Not having any idea where Quamby was, or why these lasses may be travelling there we did a quick search on the ipad and "Quamby Rodeo 26th July" appeared in the search screen.

Pulling out a map Quamby appeared to only be 150 km from the Isa.  However it was on the WRONG direction!

As in the past my recolection of the conversation went something like this: 

Hux: what do you think - should we go

Jim: I'm not sure. We have a long way still to go and it is the wrong direction

Hux: cumon, this will be an adventure

Jim: I don't think we should as Karhy and Karen would not be happy

Hux: naaaa, they would understand

Jim: ok if you insist.

(You believe mt Kathy don't you)

Finally reaching Quamby (which only has 1 building - a pub) we round a bend to see the un-mistakeable gathering of rows of toyota landcruiser utes, swags on the back, large horse floats and cattle trucks.

We spent the day watching steer wrestling, buck jumping and bull riding that went something like this:

  

The bull tenses, 800kg of muscles bulging and twitching, desperate to escape the tiny enclosure.  The cowboy slowly lowers himself. Wrapping his hand around the rope, twisting and twisting, the only thing stopping him from being violently thrown to the earth.

The gate opens.  Dust flies as the heaving mass lurches one way then the next trying to dislodge the foreign body on his back.

Legs tighten and one hand is thrust in the air in the vain attempt to remain upright. 8 seconds does not seem long but it only takes a split second until a left kick sees the cowboy catapulted in to the air and come crashing down in the dirt as a flurry of hoofs crash centermetres from his Akubra hat.

Wow!  And the amazing thing is that we watched this happen all day. By the end of the eavening there were only 2 calls for ambulance assistance but I am sure there were many more bruises quietly suffered.

With the ribbons and belt buckels given out with little fuss, the crowd slowly returned to the shed in preparation for the nights festivities.

As the band started up and the beers and rum and cokes started to flow freely, we sat and enjoyed the atmosphere as the night roled on.  

Chatting to a lady next to us it must have been obvious to her that we were not country folk.  I am sure my new Akubra hat didn't help (if only I had my old one). She said:

 If you ever want to meet a nice girl then this is the place.  Although they would not go for a city bloke like you. She will only have a cowboy.

While both miners and country folk both come from the bush they could be worlds apart. The uniform for the cowboys are blue jeans (absolutely compulsory), long sleeve checkered shirt, and a self styled Akubra hat (also compulsory), with the battle scars from horse falls or having the cattle dog chew it.  The country girls are a perfect match in their paisley shirts, jewel bedazzled belts and blue jeans and neat tied back hair - or as Hux referred to as being " very tidy".

As the band played late in to the night and the drinking, dancing, drinking, stumbling, and more drinking continued, we followed lasts nights advice and made a quiet exit. 

"You wouldn't want to be anywhere else in Australia tonight"

And I could not agree more.