Flood country Page 4

  Chapter 9

  Around six that afternoon, Jack’s mobile phone rang. It was Pip saying she’d spoken to Mike and things were all good to go in the morning at 6.00 am sharp! Then, to Jack’s surprise, she said, ‘I live a few kilometres out of town on the Kinsley road. If you wanted some more background for your story we could do that over a beer and steak out here. I can tell you some stories about what I see when I’m flying around!’

  Jack thought—what can you say when you’re alone in a small, seemingly hostile country town and a good looking chopper pilot makes you that sort of an offer? He’d be there with bells on!

  He picked up some beer and a bottle of Jacobs Creek red wine—nothing too snobby, he thought—but he did enjoy a drop of red with a steak on the barbeque. He followed Pip’s directions and arrived to the usual welcoming committee of farm dogs and chickens. Pip also had some geese wandering around down toward the river that ran through her property. There was a tired-looking weatherboard house with paint peeling from the window surrounds and Jack could see the old ramshackle outside toilet down toward the river.

  Pip emerged from the house and greeted him with a smile. ‘Jesus, Jack, you stand out like dogs balls in that little solar-powered ‘battery bus’. Here I am trying to keep this get-together quiet and you roll up in that. Why didn’t you put a flashing light on the roof?’ She was laughing now and he noticed that his instincts had been right. Showered, with her hair down and in well-fitted denim jeans, Pip was a very easy woman to look at and he liked her sense of humour.

  While the front of the house was in need of some work, the back wasn’t. There was a huge paved area with a pergola smothered in grapes at one end and fragrant wisteria at the other. The view down to the river was amazing. Jack thought—I could sit down there under that tree with a fishing line and an esky of cold beers, no worries.

  ‘I’m just renting this place while I see if I can make a go of the chopper business. So far, so good, but you might be about to bring that to end,’ she said with a lovely quiet chuckle.

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ said Jack.

  Pip continued, more serious, ‘I did some checking on you, Jack. That’s the only reason you’re here. Mike said you were stupid enough to get your arse shot at with him last night so he thinks you’re to be trusted. But I am puzzled. I googled you and found all these articles written about flashy holiday places. This is a bit outside your comfort zone, isn’t it?’ she said, producing a couple of stubby coolers for the beers.

  Jack was a bit taken aback, not so much that she would check up on him, but that she would tell him so, so directly. Jack remembered from his youth that country people were not into deceptive language and beating around the bush. Got something to say, just say it.

  He answered, ‘Sort of, I’ve started of late to want to do more profile pieces of real Aussies; you know, the unsung hero types. Seen one island resort you’ve pretty much seen them all. People are much more interesting, although I have to admit this story hasn’t gone exactly where I’d expected it to.’

  She laughed again, and offered him a cold stubby. ‘What is it you’re really trying to achieve here? I’ve only been here a year but I do know these guys don’t like having their expectations raised but then be let down by someone they put their trust in. They will expect you to see it through, not cut and run if it gets too hot; and trust me, it will!’ Ominous words yet again, Jack reflected.

  Jack’s reply surprised even him. ‘I’ve decided it’s time to move on from writing fluffy tourism pieces and get back into real journalism. I suppose I want to help make this situation right. I can’t believe what I’ve seen and heard already.’

  They took a walk down to the river—the MacKinley River, Pip told him—and sat under a big old red gum. As dusk arrived and it started to cool just a little the kookaburras chorused, the cicadas chirped and the scene was quite idyllic. ‘So, Jack,’ she said, ‘tell me about yourself. The short story will do because the mozzies will be here soon!’ They laughed.

  ‘It’s pretty boring. Born and bred in the country, down in the Riverina, went to Sydney to study journalism, met someone, we shacked up, got pregnant, got married, it lasted four long years, messy divorce. I’ve got an eight-year-old daughter, Jennifer, who lives with her mother in Melbourne now.’ Could be a game breaker, he thought, but Pip was listening and watching him with genuine interest.

  He continued, ‘I got a job at the Sydney Morning Herald as a junior, and had started to work my way up, but the divorce was awful. She got the house and Jennifer. I got the dog and the car, and both died shortly afterwards. So, I decided to go freelance to give me lots of reasons to get out of Sydney. It does give me opportunities to travel but doesn’t make much money. I’m a bit of a gypsy or nomad these days. What about you?’

  Pip gave him a very serious look and he wondered what was coming. ‘How often do you see your daughter?’ she asked.

  ‘My ex-wife and I get on ok now. She has a new man and he’s good for her. I get Jen every school holidays for a week. Christmas is tough for Jen. She’s an absolute angel.’

  There was a pause in the conversation. An owl began calling quietly nearby, breaking the silence, followed by Pip. ‘Well, my short story goes like this: I’m a Sydney girl, grew up in the snobby areas of the North Shore. Daddy is a real estate mogul and mum does the charity circuit. I realised very early on that I wanted to be a pilot but this wasn’t in my parent’s plan and so I was made to “put that silly idea out of my head”. I went to Uni for a year doing Arts-Law, but dropped out and joined the air force, much to the horror of mum and dad. By now I’d worked out it was choppers I really wanted to fly. In the air force it was tough going, especially for a female. The competition is fierce and women are still seen as desk jockeys not combat soldiers. My mistake was to fall in love with a fellow officer. That sealed it, career gone. Once you hook up with a bloke they reckon it’s only a matter of time before babies start arriving so why invest more in your training?’

  She paused to listen to the owl. ‘It came down to my man or my career. I took the latter, but it was too late. I got cut from the program and was offered an admin job. I politely told them where they could put it. I worked part-time at fast and slow food places to finish my training for a chopper licence, sold up everything I owned, and decided to head west; where I figured there were less things for a chopper to bump into. It’s been good. Pig shooting is great fun and I’m starting to get more work mustering and occasionally some work for Government departments. But I have to tell you, Jack, don’t believe what you see on that Farmer wants a wife show. There is a serious man drought out here!’ she finished with a trademark chuckle.

  Jack liked the sound of that but changed the subject, for now anyway. ‘You said on the phone that you’ve seen some interesting stuff from the air?’

  ‘Oh yeah, one thing choppers give you is a bird’s eye view, but let’s go back up to the house. I don’t know about you but the bloody mozzies are about to carry me away.’

  They returned to the pergola area where the mozzie zapper and coils were doing their thing. Pip disappeared inside. She yelled through the kitchen window, ‘Can you fire up the barbie please Jack.’ A few minutes later she reappeared with a tray laden with a salad, bread, plates and cutlery, and two super-thick sirloins. Yum, Jack thought—on all fronts!

  ‘Care for a red wine,’ Jack offered.

  ‘Just one, thanks. Want to have my wits about me tomorrow.’

  They both liked their steaks cooked rare so in a few minutes they were loading up the plates. Jack brought the conversation back to what Pip had seen from the air.

  ‘Well,’ she said, finishing her first mouthful of juicy steak, ‘out here the cotton growers need huge storages, shallow dams. I’ve often wondered why you’d store water out here in huge flat evaporation basins, but that’s another issue. These structures are a series of connected levee banks to hold the water in like a dam and they have to get a licence from the Water Depar
tment to build one. What I see all the time is that once they’re built—and approved I assume—the heavy equipment comes back and they increase the height of the levees. I guess it’s so they can store more water. I’ve asked people about this practice and they tell me to mind my own business. It’s pretty blatant. When you drive around you see the levees getting higher and higher all the time. I don’t know if it’s legal or not, although it does make you wonder.’

  ‘Do you mind if I take notes,’ he asked, ‘this is gold.’

  ‘Only if you don’t put my name anywhere on it,’ Pip replied.

  Continuing after another mouthful, Pip said, ‘I also see some interesting work done on the channels that they use to move water around. You fly over a spot which is totally dry one day and then miraculously it’s all flooded the next. This is the really blatant stuff. Blokes just go out in their excavators and rip a hole in the side of a major channel to divert water onto their property. Sounds a bit like what we might see tomorrow. This happens a lot when there is an environmental water release, I’m told. Occasionally I fly over a storage that was dry one day and has water the next, and it hasn’t rained. Truly remarkable how localised the thunderstorms can be,’ she said sarcastically.

  Jack was momentarily speechless. ‘Even if only half of this is illegal it’s a disgrace. What are the government people doing about it?’

  Pip stared at him with those lovely eyes, ‘I didn’t tell you this, alright? If you ask certain old-timers around here they’ll tell you stories about how back 20 years or so ago, it was well known that if you wanted a good-sized water licence there was a certain bureaucrat in Sydney you simply had to deliver a new Holden to, and a piece of paper granting the licence would appear in your mailbox a few weeks later. Corruption is entrenched in this industry Jack; and no-one has the balls, politically, to take it on. Don’t underestimate the enemy here.’ Jack felt that surge of adrenalin again—the mixture of fear and excitement—but now it included anger as well.

  Pip looked at her watch. It was nearing 10. ‘We’d better finish our steaks and call it a night. We both need our beauty sleep before our little adventure tomorrow.’

  As he drove back to the motel, Jack was thinking he could’ve sat there all night. It was so easy gazing into those eyes and talking to Pip. There was certainly a chemistry there. At least he thought so.

  Chapter 10

  Jack’s alarm woke him at 5.00 am, groan. He peered out through the curtains. Still pitch black. Why am I doing this, Jack wondered. In his 80s décor room there were a few old biscuits wrapped in clear plastic, some coffee and sugar sachets, some long-life milk packets and a jug—that was breakfast!

  As he headed for the airport, the sun started to creep above the horizon; again giving the most amazing display of red and orange hues and the foreboding of yet another hot and rain-free day.

  Pip was already there doing her preparations. She smiled that smile and suddenly the day seemed brighter and Jack didn’t mind the sleep-deprivation so much any more.

  ‘Hey Jack, this is Jimmy Olsen; Jimmy, Jack.’ Jimmy was a nuggetty Aboriginal bloke about 5’ 8”, with a crop of dark unkempt hair and a tattoo or two visible on each arm. He had a handshake like a vice, but Jack was getting used to that.

  ‘G’day Jack, how are you mate? Hear we’re going to dice with the devil this morning?’ Jimmy said with a smile from ear to ear.

  ‘You could say that,’ Jack replied, ‘hopefully it goes without a hitch.’

  Pip reappeared from the cockpit. ‘Jimmy’s also a stockman on one of the few big holdings we still have around here. He just pig-shoots when things are quiet on the farm. Jimmy knows firsthand what these water thieves get up to, don’t you Jimmy.’

  Jimmy smiled at Pip, ‘Sure do. If we see ’em hard at it, I may have trouble not shooting the mongrels,’ he declared.

  They strapped in, tested their headpiece intercoms and slowly lifted skywards with Pip and Jimmy up front and Jack in the back armed with his camera.

  The sky was now a kaleidoscope of colours and the heat haze was already starting to rise off the flat, dry plains. Pip’s voice came through the headpiece, ‘See that heat haze, Jack, means we’ll get a few bumps working down low. Hope you’re a good flyer? If not, there’s some bags in the back of my seat, right in front of you.’ Oh great, he thought.

  Changing the subject quickly to keep his mind off that topic, he said, ‘What’s the plan here?’

  ‘The place you want to drop in on happens to be close to Bunbung National Park and Jimmy has a contract to cull pigs there, so we’ll go straight there and he can flatten a few first. We’ll then fly back over where you guys had your little altercation the other night. Sound ok?’

  ‘Yep, just give me a couple of minutes warning so I can prime the camera,’ answered Jack.

  ‘Gotcha,’ she replied.

  They flew for about 20 minutes and Jack got a chance to see the huge square water storages Pip was talking about the previous night. He could see the river snaking its way across the arid land. The landscape was criss-crossed with channels, some with water in them, others bone dry. Jack marvelled at a willy willy, a mini tornado of dust, wandering aimlessly across the barren plain. Occasionally they flew over an area that was lush and green and he was now suspicious of these places.

  ‘What’s the go down there Pip?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Thought that might catch your eye,’ said Pip. ‘Don’t assume it’s just the irrigators up to no good out here. Some of the cattlemen install banks to direct water, when it comes, to where they want it. See down there—at about 3 o’clock—that bloke’s got a whole series of banks and levees. God knows if it’s all legal. These people are desperate to survive. Government policies have made anything fair game out here. Survival of the fittest or maybe it’s the sneakiest,’ she said chuckling.

  Appearing on the horizon was a large forested area. It stood out from the surrounding areas where much of the tree cover had been removed, or at least thinned out. Pip said, ‘That’s the National Park so we’ll do a high-level fly over so Jimmy can try to spot where the pigs are and then go in low for him to knock a few over. Hang on, Jack.’

  Jimmy leaned casually out the open door, rifle in hand. ‘There’s a few down there along the swampy area, Pip, as usual. Let’s have a quick look a bit further down where it opens up.’ They flew for a few minutes, and then without a word Pip swung the chopper around and took them down to tree height. These two have done this before, thought Jack.

  Jimmy’s rifle fired three quick shots, and gazing down Jack saw three pigs drop on the spot. The others rushed for cover. Jimmy nailed two more before they could get into the trees.

  ‘Not sure we’ll get another shot. The others will have heard that and gone for cover,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yep,’ she replied, ‘Jack, let’s go drop in on your mates.’ The chopper climbed and they headed east back toward the rising sun.

  ‘Coming up on the left in about five minutes,’ Pip gave Jack a heads up.

  Jack had the zoom lens poised and could feel his pulse quickening. He felt the chopper slow and start to drop. There was a channel directly below them and there in a clearing he could see the huge excavator with caterpillar treads; its big yellow arm resting beside the earthworks. Water was coming down the main channel and then dividing, with some of it now flowing down through the excavated area into a smaller channel. There was an old ute sitting beside it and for one moment Jack feared someone might emerge and starting shooting. No-one did and with the noise the chopper was making it seemed the place was deserted.

  ‘There you go, Jacky boy,’ Pip said, ‘caught red-handed I’d say. I’ll try to swing around so you can get one of the registration plates on the ute. Here we go.’

  The camera was running hot as he took as many photos as he could, including of the utes’ number plate.

  ‘You got what you need?’ Pip asked. ‘I don’t want to hang around too long.’

  ‘Yep, let’s g
et out of here,’ he replied. The chopper rose and they headed back to the airport.

  As the chopper ascended and set course back to Dawson, a car door opened; not on the old ute in the clearing, but a more modern black Land Rover sitting a few hundred metres away in some thick trees and understorey. Vinnie Sutcliffe lowered his binoculars and gazed after the chopper. He reached for his phone and pushed a direct dial number to a mansion overlooking Sydney Harbour. ‘We’ve got serious trouble. Chopper just came and hovered over a site where we’re ‘borrowing’ some water at the moment. There was a bloke taking lots of photos. I assume it’s that nosey journalist.’

  The voice on the other end, replied, ‘Hmm. Not good. Can you give him a serious fright?’

  ‘Sure. How serious?’ asked Vinnie.

  ‘Enough to make him think about his mortality.’ The phone went dead.

  Chapter 11

  Back at the airport, they thanked Jimmy for coming along, and he left with a cheery, ‘Any time you need more help, just let me know.’

  It had only just gone ten o’clock, and Pip and Jack looked at one another. ‘What’s your next move, Jack? Got time for a coffee?’ asked Pip.

  ‘Sure. Would love one,’ he replied, hoping it would be a real coffee and not more motel sachets! They walked into Pip’s office, and there to Jack’s delight was a coffee machine sitting proudly. Pip’s office was not the tidiest he’d ever seen—in fact it was a mess.

  ‘As you can see, I’m not good with the paperwork,’ she apologised, ‘I much prefer being up in the air. How do you like your coffee and don’t say a soy latte or some shit like that. This isn’t Sydney you know.’

  ‘A strong, long black will do nicely thanks.’ Got to love the frankness, Jack thought. ‘I’m thinking I should go back to the motel and download these photos onto my laptop, make sure I’ve got what we need. Then I might go pay Mr Peter Wellsmore a visit. See what he has to say.’