1500km from pillar to post

"If you see that dingo, shoot him," 70-something-year-old Betty Hill yells after the man carefully closing her iron gate.

Richard Cotterill laughs and fires back nothing more than a retreating wave.

It may seem a strange request to make of your postman, but after 19 years of being arguably Australia's most isolated mail worker, Mr Cotterill has been asked for much worse.

The 58-year-old, who was born in Esperance, but has been firmly ensconced around Leonora for most of his life, has delivered the mail every week for more than a third of his life.

Station owners are his main customers along the 1500km route and even their dogs greet him like an old friend.

"I get paid to drive around and visit my mates," he says.

It's 6.42am on a bright Thursday and Mr Cotterill has been on the road for close to two hours.

Passing through Mulga country, he encounters Woodarra.

There is little left to suggest that in the 1890s, more than 1500 men lived here, arriving in droves after gold was found just north of the scrubby patch at Lake Darlot.

It is just one of the forgotten ghost towns dotted across the Goldfields which were once the lifeblood of a prosperous region.

Mr Cotterill absentmindedly pokes a bothersome fly on the windscreen before remembering that, on this run, there is someone watching.

"When you get rid of him, there'll be another one," he says with a shrug.

Turning right and continuing down a well-maintained dusty track, the postie steers his Holden Colorado over a cattle grid before coming to a halt in front of the Melrose Station homestead - his first stop.

He flings a sturdy calico bag from the back of the ute, flops it over his shoulder and trudges through another gate, where Merrilea and David Broad are awaiting his arrival.

It is here in the homestead made from corrugated iron and cladding that the postal routine is first revealed.

A cup of tea (black with no sugar) is placed in front of Mr Cotterill, the first of many, accompanied by something sweet - biscuits, brownies, cake. Everyone knows the drill.

Attention then turns to the mail.

One could be forgiven for thinking this trip was all about wide open spaces and chat over a cuppa, before witnessing the mail ritual.

At this first stop, and every one that follows, the mailbag is grabbed, untied and upended, before letters and packages are sifted through, reminiscent of a Christmas stocking filled by Santa.

"They're all bills, Richard," Mrs Broad says with a wink.

It's a sentiment repeated like an inside joke at nearly every stop.

Back on the track towards Banjawarn - the 400ha station on the edge of the Great Victoria Desert famous for once being owned by Japanese doomsday cult Aum Shinrikyo - poverty bushes spring up around a derelict shearing shed.

News of a cattle truck heading north has set the rumour mills alight and, not for the first time today, Richard is asked for the scoop.

Where was it going? To whom did it belong and how many others are still mustering?

It's like seeing the bush telegraph in action.

But despite being an agreeable chap, Mr Cotterill laughs off persistent inquiries and won't be drawn on private matters.

He stops at Banjawarn long enough to sketch a diagram in the dirt in a bid to show a 15-year-old the best way to fix his windmill.

Ninety minutes down track, the surface gets a bit hairy.

A crudely painted sign hangs in a mulga tree saying "Sunny Wiluna Shire".

Apparently, the shire borders were adjusted and no one could agree who was responsible for grading that patch of road.

Mr Cotterill overcomes the sandy setback and continues up the familiar path to the next stop, where someone else is waiting to share their news.

Some say it hasn't rained in eight months, others talk shop and moan about the pollies, and everyone inquires about the health of their fellow pastoralists.

Some joke they don't know what day it is until Mr Cotterill turns up.

"Is it Thursday already?" one punter says with a laugh.

"If I rock up a day late or a day early, I put everyone out of sync," Mr Cotterill admits.