Among a mob of cattle under the afternoon sun, a group of stockmen fall quiet as their UHF radios crackle to life.
A familiar voice comes over the frequency, steady and self-assured, singing an old Slim Dusty song.
It belongs to Jim O'Connor, a grandfather figure to most of the stockmen.
At 94, Jim is too old to join the muster but that won't stop him from keeping the crew entertained.
He recites Banjo Paterson's bush verse, his favourite song lyrics and even makes up poems of his own — but he never learned to read or write.
His education lies in an understanding of stock and country, and in how to survive one of the harshest landscapes in Australia.
Alone with the sheep
Jim was born in 1932 in the pastoral country of Far West New South Wales, between Broken Hill and Tibooburra, and has lived there ever since.
At 14, he spent nine months almost entirely alone, minding sheep by the river during a savage drought.
Occasionally his dad would ride out with supplies: a shoulder of meat, some vegetables and tinned goods for when the heat spoiled the rest.
Each day began before daylight, with breakfast and a fresh horse. The one he'd kept tied up overnight was let go, and a new one caught for the day's work.
Water, dingoes, weather and the condition of his stock were constant concerns.
After spending the day tending to the sheep, he'd head back to his camp.
"It would be dark by then, so you'd just get something to eat and unroll your swag. You never had much time to be frightened," he said.
When he did have time, he turned to the poems his mother had read to him as a child, or made up his own.
Poems and paperwork
His love of poetry and music began at an early age, with his mother reading to him before bed. When he heard one he liked, he would ask: "Oh mum, can you read it again?" By the second reading, he almost always knew it by heart.
One of his poems was inspired by a dinner with New South Wales governor Peter Sinclair in the 1990s, and Jim's realisation of how different their lives had been.
Jim was so capable that many close friends took years to realise he was unable to read or write.
His former neighbour and friend Paul McLure found out at a meeting of pastoralists in Tibooburra.
"Jim passed me the paperwork, and I passed it back to him," he said.
'You can do more than you think you can'
Self-reliance came early to Jim and his grandson Daniel said Jim's life lessons and his belief in other people's abilities, shaped his own.
"He always believed that you could do more than you think you can, if you just try your best," Daniel said.
"As a kid, he'd ask you to do things and you'd think, 'I don't have any idea how to do that.'"
Daniel remembers being about 13 years old, pushing cattle across a road, when a big heifer went a bit mad, chasing people off their motorbikes.
His grandfather told him to simply get in behind the heifer and walk her back onto the road to rejoin the herd. Despite his reservations, the plan worked.
"What a hell of a way to approach life and people, to assume that you can do more than you think you can."
Jim's daughter, Anny, said he only ever asked you to do something he could do himself.
"Until he got to 83, and he sheared his last sheep and then he'd ask you to shear a sheep," she laughed.
Anny's belief in her father's good character has helped her measure other people's throughout her life.
"I always thought growing up that if you didn't get along with Dad, you were the one with the problem," she said.
Jim's life honoured
Last month, Jim's life was recognised when he was inducted into the Australian Stockman's Hall of Fame.
Mr McLure nominated him after a "light-bulb moment" during a visit to the hall in Longreach, Queensland.
"[Jim's] understanding of how the pastoral industry works and what were good decision, how you manage livestock, all those sorts of things, just hit me," he said.
Daniel said his grandfather deserved the Hall of Fame induction.
"It makes me a bit emotional because he's someone that has, from a very young age, gotten up every day and done whatever he thought was the right thing to do to move the life of himself, and those around him, forward," he said.
"He continued to do that for nine decades."
Jim lives with his son and daughter-in-law on a station near Packsaddle. When he can lend a hand, he does.
These days, that means telling stories and reciting poems over the UHF, keeping the stockmen entertained while they move cattle across country.
Asked about his place in the Hall of Fame, he said simply: "It seems to me it's an honour."
And as for how he'd like to be remembered: "Just as I am, I suppose."
