We drive up a lane shaded by eucalyptus trees and park between two dams. As we step out of the car, our ears fill with birdsong and the echoing ‘bong’ sound of what the women of Wedgetail Rides refer to as ‘the bong-bong frogs’. At the edge of one of the dams is a painted bus, which turns out to be the tack room, and, above it, a sheltered arena, perched on a forested hill. Only a third of the 150-acre property is cleared for horses; the rest is bush and it envelops us at once.
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