The Nomad is a series of stories, fascinations, encounters, observations, experiences, joy of the moments by me, Ulrike Reinhard – all around my travels. Stay tuned!
I had the opportunity to interview a young woman working as a helicopter pilot at Gogo Station, located in Fitzroy River Crossing, Northwestern Australia. Her primary role is to help muster cattle into the yards. Gogo Station spans an impressive 370,000 hectares and is home to approximately 70,000 head of cattle.
cattle yard at Gogo Station
Summary of the interview (entire interview see below):
Gabby Rick, 21, was born and raised on a cattle station in northern Western Australia. Her childhood was deeply rooted in station life—growing up in mustering camps, riding alongside her father to fix windmills, and absorbing the bush lifestyle from a young age. It’s a world that shaped her independence, grit, and passion for aviation.
In August last year, Gabby earned her private helicopter license, a significant step supported by her family—especially her uncle Ken, a helicopter pilot himself. Aviation runs in her blood: her father and grandfather are fixed-wing pilots. Although she currently holds only a private license, Gabby’s work is vital to her station. As long as the station owns or leases the helicopter, she can fly it for essential tasks such as bore checks or aerial mustering—using the chopper to round up and move cattle across vast paddocks.
Mustering with helicopters is common in the region, offering an efficient alternative to traditional horseback methods. Gabby and other pilots coordinate from the sky while ground crews on bikes or horses support the operation from below. The process requires tight teamwork and constant communication to safely manage thousands of head of cattle and multiple aircraft in the air.
Her days start early—often up by 3:00 AM—and by first light, she’s airborne. Some days finish by late afternoon; others stretch into the evening, depending on how the cattle respond. Life on the station, far from towns and cities, comes with its challenges—especially as one of the few women in a male-dominated environment—but Gabby takes it in stride. She’s used to the banter and ribbing at the end of a long day, and although she sometimes thinks, “Oh, piss off,” she knows it’s part of the culture.
The job’s biggest challenge? Learning to lead. As the pilot, she’s the eyes in the sky, guiding the ground crew and making quick, confident decisions while managing the aircraft and monitoring the cattle. It’s a role that demands sharp awareness and strong instincts.
Gabby recalls her first solo flight vividly—nervous but thrilled, with a huge smile as she landed safely. Her training included emergency procedures and plenty of practice before that big moment. Today, with a helicopter range of about two and a half hours, she can cover hundreds of kilometers in a day.
This lifestyle may seem like a dream to many, but for Gabby, it’s a dream she chased with commitment. Her biggest lesson? Trust yourself. In flying and in life, second-guessing can be risky. Confidence and decisiveness have become her mantras.
Looking ahead, Gabby envisions staying in the bush, always a muster pilot at heart. But she also dreams of firefighting missions or flying iconic machines like the Black Hawk. That ambition comes with a love for the land and a respect for the machinery she operates daily—ensuring it’s mechanically sound before each flight.
Gabby’s story is one of passion, persistence, and pride—a young woman carving her place in the wide skies of Australia’s outback.
This is the full interview:
Ulrike:
Here we go. Gabrielle Rick—better known as Gabby—you’re 21 and from Western Australia. Tell us a bit about where you were born and how you grew up.
Gabby:
I was born and bred on a cattle station up north. Grew up on the land, in the mustering camps, going out with Dad to fix windmills. I spent most of my childhood outside, surrounded by red dirt and cattle. It was a good life—simple, but full of adventure.
Ulrike:
You got your helicopter license just last August—not even a year ago. What inspired you to become a helicopter pilot?
Gabby:
I’ve always loved flying. My dad and my gramps are both fixed-wing pilots, and my Uncle Ken flies helicopters. He really encouraged me and backed me all the way. So did the rest of my family. They’ve always been super supportive.
Ulrike:
Quick one—what’s a fixed wing?
Gabby:
Just your standard light aircraft—planes, not choppers.
Ulrike:
And what does it take to become a helicopter pilot?
Gabby:
(Laughs) Maybe a bit of crazy helps. You’ve got to be pretty switched on—sharp with your decisions and confident in what you’re doing. You need to stay focused every moment you’re in the air.
Ulrike:
Besides being confident, you also need a license. What’s the process like?
Gabby:
First, there’s a bunch of paperwork and theory exams. Then it depends if you’re going for a private or commercial license. For a private license, you need at least 50 flying hours and a flight test. A commercial one needs 120 hours plus the test.
Ulrike:
And you currently hold the private license, right?
Gabby:
Yeah, just private for now. That means I can only fly on the property—if the station owns or contracts the helicopter. I can’t work commercially or fly for anyone else yet.
Ulrike:
And what does flying actually involve here on the station?
Gabby:
It depends on the day. Sometimes it’s bore running—checking waters and livestock. Other times, it’s aerial mustering, moving cattle across country or into the yards.
Ulrike:
Tell us more about aerial mustering—what does that actually look like?
Gabby:
It’s basically rounding up cattle from the air. You use the chopper to push them in the direction you want—into yards or across paddocks. We work closely with the ground crew on bikes or horses. They come in later to help keep the mob together as we get closer to the yards.
Ulrike:
Why not just do it all on horseback?
Gabby:
Well, times have changed. Most cattle out here have been mustered by helicopters for years now. It’s faster, especially on these massive stations. The fellas on the ground still play a big role though—especially at the tail end of a muster.
Ulrike:
What’s a typical day like for you?
Gabby:
I’m an early bird—I’m up by 3 a.m. to do some house or hangar jobs. Then, around first light—about 6—we fire up the chopper and get airborne. Some days we’re done by 4 or 4:30, other days we’re out until 5:30. Depends on how the cattle move.
Ulrike:
You’re one of the few women on the station. What’s it like living and working out here among mostly men?
Gabby:
I’ve grown up around blokes, so it’s normal to me. Most of them are pretty good. You just learn to stand your ground, hold your own, and show you can do the job too. It toughens you up—in a good way.
Ulrike:
Do you ever feel like you’re treated differently because you’re a young woman?
Gabby:
Not really. Especially as I’m still learning, the others keep a close eye on me—more out of care than anything else. They’re always giving tips and making sure I’m flying safely. They’ve got my back.
Ulrike:
Still, do you have those moments where you think: “Oh mate, just leave me alone”?
Gabby:
(Laughs) Yeah, definitely. Usually at the end of the day when we’re having a beer and the boys are giving me grief about some little mistake. I’m like, “P… off—we all start somewhere!”
Ulrike:
What would you say are the biggest challenges in your job?
Gabby:
Probably learning to be a good team leader and managing the ground crew. In the air, you’ve got to be aware of other choppers around you, fly smart, read the cattle, and keep track of what everyone’s doing. It’s a lot going on all at once.
Ulrike:
So who’s in charge during a muster—the pilots?
Gabby:
Yeah, the pilots are the eyes from above. You see the big picture. I was taught early on that whoever’s in the air leads the operation.
Ulrike:
How big can these operations get?
Gabby:
Depends. One paddock we did had four helicopters and around 2,500–3,000 head of cattle. Maybe two people on bikes, plus a few more in the yards.
Ulrike:
Have you had any scary moments yet?
Gabby:
Not really—still early days for me. But the risk is always in the back of your mind. You’re always thinking about where you are, what you’re flying over, your altitude. You’ve got to stay ready.
Ulrike:
Describe your first solo flight—what was that like?
Gabby:
Oh, I remember it so clearly. I’d done about 21 hours of training, and my instructor just hopped out and said, “Off you go.” I was like, “Wait, really?” I looked over and realized—this is all on you now. Took off fine, did the circuit, landed safely. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to feel the ground beneath me. Huge smile on my face.
Ulrike:
How long can you stay up in the air with your chopper?
Gabby:
Around two and a half hours on a full tank.
Ulrike:
And how far do you travel for cattle work?
Gabby:
We might go up to 180 kilometers out by road—but flying makes it much quicker. We cover a couple hundred k’s out to some of the muster blocks.
Ulrike:
You’re living what many people would call a dream. Do you feel that way?
Gabby:
Yeah, this was always my dream. I worked hard for it—committed fully. I’ve had great days and tough ones, but every day is a new chance. You learn, you push through, and you go again.
Ulrike:
What has flying helicopters taught you that you carry into everyday life?
Gabby:
Decision-making—100%. You’ve got to be sure of yourself and confident in what you’re doing. The second you start doubting or hesitating, that’s when things can go wrong. It’s the same on the ground—just back yourself.
Ulrike:
Any future dreams? Would you like to be doing this in 20 years?
Gabby:
Oh, I’ll always be a mustering pilot. I love the bush—was born for it. But yeah, one day it’d be pretty cool to get into firefighting and maybe fly one of those big old Black Hawks. That’s the long-term dream.
Ulrike:
Last one—how much do you need to know technically about the chopper?
Gabby:
Quite a bit, actually. You need to understand how the machine works. We check it every day—oil, fuel, belts, rotor blades, tail rotors, bolts, torque stripes. Anything you can physically get to without pulling the whole thing apart, you check. It’s your life on the line, so you look after your machine.