Wild horses: Tim the Yowie Man learns about the tough life of a brumby runner

The man from Snowy River is a household word today.

And the stockman tell the story of his ride.

In a book that studiously chronicles the life of Max Oldfield, a brumby runner of the ACT high country, you could easily be excused for thinking this excerpt this is merely a clever ploy by author Richard Begbie to establish context.

However, by the time you turn the last page of Oldfield's remarkable life story, you realise that this reference is more profound. Begbie holds Oldfield's horse-handling skills in such high regard that I strongly suspect it's actually the author's subtle way of raising the unassuming Oldfield onto the same lofty pedestal as the very horseman celebrated in Banjo's ballad.

Hot off the press and presented to Oldfield on his 88th birthday this month, Max Oldfield: The Story of his Ride isn't the first book penned by Begbie to grace the Yowie household's bookshelf. Several years ago, on the advice of a friend, I tracked down a copy of Tennant's Gold (Brolga Press, 1992), Begbie's child-friendly novel about the search for lost bushranger bounty on the slopes of Tharwa's Mt Tennant. It gained notoriety in our household as the first "chapter book" we ever read to our young daughters .

While Begbie apparently wrote Tennant's Gold to keep his own kids amused during a wet school holiday, it's clear that Max Oldfield: The Story of his Ride is the culmination of much more than three weeks' research. Begbie befriended Oldfield almost half a century ago, and this close relationship has enabled him to sensitively tease out the many nuances of Oldfield's life; experiences the shy octogenarian may have otherwise been reluctant to share.

Born on May 1, 1928, childhood wasn't easy for Oldfield who, at six years of age, lost his mother, Amy, to a sudden bout of pneumonia. His father, Ted, a World War I veteran, "already brutalised by the death and destruction of France", struggled in the aftermath of his wife's untimely death and as a result was never close to Max.

In fact, Begbie reports that "from this time on Ted rarely called Max by his name. It was always 'Son', semi-formal and impossible distant to a small boy".

Although the Oldfield family were assisted by neighbours and family friends, the young boy had to endure long periods alone at the family's remote property at Naas, south of Tharwa.

"Whether it was during this period that he began to develop the stammer which would become so characteristic of the man is uncertain, but it seems more likely than not," suggests Begbie.

The one bright light for Oldfield in this otherwise dark childhood was his natural affinity for animals, especially his love for horses. Begbie explains that "whether these abilities were innate, learnt or a combination of both, Max's uncanny way with horses would become legendary in the district".

At every opportunity the young boy would jump on a horse and "by the time he was ten or eleven Oldfield had come to admire the horsemen of the mountain country… and by the age of twelve had broken in his first horse."

One horseman who influenced him enormously was Jack Maxwell, a ranger for the ACT who took the young Oldfield under his wing. Before long the two riders would embark on brumby running trips, a high-risk activity usually reserved for only the most accomplished of adult riders. By his mid-teens Oldfield was driving stock alone in the mountains. Can you imagine that these days? Many parents don't let their school-aged children walk through the suburbs alone, let alone drive a mob of sheep solo through the rugged high country for days on end.

At 15 Oldfield left school and worked for his father who remained hard on him, paying him just a pittance compared with other workers and much to the chagrin of his father, Oldfield at 19 even dabbled as a jockey in the "big smoke" of Queanbeyan; but his true love remained being in the mountains. It was also back in the mountain country that a year later he met his lifer partner, Betty Ashley, at a country dance. Ashley must have made an impact as Oldfield crashed his Buick on the way home from the dance.

"Despite trading in the smashed-up Buick for a Chev ute", according to Begbie "it was still horse and the culture of the farm and mountains that dominated the young man's life".

If Oldfield thought his marriage to Ashley in 1952 was going to result in a turn in fortunes for him, he couldn't have been further from the truth. His father was a no-show at his wedding and when several years later, after an accident that exacerbated a war injury, Ted, now a semi-invalid, moved to Young, Begbie points out that "despite all he'd done and his love for the country, his dad decided to sell the property to someone else, forcing Oldfield and his young family out of the family home".

"It was hard, campin' on the river at Naas, just across from me own home, on country I'd run all me life," laments Oldfield.

In the late 1950s, after Oldfield and his expanding family moved into Ashfield, a newly built modest three-bedroom house on the river, just a short ride from Naas Homestead, life finally started to look rosier for the Oldfields. However, it wasn't long before they were dealt yet another blow, when on September 28, 1961, Daniel Norris Nicholls, an armed murderer on the run from police arrived at Ashfield wanting to shoot himself.

Despite the Oldfields remaining calm, Nicholls suddenly changed his mind. "He told us he didn't have the guts to shoot himself, and he couldn't leave us there because we'd go to the police," recalls Oldfield.

Fearing for the safety of his young family (with his two daughters aged 5 and 8 eight hiding in their bedrooms), Oldfield lunged for the criminal's rifle and during an ensuing scuffle Nicholls sustained a serious neck wound.

With no phone connected, Betty raced off for assistance while her husband watched over the cowering criminal, who some hours later was arrested by police.

The Oldfields escaped the drama without physical injuries but their dreams of rural bliss were shattered forever. During the trial and subsequent appeal the Oldfields were forced to repeatedly relive every moment of that frightening night. "Although post-traumatic stress had not been identified then, the effects of that night would haunt them for years," writes Begbie.

The Oldfields did their best to normalise life for their girls but several years later they moved away from Naas, initially into Tharwa, and then eventually to Young to be closer to Oldfield's ageing father.

Even though Max Oldfield: The Story of his Ride focuses on the first 50 or so years of the brumby runner's life, Begbie also shares insights into his joint journey with Oldfield that began in 1971 when Begbie and his wife were part of a team that set up Caloola Farm, "a rural project for young people at life's crossroads" at the site of the Oldfields' Ashfield.

Self-confessed city slickers, the Begbies requested the Oldfields' assistance and guidance and "for the second time in his life, Max found himself visiting his own recent property as a stranger", writes Begbie, adding, "we found friends and mentors for life".

"In practical matters he was a master teacher … the delicate art of making good lucerne hay, ways to drive stubborn sheep across a creek or into a woolshed, hidden routes through the dense bush … all these and a hundred other skills were passed on without a word."

And then there were the horses. "Here, there were skills the learner could never come within cooee of acquiring but he could admire, as the crowd admires the perfect co-ordination of an Olympic gymnast," acclaims Begbie.

Despite his emerging friendship with Oldfield, it was only after several years of close company that that Begbies noticed a strange phenomenon.

"Whenever he was handling horses, he talked to them continually. It was like an internal dialogue, voiced especially for this horse he was saddling or teaching to lead, or shoeing … it was quiet, and somehow reassuring for the bystander as well as the horse", discloses Begbie, adding, "and the oddest thing – it came out freely and fluently, with no trace of the stammer that has been part of his speech as long as anyone can remember."

Although initially written by Begbie as a thank you to Oldfield and his family, this carefully crafted and beautifully designed biography, complete with historic images, is an absorbing piece of local mountain history that has wider appeal.

As the search for the bounty in Tennant's Gold continues, the treasure in Max Oldfield: The Story of his Ride lies in the rich anecdotes of life from a time when horse was king and a diminutive brumby runner called Max Oldfield reigned supreme in the mountains to our south.

The book: A limited number of copies of Richard Begbie's Max Oldfield: The Story of his Ride (Creative Resources Management Pty Ltd, 2016) are available at The Paper Chain (Manuka), the Tharwa Store, and Namadgi Visitors Centre for the RRP of $30.

Brumby running: The traditional method of removal of wild horses from the Australian high country in which expert riders rope the horses and remove them to a new location.

Did you know? Oldfield's first brumby run was on the steep slopes of Mt Gingera, the ACT's second-highest mountain. The trek up Gingera's north-eastern face is a favourite for this column, but I'd think twice before clambering down the steep fall on the south-western side on foot, let alone on horseback. And to think Oldfield tamed it aged just 14. Extraordinary.

Contact Tim: Email: timtheyowieman@bigpond.com or Twitter: @TimYowie or write c/- The Canberra Times, 9 Pirie St, Fyshwick. You can see a selection of past columns at: canberratimes.com.au/act-news/by/Tim-the-Yowie-Man-hvf8o

Cryptic Clue: Learned chainsaws

Degree of difficulty: Medium

Last week: Congratulations to Chris McGirr ,of Jeremadra, who was first to correctly identify last week's photo submitted by Rob Parnell as the long-defunct "talking toadstool" near the cafe at Red Hill Lookout. In 1973 seven of these coin-operated information devices, which played a recording describing the view to tourists, were placed at various Canberra landmarks.

McGirr just beat fellow south coast resident James Kositcin and Paul Ratcliffe, of Yarralumla, to the prize. Ratcliffe, a member of the Red Hill Regenerators landcare group, confesses to "leaning many times on the metallic toadstool after a long day weeding". Meanwhile Jim Smith via Twitter reports that students from the ANU once "hacked' into the toadstool, changing the tourist-friendly message to "Help, Help, let me out"!

Until recently there was another surviving talking toadstool at the Vernon Circle lookout on City Hill. Unfortunately, as part of the current redevelopment of that site, the toadstool, along with the lookout plaque, have vanished. Have ANU students struck again or was it swindled by one of the capital's talking-toadstool collectors? I'd love to know.

How to enter: Email your guess along with your name and address to timtheyowieman@bigpond.com. The first email sent after 10am, Saturday, May 21, 2016, with the correct answer wins a double pass to Dendy cinemas.