When the Dust Settles

by Cook, R

  More than a hundred people made the effort to be at the dinner, and the grog was flowing freely. Everyone was getting into the spirit of the occasion and embraced the motto ‘one man, one wheelchair, one aim’. The evening came together like magic. I was completely overwhelmed by the support of friends and family who took part and gave me their encouragement. Uncle Steve cooked up three different types of meat, Loretta and Jake kept the bar, my friend Scotty Dann played the music and local cattle agent Herbie Neville ran the auction. There were a number of items up for sale including some of my mouth paintings, which went for around $3000 each. I still believe it was more of a donation than what my paintings were actually worth, but I was extremely grateful. As another item, Brad polished up a set of cow’s horns with the walk logo imprinted on the skull, while our Rabobank manager, Barry Gerschwitz, decided to sell himself to anyone who wanted a man for the evening. His offer was just a bit of good fun and, while someone did throw money his way, it was all kept very innocent. Shane and Kim Braitling were some of the top bidders on the night, never hesitant at donating money or time to help me. To cap off the entertainment Grandad Savage recited some poetry and my fourteen-year-old niece Telia sang a wonderful rendition of ‘My Heart is Like a River’ by Rebecca Lavelle, which brought the house down and tears to my eyes. It was a beautiful tribute and something I will always cherish.

  The event went well into the night, with everyone having plenty to drink, including me. In the early hours it was Zebb who wanted to help me into bed.

  ‘I fucking put you in the chair,’ he laughed. ‘So I’ll be the one to get you out.’

  But Zebb was a little too drunk for heavy lifting and luckily my younger cousin Luke was there to help or we could have gone over backwards and onto the ground. Together they were able to lift me into the gooseneck and throw me on my bed.

  ‘There you go,’ said Zebb triumphantly. ‘I told you I could do it.’

  After a quick nightcap, the boys shuffled off to bed themselves to catch some sleep before dawn. The night’s indulgence knocked most of us for six the next day, and I couldn’t bring myself to start back on the Tanami until later that afternoon. As a rule I don’t suffer from hangovers, but then again, the halfway dinner was one hell of a party that left me desperately ill.

  Back on the road, the desert heat we experienced at the start of our journey was soon replaced with a teeth-rattling cold snap as we inched closer to Alice Springs. In mid-June the weather turned terribly cold, with an extreme chill factor thanks to the icy winds. I tried to rug up as best I could with the kids’ sleeping bag over my legs, a scarf around my neck, gloves and a beanie to escape the freeze. If the weather wasn’t already bad enough, rain started belting down, so we had to make further adjustments to my traveller’s suit. We put plastic bags on my feet and arms, with tape wrapped around the limbs to keep the water out. We also placed a plastic poncho over my body and tied an umbrella to the back rest of my chair. While it proved to be a watertight solution, it was also a very hot space for my body, without a breeze, but it was manageable. Luke, meanwhile, was stuck soaking wet in the rain and would have loved the chance to get his feet up out of the mud. We kept charging on, though, and occasionally I needed Luke to push my chair through some of the deeper mud. We laughed about the possibilities of the RACQ driving all the way out to pull me out of a bog. It was a long and exhausting day, and night was quickly approaching when we finally made it to the bitumen.

  ‘Hey Luke, you said something a little way back,’ I told him. ‘You better hold up your end of the bargain.’

  Without need for further encouragement, the big fella stripped off his clothes in front of the small audience and began dancing in celebration. I was in stitches of laughter, not because of the nudity, but because he had silver duct tape across his nipples. It was the funniest thing I had seen on our trip. Apparently, Luke had been getting chafed on his nipples from the shirt, so without making a fuss he used a bit of tape to cover them. We all had a good laugh at his expense. Just as Luke pulled his clothes back on, a four-wheel drive came around the corner and pulled up for a chat. As we explained to the young family what we were doing so far from anywhere in the pouring rain, I imagined how much more awkward it would have been had Luke still been standing there in the rain naked.

  It seems Luke wasn’t the only one in the Bevan family to have a streak of ingenuity in his blood. Once we had reached the bitumen, Luke’s father Peter came over from Queensland to support his son and me on the last leg of the journey. I had known Peter since my days in Miles, where he was the caretaker at the local football grounds. Seeing us battling the strong headwinds, he wanted to help and keep us motivated.

  ‘You know what,’ said Peter. ‘I’m going to drive into town to a hardware store to buy you guys a grinding helmet to get out of the wind.’

  ‘Righto mate, that sounds good’ I said, not sounding convinced.

  So without mucking around, Peter set off for Alice Springs and was back later in the day with two clear-faced grinding helmets, which are basically just curved pieces of plastic mounted on a head stall. Sarah adjusted the headpiece of the mask over my beanie and the difference it made was incredible. I shouldn’t have been so surprised as my head is the only part of my body that I can actually feel. It was now like I was in a small car, with the windows down. Most of the wind diverted around me with the occasional breeze blowing across my face. It was terrific. The bitumen road was so much more enjoyable than the corrugations. Other then getting off the road for oncoming traffic, I didn’t have to slow down or stop unless I was changing chairs. As the kilometres in front of us dwindled, excitement started to build with every passing hour. With about 160 kilometres to go, the headwind really picked up as we crossed the open plains on Amburla and Milton Park stations. I began thinking that the last time I had crossed those plains in a chair with such ferocious winds was when I was flying my gyro home from South Australia several years earlier. At the same moment, my old mate Birdy flew over us in his gyro. He camped with us that night on the side of the road and in true Birdy fashion, he brought T-bone steak for dinner and a bottle of rum.

  We walked well past seven o’clock on the night before our due arrival in Alice Springs to make it to the Stuart Highway turnoff. It meant that on our final day we only had twenty-seven kilometres to finish. And so it was with some nerves and excitement that we set out for our last day on the road. Just like every other morning, we got going early and it wasn’t long before we were again overwhelmed by the reception. I had my parents and grandparents; brothers and sisters; aunts and uncles; cousins, nephews and nieces; and many friends all around me to celebrate what we were about to achieve. Tiani, Loretta and Tanya Fogerty rode horses alongside me carrying the Northern Territory and national flags on the outskirts of town. Then we saw a long row of schoolkids holding banners up at the roadside and people came out of their shops to clap and cheer as we passed. I wanted to wave back to show my gratitude but nodded and smiled at them instead. There was a real festival atmosphere as we eventually pulled up at the Todd Mall, where the buzzing media lined up for interviews. The Alice Springs mayor said a few words of welcome, and we thanked Luke and my sponsors. I think part of me was in shock by the reception, but I was also humbled by those who took the time to acknowledge our effort. Sonia and Lilly had organised an after-party where we could let our hair down and reflect on the achievement as well as catch the final game of the State of Origin.

  We had raised some much-needed funds for my Nuffield scholarship travel, as well as money for me to begin a trust fund to help other injured farmers wherever I can. As always, Sarah, along with Braxton and Lawson, were there to support and share the moment with me. Those questions I had asked myself about the purpose of this walk, as I lay with my face in the sand weeks before, were all answered instantaneously. I had proved to all the doubters that life holds massive opportunities for those who choose to conquer life’s greatest challenges. It is absolutely no different for
someone in a wheelchair. The Tanami trek emphasised the desire for me and my family to live on the land again and, more specifically, it gave us the confidence to live in the desert in the future and handle whatever the harsh conditions have in store for me.

  PICTURE SECTION

  Suplejack Downs, Northern Territory: one of the most remote properties in Australia.

  Suplejack Downs Station homestead from the air.

  I got to know Grandma and Grandad Savage better in my teens, when I went to live at Suplejack with them. It was a really special moment to see my son Braxton in the arms of his great-grandmother.

  Dad, Tiani and I having a rare day off at our family property Langstone Lane at Clermont, Queensland, 1982. Dad used to saddle me up on the family dog, Puppy, who would happily walk around with me on her back.

  Giving my younger brother Cam a bath with help from Grandma, on our way to Borroloola, Northern Territory, 1986. One of many memorable Christmas holidays camping with Grandad and Grandma Cookie.

  A quick family photo before school, Miles, Queensland, 1993. Left to right (back row): Tiani, Loretta, Sonia, me, Lilly; (front row): Brad, Cam.

  Miles Devils under-12 premiership rugby league team. I’m standing far right.

  Riding Specks at the 1992 Queensland state show-jumping championships, Beaudesert. It was the first time that four members of the one family competed at the same show-jumping titles at the one time.

  My very own en suite, 1997. This bathtub was the one thing I looked forward to after a hard day’s work at Suplejack. I’d pump water straight from the bore, grab a cold one and watch the sun go down.

  The infamous stock horse Launchya had a terrible habit of bucking every time I attempted to hop on. Despite his bad habits he made a terrific stock horse that worked hard every day without fail during the season. 1999.

  With my father, Bill, castrating station-bred colts during the wet season at Suplejack, 1998.

  Fixing flood crossings with Dad after the wet season at Suplejack, 2006. I promised Dad I wouldn’t drop him, but I guarantee he was still very nervous.

  Having a quick cooldown after walking backgrounder steers into the bullock paddock, 2007.

  At the Troy Dunn international professional bull ride in Townsville, Queensland, 2004.

  My winning saddle bronc ride at Aileron Rodeo, Northern Territory. 2008.

  With Sarah after the presentations of the championship buckles at the national finals of the bull-riding championships in Tamworth, New South Wales. I rode two out of the three bulls I got on at the finals. January, 2005.

  Daddy Daycare: one of the greatest rewards in the world is being able to take your children to work with you. Braxton accompanying me while feeding out weaners at the house yards. Suplejack, 2006.

  The boys were introduced to livestock from a very young age. With Braxton, baby Lawson and Jelly the calf.

  Braxton was 18 months old when I told him to sit down and don’t move, so I could continue drafting cattle. Contract mustering at Tanami Downs Station, 2007.

  My little family at a roadside stop to spell the horses on a trip from Queensland to Suplejack, 2008.

  Getting some tips from legendary gyro pilot David ‘Birdy’ Bird, ASRA National Fly-in. Lameroo, South Australia, 2007. With just six hours’ solo under my belt, Birdy and I then flew our gyros home to the Northern Territory from southern South Australia.

  Coming in for landing at the homestead after a day’s mustering. Suplejack, 2007.

  It had the doctors scratching their heads: how did I survive with such a severe injury? I really was in God’s hands during the seven hours it took to get me out of the scrub. Around my stretcher are the paramedic, the flying doctor, brother-in-law Shane (foreground) and Dad (in hat), while pilots Zebb and Scotty examine the wreckage. 30 September, 2008.

  On life support in ICU, Royal Adelaide Hospital, 2008.

  A regular view from my ICU bed. Here, Mum, Sarah and Lawson sit by my bed in the RAH courtyard: shining lights on some of my darkest days.

  Finally off the ventilator and able to talk again. With Dad, Brad and Cam in the RAH spinal unit.

  Giving Sarah a lift out to the car after the Adelaide Cup races, 2009.

  My support crew during the ‘one man, one wheelchair, one aim’ Tanami desert challenge. Mum and Dad, Uncle Steve and Aunty Jude, Rod and Norma, and Sarah, Loretta and kids, 2011.

  With Luke Bevan and Chase the dog during the Tanami desert challenge, 2011. Luke took an estimated 918,750 steps over the 735-kilometre walk from Suplejack to Alice Springs.

  After a rollover during the Tanami desert challenge, I genuinely thought Chase had gone for help. It wasn’t until I saw this photo that I realised she had simply gone out of my view and lain down.

  My parents, Bill and Letty, with nineteen grandchildren. Cook family photo, Cania Gorge National Park, Queensland, 2011.

  Sarah really has become the backbone of our family. 2012.

  AFTERWORD

  There have been times over my thirty-one years when life has knocked me to my knees and even kicked me while I was down; the chopper crash was only one of them. During the last five years, I have had to seriously consider what sort of quadriplegic I wanted to be and then set a path to achieve it. Accepting a life anywhere other than on the land, surrounded by livestock, was something I simply couldn’t do. My life was changed forever on 30 September 2008 but, as my wise mother had told me, that doesn’t mean I can’t redefine my future, even if I am confined to a wheelchair. The definition of quadriplegia for me is about family, work, adventure and happiness. I want to be around cattle and horses, somewhere on the land. Suplejack will always be my home, but whether or not I end up there no longer matters to me as I have already achieved the so-called impossible by returning countless times. In the short term, however, I do want to put my new-found skills and technology to use at the station until I can discover other ways to be involved in the family business.

  While there hasn’t been much improvement to the movement within my body over the last two years, I still believe I will walk again. Whether it’s God’s will, stem cell research or some other scientific breakthrough, I remain convinced that I will stand by myself once again. I would be living a fairly sheltered life to think otherwise.

  There are many success stories from people, some with similar injuries to mine, who have overcome extreme adversities and battles. I certainly don’t feel my story is special or better than anyone else’s. I do hope my story can change someone’s life for the better. As we have done the entire way through my recovery, we’ll take each day as it comes, remembering the day as a good one, or not remembering it at all if it’s a bad one. Since the chopper crashed, I have been to hell and back several times. In the early days, I prayed to God to send me an angel and he answered me with my wife, Sarah. Sarah doesn’t have wings or a halo, but every day she gives me the miracle of love.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Carl Curtain interviewing Rob Cook’s niece, Shanna Wochnik. Photo: ABC Rural

  Carl Curtain is the executive producer of ABC Rural in the Northern Territory, having spent the last six years working in the north. Living in Kununurra, Katherine and now Darwin, Carl has travelled many thousands of kilometres to cover stories in some of the most remote parts of Australia. He now manages a small team of specialist reporters to produce rural and regional content from the Top End. After visiting the Cook family at Suplejack Downs Station in the Tanami Desert, Carl began conducting powerful interviews with Rob from his hospital bed in Adelaide, relaying Rob’s progress to his many supporters in the Territory and beyond. A connection was born and it became obvious to Carl that Rob’s story needed to be told to both inspire and entertain.