Change In Plans

Greetings from Angorichina Sheep Station in South Australia! We are about 500 kilometers northwest of Adelaide.

After breakfast this morning, we left (sadly) Cliff House, on Kangaroo Island.  We drove along the deserted roads back to the east side of the island, headed to Kingscote Airport.  The only practical way to get from Kangaroo Island to Angorichina is to charter a plane.  My sense is that this is how many people get from place to place in Australia.

For Zola, the notion of a private plane was very, very exciting.  He had visions of something like Air Force One pulling up on the Kingscote runway.  We would definitely have a jacuzzi and gymnasium and movie theater on board. 

For India, the notion of small-plane flying is nervewracking at best, and terrifying at worst.  She took solace in the belief that we would have a multi-engine turboprop airplane, something like a Twin Otter, with a pilot and co-pilot to take care of us.

When we arrived at the airport, there was a little Cessna four seater on the runway, with a young woman in a pilot’s uniform doing a pre-flight check.  “There’s our plane,” I said.  “Surely not,” said India, as her eyes searched for other aircraft preparing to land.

The pilot came over to us, and said, “You must be the Bairds.  My name is Felicity, and I will be your pilot today.”  Zola was disappointed for half a second, his jacuzzi dreams vanishing.  Then he recovered and said, “Ummm, Miss Felicity? Can I sit in the co-pilot’s seat?”

Felicity and I struggled to load our bags in the fuselage of the aircraft.  While we were out of earshot of the rest of the group, I mentioned to her that India is a nervous flier, and that anything she could do to communicate clearly about safety and turbulence would be helpful.  From that point on, Felicity played the “reassuring pilot” role with great enthusiasm.  

She patted the tail of the plane and said to India, “Today we are flying in a Cessna single engine.  Manufactured in Wichita, Kansas.  American-made plane.  Very safe, very reliable.  Did you know that statistically you are much safer in a plane like this than you are in your own motorcar?”

Despite Felicity’s assurances, India took me aside, and said (with eyes wide), “Should we keep our rental car and just drive the ten hours up to Angorichina?  It would be fun.  What do you say?”

Eventually, we all squeezed ourselves onto the plane, put on the head sets, fastened seat belts, and took off.  Felicity was great, keeping us informed about everything she was doing, when we were likely to hit turbulence, when and where we were turning, etc.  She also seemed to be a very competent pilot.

It would be a stretch to say that India ever relaxed during the 2-hour flight (it was pretty bumpy), but she managed to survive.  The view from the air was quite spectacular: over Investigator Straits from Kangaroo Island to the mainland, up along the Yorke Peninsula, and over the Flinders range of mountains into the outback.  Beautiful.

We landed at an airstrip near Blinman, on this sheep station called Angorichina.  I don’t know yet where the name comes from.  We got out of the plane into 35 degree (Celsius) heat, and dusty, dry wind.

Our host, Ian, was waiting by the airstrip, wearing Blundstones, Wranglers, and a broad-brimmed hat.  “Welcome to the Outback, mate!”

Ian and his wife, Di, have a sheep farm of of about 120,000 acres.  Prior to the drought, which really started about 8 years ago, they had 10,000 sheep, which they raised for wool.  Now they are down to about 1,500, which they describe as “barely viable.”  It is really dry.

After settling in, and having lunch, we went out to explore the outbuildings: horse sheds, airplane hangar, dog pens, etc.  Zola was impressed that Ian has a motorbike (which he rides with the dogs on the passenger seat to round up sheep) and his own airplane.  He takes off and lands on a short strip next to the house.  Ian said, “The runway is a bit too short and a bit too rough, but it’s a real adrenaline rush.”

We took one of the dogs out to “shift sheep” from one pasture to another, and to check on the water troughs.  Then we moseyed into town to get the mail and have a drink at the North Blinman Hotel, established 1869. 

This isn’t exactly a dude ranch.  It is sort of a cross between a dude ranch and a weekend visit to the country house of friends we don’t know yet.  Right now, Zola is on the porch, and Ian is teaching him how to crack an Indiana-Jones-style leather whip.  The grill has been lit, and lamb chops are cooking for dinner.

Over the next few days we plan to ride horses, climb a mountain on the property, feed the dogs and water the sheep, and basically see what life on a sheep station is life.

Welcome to the Outback, mate!