Dry and mighty: how a grazier family plans to outrun the drought

IN the heart of drought-stricken Queensland, one family is hanging on for dear life.

LONGREACH, AUSTRALIA - MARCH 18: Nic Walker holds his son Tasman as he walks with Carley Walker and 'Stan' the emu at their property 'Rio Station' on March 18, 2014 in Longreach, Australia. Queensland, AustraliaÕs second-largest state, is currently suffering from its widest spread drought on record. Almost 80% of the region is now declared affected. The Australian government recently approved an emergency drought relief package of A$320m, of which at least A$280m is allocated for loans to assist eligible farm businesses to recover. (Photo by Lisa Maree Williams/Getty Images) *** Local Caption *** Nic Walker; Saxony Walker TWAM 140607

THE summer rains were a cruel lottery for the drought-afflicted graziers around Longreach in central west Queensland.

While Nic and Carley Walker on Rio Station got a paltry 7cm in ­February – and haven’t received a drop since – folks just 30km away have had plenty. Not that Carley begrudges it. “I’m glad for them,” she says. “I’m relieved they’re getting a breather. Everyone gets their turn. There’s no animosity.”

Still, Nic and Carley were relying on the usual rains of February and March to grow all the feed they’ll need to see their animals through the rest of the year. And now they’re kicking into survival mode. They and their three young children will have to nurse their beloved, stricken property through to next February when the rains – surely to God, this time – will come again.

“Survival mode” means getting rid of every last one of their 400 cattle and all but a ­quarter of their 4000 sheep. They’ve managed to sell most of the animals but some, malnourished and in trouble, have had to be shot. As farmers they’ve long been “au fait with life and death”, says Carley, 35 – but having to put bullets in cows and their calves is something else, a heartbreaking act.

So what now? “We’re just bunkering down and putting our stock on the best feed available,” she says. The worrying thing is, when she looks out over the paddocks all she sees is a sea of taupe-coloured grass. “The stalks are so dry and stiff they’ve been puncturing the tyres of the HiLux. And the animals have to eat that.”

The joy of raising their kids – daughters ­Saxony, seven, and Elsa, five, and son Tasman, 11 months – is a welcome distraction. “I’m ­trying to focus on enjoying them while they’re young, and making sure they have fun, rather than ­letting the other stuff interfere too much,” says Carley. And they do have fun, she adds; they’re thriving in the wide open spaces.

She and Nic met at uni in Brisbane in ’99, and married 10 years ago. He was working in the city as a business analyst, but they moved back to the country when Saxony was born. Nic’s fourth-generation on this land; his parents are on the neighbouring property.

Carley, the daughter of artists, grew up in the Brisbane River Valley, northwest of the city. She loves the grazier lifestyle but admits she worries about the long-term future for this type of small, family-run operation (Rio Station, at 9700ha, is boutique by Longreach standards). Diversification is the key. In April, they opened a dog kennel facility in an old machine shed, which is going well judging by all the barking; they’re also exploring tourism possibilities.

“A lot of our problems aren’t unique out here,” Carley says. “There are so many people doing it tougher than us.” She looks for the positives in the tiniest things. Even the colours of this distressed landscape – the grey-brown grass under a pale blue sky – are “really beautiful” in their own way, she says.

And then there’s the pleasure of seeing her old friend, Stan the emu. Five years ago he was an abandoned chick, brought to her door by neighbours who’d found him while out mustering. Carley took him under her wing, raised him. He didn’t even know how to eat at first so she taught him by placing food on the ground and pecking at it with her fingers.

Stan started going walkabout when he was two, and these days he’ll be gone for months at a time before suddenly reappearing at the back door to say g’day (in emu-speak, that’s a low, drum-like booming. “You can always hear him coming,” she laughs). Carley ran into him by chance during the photoshoot. “It was lovely to see him,” she says. “He’s a real character.”

Some of Stan’s wild brethren ventured into Longreach’s main street over the summer – an unprecedented sight – in search of grass and water. ABC News was there to film a daddy emu leading his chicks across the road in front of patiently waiting traffic. It was quirky and cute, but Carley saw in it something else, too: another family’s desperate attempt to outrun the drought. “The reality was, these emus were in town because they were starving to death,” she says. “They had no other choice.”