The gate swings open and teenager Johnathon Carlo hurtles into the rodeo arena on the back of miniature bull, his right hand swinging wildly before he crashes into the dirt. The crowd roars as the then 14-year-old strides back to the chutes, rubbing his left wrist, the one he uses to hold onto the bull rope. “You hurt?” I ask. “Nah,” says the teenager.

For bull riders, pain is a state of mind. All that counts is eight seconds on the back of a bull.

Any fewer means no points. A B/O.

A buck off. The aim is the same the world over, but this rodeo is in Australia, where cattle stations dwarf even those in the United States, creating a familiar yet distinct cowboy culture.

For Johnathon, every ride is preparation for his first taste of US competition with nine other young Australian hopefuls, who are flying to Texas for the Youth Bull Riders World Finals this July. Among those occupying long-haul seats will be Bella Brinner, a 12-year-old cowgirl who wants to “show the boys who’s boss”; Jake Washband, 13, who knew at 7 that he wanted to ride; and EJ Morris and Kobi Evans, also 13, who have their eyes set on one day winning world titles in the US.

None of these kids sits at the top of the Australian rankings, but behind them is a team of enthusiastic parents who formed a non-profit – Red Dirt Australian Rodeo – to raise money for the trip. “It’s just a great experience for them,” says Red Dirt parent Clint Morris. “They get over there and they’re messing with the world.” In this sport-obsessed nation, bull riding is very much a minority pastime. The Australian branch of Professional Bull Riders Inc. has been working for years to recruit fresh talent, but it’s competing with more popular sports – football, soccer and netball – that don’t risk crush and gore injuries.

Driving to rodeos around Queensland, an Australian state more than twice the size of Texas, takes time and money with no guarantee that it’ll one day catapult them to fame in the United States. There, eight seconds on a “bovine athlete” could earn them millions – just like Troy Dunn, Australia’s only PBR World Champion.

Or Brady Fielder, the current US number 2. America may be the ultimate dream for many young Australian bull riders, but for some, bull riding delivers rewards much closer to home.

A deep history in the saddle Australia’s cowboy culture has many parallels with its equivalent in North and South America, even if the terms are delightfully localized – cowboys are generally called “stockmen” or “ringers,” trainees are “jackaroos” for boys or “jillaroos” for girls. White settlers and frontier pioneers built vast, fenceless cattle stations, battling harsh environments and disease, embracing a hard-living culture that exists to this day.

Folk music, cowboy hats and trucks are as common in some parts of rural Australia as they are in the Midwest. It is also, much like in the Americas, a story of indigenous dispossession.

Johnathon grew up among bull riders in his hometown of Cherbourg, a former Aboriginal mission that sits at the end of a long, sealed road in rural Queensland. It was here that his ancestors were segregated from society under policies imposed by Australia’s colonial settlers.

From 1900 to the early 1970s, dozens of Aboriginal tribal groups were forced from their traditional lands to live in the government-run reserve. Some became stockmen, learning to ride settlers’ horses and using their deep knowledge of the land to muster cattle on horseback across vast landscapes. “The cattle industry, it was built off the backs of my people,” said Damien Bond, a third-generation bull rider from Cherbourg. “Anything to do with horses, cattle, rodeo, we adopted that into our culture, too.” Damien and his brother Charlie Bond mentor boys like Johnathon, who started out riding horses at Charlie’s house next-door.

Now, nearly every weekend, Johnathon and his five siblings pile into their mom’s car to drive to rodeos across the state. Johnathon’s mother, Elizabeth Davidson admits she gets nervous every time he enters the arena, praying that he doesn’t get hurt. “Then I get really excited when he rides,” she says. “The way he just looks for his family, and he gives us a wave.” Showing the boys who’s boss Bella Brinner wears a pink helmet, pink chaps and a protective vest embossed with a big letter B.

She lives in Narangba, a semi-rural area about 34 kilometers (21 miles) north of the state capital Brisbane. “They’re just like little puppies,” the 12-year-old says, of her favorite bulls, Ice Cube, Monkey and Floppy. “You can pat them. They won’t hurt you.” Yet, there was that time Floppy trampled her three times.

And the other injuries she’s picked up over two years in the sport. “A horn through the chin, fractured collarbone, fractured wrist, fractured ribs, blood contusions on her leg – both – and bruising on her back, butt and everywhere else,” lists her upbeat father, Tony Brinner. “I don’t get scared,” he says. “I love it.” “If she loves it, I love it,” he adds. Hours later, Bella’s back in the medical tent after a bruising sub-eight-second ride at the Moreton Bay Rodeo in Redcliffe, north of Brisbane. “This might be a trip to the hospital by the looks of the pain on her face,” says her mother, Catherine Brinner. “She’s tough.

You’ve got to be tough in this sport.” The next day, with her elbow strapped, Bella’s back on a bull – then quickly back in hospital. “Bull flicked and Bella landed on her head,” Tony explains. The doctors advise two weeks off, then she’s back in the arena at a major invitational event in Brisbane as the only girl bull rider.

In front of the crowd of 14,000, the announcer asks her why she does it: “To show the boys who’s boss.” Bella took up bull riding after her older sister aged out of competition. At the time, bull riding for girls in Australia was limited to 14.

But last year, Australia’s National Rodeo Association raised the age limit to 18, boosting Bella’s ambition to one day ride in adult comps. “Once you get on one bull, you get the feeling,” Bella says. “I’ll have arguments with people … but when I get on the bull, it just disappears.” Country culture Australia’s rodeo industry looks with a flicker of envy at the deep cowboy culture in the United States, where the sport attracts huge crowds and big-name sponsors. Rodeos in rural Australia are more modest affairs, with distinct cultural origins rooted in pastoral stations and country towns.

It’s a chance for locals to meet neighbors normally hidden down long driveways on remote properties, and raise money for the local school, hospital or church. “It gives them something that they can enjoy, rather than focusing on the drought, or the cost of fuel, or grasshopper plagues that they are going through,” said Jason Hall, chair of the National Rodeo Association. For young country kids, it’s a chance to test their skills, and show their mates they’ve got what it takes to stay on. “Everyone’s only goal is to ride for eight seconds.

If you ride eight, you’ll get a score. If you don’t ride eight, you won’t get a score,” said Hall. “You need to be quite fit and quite strong through the core.” Junior bull riders generally graduate from riding horses, learning balance and agility, before testing their mettle on miniature bulls.

Introducing smaller bulls was a deliberate move to reduce the injury count, said Glen Young, managing director of Professional Bull Riders Australia, himself a former bull rider who sought money and fame in the US before returning home to smooth the path for others. “Kids were getting on animals that were too good for them,” he said. “You can only hurt a kid a couple of times, and then they’re going to lose faith in it.” To give kids a safer start in the industry, the PBR launched the PBR Junior Academy, a pathway into the big league for children ages 7 to 17. At 17, riders can compete in a Challenger Series before entering the adult arena.

They don’t let just anyone on a bull. Riders are screened before competitions and anyone considered too inexperienced is denied entry. “Putting somebody on a bull is like really throwing a kick boxer in with Mike Tyson for the first time,” said Young. “It’s dangerous, you just don’t do it.” A moment of focus The parents of junior bull riders told CNN they didn’t encourage it – most don’t ride themselves and some had no prior knowledge of the industry.

But in a world where children are largely cushioned from failure, they were happy their child had found a passion that demands grit and perseverance. If nothing else, bull riding guarantees hard knocks.

Clint Kenyon spends most weeks teaching young backpackers farm skills so they can satisfy the terms of their working visas. It’s a tough gig. “It’s amazing how many of those backpackers, I don’t think they’ve broken a fingernail before,” he says.

On Sundays, Kenyon opens the gates of his homestead to kids from Cherbourg, and anyone else who wants to ride bulls. “I think purpose is a real problem with especially young males today, and this gives them a bit of purpose.” For him, bull riding offers a short blast of intense focus. For his friend Doug James, it’s something else. “It’s why some people jump out of planes.

It’s why some people ride motorbikes. It’s why druggies do drugs.

It’s addictive,” says James, as he sits rubbing his shoulder after aggravating an earlier bull-riding injury. “For those eight seconds, nothing else in the world matters.” James said his own teenage son gave bull riding a go before deciding it wasn’t for him. “I never encouraged him to ride. I guess I didn’t want to see my own kid go through that sort of stuff,” he says. “I never told him no, but I certainly never told him yes, either.” Today, six-year-old Kaw-Liga Bond-Blackman is getting ready for his first solo ride.

He’s a fifth-generation bull rider, not yet out of first grade, with his own mini chaps and a serious scowl. He doesn’t like math, but he knows how to prep a rope.

As Kaw-Liga sits on a bull in the chute, Johnathon holds him steady and Damien Bond, his grandfather, readies the bull with a few gruff words of advice for the junior cowboy. “Move up on your rope,” he says. For Bond, riding is not just about staying on a bull but building confidence and community.

He sees it a means to support the mental health of the boys and men of Cherbourg, which remains one of Australia’s most disadvantaged communities. “These bulls and horses they get on, they don’t care what color you are, they just want to get you off their back… there’s no racism here, it’s just us and the beast,” he says. Jake Washband, 14, watches on.

He’s also going to the US in July but isn’t riding today. He came off a bull last night, its hoof slamming into his back upper thigh. “I didn’t move quick enough,” he says.

His mates EJ Morris and Kobi Evans will be there, too. Both teenagers, ages 13 and 14, have been riding for about three years, and look to their American hero JB Mauney for inspiration.

Mauney, widely seen as the best rider of his generation and someone who braved the hardest bulls to ride, had to retire in 2023 after a neck break on a bull called Arctic Assassin. Mauney later bought Arctic Assassin so they could retire together to his ranch. “He’s just one of the greatest bull riders, you know,” says EJ, who is himself leaning on crutches.

EJ “snapped his leg in half” while falling off a bull in April; the cast came off in June and he’s training to regain form for his US ride. Back in the arena, Kaw-Liga lasts about five seconds on the mini bull. “Good job buddy,” one of the older boys says, bumping fists.

One day, Kaw-Liga might also find himself riding in the US – like Johnathon, who’s affectionally known in the Cherbourg community as “John John.” “John John’s actually in a leadership role at the moment,” says Damien Bond. “He didn’t ask for it, but it comes with the territory.” For Bond, it doesn’t really matter where Johnathon, now 15, places at the Youth Bull Riding World Finals in July – or even if he stays on for those full eight seconds. “He’s going to America to represent Cherbourg. That’s already a win for us.”