Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2004 13:45:57 +0800 From: James MacMannis Subject: Aboriginal Farmboy / aboriginal-farmboy-11 Author: James MacMannis Subject: aboriginal-farmboy-11 (adult-youth, interracial, rural) Archive; 'Aboriginal Farmboy #11'{James MacMannis}(BB, interr, rural)[] Homosexual, young male sex Adult-youth Interracial Rural setting ABORIGINAL FARMBOY - PART ELEVEN Copyright (c) 2004 by James MacMannis This document may be downloaded for your personal pleasure; however, you may not place the document on a website or reproduce the story for distribution in any media whatsoever without my permission. Please email me at james_macmannis@hotmail.com with constructive comments or criticism. You may also wish to join the Aboriginal Farmboy egroup at aboriginal_farmboy-subscribe@yahoogroups.com. Wayan had already told us in the account of his younger life that being naked was not an issue for him. Now he made the fact obvious to me by stripping his clothes off before he went to brush his teeth and use the toilet. I did not get to see much of his body, except for the nutty brownness of his skin, because we were busy with our various ablutions. Connie led him in to my room shortly after, telling Wayan to get in to one side of me while he slipped in to the other. I lay between them not knowing what was expected of me: Connie seemed to expect me to fill surrogate father role and Wayan was totally unknown. I eased my arms under their necks and drew both boys to me in a loving hug. "It is great to have you here, Wayan. Thanks for telling us your story tonight, although I guess Connie knew a lot of it already. And thanks for being there for Connie. I know you mean a lot to him, and because of that you also mean a lot to me." The two boys had rolled towards me when I embraced them and I felt their hot penises poke into me, Wayan as rigid as Connie and not at all self-conscious in letting me know it. Instinctively I reached down to take hold of them both, their stiff rods pulsing in my grip, their hips surging with that unmistakable thrust that signalled the need for eventual fulfilment. Wayan was equipped with an organ not at all unlike Connie's. It was about 120 mm long and felt as though it was about 90 mm in circumference. I could not determine any other critical details at this stage, but felt the impulsive need to find out more and a confidence that I soon would. I did not have a clear picture of Wayans preferences or inclinations; Connie had never spoken of their relationship any more than to say it existed and, in his narration, Wayan had only said that he had enjoyed being with his cousin. I was not sure if I was expected to begin with Connie and see what developed, or to just wait and let them lead for the time being. Connie made the move to overcome this slight hiatus. Talking quietly in my ear he said, "Just do what you feel like, Dad. Wayan and I do things like you and I did together when I slept with you before. I told him about you, and it was his idea to do this tonight. He really wants to be with you. His father and he have never had any sexual relationship, so, in a way, he want you to take his father's place." I hugged Connie to me to let him know I had a better idea of how to progress. Getting up out of the middle of these two, I brought them together in the space I had occupied and put myself above and facing them, squatting on one each of their legs, my feet between their thighs. They lay partly facing themselves and partly facing me, their penises just touching at the heads as a result of the angle I had tried to achieve. Bending down, I began to tease their rigid tools by licking across the top of each one. Wayan had a loose foreskin, quite different to my boys' tight foreskins, and half of the head was already free of its protective cover. I let my tongue dwell on the glistening head of Wayan's penis, siphoning up a little of the thin precum he was producing, exploring the topography of his manhood with my own curious taste organ. His foreskin slid easily down the stiff shaft of his penis, exposing the head completely. Connie received equal attention when I had finished my cursory examination of the first penis. When they had both began to demand more serious comfort, indicated by a more vigorous throbbing, I tried to take them both into my mouth at the same time. At first it was almost impossible to get enough of their length to make the exercise worthwhile. Thickness was not a problem as neither of the boys was overly massive, but I just couldn't seem to get in a position where I could get much of their shaft into my mouth. Both of them perceived the problem, without a word spoken by any of us, and they began to rearrange themselves so that more of their rods could be shoved into me. At last we found a way to get about two thirds or maybe even three quarters of their length into my now impatient mouth. The two boys were feeling the excitement of being in the warmth of oral cave at the same time as each other. Gently Connie, then Wayan, began a rhythmic push and pull movement, wanking themselves on each other while at the same time receiving the attention of my tongue and sucking mouth. I felt Connie's body movement as he took his lover into his embrace and, as their other needs were being met below, I could hear the sounds of what I imagined was a beautiful kissing encounter. Connie was a little slower than Wayan to arrive at the final stages, but when he felt his companion swell and stiffen to the approaching discharge, Connie, too, attained the mountaintop. Wayan first, then Connie, plunged into me, one naked glans and the other still sheathed and, almost together, they began their orgasm. Both of them were moaning to each other, not in meaningful words and often muffled, but in expressions of joy and rapture as the waves of their orgasm swept along. Twin streams of semen poured out of these smooth textured dark skinned poles and the fluid shot against the rear of my mouth in great gushes, ricocheting from one side to the other as it mixed to form a copious quantity of manly sap. As I swallowed, more was produced and the process continued until they had disbursed enough of the deliciously thick fluid to satisfy my need and completely empty their reserves. They lay gasping for breath when I let them go from me. Wayan reached my neck and pulled me on top of them both, my hard penis sinking into the opening between their legs. Reflexively he began to move his leg, the outer side of his thigh caressing my leaking penis. Connie felt the movement and picked up the tempo of Wayan's intent, amplifying the sensation to me as my organ began to be impacted from the other side. They scrunched themselves together to make a tighter fit, but not so tight that I was uncomfortable, and, in this way, brought me to my orgasm with them. My semen gushed out and bound them together as theirs had so recently fused inside me. The boys continued their gentle but persuasive massage, their legs caressing every part of my distended penis wedged between them, until I could not produce any more of my juice. I fell in between them, exhausted by the fervent orgasm I had been subjected to. I held them both once more as they lit their cigarettes and were smoking contentedly. I wondered if it was Wayan's influence that encouraged Connie to smoke as much as he now did, although I did not know if he had smoked as heavily before I knew him. Not that the smoking bothered me in itself, the fact that I enjoyed smoking had to be taken into account, but my concern was the level of consumption. Wayan seemed to be almost constantly smoking; Connie not much less. Both boys had smoked since they were very young and I wondered what damage could have already been caused in their relatively young bodies by the onslaught of so much pollution to their lungs. Still, my reasoning continued, I personally knew many people in their 80's and 90's, one over 100 years old, who smoked as much as these boys and had done all their lives without any apparent ill effect. My thoughts were interrupted when I realised the two boys were hard and ready for a second release. This time I thought they could best serve each other's need, so I moved over to the outside on Wayan's side of the bed. The bedside light was still on, illuminating the two golden brown bodies lying there, Wayan a stronger colour than Connie, perhaps more of a woody brown than the honey hue of my oldest boy. Connie took Wayan's penis in his hand and began pumping the virile organ, stroking it lovingly rather than impatiently. I was the willing spectator, my position so close I could have easily taken either of these men in any way I desired, yet gaining a greater enjoyment by observing their own expressions of togetherness. Wayan lay there under Connie's touch; his only movement being the occasional draw on his cigarette as he continued to smoke. I hadn't noticed if Connie finished his smoke or had simply butted it out, but he was no longer smoking, concentrating totally on carrying the feeling of his own heart to his fingers as they worked their duty. Wayan inhaled deeply on his cigarette and leaned towards Connie. As they kissed, Wayan exchanged the smoke from his lungs to Connie so that, when they parted, it was Connie who exhaled the blue stream. Wayan passed me his butt and I extinguished it in the ashtray as he began to invert his body, his mouth finding Connie's hard shaft. Of course, Wayan's own penis was now in front of Connie's mouth, so quite naturally Connie took him in. The two worked as one, thrusting and sucking at the same tempo, as if there was but one organ being teased to release again the wondrous essence of the male body. Hands clenched firm, rounded buttocks in an attempt to maximise the depth of each thrust. Willing mouths accepted the fullest girth of these extended penises as they slid deeply into the depths where an eventual release awaited them. Although I was totally absorbed by this display of love before me, my body did not respond with another erection. I was satisfied to allow the visual stimulation placate me, my own physical need already satisfied and now my emotional need being met. The two came to their release gently and slowly. There was never a sense of urgency, more like a craftsman bringing some remarkable object of beauty to completion. Their movements were gentle yet positive, deliberate without being demanding of either party. I almost did not detect their orgasm except for a kind of shuddering that passed firstly through Wayan and then, a moment or two later, Connie. They remained firmly embedded in each other for some minutes, soft swallowing indicating the final ingestion of the other's gift. At last they each wriggled free and dismantled the flowing pattern their bodies had created. Both curled themselves into my arms, sharing the love they had for each other in equal proportion with me, involving me in their tenderness and taking from me a portion of my heart as I returned my love to them both. Some moments in life are so precious that they are beyond the ability to measure. This was one of those moments, a portion of time that no longer ebbed and flowed, but simply was. In that moment I felt an inseparable link forge between the three of us, although at the time I could not have described it that way, nor could I have ever imagined what it meant. I had been given the most valuable gift of sharing in another's love, and I treasured that offering immensely. The three of us remained in a gentle embrace as we found sleep enfolding us in a much deeper hold. Sunday morning is when I play the organ at church. Chris and Nick had been going along to church with me at their own insistence ever since they moved to my house, and seemed to enjoy the services. It seems they had regularly gone to church with Nikolas, their father, until his death but had dropped off to an occasional attendance in the last few years. Coming to church with me was their first exposure to the sonorous tones of a pipe organ. There are only 22 pipe organs in the country churches of Western Australia and I was honoured to be the custodian of one of them, my organ playing being a hereditary trait from my father, encouraged to bloom when I was under the private tuition of my first lover in Indonesia many years ago. The worship service at my church was traditional but not overly formal and the people at the church were really friendly. They welcomed the boys on their first day and had continued to befriend them ever since. Chris often turned pages for me while I was playing. He couldn't read music, but he seemed to pick the pattern of the notes and managed to get the page turns on cue, particularly if I gave him a nod at the right time. Sometimes I would coopt Nick to help with stop changes if I was playing a difficult piece. Any organist would understand how helpful a stop changer can be at a pipe organ that has no registration aids. The younger boys were away this Sunday at Nick's running event. I was quite prepared to go off to church alone and was surprised when Connie told me, while we were having breakfast, they would both come with me. Connie had been along to my church a number of times, but I was amazed that Wayan, a committed Hindu, would want to come to a Christian church. My arched eyebrows must have conveyed my surprise to Wayan. "Don't worry about me, James. I used to go to one of the Christian Fellowship groups at University. I am not converting to your religion, but I find no offence in it and enjoy the opportunity to experience different kinds of religious expression. My feeling is that Christian people are very much on the same wavelength as we Hindu's, despite some differences in our beliefs." The service followed the liturgy of the Advent series, bright and cheerful, the message for the day one of hope and faith. I had enjoyed the music selection for the service and felt that I had played reasonably well even though I didn't have my page-turner with me. Some of the church folks asked where my two boys were and I explained the circumstance of their absence while introducing Wayan to them. We stopped for coffee and lunch at a café on the way home and pulled in to our driveway just behind Chris and Nick who had returned home in the Volvo. Nick had run well, we found out over coffee when we were sitting out on the front veranda, coming second on the Saturday half-marathon and then coming first in this morning full length marathon. They had run the longer race today because the cool morning was more suitable for the competitors. Nick showed no sign of having recently run such a long distance, and was very pleased to give us his report on the two major events. The day passed quickly with Connie and Wayan returning to their cottage after dinner, Conie having to take Wayan to Perth very early the next morning so he could begin Wayan's registration for the coming year. They would be staying in Perth the next night and returning home on Tuesday. The fire started on the Monday morning with an insignificant spark of hot metal from an angle grinder. A neighbouring farmer was doing some maintenance work on one of his outbuildings that involved grinding away a small protrusion of metal from a steel frame section. He had not taken particular notice of where the flying sparks were landing as he went about the job and suddenly was assailed with two senses at once: the warmth of the fire near his legs and the strong smell of freshly burning grass. The guy was not unprepared: he did have a fire hose available nearby, but by the time he reached it and activated the water pressure system the fire had already began to travel. He sprayed the areas he could reach and extinguished the fire near the doors of his shed where it had started, but the fire, driven by a stiff easterly wind, had already raced towards some standing hay and longer grass somewhat beyond the reach of his fire hose. He ran up to the house and flung himself into the utility vehicle that was equipped with a 1000lt water tank and high-pressure pump, expecting to find the keys in the ignition where he had left them earlier. Unbeknown to him, his wife had used the ute to collect the mail and newspaper from the village store and had taken the keys indoors. He raced inside, yelling to warn his wife about the fire outbreak and trying to locate the keys. It took just a few moments for her to dig the keys out from her handbag and give them to him and he quickly made his way back to the vehicle. An awesome sight confronted him when he rounded the workshops and headed towards the fire. The whole area outside his shed was ablaze, the fire had developed a life of its own and was greedily eating up every blade of grass and every stick it could find in its insatiable hunger. The fire was running towards a stand of trees and he knew that beyond was a large paddock of high stubble. Priming the pump was an automatic function for him and he had the machine running in seconds, aiming the jet of water at the spreading blaze, trying to locate and at least dampen the more combustible parts of the fire. The wind kept up its steady force. Feeding the fire with oxygen and pushing it to the more combustible areas a short distance away. He could not get to the front of the fire to stop it advancing and his ineffective spray did almost nothing to retard the blaze. Hastily retreating, he tore back to the house and telephoned the alarm through to the Country Bushfire Brigade control centre, realising sensibly that the fire was already well and truly behind his ability to manage. Fast attack and light tanker units, all of them four wheel drive vehicles of various description but each bearing the name of the local volunteer unit, carried fire fighters into the fire that had now spread across the first property and was already threatening neighbours and the nearby nature reserve. Other farmers, alerted by the fire alarm, began arriving with their own private fire tender vehicles. A motley collection of new and old, large and small vehicles, each bearing the weight of a sizeable container of water and a pumping device, most carrying another person or two, converged on the fire. The wind had, on this occasion, beaten them all at the game: the fire was now totally out of control and rushing towards other farms and bush land. Chris, Nick and myself were working together in our lower paddock when the fire began. We did not know about the fire until we began to hear the noise of sirens as the armada of vehicles arrived to fight the blaze. Looking over the southern fence line of my property, we saw for the first time the towering pillar of smoke that drove fear into our hearts as we realised that we were looking at a serious bushfire. I have a 10,000-litre water tanker, primarily used for watering my olive and fruit trees at times when my dams are dry. When it is necessary to do this, I simply drive to a standpipe on a supply pipeline and fill the tank, noting the amount I have taken so that local Shire can later bill me for the water taken. The tanker was now sitting in a shed near my workshop and, without a word, the three of us began running lightly in our bare feet across the paddock to where the tanker was parked. It took us a few minutes to cover the half-kilometre to the workshop and climb aboard. I make a habit of keeping the truck in good mechanical condition and it started at the first turn of the key. We drove off to the standpipe. It was perhaps 20 minutes before we arrived at the scene of the fire, all this time monitoring the progress of the fire and the efforts of the teams of men working to control it on the radio installed in my truck for that purpose. When we were near the fire I called in to the Controller that I would be arriving with the tanker to resupply the fast attack and farmer units. The controller asked if I could find some trained firemen and. with a quick look at the boys who nodded their approval, I confirmed to him that I would also have two fire fighters on board should anybody need an offsider. He positioned my truck in a roadway not far from the fire but in a place where vehicles could easily access my supply pipes and the three of us sat and waited for the first opportunity we would have of assisting the fire-fighting effort. Within minutes the first vehicle had pulled up alongside my tanker and we were pumping water into his tank. The driver, already grimy and black-stained from the fire, thirstily drank from a smaller hose before getting into his vehicle and heading back into the thick of the disaster area. Others came in dribs and drabs to do likewise. The fire raged uphill from the original farm, through several properties, widening as it travelled, and into a strip of timbered country where a number of wealthy city-folks had built expensive weekend retreats on rocky hilltops. They were wonderful places for getting a view, but very difficult to access in the case of an emergency. Even from where we were, about a kilometre away from the intensity of the fire, we felt the heat of it. We saw the first house catch as the fire swept across an untidy yard, into some climbing plants and straight into the eaves and roof of the house, consuming it from the top down. Radio traffic was chaotic as the fire fighters tried to appraise the controller of their own progress, or lack thereof, and the condition of the fire. It was quickly becoming apparent that this was not going to be an easy fire to bring under control, and the local controller was not foolish or proud enough not to know he needed help. The FESA (Fire and Emergency Services) regional office despatched their officers and sent a helicopter aloft for aerial reconnaissance of the fire. My truck was empty, having pumped all the water out to the smaller fire units, so I left the scene and collected more water from the standpipe. By time I returned to the fire and had been repositioned closer to the current action area it was very obvious that the fire was determining its own direction, the efforts of the fire teams ineffective in doing all but providing some minimal protection to a few houses. The FESA officer called in water bombers, converted fixed- and rotary-wing aircraft that could dump controlled amounts of water on to hot spots within the fire, and within 40 minutes the first of the planes had arrived. Everyone was ordered inside vehicles to protect them from the massive volume of water that would soon be drenching the area. Even after several runs, the bombers seemed to be doing little more than slowing the fire down. Another house went up in a startling blaze, cylinders of propane gas dramatically detonating as the intense fire swept over them. A farmer friend had taken Chris off to assist him before the water bombers arrived, so it was only Nick and myself manning my tanker at this stage. Every few minutes we would have to duck inside the cab of the truck and take cover as another bomber ran in to the fire front, even though we were parked some short distance from the real action zone. We suddenly became aware of a thickening of the smoke, at first confusing because of the acridity and loss of vision, but then as quickly being welcomed. The wind had turned, the fire was no longer being pushed into the virgin bushland, and the fire was now basically being pushed back into the area that had already been burned. Fire cannot sustain itself without fuel, and where the fuel had been consumed there was nothing left for the fire's appetite. The various fire control officers saw the places where they could strike with maximum advantage and, with the help of the water bombers, quickly established a definite front to the fire, killing the ravaging beast the fire had become. It was now late afternoon. We had been at the fire front for eight hours without a break. Of course, for Nick and me it was not the hardship it had been for most of the other fire fighters. Men started to come back to the truck as they were called out of the fire by the controller, not for more water, but to have a rest. The Salvation Army had set up an emergency kitchen just behind where I was parked, so we were right where all the dirty, tired men and women came to get a break. Mostly they stopped by my truck to wash off a little, and then they gratefully headed to the Salvation Army van for a coffee, a smoke and a sandwich. Soon they went back into the fire zone and others came out for their break. In a relatively short while the controllers had given everyone a short respite while still maintaining the important control and mopping up needed to totally douse the fire. I was worried that I had not seen Chris in all this time. I knew there were still units in the thick of the fire, so I guessed he was still to come out. At one time I thought I saw my friend who had taken Chris, but because everyone was so blackened by the fire it was almost impossible to be sure if it was him. They were using a different radio channel to the one I was required to monitor, so I could not follow any traffic about them. Every now and again the fire would break out again as hot embers found enough oxygen to flare up, but soon after midnight it was declared under control. Mopping up of the fire would continue for at least another day, but that would not require the supporting infrastructure of an active fire. In the early hours of the morning the Salvation Army unit packed up and left the scene of the emergency, leaving behind only a small crew to continue handing out coffee and packaged snacks to the remaining firemen. I, too, was no longer required and was thanked for my assistance. Nick, somehow still awake, helped me roll up hoses and prepare the truck for our short drive home. "I wonder where Chris is?" I commented when we were almost finished. "Don't worry about him, Dad." Nick said. "He is used to fighting fires and he will probably stay out with the fire crews all night. He is with Jimmy Perkins isn't he?" Jimmy was the friend that had asked Chris to assist him and I confirmed that with Nick. "Lets go home, Dad. I am sure you are as tired as I am. Chris will come home when he is ready." We parked the tanker in my workshop and staggered inside. Both of us were filthy from the smoke and ashes that had been swirling around us all day, so we shed our clothing in the laundry and made our way straight into the shower. I worked shampoo into Nick's tangled hair as he began washing my abdominal region. I was too tired to react to him when he took my penis and washed it and then soaped up my buttocks and washed that part of me as well. When I knelt down so he could wash my hair I was able to wash his mid-section. Nick demonstrated that being young has its advantages, one of which is that he immediately sprang to life when I handled him. As he continued massaging my scalp, I took him in my mouth, sucking him deeply into me and feeling the last stages of his rigidity achieved as he grew there. Nick was as tired as I, yet he managed to rock slowly as I brought him to a quick release. His copious load flooded my mouth and I had to let some of the creamy fluid go to waste, probably because I was too tired to gulp it down. Most, however, found its way to my throat and was ingested hungrily. Before we collapsed from exhaustion I shut the water off and we towelled off the worst of the wetness before finding the bed. Even though it was very early morning when we woke, it was already sunny, promising another hot day. Nick had slept in my arms and it seemed that neither of us had moved since we dropped off to sleep. His rigid penis was digging into my groin and I was tempted to draw from it another draught of that wonderfully tasty semen he had on supply. As my mind moved from the level of basic need to rational wakefulness I suddenly realised that I had not heard Chris come home. I kissed Nick briefly as I worked my way out from under him, thinking that perhaps Chris was sleeping in another room. Padding through the house, I looked everywhere, but there was no sign of him, nor any indication that he had come home and perhaps gone out again. Nick, by this stage, had also woken fully and was beginning to find clothing for the day. "He isn't here, is he Dad?" Nick asked, an edge of concern in his voice. "No, so we better go find him." I put on some clothing as I replied. Taking the 4WD wagon, we were soon at the scene of the control centre where we had spent so much of the previous day. There was a lot of smoke around, but it was clear that the fire was in total management stage and that it would not be long before it would be out. There would be no need for my tanker at this fire today. I parked the car and went in to the control unit. "Have you seen or heard from Jim Perkins or my boy, Chris?" I asked after greetings and update information had been exchanged. The Controller on duty was a friend of mine but not the same man who had been there yesterday, so he had to look up the information before he replied. "I have a record of Jim coming in to the fire yesterday afternoon and another one about 4pm saying he had picked up Chris from your tanker. They were working in the national park up in the hills behind your place. According to the control sheet, they are still there. But that is a bit odd, because there has been nothing heard from Jim since around midnight. Let me get on the radio and see what I can find out." When a unit attends a bush fire, the personnel and equipment are logged on in the main control centre. Later, when they leave the fire, they are logged off. This way there is a permanent record of people and vehicles coming and going and at the end of the emergency everything can be accounted for. This system has proven itself to be the most reliable mechanism for keeping track of people under the arduous conditions of fire fighting and other disasters. The records the Controller had consulted were, in fact, the movement logs. The fact that Jim Perkins unit had not been accounted for or reported missing was no fault of the system; it was simply that the fire was still viable and had not been called off and everyone on duty had been too busy to go back over the records up to this point. No final reconciliation had taken place. I heard the radio traffic as the Controller checked units in the area where Jim and Chris had been last seen, Nick standing beside me was equally attentive. A few of the units had started before midnight last night and were still working the fire, waiting for their relief crews to take over so they could get some rest. They remembered seeing Jimmy's ute in the gorge area of the park, but nobody had been back there for several hours because the fire seemed to have already burnt out in that part of the bushland. I asked the Controller for permission to enter the fire scene and head into the reserve, checking to see if any hot spots (places still reported to be burning) were recorded. I pointed out that I was in an unequipped vehicle and that both Nick and myself were not dressed for fire fighting. The Controller handed me a portable radio unit with the instruction that I was to keep it on and with me at all times and that he expected a situation report (sitrep) every 15 minutes with a location update. He knew I would have my topographical reference maps in the wagon, so I could give him accurate details of our location. It was appalling to drive through the blackened countryside where only yesterday had stood beautiful trees, well kept farm lots and, in some places, very nice houses. There was nothing to relieve the blackness save some bare patches of dirt and rock, adding a poor contrast to the burnt remains of the landscape. The fire had travelled uphill and away from my property, but not in the direction of the boys' property, more in a diagonal direction that cut right across between our two pieces of land. It was some of the most rugged and inhospitable land in the region. Fortunately, the new roads cut through the area by CALM made it easier to navigate, even though the going was difficult. Nick kept his eye on the maps as we drove so that when the 15-minute reporting sequence came up it was easy to quickly compile a report. "Control this is Juliet Mike Zero Three, Sitrep, over." I announced on the radio, my usual call sign being Juliet Mike Zero One but that being for my tanker truck. I also had the call sign Juliet Mike Zero Two for Connie's 4WD ute. Most of the farmers on our bush fire brigade used the Zero Three call sign to indicate a mobile radio. "Juliet Mike Zero Three, Control, go ahead, over." "This is Juliet Mike Zero Three, location ESD 372 Foxtrot Seven, on the new track heading towards the creek line. Nothing seen. Continuing south. Over." My report had included the appropriate map grid references so that Control could plot our progress and determine our direction. "Control. Understood, nothing to report from this end. Out." It was not difficult to see where we were going because the fire had cleared away all the grasses and low shrub growth, not to mention all the trees and canopy of the bushland. It was, however difficult to maintain a regular speed over this rugged terrain. The roads had been cut in a grid pattern, traversing whatever happened to be along the way, and this meant for my vehicle a difficult navigation of creeks, ridges, flats and gullies. The four-wheel-drive enabled the vehicle to access terrain that would have been prohibitive to other types of vehicles, but I found that, without the low ratio gears selected, I could not have made any headway at all. The next report schedule came and went without any change except out location details, as did the one following. It was almost an hour before we arrived in the area near where Jim had last been reported. A deep gully opened up before us and I did not think I could safely continue through it with my wagon. I had an idea that we were very close to the direct access route between our two properties, but the countryside had altered significantly since my last visit to the area, especially with the devastation wrought by the fire. Smoke was quite thin in this part of the woods, most of the trees having been stripped of their foliage and most of the undergrowth cleared in the initial ravages of the fire. We could not see far from the vehicle because of the density of tree trunks, despite that fact that they were almost all denuded of foliage. "I can do a bit of a recce if you like. It will only take me a few minutes to scout around this gully and up to the next ridge." Nick offered. I was concerned about his lack of protective clothing, knowing that there was still burning timber, razor sharp rock and jagged branches around, forgetting momentarily that Chris had gone out the previous night to fight the fire with no more protection than his younger brother. We had not even considered bringing overalls and boots, more worried about Chris than common sense dictated. Nick wore a light t-shirt and shorts, as did I, and we had no footwear at all in the vehicle. When I expressed my concern about the possibility of hot coals on the ground Nick said "I will be fine, Dad. You know I can walk on just about anything without it hurting my feet. My arms and legs might get a bit scratched, but it wont be a problem. You just drive around this canyon and meet me up the top there. I know where we are here because I come along here on my motorbike. It is only about 200 metres to the top." Nick set off, scrambling down the side of the steep ravine, not noticing the rough ground grazing his feet. I saw him reach the bottom and begin his way uphill towards the place where he would meet me in a few minutes. Putting the Toyota in low gear I began my short journey to the ridge, arriving there without undue concern and parking the vehicle on a level piece of ground where the track crossed over the now dry creek bed. I walked over to the edge of the gully where, during the winter months, there was a significant and pretty waterfall. From this vantage point I could see some distance down the creek line, but I could not see Nick. Expecting that he would be five or ten minutes longer getting there than I had taken, I stayed in the vicinity of the vehicle to wait for him. When, after fifteen minutes, he still had not appeared I began to be a little concerned about Nick's wellbeing. The golden rule of any bush work is that you do not leave your vehicle, yet I was sorely tempted to climb down the dry waterfall and look for him in the creek bed. I was not concerned about my own lack of protective clothing because I was as much accustomed to the terrain as the boys. The vehicle had radio communications to the outside world - in particular the fire controller - and it had water. I decided to wait another fifteen minutes before setting off to look for the boy. Making the scheduled sitrep to fire control, I also picked up news that the fire had broken out again near the railway line some distance away from where we were and that units not urgently engaged elsewhere were being called to assist in the fire fighting effort in that area. It crossed my mind that the fire must be threatening the village store. It was almost time for me to make the next sitrep when a soot-blackened Nick appeared. "Dad, you have got to move the car around the other side of the gully. I found them. Quick, lets get going and I can tell you what I know while we are driving." He was breathless, and for Nick to be out of breath indicated to me that he had really exerted himself to get to me quickly. He scrambled into the car and we set off. Nick told me he had come across Jimmy's car at the bottom of the ravine not far from where I dropped him off. The vehicle had toppled over the edge from the other side, hence we had not seen the tell-tale scouring of the earth where it had left the track. We were, in fact, heading for where they had left the track right now. "But are they alright? Is Chris okay?" I interrupted his telling of the story, impatient to know that news above all other. "I think so," Nick told me. "I talked to Chris briefly and he told me they urgently needed water, so I came and got you before I did anything else." We found the place where they had left the roadway. It looked like their vehicle had somehow slewed in the roadway and had gone straight off the edge of the track over the sheer drop into the creek. A few small saplings had been uprooted near the lip of the cliff, I guessed struck by the car as it lurched off the track, but they would not have done much to arrest the heavy utility as it veered away from the correct path. Nick told me to pull up just beyond the scrape marks at a place where there was an eroded crevasse in the bank of the canyon. He had worked out that this was the only reasonable way up and down into the ravine at this point of the canyon. Before leaving my car I called Control and told them what I knew to that point and that I would call back in a few minutes with an update. This story, along with supporting photographs, may be viewed by members of the Yahoo! Group Aboriginal Farmboy at: http://asia.groups.yahoo.com/group/aboriginal_farmboy/ Membership of the group is free and the group is a forum where members may contribute relevant messages and photos to share among each other. Please email: aboriginal_farmboy-subscribe@yahoogroups.com