Bob Holder, 94, Cootamundra, NSW, shares his story about becoming a rodeo legend from the age of 14…
With my dad’s arm around my waist, we trotted across the stock routes of the Riverina, droving cattle.
“No better feeling than riding with the wind on your face,” he said, and I agreed.
It was 1934, and I was three years old.
My dad, Bob, was a drover, but around the rodeo grounds he was known as a rough rider.
Every afternoon after school, I’d race to the track to watch him and the older blokes ride.
I want to be like them, I thought.
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When I was five, Dad grinned at me one morning.
“Time for your first bronco ride,” he said.
The moment the pony was released, I was thrown.
Red dust exploded around me as I hit the hard ground.
Then Dad rode up beside me.
“Get up and dust yourself off,” he said.
So I did. Then I climbed straight back into the saddle.
Over the following years, I travelled stock routes with Dad from New South Wales to Queensland, learning how to handle spirited horses.
At seven, I rode a pony named Piney.
He looked harmless, but he bucked so violently I suffered a terrible concussion. I was back riding the next day.
I couldn’t wait to compete in rodeos, but the minimum age was 16 unless you had parental permission.
By 1945, aged 14, I was desperate to ride in the Tumut Rodeo.
“Will you forge my mum’s signature?” I asked my mate Ray.
“Sure,” he laughed.
Soon enough I was approved.
My parents planned to attend the rodeo, but they had no idea I’d entered.
I slipped away with Ray and climbed onto my allocated horse.
My heart hammered in my chest as I heard the roar of the crowd.
I’ve got this, I told myself.
The gate swung open and chaos erupted.
Eight seconds later, I heard the whistle.
I’d done it.
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When the judge said I’d won, joy surged through me.
This is what I want to do for the rest of my life, I thought.
My parents were furious that I’d deceived them, but Dad couldn’t hide his pride.
In 1952, I entered the Warwick Gold Cup in Queensland and drew the Bucking Horse of the Year – Satan.
Even hearing the horse’s name made riders nervous.
The second the chute gate opened, Satan exploded.
He twisted and bucked violently, trying to throw me clear. I hung on with everything I had.
Then came the bell.
Ten seconds. I’d ridden Satan clean.
In 1957, I was hired by a local horse owner to break in one of his horses.
“This is my daughter, Patsie,” he said, introducing me to the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
She had kind eyes, dark hair and a warm smile.
I asked her on a date and, somehow, she said yes.
Patsie worried about the danger that came with rodeo, but once she saw how much I loved it, she embraced the lifestyle, too.
Then, in 1959, American saddle bronc champion George Williams toured Australia and invited me to compete with him in Canada and the US.
On my 29th birthday, I rode before Queen Elizabeth II at the Calgary Stampede in Canada.
“The Queen waved at me,” I later joked to my mates.
A month later, I became the first Australian cowboy to win prize money in American rodeo after taking out the Saddle Bronc event at Iowa’s Sidney Championship Rodeo.
Then came Madison Square Garden in New York.
I looked down at my allocated horse and laughed.
Meathook – the maddest horse in America.
Even legendary riders warned me against it.
“He’s no good,” champion Jim Shoulders told me.
“You go home to Australia alive.”
But I’d never been one to turn out a horse.
When the chute cracked open, Meathook bucked with terrifying force.
Still, I clung on.
When I finally dismounted, the crowd erupted.
That ride earned me the nickname “The Cootamundra Cat” because of the way I gripped the horse’s shoulders to stay on.
I was later disqualified on a technicality after my hand brushed Meathook’s neck, but even the judge was stunned.
“Without that touch,” he told me, “there wouldn’t be enough paper in New York to write the score.”
Back in Australia, I built a rodeo arena in Cootamundra with a few fellow drovers.
The first Cootamundra Rodeo was held there in 1962.
That same year, Patsie and I married. We went on to raise two kids, Kerrie and Payton.
When I wasn’t competing, I drove cattle to support my family and brought the kids along on stock routes, just as my father had done with me.
Then, in 2022, aged 91, my family rushed me to hospital after I struggled to breathe.
“You have interstitial lung disease,” the doctor said.
My lung capacity had dropped to 37 per cent.
Soon after, I was diagnosed with Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome.
“Only one per cent of people survive this at your age,” the doctor warned.
But I wasn’t ready to give up.
After months of oxygen tanks and treatment, I beat the odds.
A few months later, I was back competing in team roping events.
At 92, I was recognised by Guinness World Records as the world’s oldest professional rodeo rider, and the arena I helped build was renamed The Bob Holder Arena in my honour.
In 2024, I won the Over 90s Header Buckle at the Mt Isa Rodeo.
My body no longer lets me ride bucking horses, but I still climb into the saddle every chance I get.
As long as I can get on a horse, I’ll keep riding.
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