BRUMBY DREAMTIME
‘Just go,’ I said to myself. It was time. And so I did, to the Kosciuszko National Park in search of the wild Brumbies—a boyhood dream finally being realised. I promised myself that I would not begin the search with any expectations and instead would just enjoy the experience. But what unfolded over those few weeks in January 2008 would prove to be the holiday of a lifetime for a lover of horses.
My destination on the first day was the historic Currango Homestead on the Port Phillip Trail on the eastern side of Tantangara Reservoir. A Ranger had told me there was a small group of Brumbies that hung about in the area and this was confirmed by a group of bush walkers arriving back after a day of hiking, who said they had just disturbed a group whose path they had crossed on the walking trail. In a flash, the Brumbies had taken off onto the sweeping plain in front of the homestead. This was Currango Plain and it was to be my playground on many days during my search.
I scurried to the car for my camera and took off in earnest to find the herd they spoke of. Two hundred metres from the homestead, I spotted them and approached the group from the north while keeping a keen eye out for any reaction. My mind was a flurry of frenzied chatter: ‘What will happen when they become aware of me? Will my intrusion be met with aggression? Are any of the yarns about stallions attacking people true?’
Very quickly my presence was discovered, with the leaders of the herd suddenly rising and turning towards me. A bay stallion gathered himself, every muscle rippling as he moved towards me. I broke out in goose bumps and could feel the hair on my neck stand up. Tears welled in my eyes and I felt strangely disconnected from my body. I stopped moving, overwhelmed by his presence. His advance terminated 20 metres from me. Surprisingly he then wheeled away to return to his mob. Daylight was evaporating but my destination for the next day was certain. I had to come back.
The next day as I drove slowly up the winding road to Currango Homestead, I was only too happy to stop while a Brumby herd casually wandered across the road. As I sat watching them through the windscreen, a magnificent black stallion bounced out onto the gravel road. Prancing high on his hooves, head tipped skyward, he turned in my direction as if to ask, ‘Who is this intruder?’ The black stallion advanced towards the car, pulling up about 20 metres away as the bay stallion had done. He was close but not too close, and stared straight at me before returning to his herd.
As the mob re-entered the bush I quickly followed on foot without a second thought. Looking for anything that I could use as a landmark to guide me back, I entered the bush, moving quietly. If I stayed a safe 20 metres behind them, it seemed I was able to observe them without unsettling them. I settled back, admiring the sire and his herd, taking photos as they foraged about, always making sure I did not move inside their exclusion zone. They were a beautiful mix of blacks, bays and chestnuts with a number of foals at foot, gloriously sprawled among the snow gums of Tantangara Mountain.
After a couple of magical hours I decided to move on. But on arriving back at the car I noticed that their grazing trail seemed to cross back over the road by my car. So I steadied myself, raised my camera and waited. It was a sight I’ll never forget: the black stallion and his matriarch standing among the snow gums looking straight at me. Realising that I might be holding them up, I retreated a short distance. Once again comfortable that the exclusion zone had been re-established, they crossed the road and moved on through the bush. The midday sun was scorching, but I was determined to enjoy more of this herd’s company, so, grabbing my backpack, I followed.
Some hundred metres into the bush they slowed and pulled up from grazing. A chestnut mare backed onto a tree and started rubbing her rump. Another found a lateral branch and started rubbing her neck in a sawing motion that obviously gave her relief. This done, they settled under the shade of the trees and relaxed, their left or right hind hoofs cocked, a foal lazily dropping to its knees; they were drifting into Brumby dreamtime, gifting me with their presence.
It was getting too late to pursue the bay stallion and his mob, but I was determined to see them again. However, due to a swift change in weather conditions and the dangerous roads I had little choice but to wait a few days before I could return.
It was a crisp, early morning when I made my way back to Currango Plain. After hiking a couple of kilometres, I pulled up on a rise and spotted what appeared to be moving groups of specks all over the plain. They had to be Brumbies. I quickly put my camera to my eye and, sure enough, there they were—multiple herds grazing in every direction. I scanned back towards Currango and there to the north-east of me was my quarry: a small group of Brumbies about half a kilometre from the homestead. I veered left across the creek, heading in their direction. The ground was undulating and on top of every rise I expected to see them, but it wasn’t until the fourth hilltop that I could see them in the trough below.
Image 34: With the stallion nearby, a chestnut mare and foal feel safe to rest.
The stallion spotted me as soon as I arrived and quickly pranced toward me, neck arched, ears and eyes focused. He arrived at the invisible 20-metre mark, and then, as if suddenly realising it was only me, completely relaxed and just stood there looking inquisitive. I took a few shots of him then lowered the camera as he wheeled to the right, taking up a stance with his back to me that left me virtually between him and his group. I was bewildered. He twitched his tail and shook his head to rid himself of the March flies, then lowered his head to the ground and calmly headed back to the herd.
As the Brumby herd grazed, I moved along with them, slowly reducing the gap between us. They seemed a bit used to me now and unbothered by my presence. A yearling filly with the group even lowered herself to the ground and rolled on her back for a good scratch. It was as if they had decided to trust me.
I moved ahead of the group so I could get frontal shots, and the herd followed, coming closer as if I had summoned them. Forty metres, 30 metres, 20 metres ... then, just 10 metres from me, they stopped. An older foal peeled away from the group and came even closer. The stallion’s ears and eyes remained alert and pointed in my direction, as the little foal inched closer and closer, staring at me as if to say, ‘Who is this two-legged horse that’s joined our herd?’ If my reach had been 30 centimetres longer I could have patted him on the nose! Instead, I simply sat there enjoying the moment.
As they retreated I followed quietly, admiring their beauty. It had been a long day and as I turned back for one last look it felt as if the stallion, his youngest colt at his side, was saying, ‘This is my boy. Take a photo.’ What a magic photo it was, and what a magic moment. A dream of a lifetime fulfilled.
Image 35: The bay stallion of Currango Plain proudly shows off his new colt.
Image 36: A stockman cares for his Brumby after a long day of work.