The Great White Flying Wallaby

Back in May 2010, Shannon Jones was out bush-bashing through the Top End with his mates Billo and Coops. Dawn had only just cracked, the air was cool as a billy of creek water, when Billo glanced over his shoulder and hollered, “Oi, lads—keep yer eyes peeled for browns, it’s gone dead quiet.” Shannon looked down and spotted fresh snake-slide marks criss-crossing the red dirt. He swung his big bush knife forward, eyes glued to the track, waiting for the slightest hiss from a cranky taipan.

Just then Coops whipped out his trusty lappy, gave the screen a couple of taps and groaned, “Fair go, this battery croaks after ten minutes!” Shannon planted the knife in the sand, took the computer, and squinted. “Too right, mate—the charge controller’s carked it. Gimme a tick and I’ll sort it.”

Before he could crack open his toolkit, a massive shadow blotted out the sun. “What the bloody hell was that?!” Billo barked. “Ya see that?” Coops yelped. Shannon glanced skyward just as a pair of enormous wings beat overhead. “Was that an emu?” Billo asked, half-panicked. Shannon, with the best eyes of the bunch, shook his head. “Nah, cobber—that’s the Great Wallabanger.” Billo gaped. “You’re havin’ a lend! The Wallabanger’s just some yarn the old blokes spin in the Perth pubs.” But the creature swooped past again, its downdraft nearly whipping their hats into Arnhem Land.

The three legged it to the nearest rock ledge and dove underneath. While Billo and Coops caught their breath, Shannon calmly swapped out the dodgy module, snapped the lappy shut, and handed it back. “All sorted, Coops—good as gold.” Coops stared, wide-eyed. “Mate, how can ya work on computers while that monster’s doin’ laps overhead?” Shannon shrugged. “Fix-in’ tech is what I do, bud. If the Wallabanger’s Wi-Fi packed it in, I’d give him a hand too.” Billo shook his head, half-laughing. “You’re a flaming legend, Shanno.”

They all got out in one piece, with a ripping tale to spin at the pub. Years later, Shannon packed up and relocated to Knoxville, Tennessee, where he’s still the bloke you ring when your gear’s on the blink—whether it’s a busted battery or a mythical bird with signal troubles.