Suddenly the rope wraps around your feet

Marion Downs-Camp – 22.09.2002

Today is a special day. The day of the Jym Khana festival in Boulia. This festival is celebrated once a year in many towns in the outback. All the people from the surrounding stations gather to compete against each other in various riding competitions.

We drive excitedly into the small town. When we reach the competition grounds, where camel races are also held every year, there are already many people present. There are horseboxes and trailers everywhere. The smell of fresh horse manure is in the air and the competitions are already in full swing. Without wasting much time, we join the spectators. Angus and his father Robert are among the participants. We are eagerly awaiting their deployment.

Children as young as five years old ride their horses like proud Mongolians. It’s fun to watch the little ones solve their tasks on equally small ponies. Although it is a real competition, there is a lot of laughter. No-one seems to take it too seriously and yet the participants make an effort.

The aim is to steer your horse around obstacles at full gallop. At one of the competitions I can see how the rider has to scoop water out of a bucket, then quickly ride to another bucket to empty the cup there. The participant must fill the cup four times and empty it four times. It all depends on who is the fastest and whether the cup is actually filled up. The people and their mounts achieve incredible things. We watch the pair riding in amazement. Two riders, holding a thin ribbon in their free hands, gallop side by side around the obstacles. There is no doubt that these people know how to ride and show off their skills.

Right next to the riding games and competitions, children and adults who want nothing to do with riding compete in other sports. There is much laughter and prize money of up to $100 for the winner of the 100 meter races, rope pulling, sack races, trash can pulling, egg running, egg throwing and other interesting sports such as the one-armed and two-armed whip cracking and sheep’s wool ball rolling.

BRONCO BRANDING

Bronco branding takes place at the same time. Leanne, little Clara and I then walk to a cattle fence from which thick clouds of dust are carried into the hot midday air.

In bronco branding, a rider has to lasso a cow from a herd of cattle. When he has made it, the horse drags the cow to a metal fence. Three men then grab the bleating animal. While one of them presses the wild bovine against the fence with all his strength, the other two must try to wrap a lasso around the front and hind legs. Then the tail is grabbed and with a joint jerk the cattle is thrown to the side. A wrestler quickly races to the branding iron, dips it in paint and presses it onto the animal’s body to symbolize the branding. The catcher has to catch a total of three cattle in a prescribed time and the wrestlers have to throw it to the side as quickly as possible. The team that has branded the most cattle in the shortest time wins. There are several rounds and different variations.

Even watching it sometimes takes my breath away. The jackeroos are sometimes kicked terribly by the cattle. One of them is wiping his bloody nose. Robert, who is on the ground team for this round, has the task of looking after the hind leg of the trapped cow.

At this moment, the catcher has thrown his lasso around a cow’s head again. He quickly rides to the metal fence in the middle of the enclosure. The lasso rope is attached to the saddle. The horse has a hard time pulling the cattle behind him. The catcher rides around the metal fence so that he and his horse are behind it, while the cow is pressed against it on the other side by the three wrestlers. Everything seems to be going according to plan, but just before the metal fence, the cow begins to leap into the air with wild, ecstatic leaps. She somehow manages to jump past the fence and suddenly finds herself on the horse’s side. The rider spurs his horse and tries to tighten the rope on which the wildly jumping cattle is hanging.

Suddenly there is great unrest. I realize that something has gone wrong. Something that is not part of this peaceful competition. The cow now races past the horse at an insane speed. The Jackeroos and Robert just manage to dodge the cattle hooves flying through the air.

There is a crash as the cattle crash into the fence. Then it turns on its own axis, runs an arc and at this moment the lasso rope wraps itself around all four legs of the poor horse. “Go inside! Help him! Hold the cow!” voices shout in confusion. It can only take seconds before the horse crashes to the ground. It stumbles, trying to free itself from the ever tighter rope, while the rider manages to climb out of the saddle. He jumps onto the nearby fence and is out of danger. The cow behaves like a madman and storms back and forth unchecked. There are now around 10 males in the enclosure. They hang on to the rope. Try to take the pull out so that the horse does not break its legs. Spied on. With a loud roar, the stallion thunders headfirst onto the dusty ground. More men climb into the enclosure. Orders are shouted. One of the jackeroos manages to click the lasso rope out of the saddle with full effort, while the others also manage to free the wild cattle from the lasso. They quickly run to the horse lying on the ground. They unwind the rope from his legs and let him stand up. Thank goodness it hasn’t broken a foot and it doesn’t look like it’s injured any further.

As soon as the bovine has disappeared into the herd, roaring loudly, the catcher gets back on his horse. The animal has no time to recover from the shock and will thus be able to continue its hard cattle work on the farm in the future. Bleeding slightly from the mouth, it runs around anxiously in the herd of cattle. The catcher throws his lasso, but this time it misses its target. Again and again the thrower misses the cattle heads until the gong signals the end of the round.

We stand there for hours and watch the men playing their dangerous game. A man about fifty years old, who is considered to be particularly tough, is taken by the horns by a cow. He then makes a daring leap onto the metal grid to safety. Another gets hit on the knee. It swells up like a pumpkin. The gladiators of the Outback only leave the arena in the evening.

They all meet under a large canopy. Stand at the bar. There is a lot of drinking and laughing. We are in a different world. In the wild west of the outback. In a time that I thought I had long forgotten.

STIERREITEN

The sun goes down. The full moon rises over the grandstand and the floodlights come on in the station where the horse races took place just a few hours ago. “What’s next?” I ask Robert. “Bull riding,” he replies kindly. “Bull riding? You mean they’re sitting on wild bulls now?” “Exactly. It’s not as dangerous as bull riding but it’s still a risky business,” he explains as we walk to the fence.

There is a strange, excited atmosphere. The spectators in the stands look down, spellbound. The cattle are housed in boxes made of solid steel. Every now and then one jumps upwards with concentrated muscle power. Sometimes the kicking hooves bang against the metal. Young men get ready for their hellish ride. They put on helmets, chest and back armor made of unbreakable plastic, elbow pads and pants with long colorful fringes. Admiring eyes of some young girls hang on the gladiators of modern times. An announcer heats up the atmosphere with his whipping words. I sit with my film camera on a post of the fence and have a wonderful view of what is about to happen. One of the bull riders is now lowered from above into the box containing the bull. The bull’s front legs are tied down, but it still behaves frighteningly wildly. It crashes and bangs. The rider flies at least one meter into the air in the box. Helping hands carry him back onto the back of the muscle colossus. There is an excitement in the boxes that is hard to describe.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, watch out for box one! One of the young athletes from the Boulia area is about to start his ride from hell! We’re keeping our fingers crossed for him!” shouts the announcer as two wrestlers push the heavy latch off the iron gate.

With a powerful blow, the door flies open and the bull explodes into the arena. I hold my breath, because apart from a few movies on TV, I’ve never seen anything like it live. The rider and the cattle pull it up for a fraction of a second, only to thunder to the ground like a cleaver in an instant. The athlete’s back is compressed. Then the bull launches forward like an exploding rocket. The rider holds on with one hand to a small piece of rope that is stretched around the animal’s body and is responsible for its wild behavior. The centrifugal force pulls his bending body backwards. At the same time, the enraged bovine hurls its head to the left and right with tremendous force. The athlete’s body moves in twitching snaking movements. The animal then turns around its own axis in an up and down bouncing movement to get rid of its annoying ballast. Boulia’s man slips to one side and is almost thrown into the dust, but when the bull leaves the circle in a breathtaking sprint, he is able to pick himself up again. Suddenly, the frantic animal changes direction in an abrupt movement and charges to the side. The gladiator flies straight ahead at the same speed in a high arc and lands upside down in the dirt. He rolls off the ground with a flick of the wrist and is back on his feet just a fraction of a second later. He throws up his hands, having managed to stay on the monster’s back for the prescribed eight seconds. Applause resounds from the stands. He takes off his helmet and gives us all his confident, happy smile.

“Watch out for box number two now!” the announcer’s voice booms through the arena and is lost in the swirling dust. Wummm, the door bangs open and another kamikaze hurls out. It only takes a few seconds for his shoulder to land on the red earth. Wummm, the next door bangs open. This time it catapults the young athlete off the back of the horribly excited cattle after just a few meters. He flies high into the air and lands with his left leg on the ground first. Before he is kicked to death by the bull, the so-called clowns jump in between. They are ringers that distract the cattle when the rider falls and quickly help them back on their feet. Bent over, he limps off the pitch.

We get to watch a total of 10 athletes on their hellish ride. Some of them manage to stay on their backs for the prescribed time and some do not. It is a sport that undoubtedly takes its toll. A sport that undoubtedly pumps adrenaline right up to the top of your head and a sport that won’t let some athletes grow old.

“How long can you do something like this before you’re broken?” I ask Robert. “Oh, I know some bull riders who are 45 years old.” “45? But that must be the exception?” I wonder. “Oh yes. Most people get injured. There are always fatal accidents. Several years ago, the world’s best bull rider was killed in America. When he fell, the bull’s horns pierced his chest. He died on the arena…”