9 lives of Jacoppo.

By Jacob Mills

Witness marks are signs of wear, left over time, that tell a story within the patina. I would follow him everywhere. This day he was working on a roof, so I climbed the ladder behind him. I imagine watching your toddler climb onto the roof behind you must be a frightening experience for any parent. But dad got me down safely and sent me on my way. As I walked away, the ladder fell and hit me on the head. I have no memory of this, of course, it’s what I’ve been told. But when I shave my head, there are two, perfectly round circles the size of a nail head, my witnesses.

~

I was a little boy and captivated by the arcing light; dad was welding. He kept yelling at me to look away and upon refusal I was sent outside. It was warm and sunny, and I stood there taking it in, watching the wedge-tailed eagles circle overhead. I loved watching them like that. I had no idea they were circling me until mum told me that her biggest fear was that we’d be taken by eagles. After all, we were just little kids running freely from sunrise to sunset out in the Australian bush. In later years I watched a documentary detailing the skulls of ancient children and the scratch marks, a perfect match to eagles, around the eye sockets; apparently there’s a lot of goodness in the brain.

Fast-forward and I’m thirty years old, sun baking naked on a remote, steep mountain top on a sunny autumn day in Ikara-Flinders Ranges. The whooshing came to me first, I looked up to see a big Wedgie, bailing-out on swooping me, a grown man, after I’d moved at the last moment. It passed just five metres over my head then came back around for another look. It just needed to knock me off, and I was done. A small child would be easy.

~

The myall posts whipped by as we bombed down a fence-line track in the old Sierra. I was four or five and just like my best friend, Poco, I loved hanging out the window and watching the wheels go ‘round. The wind was in my hair and grandpa was at the wheel. And just like that, I was out the window and headed for a reckoning with a hardwood fence post. Grandpa was a big man, a man of the land with hands as big as a dinner plate and strong as a ram. Just before the last of me departed, he grabbed my ankle and pulled me back in. As my memory goes, we carried on down the track, not a word.

The old Sierra had nothing above door level except for two flimsy uprights, remnants of a broken roll bar – a lot was missing. No windscreen, no roof, not even a driver’s side door. I had it mapped out, I’d rallied that track many times. Up and over an ancient volcano, down through the dusty plain, weaving in and out of the trees in the woods then out onto the straight. It was my sixteenth birthday. Sam was in the passenger seat and we were pushing that machine harder, and harder. We came to the last bend onto the straight and I had a sudden urge for donuts. Too much, too fast. We began to tip towards the driver’s side. Sam got up onto his seat and jumped clean out over my head, and landed on his feet. I tumbled out onto my belly, face in the prickles, dust settling around me. I looked up at Sam and he looked as stunned as I felt. I turned to see that the jeep was resting over me, passenger door ready to cut me half the moment that flimsy broken roll bar gave way. I’ve never felt more alive or more grateful for missing parts. But it wouldn’t be the last car wreck I’d have.

That was the end for ‘Suzi’ Sierra. This old jeep was at the centre of so many memories. But, in my first and last, Death was riding in the back, catching the wind and, thankfully, having too much fun.

~

Dad climbed to the top of the cliff first, I quickly followed and in my youthful haste of six or seven I slipped and fell. It was at an angle and I rolled down to the bottom. I’ve always loved the Senna shrubs, especially after one caught me and held me safe that day.

~

Leilah was climbing above me. She was eleven, I was ten. The waterfall was dry, and we were heading up. Packs on, no ropes. I placed my foot on a Cassinia growing out of the cliff and I slipped. And just like that, I was heading down. But from above a lightning hand caught my arm and resisted my fall just enough to allow me to grab back on. You’re my Superwoman, Leilah.

~

There it was, glistening and brown and in the kitchen. I’d just come in the front door and I’d caught it in a scared moment. Not calm and placid as usual, but frightened and trapped. It charged me, going direct under the dining table. At that moment I leapt up and over the table and out the back door. ‘MUUUUUUM, SNAAAAAAAAAAKE!’

~

Impatience is not a good trait when you’re on a razorback ridge, ascending a mountain with hundreds of metres dropping away immediately to your left and right. But I was 17 and they were so slow. So, headstrong and half-witted, I chose to go around them. Pack on, no ropes. I was shimmying around the cliff face, not daring to look down, but I was getting out in front and having fun. But then the nice easy cliff, full of cracks and crevices, flattened out. I couldn’t go forwards and I couldn’t go back. I wasn’t skilled enough for this. ‘DAAAAD, throw me a rope!’. Somewhere from the sky over the clifftop a rope flew over, enough for me to pull on and get beyond that beautiful flat face. I was safe, thanks to my slow companions. Lesson learned.

~

I was lucky to be born into a family where I was allowed to live. Allowed to explore and to face danger. To sense the world at its rawest. I think that because of this I now move through the world humbly, but confident that I can do anything that I set my mind to. So thank you, mum & dad, for allowing me to nearly die many, many times.

Follow along below