Calendoon

This story was told to me one of my colleagues when I was a school teacher in the Outback. It is supposedly a true story and reflects the unique sense of humor of the Aussie in the bush.

Calendoon
by Michael Lee

“My turn!” said Will grabbing the rifle from his brother Sean’s hand. He filled the clip with another half dozen rounds and took careful aim while resting the rifle barrel on the window frame of the Holden Ute – the Aussie equivalent of a GMC pickup truck. The sun shimmered off the red dirt of the burnt landscape in this arid part of the outback. The boys had been on a weekend jaunt from Brisbane, a city some three hundred miles distant on the coast, and a place from where most people had rarely ventured this far into the heart of their country.

“Who’d wanna go out there?” they’d say. “That’s just a place for sheep, abos, and ‘roos!”

Will and Sean, both in their late teens, had heard their Uncle talk about his experiences in the outback when he was a sheep drover in his younger days. “There’s more bloody kangaroos out there than you could poke a stick at!” he had told them. So they had saved some money for a few paydays, borrowed their uncles 222 semi-automatic rifle, and headed out for a weekend of ‘roo hunting. It had been a long drive - two hundred miles to the end of the sealed road and then another hundred on dirt roads. There was so little traffic that you could spot an oncoming vehicle some 10 or miles away by the cloud of dust on the horizon.

After driving all night they had seen a few ‘roos on the morning of their arrival and had gotten off a few shots but from much too far away to be able to exact a kill. As a result most of the remaining kangaroos within miles had heard the shots and taken off. They remembered though that Uncle George had told them they needed a spotlight and the dark of night to be able to get close enough to get off a head shot and take down a giant red.

“Geez, we’ll just have to kill some time till tonight, Will,” said Sean.
“Yeah, mate. Would be good if we could get some sleep but it’s too bloody hot to sleep out here. Hey, look at that sign!”

They had just crossed a grid on the road with barbed wire fence stretching away from it on either side – a property boundary. A large white sign with bold red letters announced the name of the property they were entering. “CALENDOON” read the sign, some 200 yards distant. Had the boys done some research they would have known they were entering one of the largest sheep and cattle properties in South-West Queensland. In this part of the world public roads went through private property and single properties half the size of the state of Vermont were not uncommon.

Sean had pulled over to the side of the dirt road and grabbed the rifle from behind the seat. He took careful aim and fired blasting a hole just off center in one of the “O”s in the sign. A few more shots and a few more well placed holes in the “O” resulted. Will took his turn and placed a shot inside of the second “O” and was about to fire off his second shot when the boys noticed a cloud of dust approaching. Earlier in the day they had stopped to greet and chat with the occupants of other passing vehicles so were not surprised when Charlie pulled up and got out. Charlie was typical “cockie” as landowners in the outback were known. Even though he had barely turned forty his skin was bronzed and wrinkled from the sun. On his head he wore the wide brimmed felt hat, his shirt was brown with the two large chest pockets, and he his shorts were trim and neatly supported with belt and buckle. He wore the elastic sided riding boots with socks rising a few inches higher on his ankles.

“Gidday!” he greeted. “How ya goin? Orright?”

“Yeah, mate. Orrright!” Sean replied.

“Doin’ a bit o’ shootin’ are yez?” enquired Charlie.

“Yeah. Just killin’ a bit of time till we can get amongst ‘em tonight,” said Will.

“Nice lookin’ rifle ya got there!” said Charlie.

“Yeah. It’s our uncle’s. A semi-automatic,” offered Sean.

“Mind if I take a shot with ‘er?” asked Charlie.

“No worries mate! Go for it,” said Will, passing the rifle though the window of their Ute.

Charlie held the weapon in his hands for a few seconds appreciating its beauty and the feel of the wood trim around the barrel. He glanced at the clip to see three rounds available and one in the chamber. With a flick of his wrist he turned the end of the barrel back the way it had come and in through the window of the ute towards its roof over the driver’s head. With his finger on the trigger he squeezed off four quick shots, blasting four holes through the roof of the ute.

Will catapulted back into his brother’s lap amid the smoke and smell of burnt roof lining and torn metal.

“What the hell are you doin’ you stupid bastard? That’s our ute!” he exclaimed.

Charlie threw the rifle into his lap, and smiled as he pointed toward the “O”’s in Calendoon. “Yeah. And that’s my sign!”

He turned climbed back into his vehicle and drove away with a wave of his hand accompanied by a friendly “Gidday!”