Bill the Cockie

11.28.01 | 11:53 PM ET

Not far from Broome, in the north of Western Australia, termite mounds rise from the earth and spinifex weeds tumble across vast plains that fall off the edge of the horizon. It is a merciless land, colored ochre red. Kangaroos seek shelter from the relentless heat during the day, and the red bull ants, given a chance, strip the flesh off any perished creature. The flies are persistent in their annoyance. They find an orifice and they crawl in.

It was on a lonely stretch of dirt road out there, along the supposed main highway, that my old Toyota truck decided enough was enough. The water in the radiator, which was full of holes, had steamed away.

Stopping in the outback because of vehicle problems is a frightening experience, especially when you are alone, only 17 years old, without a driver`s license, inexperienced in the bush, and restricted in the knowledge of vehicles and their maintenance. I knew how to put water into a radiator, and petrol into a tank, but I had used up all my spare water that I had brought for the journey. I scanned the pot-holed road in both directions for any sign of a vehicle, but there was none. I was trapped in a wilderness I knew nothing about.

Slumping down in the shade of the truck, I tried in desperation not to think of the stories that I had heard—men being eaten by dingoes, head-hunting Aboriginals, poisonous snakes and scorpions. Instead I thought of slowly dying of thirst as ants ate my flesh. I felt like crying, even screaming for help, but I knew nobody would hear. In the shade of the truck, I watched the clouds pass, and I jumped at everything that moved. Even the ants.

“Ya got a problem boy?”

I opened my eyes to see a man leaning against the truck. He was unshaven and his soiled, perspiration-soaked hat shaded his eyes. He wasn`t smiling. I recalled what my father once told me—`In this country, son, always worry if a man doesn`t smile.` I shuffled back, red dust rising from the seat of my pants. Suddenly I remembered the tale one of my friends told me about the madman who roams the wilderness, searching for living things to eat. My heart beat fast.

“Say something, boy,” he said. “Did the flies take your tongue?”

I stood up, brushed the dust from the back of my shorts, wiped the perspiration from my brow with the back of my hand, and smiled.

“Flies got ya tongue!” the man replied, laughing. “Me names Bill and I live hereabouts. Ya truck stuffed eh, boy?”

“Well…er…yes.”

Bill walked around the truck and kicked the tires.

“What`s the problem, boy?”

“Water,” I replied, almost shouting. “My name is Barrie and…”

“It`s a good thing I found ya, boy. Otherwise you`d be dead come morning,” he said. “Look at ya. You`re scared of your own shadow and you`re in the shade. I`l be back soon. Probably come night by then.”

I wondered where Bill would actually go to obtain water. Barren, open plains surrounded me. Returning to the shade, I slumped onto the ground again. I fought with the flies and wished I had a friendly dingo for company. Alas, only my imagination and the emptiness of the landscape stretched before me.

Hours passed before I heard a rumble in the distance. It wasn`t long before a semi-trailer, a cattle truck, pulled up alongside my old Toyota truck. It wasn`t Bill.

“You okay?” the truck driver yelled through the window of the cabin.

“Actually, no,” I replied. “I need water, but this man he was here before and…”

The driver interrupted. “Bill the cockie. You`ll be all right lad.”

“What`s a cockie?” I shouted as he drove off. My words got lost in the stillness.

Dusk had begun to fall when Bill returned. He spoke little as he filled the radiator. The water can was still half full when Bill had finished and he placed it into the back of my truck.

“That`ll get ya to Broome, boy,” he said. “A bit of advice. Always treat this land with respect and never underestimate it. It`ll kill ya. This ain`t your land or even mine. We just look after it for her. Mother Nature demands respect. If you don`t give her that, then chances are you will surely die out here.”

Then he disappeared.

As I drove on to Broome, the ochre-red landscape turned a purplish-blue, tinged with orange. The ghost gum trees stood silent, and the stillness filled me with a kind of tranquility. A peace, if you like. I thought about what Bill said, the warning he had given me, and it all made sense. Wherever I was going to travel in the future, as I was determined to do in the lifetime ahead of me, I vowed that I would always respect the land and its people. It was only common sense, of course, that you should never underestimate any of nature`s elements, whether good or bad. I didn`t realize it at the time, but Bill had given me a gift.

I returned to virtually the same area this year, 25 years after I`d fatefully broken down. As I sat in my VW Kombi Van scanning the horizon, my first thought was of Bill. I had a gift for him: I wanted to thank him for what he had taught that inexperienced 17-year-old boy back in the dust and heat of nowhere. Since our meeting, I had traveled around Australia ten times using all modes of transport. I lived and traveled by his code of wherever I went. I wanted to tell him I had even learned that a cockie was a farmer. I knew he would laugh at my naivete—just as he did when we first met all those years ago.

I drove the outskirts of Broome hoping to stumble upon Bill. I finally entered a petrol station and inquired as to his whereabouts. I was informed that he was still out there, somewhere, a lot older and just as mysterious. It was good to know.

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