SECOND generation stock agent Adam Pollock remembers growing up in Gunnedah in western NSW. Weekends were cut short so his father could sit by the phone on a Sunday night waiting for his stock sale allocation number.
Now with mobile phones that is a thing of the past. Adam can be anywhere there is network coverage to receive the call. “The technology has made such a positive impact on the way we do business,” he says.
As the go-between Adam no longer needs to drive two hours to quote on the cattle he’s selling for the cattle grower. He receives an image of the cattle on his smartphone sent from the farmer’s smart device.
Smartphones and tablets are an extension of life in urban areas and the transformation to country people’s lives has been just as dramatic.
It’s Tuesday and I’m heading towards Gunnedah (population 10,000) to see one of the state’s largest and most competitive livestock sales. City dwellers don’t venture out this way much, but for the surrounding rural communities this place is central to their lives.
I am introduced to saleyards manager Doc Morrison who greets me with a big country smile and hearty handshake.
He is not dressed the way I expect: there’s no Akubra or Stenson, just a nondescript wide brim number that almost looks like a Bunnings straw hat. No moleskins, just a pair of denim jeans; but he’s enthusiastic and hospitable.
“I’ll be right with you, it’s my turn on the catwalk. Are you right to look around for half an hour?” he asks.
The catwalk is the name for the narrow, raised paths above the hundreds of individual cattle yards where stock are corralled ready to be auctioned. An encounter with someone coming in the opposite direction means someone giving way.
As he disappears in the direction of the noise and activity I chat with Eliza Gallen, media officer from the local council which owns and administers the saleyards.
Coming from a long line of stock agents, she points to a plaque explaining, “That’s my grandfather; they named the new section of yards after him”.
As she greets the buyers and agents by name – Eliza has known most of them her whole life – I feel that sense of community and kinship that exists among close-knit groups.
Doc reappears and gives me the cook’s tour. He points to a small button on a cattle’s ear: “That’s how we track the cattle all the way through the sale”.
The button is part of the National Livestock Identification Scheme. Introduced in 2006 all cattle are now identified by the tag that contains a microchip. This allows stock to be tracked from birth to slaughter and contains information about where they were born and every time they are sold, transferred or moved.
Before the introduction of electronic tagging the cattle were given tail tags at sale. These only identified the cattle at the saleyard and often fell off.
The electronic system means the health and condition of the nation’s herds can be easily monitored and illnesses and disease can be tracked to a source very quickly, ensuring the safety of our food supply.
Adam tells me the ear-tagging system was not popular at first. “But in a couple of months we realised how beneficial it really was.”
Livestock is sold by weight and buyers still need to be good at judging and assessing cattle without the aid of technology. It comes down to a keen eye and experience.
The cattle push and make an unholy racket as their hooves crash on the metal floor as they crowd into the scale. Even in this crammed area the tag can be read by the electronic readers.
A team of people in a small office behind the weigh station record and weigh the batch before they are moved into the holding pens to be shipped to their final destination.
A curious sign adorns the window “Do Not Wash Windows”. I’m tempted to ask, but the busyness of the tiny office doesn’t present me with an opportunity.
High tech mixes well with low tech out here. Although the cattle can be tracked using an app on a smartphone or tablet via their electronic tags, there is still a bloke with a spray can on a stick marking cattle in the stockyard, primarily for the benefit of the rider.
It’s the rider’s job to move the cattle around the yards on horseback, separating the cattle sold to different buyers and then starting them on their journey to the weigh station.
Riders traditionally wore Akubras to keep the sun at bay; now it’s riding helmet. It seems even out here the Work Health and Safety rules have made an impact.
I bump into the photographer from rural publication The Land who says “You picked a good day for it”.
Thinking she was referring to the weather I look up at the sky. “No, they’re all dressed up as they are heading to AgQuip after the sale.”
AgQuip is the largest rural trade show in Australia and is happening this week in the town.
As the iPhone clock clicks over to 1:00 the sales are complete, the last of the beasts are leaving the scale at the weigh station and are waiting to be loaded onto trucks. The buyers and stock agents finish chatting and head off to the trade show.
Despite the new technology the spirit of the community, mateship and hospitality prevails.
As the distinctive smell of ammonia from the urine of hundreds of cattle lingers in my nostrils, and the noise of the beasts, auctioneers and buyers ring in my ears, I realise none of this can be replaced by technology.
If you go...
GUNNEDAH is a cattle-fattening area. Consistently yarding more than 120,000 prime beef cattle a year, the saleyards turn over a massive average of $90 million annually. Visitors are welcome to absorb the atmosphere as the air buzzes with the auctioneer’s call every Tuesday from 9am. You’ll find the saleyards on the north-western outskirts of town, beside the Kamilaroi Highway.
