Author: Scott
Today did not start as I awoke with the sun streaming into our caravan and the smell of coffee wafting in the air. No sir, today started at 02:30 with the inside of the caravan resembling an igloo with an air conditioner running full bore, and yes indeedy – I had to tinkle something fierce! I know you must be thinking, that is way too much information, but it is important we share our harsh and rigorous challenges with you our faithful readers, and early this morning, getting up to drain the lizard was as tough as it gets. I went for the quick and suffering method to take care of business. I didn’t bother suiting up, I just went out to face the cold in a pair of shorts, teetering in Pam’s flip flops (I couldn’t be bothered with my laces). So, if you ever hear of a shivering blue, semi-naked, Bigfoot sighting at Lightning Ridge, you can rest easy because it was only little old me.
Fast forward to 07:00 when we were awakened by our Lightning Ridge alarm clock, the camp generator. Pam and I braved the chill (again) and suited up for the day. It is strange wearing long underwear, wool socks, wind pants, and two to three layers of upper body clothing. The gear we received from our new sponsors at Icebreakers came in handy. This is one of the first times we have abandoned our shorts and t-shirts in months.
Bob and David were already moving about, bright eyed and bushy tailed. My fantasy of a steaming cup of Joe actually came true as Bob gave me a hefty helping of “gun fire coffee” (strong coffee with a dollop of Jamaica’s finest). Woo wee, now that’s one way to get the heart pumping! The fire was blazing, the bacon was sizzling and the campsite had many squawking visitors including magpies, and the ever present ravens (or crows as they are known in Australia) that sound like babies crying – waaaaaaa waaaaaaa! Pam was a little twitchy with all of our feathery friends roaming around but as long as they stayed outside of our overhang she was fine.
We feasted on a big camp breakfast as Bob and David outlined the day. The first order of business was to drive into the town of Lightning Ridge so Bob and David could present themselves to the mining warden, an annual requirement for miners and our ultimate reason for making this journey. Afterwards we would be free to explore.
Off we went, back through the twists and turns that Bob somehow navigated to eventually find the main road to Lightning Ridge. I image a similar setup that Batman must have used to keep the bat cave hidden from the outside world. The drive out to Lightning Ridge took just about an hour and in no time we were at the Department of Mining Services, just over the road from the old burnt down pub. While Bob and David took care of their business, Pam and I wandered around taking photos of the booming metropolis. I don’t think I would have batted an eye if Clint Eastwood came swaggering down the street in his dusty chaps with six guns swinging on his hips.
The boys were done in no time, having filled their annual requirement as miners. Next stop was the opal shop. We arrived and took over, looking at just about everything in every case. The sales woman was very helpful, allowing us to touch everything. She even left a striking red $50,000 opal just sitting on the counter as she retrieved more items from the back. I found an opal ring for myself in a jiffy, and after thoroughly inventorying everything Pam also made her purchase. We actually took so long shopping that Bob and David had time to visit the second hand shop in town and purchased some new steel bar stools for around the camp table. Apparently the white ants (termites) were well on their way to devouring the current wooden stools. Bob figures it will take some time before they figure out how to eat steel, but he reckons that eventually they will find a way.
Next stop was the grocery store where we topped up the provisions, and then it was back on the road to have a lunch at the campsite. However, while en route to the camp it was decided that we should stop in at the world famous Glengarry Hilton. Now if I was picturing Clint with guns a little earlier, I could easily envision myself lying dead from a gunfight in front of the Glengarry Hilton with a mangy three legged dog licking the sweat from my forehead. The Glengarry Hilton is mostly a watering hole for the miners, though they do serve food from the “tucker truck” a few times a week. There may also be a few beds for sleeping off the effects of a long night’s libations, or day’s, or morning’s… Originally the Hilton was renowned for its liberal trading hours being “always open”, but in recent years this has been reduced to “open from 10:00 am to 11:00 pm or later”. They are also known for the coldest beer in the opal fields. Somehow I don’t think old Paris would approve of the atmosphere, but perhaps considering her recent residence maybe she would find the Hilton homey. There are dirt floors, orange table cloths, a pool table, potbellied stove and a few random stools and tables strewn about. One could easily picture the place teeming with miners pushing the lizards out of the way to make room at the bar.
It was now going on 15:00 and it was time for some lunch and a few camp chores. Bob had been longingly eyeing a fallen tree and the time had come to rev up the thirty-three year old chainasaurus to give that tree a learning. The tree did not stand a chance against big bad Bob who reduced it to firewood in no time. I served as the log boy and collected and stacked the growing pile. We then all moved the pile to the campsite and Bob grumbled that he needed to change the chain on the saw, but never fear he had five replacements at the camp.
We started preparations for the evening meal. Dinner was to be a camp oven cooked roast and vegetables. The food is cooked in a cast iron pot sitting atop and covered with red hot coals from the fire. We peeled and chopped for David until he had all the magical ingredients necessary. Then with practiced precision the food was loaded into the pots. The coals were carefully selected and spread out on the ground with a shovel. Once the pots were arranged on the coals they were then covered with more coals and the whole enchilada would need to sit and cook for approximately two hours. Perfect, this would give us time to visit the other pub in Grawin, the less famous but equally rustic Sheepyard Pub.
We took the shortcut to the Sheepyard by crossing a campsite off road, turning left at a specified tree, traveling past the “old Duck’s place” and finally pulling up to the pub. We could not have been driving for more than five minutes but there is no way that Pam or I could ever have duplicated the trip. We were told that often vehicles are abandoned after a night at the pub due to their owners becoming disoriented, preferring to try their luck on foot. We were given far too many examples to include in this journal entry.
The Sheepyard Pub turned out to be a little more upscale than the Hilton. There was a cement floor, four walls, a fireplace and a solid roof. The interior was warm, and there was even a small lighted display case with sparkling opals for sale. The proprietor “Roundy”, a short stocky troll of a man had a heavy miners beard and looked like he could take out all seven dwarves with one hand tied behind his back. But it was not Roundy who would serve us tonight as Roundy had his eight year old grandson working the bar. When Pam took her usual time to consider her options, she was interrupted by the boy barman with an impatient “ma’am what are you having?”. This made us all chuckle and got Pam all flustered. We explored the pub and chatted with a few of the miners who proudly showed off their recent opal finds. David showed us large pieces of poster board with every serviceman’s name and rank proudly displayed. We couldn’t stay at the pub too long as our camp oven was calling us home for dinner.
When we returned to the camp you could smell the food simmering. Pam and I circled around like starving puppies and tried to patiently wait for our meal. Meanwhile we were visited by our neighbor Norm. Norm is a jolly man who has been mining for years. We also heard many a yarn about his days in the military. As we were chatting away David referenced his precise mental calculations and determined the food was ready to serve. Norm did not join us for dinner but stayed while we feasted on our camp oven dinner. After dinner the storytelling intensified until it was finally time for Norm to hit the hay. We all soon followed ending our incredibly interesting and action packed second day at Lightning Ridge.
Today did not start as I awoke with the sun streaming into our caravan and the smell of coffee wafting in the air. No sir, today started at 02:30 with the inside of the caravan resembling an igloo with an air conditioner running full bore, and yes indeedy – I had to tinkle something fierce! I know you must be thinking, that is way too much information, but it is important we share our harsh and rigorous challenges with you our faithful readers, and early this morning, getting up to drain the lizard was as tough as it gets. I went for the quick and suffering method to take care of business. I didn’t bother suiting up, I just went out to face the cold in a pair of shorts, teetering in Pam’s flip flops (I couldn’t be bothered with my laces). So, if you ever hear of a shivering blue, semi-naked, Bigfoot sighting at Lightning Ridge, you can rest easy because it was only little old me.
Fast forward to 07:00 when we were awakened by our Lightning Ridge alarm clock, the camp generator. Pam and I braved the chill (again) and suited up for the day. It is strange wearing long underwear, wool socks, wind pants, and two to three layers of upper body clothing. The gear we received from our new sponsors at Icebreakers came in handy. This is one of the first times we have abandoned our shorts and t-shirts in months.
Bob and David were already moving about, bright eyed and bushy tailed. My fantasy of a steaming cup of Joe actually came true as Bob gave me a hefty helping of “gun fire coffee” (strong coffee with a dollop of Jamaica’s finest). Woo wee, now that’s one way to get the heart pumping! The fire was blazing, the bacon was sizzling and the campsite had many squawking visitors including magpies, and the ever present ravens (or crows as they are known in Australia) that sound like babies crying – waaaaaaa waaaaaaa! Pam was a little twitchy with all of our feathery friends roaming around but as long as they stayed outside of our overhang she was fine.
We feasted on a big camp breakfast as Bob and David outlined the day. The first order of business was to drive into the town of Lightning Ridge so Bob and David could present themselves to the mining warden, an annual requirement for miners and our ultimate reason for making this journey. Afterwards we would be free to explore.
Off we went, back through the twists and turns that Bob somehow navigated to eventually find the main road to Lightning Ridge. I image a similar setup that Batman must have used to keep the bat cave hidden from the outside world. The drive out to Lightning Ridge took just about an hour and in no time we were at the Department of Mining Services, just over the road from the old burnt down pub. While Bob and David took care of their business, Pam and I wandered around taking photos of the booming metropolis. I don’t think I would have batted an eye if Clint Eastwood came swaggering down the street in his dusty chaps with six guns swinging on his hips.
The boys were done in no time, having filled their annual requirement as miners. Next stop was the opal shop. We arrived and took over, looking at just about everything in every case. The sales woman was very helpful, allowing us to touch everything. She even left a striking red $50,000 opal just sitting on the counter as she retrieved more items from the back. I found an opal ring for myself in a jiffy, and after thoroughly inventorying everything Pam also made her purchase. We actually took so long shopping that Bob and David had time to visit the second hand shop in town and purchased some new steel bar stools for around the camp table. Apparently the white ants (termites) were well on their way to devouring the current wooden stools. Bob figures it will take some time before they figure out how to eat steel, but he reckons that eventually they will find a way.
Next stop was the grocery store where we topped up the provisions, and then it was back on the road to have a lunch at the campsite. However, while en route to the camp it was decided that we should stop in at the world famous Glengarry Hilton. Now if I was picturing Clint with guns a little earlier, I could easily envision myself lying dead from a gunfight in front of the Glengarry Hilton with a mangy three legged dog licking the sweat from my forehead. The Glengarry Hilton is mostly a watering hole for the miners, though they do serve food from the “tucker truck” a few times a week. There may also be a few beds for sleeping off the effects of a long night’s libations, or day’s, or morning’s… Originally the Hilton was renowned for its liberal trading hours being “always open”, but in recent years this has been reduced to “open from 10:00 am to 11:00 pm or later”. They are also known for the coldest beer in the opal fields. Somehow I don’t think old Paris would approve of the atmosphere, but perhaps considering her recent residence maybe she would find the Hilton homey. There are dirt floors, orange table cloths, a pool table, potbellied stove and a few random stools and tables strewn about. One could easily picture the place teeming with miners pushing the lizards out of the way to make room at the bar.
It was now going on 15:00 and it was time for some lunch and a few camp chores. Bob had been longingly eyeing a fallen tree and the time had come to rev up the thirty-three year old chainasaurus to give that tree a learning. The tree did not stand a chance against big bad Bob who reduced it to firewood in no time. I served as the log boy and collected and stacked the growing pile. We then all moved the pile to the campsite and Bob grumbled that he needed to change the chain on the saw, but never fear he had five replacements at the camp.
We started preparations for the evening meal. Dinner was to be a camp oven cooked roast and vegetables. The food is cooked in a cast iron pot sitting atop and covered with red hot coals from the fire. We peeled and chopped for David until he had all the magical ingredients necessary. Then with practiced precision the food was loaded into the pots. The coals were carefully selected and spread out on the ground with a shovel. Once the pots were arranged on the coals they were then covered with more coals and the whole enchilada would need to sit and cook for approximately two hours. Perfect, this would give us time to visit the other pub in Grawin, the less famous but equally rustic Sheepyard Pub.
We took the shortcut to the Sheepyard by crossing a campsite off road, turning left at a specified tree, traveling past the “old Duck’s place” and finally pulling up to the pub. We could not have been driving for more than five minutes but there is no way that Pam or I could ever have duplicated the trip. We were told that often vehicles are abandoned after a night at the pub due to their owners becoming disoriented, preferring to try their luck on foot. We were given far too many examples to include in this journal entry.
The Sheepyard Pub turned out to be a little more upscale than the Hilton. There was a cement floor, four walls, a fireplace and a solid roof. The interior was warm, and there was even a small lighted display case with sparkling opals for sale. The proprietor “Roundy”, a short stocky troll of a man had a heavy miners beard and looked like he could take out all seven dwarves with one hand tied behind his back. But it was not Roundy who would serve us tonight as Roundy had his eight year old grandson working the bar. When Pam took her usual time to consider her options, she was interrupted by the boy barman with an impatient “ma’am what are you having?”. This made us all chuckle and got Pam all flustered. We explored the pub and chatted with a few of the miners who proudly showed off their recent opal finds. David showed us large pieces of poster board with every serviceman’s name and rank proudly displayed. We couldn’t stay at the pub too long as our camp oven was calling us home for dinner.
When we returned to the camp you could smell the food simmering. Pam and I circled around like starving puppies and tried to patiently wait for our meal. Meanwhile we were visited by our neighbor Norm. Norm is a jolly man who has been mining for years. We also heard many a yarn about his days in the military. As we were chatting away David referenced his precise mental calculations and determined the food was ready to serve. Norm did not join us for dinner but stayed while we feasted on our camp oven dinner. After dinner the storytelling intensified until it was finally time for Norm to hit the hay. We all soon followed ending our incredibly interesting and action packed second day at Lightning Ridge.
No comments:
Post a Comment