Mareeba Rodeo

Behind the Chutes Photography by Michael Critchley

Mareeba Rodeo 60th Anniversary

About the Artist Art has been a part of my life for as far back as I can remember.

Much of that influence and appreciation of art is definitely genetically attributed to my parents who were artists in their own right. They taught and shared their creativity with so many art students, including myself, and I feel privileged to have had their tutelage and guidance.

For my wonderful wife Francine, my pardner and friend behind the shoots.

As a teenager, I recall, many of our annual summer holidays were purposefully planned around a mix of culture and the most scenic routes throughout Europe. Inevitably this had to include many an hour or so wandering around quaint villages, towns with Gothic cathedrals and art galleries. With cameras around our necks, pockets bulging with rolls of film and sketch-pads to hand, we were ready to capture the moment.

My father, ‘Hal’, better known as Harold William Critchley, introduced the world of photography to me. He was an inspiration to me as well as the motivator and director of my artistic development.

Behind the Chutes The design and photography in this book are Copyright © 2009 by the author Michael Critchley.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mechanical or electronic means without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Photography: Michael Critchley Design: Michael Critchley Text: Francine Critchley

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My first camera which he purchased for me, was a Yashica twin lens reflex 6x6. At least three evenings per week and Saturday mornings were occupied with photography classes where I learnt the fundamental techniques of developing and printing. My limited budget meant B/W film was all I could afford, but eventually my knowledge and experience advanced to a 35mm Pentax (birthday present from ‘Hal’) when Kodachrome and colour film came into my life.

During my late teens I was able to attend the same art college where ‘Hal’ was Head of Department. His passion for art was contagious and our forays abroad continued to expand my photojournalism.

After three years at The London College of Printing and a BA in graphic design I was ready to take on the world.

And so began my journey to where, and who, I am today.

Michael Critchley

The Horses Nostrils flared, fetlocks stamping, hoofed feet tramping.

Watchful eyes and noble head.

Corralled, enclosed our freedom denied, but soon our chance will come.

Muscle, sinew, flesh and flanks with all our strength we race, we race heart beats drum.

Spirit free. Rider and horse are we.

Free, free to speed with hair and mane a streaming banner. Canter, canter.

Gallop to a thundering charge, churning dust around.

Turn fast, turn low, stride out, just Go! The stopwatch acts as judge and jury to the winner of time and motion.

Hatless rider, heads bent down, who will win the victors crown?

Crack the whip, all hell for leather, gallop to the line.

No, no – not enough time!

Muzzle murmurs, gentle breath, the horse whisperers tell the tale.

A stable mate’s consolation rub, returned my feat is done.

My saddle hangs with inert pride, my rider she has won.

The Bulls Step back in time to the Ol’ Rodeo, the billboard draws us in.

Set your style and ride ’em rough. Young fella’s here to win the dollar prize and glory fair.

What price to pay what risk and pain for fortune and the glory game.

Mad bull, cool stare. Crazy steer, a reckless pair, as cowboy, bull and rope entwine.

The briefest of all encounters.

Convulsions in the air, cowboy, bull, that reckless pair.

Blinding pain, jarring bones, the jingle of the spurs.

Eat dust you beast. My grip is strong the trophy will be mine.

Say, take a look Behind the Chutes, the hero’s of the day stand clustered, Others herded ’round the campfires glow, relive tales of the Ol’ rodeo.

Times are changing, that’s for sure, someone’s leaving “Slam the door”.

Say, take a look Behind the Chutes, cowboys come in fancy Utes.

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Gallop to a thundering charge, churning dust around.

Turn fast, turn low, stride out, just Go!

Ladies Barrel Race

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Nostrils flared, fetlocks stamping, hoofed feet tramping.

Watchful eyes and noble head.

Corralled, enclosed our freedom denied, but soon our chance will come.

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Muscle, sinew, flesh and flanks, with all our strength we race, we race heart beats drum.

Spirit free. Rider and horse are we.

Free, free to speed with hair and mane a streaming banner. Canter, canter.

The stopwatch acts as judge and jury to the winner of time and motion.

Hatless rider, heads bent down, who will win the victors crown?

Crack the whip, all hell for leather, gallop to the line. No, no – not enough time!

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Muzzle murmurs, gentle breath, the horse whisperers tell the tale.

A stablemate’s consolation rub, returned my feat is done.

My saddle hangs with inert pride, my rider she has won.

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The rodeo isn’t over ’till the bull riders ride

What price to pay, what risk and pain, for fortune and the glory game.

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Set your style and ride ’em rough. Young fella’s here to win the dollar prize and glory fair.

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Say, take a look behind the chutes, the heroes of the day stand clustered.

Others herded ’round the campfires glow, relive tales of the Ol’ rodeo.

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Mad bull, cool stare.

Crazy steer, a reckless pair, as cowboy, bull and rope entwine.

The briefest of all encounters.

Convulsions in the air, cowboy, bull, a reckless pair.

Blinding pain, jarring bones, the jingle of the spurs.

Eat dust you beast.

My grip is strong, the trophy will be mine.

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“…There’ll be some fun and battle with the horses and the cattle at the big Mareeba Rodeo…”

Slim Dusty