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“But, we’d have to share the shepherd’s hut,” I ground out, gripping the back of a chair.
Wasn’t there only one bunk now at the hut?
“When was the last time any of us have been to the shepherd’s hut?” Stacey asked, oblivious to my one-bed predicament.
“Goodness, for me, it was before you were born,” Mum said. “It’s always been rustic. We had a shepherd living there when your father and I married. After he passed away, no one’s stayed in the hut for more than two or three days. It will be freezing, Tom.”
“I stayed up there with Pete for a weekend in summer before uni started. No leaks with the rain we had. Everything was in working order. Water in the tank, too.”
But Pete had a swag and a sleeping pad and had been happy to camp on the floor, despite the risk of mice.
“The hut is my base. It has a holding pen with roof intact during summer. Fences are good too. I’ll take some tools with me just in case things need repairs.”
Stacey pouted. “Wish I could go with you. I’d love to see the hut. Maybe I’ll get up there in spring.”
“You’ll need an axe, at least,” Mum added. “I doubt there’s any pre-cut firewood.”
I slowly let the air push through my nostrils. Did the Turner women not know I could pack a bag and supplies?
“Yes, Mum.”
“Oh, and a handsaw. And some straining wire.”
“Yes, Mum.”
She shot me a wry look. “And some freshly made jam drops by your mother?”
“Hell yes, Mum.” I grinned. “Ladies, I’ll take as many tools and supplies as I can on the quad, but I’ll be leaving it here.” I pointed at a red dot marked on the map of a horse shelter that had a solar pump and water tank beside a gate. “I’ll be going on horseback from here. With Chooky Anderson and his dogs, on the other side of the ridge, we should be able to flush out the missing sheep and get them down the mountain, and into this paddock.”
“Take the satellite phone but it won’t work at the hut.” Ryan said, plonking a radio unit on the table. “You’ll need the shortwave radio for updates from me. I’ll be here on the CB radio network keeping in touch with you, Chooky and the rest of the muster teams when I’m not at the garage. Mum is my backup for the radio when I’m not here.”
I eyed off the size of the radio unit. “I’ve also got the drone and spare batteries. I’ll need a bus to take all this stuff. We need more horses for supplies.”
We debated the best horses for the job and then I paused before trying one last ditch effort to avoid being on a mountain alone with Rosie. “I’ll be slowed down chasing wombats and placing cameras on burrows.”
Ryan frowned. “Frankly, you need Rosie, and her money. End of story.”
I sighed.
Ryan straightened, the conversation over. “Last thing that remains is to see Rosie and check what tech gear she needs packed.”
17
ROSIE
Ballydoon Community Group:
Hayley posted, 2.17 p.m.:
Hi there, Hayley from the Stanmore Star here. The newspaper is running a competition for the best snow sculpture for the ‘Antarctic Blast’ coming our way this weekend. Comment on this post with your location and photos of your snow statues and sculptures and be in the running for great prizes.
I paused on a five-second video of a wombat with her small joey when there was a knock on the Zanetti Winery’s office door.
“Come on in!”
The door opened, and I minimised the video, pleased with the picture quality we were getting. The national park team would be pleased, and it was a welcome distraction from hospital updates and refreshing opera ticket sales.
“Hi there, how can I—oh.”
