balanced on the edge of the pool so the visitors could get a good look. He opened his mouth to show his teeth. He slapped his powerful tail, a tail that had once propelled him at high speeds through the open ocean. Bridget pointed out his blowhole, and Karen’s booming voiceover explained that during millions of years of evolution, dolphin nostrils had migrated to the tops of their head. Kane did a few leaps through a hoop, a few backflips. He played a half-hearted game of pool soccer with Mirrhi and the show was over.

After lunch Zoe squeezed into a wet suit and did her own show, diving into the seaquarium. At least she didn’t have to wear a bikini. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. Quite fun really, once she’d gritted her teeth and forced herself to get over her self-consciousness. Inhibitions came rushing back however, when she looked out one day to see Quinn standing in the audience. He wore a broad smile, and gave a wave while she tried to hide behind Chopper. Since then Zoe had kept an eye out, but he hadn’t returned. When she was invited to the main homestead for dinner, neither of them mentioned his visit to the shark show.

Zoe was beginning to learn the names and personalities of the aquarium residents: Shrek, the massive but gentle Maori wrasse, dazzling in electric blue scales, who liked for some reason to kiss the back of Zoe’s neck when she wasn’t looking; Snap, the shy moray eel with his oddly human face and bright sapphire eyes; Sarli, the graceful green sea turtle who took leaves of lettuce and spinach from between Zoe’s teeth to the delight of the crowd. Then there were the sharks, all of them as friendly and well-behaved as Karen had promised. Zoe liked trying to read the lips of her audience, imagining their oohs and aahs of alarm as Chopper and his wicked looking teeth nudged at her hand.

Zoe spent the rest of the day helping out with demonstrations, like the turtle and ray feedings in the shallow touch pools, and watching dolphin training sessions. She wrote more reports. She helped unload fresh fish delivered by Archie, a local fisherman. One afternoon she made a start on washing the vast aquarium windows. They were grimy from fingerprints, and streaked with green mould in the corners. Zoe was surprised to find the place was quite rundown. The water in some tanks was cloudy, and they could use a good clean out. And the artificial underwater habitats looked sad and tired. Rocks slimy with algae. Sickly aquatic plants. Zoe had resolved to tackle Bridget about it in the coming weeks, perhaps help her plan a tank renovation program.

By the end of each work day she was physically exhausted. Back in Sydney, if Zoe was tired after work, she’d spend her evenings vegged out on the couch watching TV. Here in Kiawa she read books instead, or took Captain for long walks in the fragrant, twilight garden. Sometimes she headed out again after dark to volunteer for Turtle Watch, patrolling local beaches to protect nests and hatchlings. Back in Sydney, McDonald’s, or something like it, was usually on the menu. That was impossible here — Kiawa wasn’t exactly the fast-food capital of the world — so Zoe was forced to cook. Simple cooking, but it was more than she was used to. Last night she’d grilled a chicken breast and made salad from ingredients in the well-stocked fridge. She’d picked at the bowl of tropical fruit that was miraculously refreshed each day, and had been asleep by nine-thirty.

Zoe yawned, and poured more milk in her coffee so she could gulp it down fast. Looking forward to a sleep-in, and now this. There was a time, when she was in her teens, that an early call to go riding would have been a dream come true. That was before she lost her nerve. Her cousin owned a skinny thoroughbred, an anxious ex-race horse with terrible stomach ulcers and a ruined mouth. He’d bolted with her on their first ride. She still had nightmares about that day. The terror of racing out of control, the seemingly slow-motion fall onto the post and rail fence, the weeks of pain as her collarbone mended. Zoe had never ridden again. Well, time to face her fears. Zoe thought back to when she’d climbed the lookout tower. To the first time she’d lowered herself self-consciously into the shark tank. There seemed to be a lot of facing-her-fears going on here in Kiawa.

She finished her coffee, and pulled on jeans, a T-shirt and runners. Then she remembered Captain. It took all her strength to drag him off her bed and out the door. He scratched hopefully at it a few times, then gave up and led Zoe through the bright morning down to the stables.

The building was draped in flowering jasmine and bush honeysuckle. It must have been the sweetest-smelling stable in the world. Bridget was already mounted on an elegant, dapple-grey mare. Quinn stood by the gate, between a tall chestnut and a stout bay. In his Akubra and moleskins, framed by the two horses, he made a handsome picture ‒ the epitome of old-fashioned, Aussie bush charm. Zoe couldn’t help herself. Her imagination took flight. Quinn was her bushranger lover, come to whisk her away to his remote hideout. And she would go with him, though it meant forever living the life of a fugitive. Captain barked, chasing off her daydream.

‘Hey boy,’ said Quinn when he saw Captain. ‘I was looking for you last night.’ He knelt down to give the collie a pat. ‘You weren’t shacked up with that b***h next door, were you?’

Zoe stopped dead in her tracks. Surely he couldn’t mean her?

Bridget was regarding her with an open amusement that seemed at odds with her usual kindness. ‘He’s talking about the neighbour’s dog,’ she whispered as Quinn turned to open the gate.

Zoe burned with embarrassment, and looked around hopefully for Josh. She could use his friendly face right now. At the Reef Centre, wherever Bridget was, the boy wasn’t far away. Today, however, he was nowhere to be seen. ‘What beautiful horses,’ said Zoe.

Quinn slapped his chestnut on the neck and it tossed its proud head. ‘This is Yarraman, and Bridget’s on Duchess. Have you done much riding? No? Well, Cobber here will look after you.’ He rubbed the bay gelding’s face with a work-roughened hand.

A crashing sound came from behind the stables. Cobber shied and Zoe’s heart beat faster. ‘What was that?’ More crashing, followed by a series of piercing neighs.

‘Nothing to concern you,’ said Bridget. ‘Come on, up you get.’

Quinn indicated where Zoe should stand. ‘Bend your knee … no your left one.’

His strong hand grasped her leg, sending a little shock through her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Giving you a bunk up.’ Before she knew it, he’d rocketed her into the saddle. He handed her a helmet. She fiddled with its strap. Now his hand pressed against her thigh and she almost dropped the hat. ‘Move your leg back.’ He adjusted her stirrups and showed her how to hold the reins, while Bridget looked on patiently. Then he mounted Yarraman and they were off.

Nervous as Zoe was, it didn’t spoil the thrill of being on a horse again after all these years. Cobber was a placid and steady mount, just as Quinn had promised. Zoe stroked his shining black mane, then leaned forwards in the saddle to catch a whiff of his warm, horsey smell. It was one of those perfect spring mornings, and she was suddenly delighted to be out so early in the day. It would have been a crime to have missed this. ‘Where did you say we’re going?’

‘Up the Hump.’ Bridget pointed to the dome-shaped hill dominating the skyline. ‘An extinct volcano. Matthew Flinders named it when he sailed past in the Norfolk way back in 1799. The Taribelang Bunda people had a name for it long before that of course. — Gilibulga, the sleeping giant. It last erupted a million years ago, and must have been a doozy. They’ve found lava rock five kilometres out to sea.’

‘The Hump is why Kiawa’s fields are so fertile,’ said Quinn. ‘All that rich, red volcanic soil.’ He pointed to the peak. ‘There’s a great view from the top.’

They rode in single file through green cane under a bright blue sky, until they reached the river. A path beside the water meandered through remnant pockets of rainforest, where towering, twisted figs and glossy-leaved ironbarks provided welcome shade. The sun was already starting to bite.

The track opened up until it was broad enough to ride two abreast. On their left, a tumbledown stone wall built by long-ago hands stretched into the distance. It added a powerful sense of history to the place. Captain dashed on ahead. Bridget’s mare moved up beside Cobber. She arched her neck and jig-jogged sideways, causing Bridget to rein her in tight. ‘How are you liking the job so far?’

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Zoe. ‘But I’m dying to go out on the reef and get stuck into some proper research.’

‘Karen hasn’t taken you yet?’ asked Bridget. ‘That’s a shame. How about we head out after lunch today?’

Zoe beamed and stroked her horse’s neck. At last her real work would begin.

The path narrowed once more and veered south through a gate and away from the river. They were moving steadily uphill now. Bridget dropped back and they rode again in single file. Native frangipanis crowded close on either side of the track. The horses brushed against their lower branches, releasing fragrance into the air from perfumed clusters of yellow flowers. Tiny, twittering birds flitted through the blossoming wonga-wonga vines, and crowds of colourful butterflies swirled down from the canopy, vanishing as quickly as they came.

Cobber’s nose touched the copper-coloured tail of the chestnut horse in front, and Quinn’s broad back blocked Zoe’s view of the path ahead. He looked around. ‘How are you going back there? The tone of his voice was warm and encouraging.

‘Fine,’ she said, grateful he didn’t know where her fantasies had taken her. ‘I’m doing just fine.’ Sunshine combined with the clip-clop of hooves to lull Zoe into another day dream ... she was a tough, uncompromising pioneer woman, newly-wed, heading out with her man into the unchartered wilderness to claim a selection. Up ahead rode the square-shouldered figure of her husband, hips swinging in rhythm with his horse, noble dog trotting at his heels. The love of her life, strong and silent, devoted to his new bride — determined to forge a future for them both in the unforgiving heat and isolation of the Queensland bush.

An enchanting pretence. Quinn was completely different from anybody she’d ever dated back in Sydney. Better built and better-looking for a start. Down-to-earth, serious, and utterly unaware of his own charm. In other circumstances Zoe could have easily have fallen for him. If she hadn’t sworn off men. If he didn’t already belong to Bridget.

Quinn glanced back again. Zoe sighed and gave him the thumbs up. Time to stop these silly daydreams. She didn’t really know him. Quinn might be nothing like she imagined. What about that charged moment of anger at the top of the lookout tower? A man with a temper perhaps.

The trail grew rocky and winding. A cooling breeze hit them as they emerged from the forest onto an open grassy slope. Quinn turned in his saddle. ‘Are you up for a canter?’

A canter? Zoe didn’t even know how to trot, but she was keen to impress, so pride trumped caution. ‘Sounds good.’ Quinn’s rangy chestnut swished his tail and took off at a cracking pace up the hill. Placid Cobber suddenly sprung to life and followed suit. Zoe fell forward and grabbed his mane in fright. She was just getting used to the rhythm, when a flurry of windblown leaves spooked him. Cobber leaped sideways and a flashback to her last, disastrous ride made Zoe freeze. She lost her balance as well as her stirrups, and could feel herself slipping sideways. Clutching at the reins only served to make Cobber poke his nose and gallop faster. She screamed, but Quinn was too far ahead. The wind and drumming hoofbeats drowned out her cries. She tried one final yank on the leather reins. Cobber ducked his head and snatched them from her hands. The reins slid down his neck out of reach. Now she had no control at all. Blood throbbed in her ears. She couldn’t breathe, and her chest grew tighter still in anticipation of the coming fall.

A voice sounded through the fog of her fear. ‘Hang onto the neck strap.’ It was Bridget, steering her mare alongside Cobber, grabbing hold of his dangling reins. Zoe hadn’t noticed the narrow leather belt at her horse’s wither. She grabbed it and managed to haul herself upright. By the time the horses had come to a snorting halt, she’d found her stirrups and despite the humiliating rescue, was feeling pretty proud of herself for staying on.

Quinn had reached the top of the rise. He’d missed the whole thing. ‘I’ll go have a word to him,’ said Bridget. ‘He shouldn’t have taken off like that.’

‘No, no.’ It mattered what Quinn thought. Zoe wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. ‘Don’t tell him. He might feel bad, and anyway, I’m getting the hang of this.’

‘Okay,’ said Bridget. ‘Stick with me, and remember, next time, grab hold of that neck strap if you lose your balance, not the reins.’ Zoe stroked Cobber’s sleek bay neck. ‘Push your heels down, and sit back, deeper into the saddle. That’s the way. Ready?’

Zoe nodded, grateful for Bridget’s rescue and feeling guilty for her silly fantasy about Quinn. As she glanced up at him, he wheeled Yarraman around in a half rear. A dramatic sight, man and horse on the hilltop outlined against the vibrant blue sky. Her heart beat faster. The shock of Cobber bolting ... or something more? Zoe shook her head to clear it, and followed Bridget up the hill at a sedate jog, trying to recall what she’d read all those years ago about rising to the trot.

At the top of the hill Zoe pushed her heels down, sat deep in the saddle and asked Cobber to stop with a gentle feel of his mouth. This time he was happy to oblige. He lazed on a loose rein, resting a back foot, while Zoe stood in her stirrups for a better look. The summit of the Hump offered a breathtaking three-hundred-and-sixty-degree panorama, extending to the Pacific Ocean and coral coast on one side, and the Great Dividing Range on the other. All around lay a brown and green patchwork of cane fields. The Kiawa River curled around the Hump’s lower slopes. It had carved out a valley along the edge of the ancient lava flow, a place too steep and narrow for settlers to clear for cane. Remnant stands of rainforest followed its shining course, until the river widened into a broad wetland delta and joined the ocean.

‘Turtle Reef National Park is a collection of three main reefs and lots of smaller ones.’ Bridget pointed out to sea. ‘See that semicircle of dark blue past the white yacht? That’s Macalister Bar. An artificial reef, brainchild of my grandfather. He was a mad-keen diver, and fifty years ago he decided it would be fun to sink stuff off shore to make for more interesting local dive sites. You wouldn’t believe some of the things he dumped. Boats. A three-hundred-tonne gravel dredge. A couple of old seaplanes. There’s even an entire cane train, carriages and all, towed out on barges and tipped overboard.’

Quinn rode up to them. ‘You wouldn’t get away with it now,’ he said. ‘Too much red tape, but divers and fishermen love it. Should see the barracuda out on the bar.’ He whistled long and low through remarkably even teeth. ‘My father caught one two metres long there once. ’

‘I can’t wait to see it all,’ said Zoe. ‘Do you think we’ll find some dugongs today?’

‘Oh yes, and dolphins and turtles as well,’ said Bridget. ‘We’ll go for a dive, and later I’ll take you through the terms of reference for our new research project. How does that sound?’

Zoe beamed her pleasure. She took another look around at the million dollar view and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. And to think she’d wanted to stay in bed this morning. What a fool!