I never dreamt… never in a thousand years. I’ve seen other people go under and I’ve always thought we could survive. I always knew we could pull through. And I… I just can’t accept that we wont. I was born on the Western Plains. Its my country and don’t tell me it isn’t. I know all about the history but I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about us. Four generations of our family. How could I leave it? I can’t watch Yallaroy go under, it’d be like… like watching yourself drown. Its like my guts are being dragged out of me. I love that place… riding out on that stupid mongrel of a horse, just me and the dogs… so peaceful and so, I dunno… at times it’s even… (beautiful). Flat and dry to everyone else but to me its… All the pasture we’ve put in, all the clearing, the hours we dragged rocks and shit away, ploughing, twelve-hour shifts getting bogged and I feel… proud. Because its our country, its Murray country. Wherever I look I see the old man and my grandfather and his father and I think of them clearing all that scrub country. I look at the big scribbly barks and the river oaks. I watch the sheep huddling under them and I think of how smart they were to clear so selectively. You're not the first person to talk about conservation, Milo. There’s people who’ve raped this country all right but don’t you fucking well forget about the ones who’ve looked after it either. I never raped no-one, I never kicked any bugger off their land, all I ever done is work me bloody guts out. It breaks my fuckin’ heart… and I just can’t handle it that it’s me… who’s fucked up! Yallaroy is, is everything, it’s everything that I… I love. I’ve, I’ve let the whole bloody shooting match go down the gurgler… Christ almighty what am I going to do?