Long Game - behind the scenes - Part 2

Long Game (Women of W.A.R. Book 2) comes out on the 20 Feb, which isn't too long away at all.

Cress and Quin come from Grong Grong in the Riverina region of NSW. I wrote a blog post about how I made that choice, which you can read here.

All the Women's AFL teams are in capital cities, so Cress had to move to Sydney to play for the Sirens. Rather than the usual "fish out of water" trope where the city girl moves to the country, Cress is the country girl moving to the city.

I grew up in Sydney but left in my early 20s. I've done a lot of the popular tourist attractions as a country person visiting the city. When I was trying to work out how to show Cress as a 'fish out of water' I thought about showcasing some of the popular tourist attractions.

Bridge Climb sprang to mind. I've done it a few times and it's pretty amazing. When I thought about doing a Bridge Climb, it triggered an idea that Cress could have a love for the Sydney Harbour Bridge itself, and have a thread of that running through the story.

I've been really lucky with choosing days to do the Bridge Climb. I've done 2 day trips, and a night one. All have been magnificent weather, which was lucky! Once was windy, but I'm not sure which time that was (maybe the night one), and it wasn't too frightening at all.

I loved the views of the Bridge and the Harbour. I think it's one of the most magnificent places in the world - and strangely enough, so does Cress!

Here are a few photos of my climbs. I've blurred my companions' photos, so please don't think I went up with strange aliens!

The day climbs gave the stunning views of the Harbour... but the night climb gave the beauty of the city lights. I'm not sure which was my favourite!

Have you done a Bridge Climb?

Childhood Memories Part 1

I've been reflecting on memories from childhood. I think this might take a few posts, so here's part 1.

Da cleaning blackfish, Woy Woy ~1983

My clearest childhood memories are of holidaying, and fishing, with my grandfather. And also our own holidays, each May, where Dad and I fished. Yet these aren't strong memories for my sister. I began to wonder why.

My grandparents used to rent a holiday cottage at Woy Woy, on NSW central coast, for 6 weeks in February-March each year. Relatives were allocated time slots for holidaying with them. We had a weekend slot. Nanna was one of 7 or 8 kids; and Da one of 5 or 6 (can't quite remember but it is written down!). Their brothers/sisters were invited (and with kids if they lived with them). Dad and his brother and sister had slots. A few very good friends also had invitations. I'm not sure that Nanna and Da spent any time alone on their holidays. It was always like this.

The holiday house I remember had a wharf out the front (it was probably a pre-requisite for their booking) and many hours were spent on that wharf fishing. When I reached the age of 13, I was allowed to go out in the boat black fishing (proper name of the fish is Luderick but I didn't know that for many years) with Da and Dad. That age could not come quickly enough even if Dad took us out fishing sometimes. Fishing with Dad was all well and good, but it wasn't black fishing with Da.

Da died when I was 23, so I only had 10 years of fishing with him. At most 2 days/year, so 20 days. I don't remember each trip in detail. I remember a few instances. It's more the whole feeling those days inspired that is my memory.

Those weekends were filled with fishing, and fishing-related activities. I can see myself siting next to Da on the divan on the corridor into the place. He has his legs wide apart, huge arthritic knees prominent, and he's bending over to the green weed that's on a hessian bag between his feet that are encased in his scuffed old slip ons. He's sorting the green weed into good stuff for bait, and bad stuff for burley. He's explaining to me what he's doing, or grouching at me for asking too many damn questions. My head is filled with that fresh, briny smell of the weed, and a scent that is my grandfather's.

Then we check the rods. Check the gear. I'm his shadow, peppering him with questions even as he growls at me. He gives me jobs to do, and I feel so important (and now I realise, he was probably giving me something to do so he had a break from me!). I built impressive sandcastles so he could mix in his 'bad' weed to make burley. They had to be just the right size, and then flattened on top. It took me years to master the art to his specifications and damn, did I feel proud when he praised my sandcastle. (Now I know you just mix sand with weed, there's no magic in the sandcastle specifications!). I'd then take his precious little trowel and fill a 'sugar bag' with the burley that he'd mixed through my sandcastle. I don't think he ever allowed me to mix it - or maybe when I was an adult once! I had to get ever skerrick of weed - heaven help me if I left any behind.

He growled. He grouched. He yelled. He argued. I was always striving to do what he needed. I was always pretty sure of his love - even if he was incredibly grouchy, and sometimes scary!

I remember when quite young, getting up early and sliding into bed with Nanna and Da. My sisters and I loved that intimacy (is that the right word?) It was when Nanna protected us from Da's teeth that sat in a glass beside his bed and could jump out and bite us at any moment! Little did we know that Nanna's teeth were also in a glass nearby but hidden, and she didn't drop them off her gums and clack them in her mouth like Da did, terrifying us!

We always ate fish when we arrived. Fresh fish that Da had caught. A special fish for my sister who didn't like black fish and only ate bream. Nanna kept her fillet aside. It wasn't until I was well into my teens that I asked how Da always caught a bream for my sister when he only ever fished for black fish - I was sworn to secrecy!

Those weekends were filled with love and contentment. They nurtured me. I knew they were special. I treasured them. Yet, they occurred 23 times, at most. That's only 46 days. Many of those I'd not remember. I'm almost 50 years old now, and those memories are so very clear, yet those weekends haven't happened in 26 years. It seems crazy to have such strong memories about something that occurred so long ago and happened so infrequently.

Yet,  they were times when I could be myself. I could be outdoors, mix with the men, learn practical things that seemed important to survival, dress how I was most comfortable. I had space, freedom, and time to sit and think, or talk and question. They were days I cherish.

What are your strongest childhood memories?

View of Sydney

I was at Taronga Zoo on the chair lift thing, and snapped this view of Sydney and the Harbour.

It's always stunning!

Oops & Cringes #10 - work "accidents"

We had a 4 wheel motor bike (ATV) for the field trial I worked on. I loved scooting around on it, once I got used to it. One day, just before harvest we were busy and our boss came to 'help' - L often said it was like bringing and extra person and being 3 men down.

I was doing quad cuts on our crop paddocks, which meant cutting a set area of the crop right down at ground level, then taking that back to work to weigh, then thresh and measure the amount of seed. So I cut them and then put them in a labelled bag.

My boss had the ATV and came to give me a lift back to the shed for lunch. This was before OH&S was huge. So, I had my crop cuts tucked under my arm and I had to stand on the peg of the ATV, and hang onto the spray tank at the back. My boss rode a motorbike to work, and he was the ultimate absent-minded professor as well as being not terribly practical or useful, so I wasn't feeling real safe, but I had no success arguing I could walk back. So I was hanging on...for dear life!

My boss went whipping up along the track, and then went to change gears, which you just did - this bike had no clutch...but the boss's own bike had a clutch, so he grabbed what he thought was the clutch, except it was the brake. So the bike came to a screaming halt but not me, I went flying off...

And I hear the boss yelling, 'Don't drop the cuts, don't drop the cuts.'

Yep. He booted me off the bike, but gave not a thought to my safety.

Sprawled across the ground, I was trying to get my breath, and the boss came over all concerned. 'Oh, thank goodness,' he says, 'you hung onto them'. And I had. The crop cuts were fine. Me, well, no damage, but I don't think my boss would have noticed if I'd been hurt!

Oops & Cringes #9 - more horses

Pippa, my gorgeous first horse

After last week, you'd be forgiven if you thought I never rode again. But I did. I was given my very own horse - through Pony Club - and she brought me such joy for about a year, and I learned to ride...but I still wasn't all that flash!

I was between horses. My childhood dream of owning a horse was cut short when my first horse got cancer at aged 7, and had to be put down. My heart wasn't just broken it was shattered into a bazillion pieces and stomped all over.

My horsey friends rallied. They knew that horses died and broke your heart, but they also knew that it didn't break you, and there'd be another horse. Until then, they made me ride and be around horses.

Ed was a veteran cutting horse, over twenty, who had won more events than I would ever know. A quiet, unassuming little Appaloosa mare who was easily the best horse I'm ever likely to ride.

Ed was smooth. Her gait was so easy it was like she wasn't moving. Cantering usually terrified me, but Ed's canter was like being on a rocking horse...and those Western saddles sure helped!

I rode Ed a few times out on a trail ride after I'd had a few lessons in the paddock. We got along well. Ed knew more than I did, and she appreciated that I understood that. She wouldn't canter unless I was balanced and sitting deep in the saddle. I could ask her to canter all I liked but she'd only do so when I was doing the right thing. With Pippa, my first horse, I schooled her over and over until she got things right...well, Ed did that to me.

Ed was so good, I think if I was falling off, she would have sidestepped to catch me up again.

One day, B and V, Ed's owners, suggested I help out with some cattle work. They had a dozen new steers they wanted to move and thought it would be a different bit of riding for me. I was keen for anything they'd teach me.

B & V were doing the majority of the work on young horses they were training. I was bringing up the rear on Ed. It was pleasant, interesting to watch them push their horses. And then a steer broke for the mob and Ed fairly rippled beneath me. It was all the warning I had but I heeded it.

I hung on, while Ed did what she was trained to do. She spun, she sidestepped, she danced, she cantered, and she cornered this steer, spun him, and herded him back to the mob. It was the most exhilarating ride of my life. I did nothing but hang on and try to remain balanced, Ed did everything, including keeping me on her back.

I was almost whooping when we got back with that rogue steer. B and V were open mouthed. They couldn't believe how good we'd looked - and that I was still on! I wish I could take some credit but I can't. I know I was there only because Ed was happy to have me with her...and God was looking favourably on me that ride. It was a ride made in heaven!

Oops & Cringes #8 - horses

I was a horse mad kid but growing up in Sydney wasn't the place for a horse, or even much riding. But I did go riding on some trail rides as I grew up and I loved it. When I moved to Wagga Wagga, one of my aims was to own a horse and learn to ride and care for it. The first people I stayed with had horses, but they weren't keen to teach an adult to ride. And then I met a lady through work who not only was willing to teach me, but had a pony I could learn with.

So I met Shiralee. A beautiful buckskin pony who was close to twenty years old, and much smarter than me.

I had a few lessons at home, and then I went to Pony Club. I was worse than a kid. I was so excited to be at Pony Club, something I'd only ever dreamed of doing. So here I am, 23 years old, on a pony, in the beginner's class. And Trixie, Shiralee's best friend, was in the advanced class. They weren't happy. While I struggled to hang out and keep in the circle and do what I was told, Shiralee bellowed out to her friend, and Trixie made little calls back.

Shiralee wasn't happy. She was bored with whatever simple stuff I was struggling to learn. She wanted to be with her friend but we were separated and mothers blocked her from going to Trixie. So what's a girl to do?

When you're struggling to learn, you try so hard to do what you're told and you really aren't thinking of anything else. Shiralee was bored and cranky, and she wanted to go home.

So off she went.

Knowing I could barely handle anything above a walk, she did just that, a jig-jog walk, out of the circle, out the gate and down the road towards home (just two blocks). Mothers called out. Instructors called out. I had to kick her, turn her, dig in my heels, grab the reins. The list of shouts seemed endless. All I could do was hang on...and Shiralee knew it.

Before the end of the first block, two mothers caught me, and took hold of the bridle and led me back to Pony Club. To say I was mortified was an understatement. Most of the kids were under 8 and they could control their horses, me...not at all, and I was 3 times their age.

To add to my mortification, one of the kids came up to me after I returned and said, "Oh, you're so lucky your Mum's not here. I would have been grounded for a week if I did that."

I kept going to Pony Club, but they locked the gate after my escape!

Oops & cringes #7 - Truck licence

When I'd been at Wagga a few years, my job contract was ending and I needed to look for a new one. Most of the funding was for 3 year terms, and you had to apply and be successful to continue your employment, there was no staff pool, or rollover into a new job.

They guys I worked with were awesome and were always teaching me something new...and I was keen to learn, always, because I felt I was so far behind. So when they decided that I should get my truck licence, it seemed like a great idea.

I failed my Ls first go...I'd only been driving for 6 years or something and failed the stupid test! What a fool. I got the No Stopping and No Standing signs confused and it was a compulsory question. Not the best start. But next time was sweet - thank goodness!

Driving the truck was easy after the rules test. Well, once I got a pillow to prop me up on the seat so I could see, and reach the pedals!

The guys used to take me around the research station, driving in between trial plots, reversing in and out of sheds and gates, up and down the car parks - and all the while on the two-way, the farm manager would be saying, 'Get off the road, Cath's in the truck,' and the receptionist would be saying, 'You leave that girl alone, she's having a good go'.

When I went to get my licence, I drove into town and did my test, and passed. Driving back to the Ag station, I heard over the two-way, 'Congratulations to Cath, who got her truck licence, even if it doesn't count because the examiner was a girl.'

And I think that nearly broke those guys, a girl was driving a truck, and another girl had tested her - women were taking over the world.