Willy McSkimming

Every industry has them, but ours seems to breed them — the good bastards. You know the ones. The people who make a hard day’s graft not just bearable, but bloody enjoyable. The ones who bring the shed alive, keep everyone moving, and remind us why we love this mad job in the first place.

You can hear it before you see it. Not the whine of the handpiece or the thump of the press — I’m talking about that other sound. The low murmur in the pen. The side-eye at smoko. The whispered “Did you hear…?” that travels faster than a bloody southerly up the Waitaki Valley.

In this industry, “hard” is part of the job description. Long days, sore bodies, tough sheep, tight schedules, no sick days, little...