It was a few weeks back, prior to the start of the Top End’s wet season. Matt would have been high and dry walking along a well-used track that followed the properties northern boundary fence line. Today, however, he was knee deep in floodwater as we headed to higher ground in search of a few stranded waterlogged pigs.
Out in front, Matt, typical of his generation, made the going look tough as he waded through the numerous large expanses of low lying surface water. He looked cold, wet and tired. As usual, I just pushed on silently without complaint, rugged, reliable, old school. Even at sixty-one, I could still keep up the pace and if I did fall back a bit, I just gave the Honda's accelerator a nudge.
We…