Heads turn at the thoroughbred racetrack at Millicent, about 50 kilometres west of Mount Gambier.
Amid the sea of brown, black and occasionally grey gallopers, one mare looks more at home in a Hollywood western than racing down the home straight.
Brown and white patch-coloured Comanche Queen is a unique sight, and a favourite with spectators who stop in their tracks, open-mouthed, when she struts by.
And her tall, 90-kilogram rider, Danny Smith, is just as unlikely.
Together, the pair are a perfect match.
They are two "misfits" proving that the time-old connection between horse and man can turn the fortunes of any life.
Mr Smith's bond with Comanche Queen is undeniable "she's a bit of an outsider, like me," he laughs.
"We don't really fit the mould, we're sort of the underdogs, but that's our superpower."
Growing up on 'wrong side of tracks'
Mr Smith's road back to the racetrack, after 30 years, has been a winding journey.
Homeless in the parklands and streets of Adelaide, addicted to methamphetamines, and isolated from "functioning society" he has found his way back "home" to horses and the racing community of South Eastern South Australia, which he says has "saved him" from "a dead end."
In the 1970s, Mr Smith grew up in Adelaide's working-class northern suburbs with two brothers and a single mother working four jobs.
"Mum was so busy working and trying to keep a roof over our heads that we were palmed off to babysitters, or left to our own devices," he says.
An incident as a 10-year-old became a "turning point" in his life and after that his behaviour became "more and more reckless".
"As a young teen, I was a bit uncontrollable, so Mum found me a job in the stables of a racehorse trainer in Adelaide."
Hopes for a life in the saddle
The hours and conditions for trackwork riders and stable hands are notoriously tough.
Rising well before sunrise at 3am, mucking out stables, feeding and watering dozens of horses and riding up to 20 gallopers a morning in every kind of weather.
"When I started, I knew nothing of horses, but I took to it quite naturally. I learnt to ride and became a good rider, good horse handler … and it gave me a lot of purpose and stability which I really needed at that time," Mr Smith says.
By 14, he had an apprenticeship with a trainer in Naracoorte in the South East of South Australia, but dreams of becoming a jockey were crushed after "getting too heavy and tall".
And with that, Mr Smith returned to Adelaide's northern suburbs where he took up a job at a tyre factory, married his girlfriend and had two daughters.
Finding the floor and learning to live again
"I was hanging around with a lot of railway workers, factory guys and footy fellas, and there was a lot of risk-taking — drinking, drugs. It wasn't really my thing but I sort of got pulled in by it all," he says.
By the time the girls were young teenagers, Mr Smith's "casual, recreational" drug taking was becoming more regular.
"With the company I was keeping, it was hard to stay on the straight and narrow. When I started dabbling on weekends I thought it was manageable, but as these things go, it became more frequent, and I was using a lot more and it became destructive," he says.
A pattern soon developed.
"I would spiral out of control before turning it around and getting help – I was a member of NA [Narcotics Anonymous] which was helpful, but inevitably, the pattern would repeat itself.
"My life was either up or down – there was no middle ground.
"It was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And that went on for six years."
At his lowest, Mr Smith was homeless for a period of two years in Adelaide.
"It was very scary. I had a tent, I would stay at a park in Gawler near where my daughters lived, so I could try to maintain contact with them but it was awful for all of us," he says.
"My eldest daughter would bring me food. No child should be in that situation.
"Looking back on that time, and speaking with the girls about it now, it really did affect them and it's hard to think about.
"It was a fair way down, and it was pretty hard to find hope."
But even with two children to live for, Mr Smith says "it wasn't easy to find the light".
"The girls did give me hope. I've got their names tattooed on my arm, but to be honest, when you're that sick, and living like that, none of it matters. I was on a very self-destructive path. I was looking for a way out and at times, I did try to end my life."
Mr Smith had become addicted to methamphetamines – a highly available and relatively cheap drug at the time.
"With these kinds of drugs, the initial high feels like you have no pain, you can perform for hours at a high level, you're invincible, your brain releases dopamine, but then you come crashing down.
"Drugs gave me a false confidence. Without them I had none.
"And that's the scary part. The drug-induced psychosis is very real. And without help, keeping on using is the next best option."
Mr Smith overdosed three times at his lowest.
"I wanted to end my life right in that moment, but at the same time I also wanted to live … for my girls and to make something more from myself and my life."
He says his government allowance kept him "in the cycle of destruction".
"Living on Centrelink payments, they weren't going on food or anything good – it was just going on things that kept me in that self-destructive lifestyle."
Living in a boarding house off Adelaide's "notorious" Whitmore Square, Mr Smith was "invisible to functioning society".
"I describe it as being two feet off the ground from being homeless … you get a roof over your head, a room, but the rooms are not very well kept and of course, you're also in company that lures you back into bad habits.
"I was a danger to myself."
But in 2017, Mr Smith took part in the Matrix Methamphetamine Treatment Program through the Adelaide Primary Health Network; a federal government funded abstinence-oriented community treatment program for significant substance users undergoing drug replacement therapy with a medical practitioner.
"The program turned my life around. It gave me the tools to learn about addiction and to have some insight in the patterns in your life – the ups and the downs, the lack of normality. It's habit forming but in the right way," Mr Smith says.
From there, Mr Smith had an opportunity to relocate to South Australia's rural south-east — familiar territory where he had ridden racehorses as a teen.
Return to the country 'a life- saving move'
"Getting out of Adelaide changed my environment — it brought me to the Joanna Life Skills Centre, near Naracoorte, and I could continue my recovery in a totally different environment," he says.
"Taking that opportunity — to move to the country — saved my life.
"I had a lot of dark feelings leave me, I felt like I was back where I belonged.
"I spent time at the property helping renovate the homes, doing odd jobs and making connections out in the community.
"And from there, I made my way back to the racing industry."
Within a year or so of returning to the region, Mr Smith found a job with a Millicent racehorse trainer.
Now in his 50s and at 90 kilograms, he's not the typical trackwork candidate but racehorse trainer and friend Scott "Scooter" McIntyre, says his natural affinity with horses, his ability to connect with challenging mounts and his "unparalleled" work ethic made him "a very special part of the team".
And the feeling is mutual, Mr Smith says.
"The men and women in the racing industry, they've helped get me back on my feet.
"I've now got my own place, and working in the racing industry again is a dream come true."
He says returning to riding in middle age had also been "a joy".
"It's a bit like riding a bike, the skills come flooding back – and my confidence has come flooding back too."
He particularly enjoys working with horses "that need a bit of extra care and understanding".
"These animals are all individuals; you respect them for their quirks, their talents, their challenges."
Looking back on the journey, Mr Smith says he is "just downright grateful" to be back in the saddle.
"I have a bit of a laugh these days — there's not too many street corners in Adelaide that I haven't been on.
"If I could say something to myself as a young boy, I'd say, well, look at you now.
"By going through what I've been through, it's allowed me to be where I am today. I'm lucky to be where I am.
"My relationship with my daughters, my parents, the beautiful people in the racing industry who inspire me so much … I'm so grateful. I feel blessed every day."
Mr Smith "feels deeply" for others struggling with addiction.
"There is help out there. You can change your life. You can turn things around.
"You do lose everything when you go down that path, but you can — if you're lucky — get it all back."
