Working on a WA Sheep Station
During my time in Australia, work always seemed to come in the knick of time. I was in Carnarvon with two friends who had given me a lift from Perth, living with them in a camper, and down to my last $10. I couldn't even afford to get a single beer from the Bottleshop and was living off of celery and blue cheese. The three of us had arrived at the town's hostel to find that there was no work, as promised. We decided to have a look on our own but had no luck as none of the fruit in the area was ready to be picked.

As a last ditch effort, we got a phonebok listing all the stations in the northern WA area and started calling. We finally found one station who needed a cook, and as my two friends were bound together by their car, the job was mine.

I was picked up the following afternoon by Dave, the owner of Wooramel Station located about 4 hours south of Carnarvon. His car was packed with supplies, everythig from food to a new tire. Dave is a very politcal guy and was in town for some Liberal conference, but he and his wife rarely go up to Carnarvon.

Never having been on a station, I was really curious about what I was getting myself into. It was pretty much what I expected... dusty, barren land with a small settlement close to the road. The property borders Shark Bay to the west and went inland hundereds of kilometres. There had been a drought that year and the land was pretty much completely dirt with very little grass, leaving the sheep to feed on scrub.

Margo, Dave's wife, had been bitten by a snake earlier that year and was still weak from the venom. She had to take it easy and as a result needed someone to cook, clean, and do some gardening. The job was very straight forward, simple meals of mutton and vegitables with the occasional spag bol or curry thrown into the mix. After giving me some help at the beginning with the cooking, Margo pretty much left me to get to it and didn't interfere at all.

The station is located over a water source and with the flick of a switch it's pumped into a huge water tower. There's a small shop up the road, cable TV, and a computer with Internet access. Groceries were ordered weekly by myself and brought in by a shipping company. Though isolated by hundereds of kilometres, it somehow never felt that way.

I only had seven people at most to cook for, but it was rare that everyone would be at the station at once. There were a couple people who worked with the grapes, a station hand, a handyman, Margo, Dave, and myself. I was a bit wary of the guys at first as they were really country and rough as anything, but I soon warmed up to them and they were all really nice. It was great to be able to get an insight into station culture and I enjoyed hearing their stories of getting lost on the station, fishing in the ocean, and just life there in general.

My day would start at 6am and the morning would be spent doing general chores around the house, cleaning the pool, and gardening. They lived in a simple bungalo but had all modern conveniences. After a two hour break I'd start preparing the meal at 2pm. Mutton was on the menu almost every day. Glen the station hand would kill two sheep every few weeks, so the meat was always nice and fresh. I was paid $300/week with room and board included and was able to save pretty much all of the $1500 I'd earned.

If you're looking for an unusual experience that shows you a different side to Australia, then try to find some work on a station. My two friends I'd left in Carnarvon eventually got work on a station up in Kunnunarra, one as a nanny and one as a cook. If you call around you're bound to find something, or I know there are agencies that will train you as a Jack/Jilleroo and find a job for you.

Kirsty Henderson
June 2002