mrsmackpaul

This may well be the case, I dunno, it gave me a chuckle Paul

Yep, nailed it 🦘

Not my piccie, but guess what happened here Paul

Welcome aboard James Don't be shy to share questions and photos etc We (the forum) can help solve things and are only to willing to help Paul

Yes, I think we all are Paul

They pulled them (weeping willows) out in Australia as the choke our stream and rivers We had them on the farm but drought and laser leveling sorted them out

Seriously, well done I dunno if Trump is any good or not, he does however have a proven track record I hope your country gets it's shit sorted now and gets back on track Good luck with the future Paul

That's the go Paul

6 cylinder power, now your talking my language Thats a good time, faster than anything I have ever done Inline 6 cylinders were all the go in Australia up until the end of Australian manufacturing The barra Ford 6 cylinder was probably the freatest 6 cylinder ever made Anyway I do prefer the old 250 cross flow Ford 6 cylinders Impressive car and time, no good about your mates eye site Paul

Great news, so well and truely worth pulling the transmission It is a big job if you haven't done it before, if you have done it, it is a big job Now you know a lot more about the truck and the transmission A great result Paul

Im surprised no one has made a machine to push the leaves into tight bricks you can burn in the fire place There used to be machines baxk in the early 80s that people put their old news papers through Haven't seen them for years Paul

This was a realisation a few years ago for me So I decided no more, no more asking permission, make sure the jobs are done and the bills are paid and so on The Princess was not impressed with my new attitude, she is much better now, I'm not a prick about I just don't ask permission anymore Paul

Great to learn a bit of history, even better when it's family history Paul

Need to take a step or two back and get a photo of the whole vehicle Paul

I saw this a couple of weeks ago A great old film Paul

On a different note, the next area of hay is getting it's last irrigation, all gravity flood irrigation here 24th September, paddock topped and fertilized and getting a drink Today, the old "dissapearing Miss Molly the border collie trick" Poor old Miss Molly is getting old and spent the rest of the day in "I'm knackered mode" Still sad to me dogs don't live longer Paul

I am reading the replies and quoting Brocky as he has been on Australia's main highways and I probably guessing Brocky could tell you all that Australia's main highways are back roads by world standards I have read about when Peterbilt tricks were sold in Australia in the 60's and how and head man from Peterbilt bailed on truck and driver between Adelaide and Melbourne as we are all half mad zooming about on shit roads with little to no shoulder on the road Once night time falls and it gets to maybe 9.30 - 10.00 most roads a few hours from big cities you won't pass another vehicle in every half a hour so Get out a little further west and it's every couple of hours Hence our big bull lights punching into the darkness Are our roads as back woulds as I think ?, Brocky maybe best to answer that I can tell you there is nothing like pushing out into the darkness, hour after hour and just hearing the truck purring away as you drag a couple of trailers along It really is special Paul

I dunno Bob, I have been getting the silent treatment all week, not sure if I should fix what ever I have done or enjoy the peace and quiet Have done a few kitchens over the years, new ones aren't made with proper wood and hinges seam to come a drift pretty easily Happy cabinet making Paul

I guess a lot depends on were you are in this wide brown land If you wanna just pull fridge vans then possibly just contact some larger fleets, a lot of them use a percentage of tow operators Owner Driver newspaper/magazine used to have this type of stuff in it Brokers I don't think exist anymore that I know of, probably haven't for 20-30 years Just jump on the phone when your ready and ring around Most companies want late model trucks towing their trailers Paul

This why it's so good out here, our trees don't drop their leaves At least our native trees don't Paul

Sorry about the links not working, but worth watching if you can find them Anyway out of net wrap so hay making stopped in the wee small hours Paul

He played two characters in the film and was one of the main actors, if not the main actor Paul

No Brock, Banjo Patterson was a poet and wrote the poem that started the movie and so on Banjo wrote, Waltzing Matilda, Clancy of the over flow and many more They were really well known poems when I was a kid and we learnt them off by heart as kids in school Back when were proud of our country and our history It's a lengthy read "The Man From Snowy River" There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That the colt from old Regret had got away, And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far Had mustered at the homestead overnight, For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight. There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, The old man with his hair as white as snow; But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up - He would go wherever horse and man could go. And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, No better horseman ever held the reins; For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand, He learnt to ride while droving on the plains. And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, He was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least - And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die - There was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, And the old man said, "That horse will never do For a long a tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you." So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend - "I think we ought to let him come," he said; "I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, For both his horse and he are mountain bred. "He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough, Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough. And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, Where the river runs those giant hills between; I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen." So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump - They raced away towards the mountain's brow, And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump, No use to try for fancy riding now. And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, If once they gain the shelter of those hills." So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing Where the best and boldest riders take their place, And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, And off into the mountain scrub they flew. Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black Resounded to the thunder of their tread, And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, No man can hold them down the other side." When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull, It well might make the boldest hold their breath, The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear. He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat - It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, At the bottom of that terrible descent. He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, With the man from Snowy River at their heels. And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. He followed like a bloodhound on their track, Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, And alone and unassisted brought them back. But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur. And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, The man from Snowy River is a household word today, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride. The Bulletin, 26 April 1890.