It was going to be warm today so I wanted to be close enough to base, but high enough to get some air. The static heat, whilst dry at the moment, was a devil to work in. Not a breath of air under the eucalyptus trees.

I decided to climb the mountain that I had been up a few days ago and try the workings over the back. Not many people would want to venture up there and I might have a chance. It might not be too exploited.

An old local in the pub last night said that we need to keep having adventures because life is like a roll of toilet paper, it goes faster towards the end.

I parked up on Redbank Nature Conservation Reserve.

It’s going to be a hot one!

On the way up I stopped at some workings and got a very strong signal. It took twenty minutes digging with my pick.

Then I pulled out this 1834 One Shilling coin, King William IV. And carrying on it was a slog 1200 feet up the mountain in this heat with my gear.

But I made the top in good time.

I walked over the top to the other side and dropped down off the ridge to some old workings. Very deep ones at first.

And I was straight onto a target in the large mullock heap. Nearly half an hour digging this time. Big old iron nail.

Moving along under the ridge to the shallower workings straight away I was on a target. Bingo!

This is small stuff and I need to ramp things up if I’m going to hit taaaget! I spent the rest of the afternoon making my way down the mountainside waving my detector. So far, except when Damien came over, I haven’t seen anyone during the day. Nobody.

This isn’t the outback, it’s barely the bush, but it’s quite remote. The views down on the farmland look like Derbyshire, but this is Oz. It’s different. It’s underpopulated.

Yorkshire, the Peak District, Scotland and Cornwall are in my heart. Oz couldn’t be. But I’m loving this experience, and finding gold is the fulfilment of a dream.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great and very different place, and beautiful in its emptiness. And I’m deliberately out of the cities, with their more sophisticated attraction, but I miss something. Community and my old lass.

Night night.

I was just going up the road locally today, less than a mile from the pub, meeting a local bloke who would show me how to get on.

I passed quite a few kangaroos driving up and this time they were on the far side of a fence.

I got up there before Torey and walked down past the ponds to a quarry. After half an hour I desperately needed a poo, and legged it back to the car, passing Torey’s parked car on the way up. He was off detecting and I thought I’d look him up on the way back. By the time I’d de-pooed and returned Torey was away. Nevertheless I walked down to the quarry and this time decided to detect over the back.

Down on both knees I was picking away at a target when I spotted the outer shell of a scorpion. Glad the occupant shuffled off its mortal coil. Or just moved into a new home.

It was hot and I’m so glad to have the Camelbak to keep me hydrated. The area was peppered with holes already dug by other prospectors, so my expectations were low. And any targets I dug up were small shotgun pellets. I slogged away, detecting, digging, detecting, digging ad infinitum. Well, not infinitely because I was only there for 7 hours, but a lot. A very lot. For a normal bloke this idiotic little ritual, thanks Basil, would be soul destroying, but for me at the moment it’s cathartic.

And so was this!

I was delighted. Two in two days. In the middle of this heavily detected area. It’s tempting to think that I’m getting good. The reality is that I’m a ‘Tin Arse’, a lucky bloke in Australian English. Tin Arse, Tin Arse, Tin Arse, Tin Arse, Tin Arse. If anyone has played ‘Given to the Wild’, being an album by the Maccabees, you will recognise the five times repetition of lyrics. Or maybe it’s four times recognition of lyrics from the initial lyric. Is lyrics singular lyric, like bird, or lyrics, like fish?

Nevertheless it is one of my top five albums of all time, and I’m going to see them in Leeds in July, with my beautiful daughter Georgie, and beautiful son-in-law Adam. Is it son-in-laws like birds? Or sons-in-law like fish?

Anyway – HOORAAAY!!!

Bigger than yesterday’s, much heavier.

Looking bigger in the container too.

However, I carried on detecting and digging. There is loads of vegetation on the surface. There are a load of vegetations. There is…… Oh bugger it! Loads of leaves and stuff on the surface. I wanted to clear the area around my new discovery to enable a full, clean detection of the entire slope. It was hot, so bloody hot as I pulled fallen trees, branches and bushes out of the way. It took half an hour and then I started to detect. An aroma.

Only kidding. I started to detect the slope. Systematically. For another half hour but no joy. Only shotgun pellets.

Then I moved on, as the sun did too. Is it, ‘as the Sun did too’ in this context? I detected along a dry creek bed, then climbed etc, thanks Eno, up on to the valley floor that the creek bed had cut through.

Again there was a mountain of vegetation, so I pulled a fallen tree out of the way, and then I froze. I spotted a broad, lengthy, dark brown, scaly head, with a body covered by leaves. I uttered an oath as the head recoiled. It sounded like ‘a duck in hell’.

I moved backwards slowly, away from what I thought to be a deadly brown snake. As I retreated and realised I wasn’t going to be bitten in a reaction to the tree removal, I noticed that the diameter of the neck was much bigger than I would expect of a snake. But I kept retreating. The leaf cover over the body wasn’t long. A snake would be buried in a deeper pile of leaves, surely referee? Later, regulars in the pub confirmed that this was a Shingleback lizard.

I carried on roaming with the detector for a couple more hours. Is it ‘a couple of more hours’?

Nowt. Nowt I tell you. So I returned to Moonambel, showered off the day’s dust and had a lovely fish and chip dinner.

A really good day.

Night night.

Today I set off in the dark at 06.30 (without breakfast) to drive to the Talbot goldfields. I was meeting my mentor Damien, and one of his friends, Ian a professional gold-hunter from Castlemaine.

Stu had warned me to watch out for kangaroos. When I got past Bung Bong a huge buck leaped across the road in front of me, causing me to slam on the anchors and nearly shit myself. One of those leaping buggers, illuminated by the car lights as I’m doing 50mph, is quite disconcerting, as it narrowly misses landing on your bonnet.

I made it to the McDermid Bushland Reserve by 07.10, just before Damien arrived, and as light spread over the land. He led me to the most productive area of the reserve and spent the first half an hour coaching me, watching what I was doing and giving me fantastic tips. My hero!

Then he left me alone, after pointing out the likeliest gold producing spots. And within an hour, using his improvements to my technique, I got this! My first Aussie gold.

I wasn’t certain that it was gold and I took it to Damien for verification. He used his magnifying glass to confirm it was small, but perfectly formed Aussie, frickin gold. Gold I tell you!!! I was so happy.

Then Ian arrived. He gave me some great advice. A real gent.

We moved up to Nuggety Gully, but it wasn’t any good and, as Damien, me and Ian had all found gold, we decided it was time to split. Damien had been up at the same time as me, and with the warmth it becomes tiring.

I’ll see Damien next week. Today I need to do some housekeeping in Maryborough.

Washed the skiddies.

Bought some provisions.

Washed the car.

KFC for breakfast at 15.30. I parked facing towards the traffic on a proper parking spot for 15 minutes last Friday in Maryborough whilst I bought fish and chips. Sixt contacted me to let me know I got an electronic parking ticket.

Back at Moonambel the bar regulars were delighted with my find. Let’s get some more!

Night night.

It’s the highest point on the south coast of England. I’ve climbed it twice and it’s a bugger when you’re carrying a rucksack. Today I’m carrying a fair weight up the highest point in the Redbank Nature Reserve to find gold. Amazing analogy? Carefully crafted comparison? Pretentious prattle?

Any road, Stu cooked breakfast at 8.30 this morning and I pushed off an hour later. Just a short drive, around two miles, north to Redbank. Then a steep and lengthy five hour climb, detecting on the way where I could. Aiming for the summit, marked by the Red Cross.

It was raining. I liked it. It was cooler. I loved it. The forest felt greener as a result. It would rain for the rest of the day.

I climbed and I climbed. All the way up were periodic gold workings from the 1850s. The key to gold is quartz. Where we find reefs of quartz we can find gold, and there was plenty of quartz on the surface.

However as I climbed higher the gold workings became deeper and deeper, until one was so deep that I couldn’t see the bottom. It had to be at least twenty metres deep. One slip and you don’t get out.

The mullock heaps around these workings were huge, like mini-colliery slag heaps, but cleaner. I realised that the quartz reefs were deeper underground and that the quartz that I had seen on the surface had been brought up from below and run down the mountain from these mullock heaps, over the last hundred and seventy years. This meant that the gold would not be lying about on the surface. It was down below.

I thought that if I climbed higher the reefs might come up, or there may be other reefs close to the surface. I was right. As I climbed up towards the summit the workings became shallower and the mullock heaps lower.

I detected all the way up. Without any gold. But loads of shotgun pellets, bullets and old timers’ nails. Again. At the top the views were great, if a bit cloudy.

Over the back of the summit the ground fell away even more steeply.

And incredibly there were gold workings on the top and most of the way down. I couldn’t believe that I didn’t cop some gold. There were quartz reefs appearing down the side of the mountain as I slid down.

I followed a gully, using my detector on the descent. Towards the bottom the gully became too steep, so I climbed up over a ridge to the west and dropped down a more manageable slope. It was still raining and I was comfortable with the freshness of it. Reaching a track I turned westwards and walked on a winding uphill and downdale route back to the car. No gold yet, but a wonderful day of exercise in decent weather conditions. I was soaked!

I’ve collected a lot of scrap from the old timers. This is just a small part of it.

Tomorrow might be the day!

Night night.

It’s Sunday the 15th of March and I am going to find gold. If you are bored with the repetitive nature of this blog then bugger off. Because it’s not going to have any broader scope than this – gold, Gold I tell you, GOLD!!!!!

Today Stu conjured up fried eggs, two spicy sausages and bacon on toast for breakfast. It keeps me going for the full day. The pub is fed water by a bore hole, so we can’t drink the tap water, but he leaves jugs of drinking water lying around within easy reach.

Back to Landsborough today and it was clear and sunny. I parked up on the main road again but the Reserve was a couple of miles away. A slog with my gear and long, heavy trousers.

It took me an hour to get up to the Reserve and I decided to head eastwards, along the low line of the hills, towards some old gold workings.

These areas have been detected probably hundreds of times. I didn’t find anything. Nevertheless I am learning each trip. I know that these workings, in more remote areas, are well worth detecting around. And you never know. I might strike lucky.

I wandered around the gold workings, making my way gradually south westwards into the hills. I followed a dry gully and had three strong signals in succession. Three shotgun cartridges including one which hadn’t been detonated. I chucked it away. Be a bit painful if it went off in me trouser pocket!

There was clearly a lot of gold found here by the old timers in the 1850s, judging by the extent of the workings. It’s not only people who make workings. Ants do too but this revealed diddly squat.

This is a Puddling machine that horses drew around to separate fine gold from the clay. Apart from the trees growing in the outer walkway it looked usable nowadays!

These features were on the lower slopes. I decided to head higher into the hills through the forest to see if I could find any quartz reefs on the surface that might contain (or have released) some gold.

It’s very isolated here. I haven’t seen anybody all day and I don’t think anyone would be here for anything other than sad Pommies popping over to try to teach the locals how to detect gold. And fail miserably. And some of these workings feel spookie.

I cut directly uphill, not too far from private land on the way up and I crossed it to take this shot towards where I was prospecting in the forest yesterday.

Nipping back into the Reserve I cut eastwards along the side of the hills to see if I could find any evidence of quartz reefs which might contain gold. Detecting along the way the only beeps were bullets from the old timers.

The heat was ratcheting up to over 30c and with no wind I was beginning to sink, as the sun decided to start doing the same.

Someone had been camping in the park and had left evidence of a fire. A bit risky in a forest of eucalyptus. Fire spreads here faster than you can run.

Tony the trainer had said that he often finds gold under this type of tree. Bully for him. I din’t.

So a long two mile slog carrying my gear and I was back at my car, straight to Moonambel and a couple of VB stubbies with spicy chicken strips. Asleep by eight. Knackered but not dejected. I will find gold.

Night night.

No it isn’t the 26th of January but it feels like a recurring theme. No gold so far.

Great breakfast in the Moonambel Resort Hotel; bacon, eggs and mushrooms on toast. Perfect. Served by the owner, Stu. He was a good sport and had been invited to a hen party’s breakfast. Good lad!

I set off for Landsborough Nature Conservation Reserve at 10 am in the morning, hundred hours. It looks small but it isn’t.

I found a place to park the car on the main road. Sadly the car hire lease doesn’t allow me to drive on tracks. If I do and it get’s stuck then it’s quite expensive. But walking is my pleasure.

Walking up into the Reserve I saw some old gold workings from the 1850s over to my left, and had a detect around them. Lots of targets but all bullets or nails.

The weather was clear and hot. By 13.00 the temperature was pushing 28C. The bush was becoming breathless. At this level of breathlessness it’s difficult to keep swinging the detector, then slicing down through hard earth with the pick, and then using the scoop to whittle down the source of the BEEP!

There was nobody here.

I made my way slowly up towards the hills and then I came across an old dam. I detected around it but only old timers’ metal.

I thought this was gold as I got quite deep. Morefool I.

Distant views in the bush are quite rare. Australia is mostly flat and covered in forest or desert, like this.

I’ve got a Camelbak. It’s a rucksack which takes all my gear and a plastic sack full of water with a tube so that when I’m digging away in the heat I can suck water out of the back. Lifesaver!This bloke didn’t have a camelbak.

The day wore on and I wore out. The pub is closed on Monday so I wrapped up at around 16.30 and trekked back down to the car. Avoca is the nearest village of any size so I headed there to buy some food for Monday, as well as bog-roll, which appears to be in short supply.

Back to Moonambel, an early dinner and an early night as a group of young women rolled in and cranked up the jukebox. Nevertheless it didn’t keep me awake.

Night night.

Thanks Cat.

Well I finally made it to Australia after Trump’s Folly in Iran. Switching flights from Emirates to Cathay Pacific and undertaking a 45 hour journey from home to hotel, via Manchester, Heathrow and Hong Kong. Melbourne was warm and noisy. People are young and anywhere indoors is incredibly noisy.

I am here to find gold. That is my duty as a husband and my necessary purpose as a man. It is our Golden Wedding Anniversary on the 6th of November this year, although it feels like we’ve been married longer than that. In-joke not a derogatory remark, which is remarkable for me. I’m going to find Margaret Smith, nee Lomas, enough gold to make her a ring to celebrate that occasion, so I am here Aussie gold hunting.

I spent the first three nights in Melbourne, meeting my good friends Damien and Maria at Donovan’s in St Kilda for a slap up feed. Such a joyous occasion.

Then this morning I escaped in a motor car at 05.30, driving up to Maryborough in the old goldfields to hire a metal detector from Coiltek Gold Centre there, and become trained in its proper use.

Tony was my trainer.

Linn and Ian were my fellow undergraduates. This photo was taken late in a warm afternoon when we required rest and rehydration, and the pose that I caught them in, with a surreptitious snap, is not reflective of their benign demeanours. Nice folk.

We didn’t find gold but the trainer did. Boooo! A tiny piece but at £3700 an ounce out here then every bit counts.

Then tonight I had fish and chips in Maryborough before scooting over to Moonambel. A cute village which you miss if you blink and which has an array of folk visiting each day. This is the bush, dotted with vine growing farms.

It’s lovely here. This is the view from my hotel window.

The people are friendly and funny, if a little eccentric.

One bloke brought in a small scorpion in a plastic jar. Apparently its sting releases the part of the brain that controls pain. He was stung by one and had three months of agony.

I’m happy that this is my base. English breakfast and very reasonably priced meals. The owner’s father was from Sheffield. Small world.

The water is from a bore hole so is not drinkable but there are jugs of drinking water around. The communication is direct.

I’m all kitted out and ready to go!

Tomorrow is a later breakfast at 9am then I’ll be off into the hills.

Night night.

We packed our rucksacks and wandered up to the village. Gary couldn’t walk the trail today. The pain had not reduced overnight and any pressure on his knee could result in lasting damage. We just don’t know, but the decision was taken and this was the end of the trek. Beautiful, very different and exhausting, and over. We had two long days walking ahead of us and it was not possible. Next time, it will still be there and if we’re not then we won’t be bothered about it.

We had two hotels booked and paid for ahead on the trail but Vistabella only has one road through it, the CV-170, and that runs west to east. Our trek would have taken us south, and to get to the next location by road would be over 50 miles. So we had to let the bookings go. Unfortunate but unavoidable.

So we will head to Benidorm and get longer rest and relaxation than we anticipated. However Vistabella is isolated. There is only one bus a day out of the village and that had left at 06.00. The Restaurant El Dau was open and we asked whether they could book us a taxi from somewhere to take us to the nearest train station. The taxi would be with us in four hours, the journey would take two hours, the cost would be £150.

Initially we asked them to order the taxi. We had to get out of Vistabella. Then we sat down and reconsidered the situation. We discussed the pros and cons. Come on and let me know. Should I stay or should I go? Thanks Mick. Stay!

Dolores flitted in and out of the Restaurant and we grabbed hold of her. Yes we could stay another night, although we would be sharing the house with four other trekkers. We offloaded our rucksacks back at the apartment then plotted our escape.

The first section in red would be tomorrow’s bus to Castellon de la Plana. The blue line was to be a train ride to Valencia where we would transfer by taxi to the bus station and take a second bus ride down to Benidorm.

In the meantime we bought a rabbit from the butchers, which was chopped for us into sections.

Then at the grocers we bought a leek, huge tomato, a quarter kilo of mountain fungi, mashing potatoes, butter, wine, carrots and chicken stock. The entire meal, including the wine and rabbit, had cost €22. Back at the apartment we prepared a rabbit stew and let it simmer in the wine and chicken stock for three hours, whilst we sat outside in the street looking at the view and talking about life.

Then the moment of truth.

A rabbit rarely died a more worthwhile death. Meat is murder and we plead guilty. The meal was a brilliant success. We patted ourselves on the back and ate the lot!

Early night and the next day we were up at 05.00 and on the deserted bus at six. Two hours later we decanted at Castellon at the train station and were on a train heading south within 15 minutes. A taxi in Valencia to the bus station and we just had time for a coffee before the bus to Beni bore us away. We arrived seven hours after we left Dolores’ des res. We did a good deal at our hotel for the extra night and set off on an eating spree.

The weight we lost in the mountains was regained by the sea.

Farewell Benidorm. We will return to Spain in 2027, fill the gap from Vallibona to Morella and complete the lost two days, before pressing on further south. Like Icarus.

Night night.

Where has it all gone? You can’t get it back. Best to avoid madeleine cake dipped in tea if you don’t want to cry over it all. Jumpers for goal posts, bread and dripping for tea. Vulcan broken but not beaten. Rubble resting years on from the bombs that reduced it but didn’t kill it. It took the 22 to do that. Suck the soul southwards, along with fortunes made from blood, sweat and tears. Siphon off anything that sparkles. Let it loaf in Lombard Street.

Breakfast was simple and tasty. Fried eggs on toast and pastries. The elderly hotel owner insisted that we should pay in cash and we told her we hadn’t got enough. She said the card machine was broken. After a ten second standoff she sparked up the machine and we paid by card.

The day was fresh, with some rain overnight continuing as we walked, and we headed over the hills to Culla, another one of these hilltop castle towns nestled in the distance. It was a brisk walk, with the usual twenty minute mandatory detour around an active bull blocking the path and acting as bodyguard for five young bullocks.

The saga of the knee continued and this time the pain was significant even before we had set off. We’re just mindful that this could be causing Gary some longer term damage, and that the next three days to the finish line were very hard trekking days. Apart from the first day down the Ebro valley every day had been tough but massively rewarding. No intervening villages and pure countryside every inch of the way.

We stocked up on water and sugar drinks in Culla, as the temperature raised again and the rain cleared. In the far distance we could see Vistabella but the route would wind four miles down a ravine, followed by a longer climb up the other side. The route arced round to the north and on to the west before finishing with a six mile southwards section.

We started our descent into the ravine, which opened out further down into a canyon. I’m not sure what comes after canyon.

The route we’re following forms part of the pilgrimage of Sant Joan of Penyagalosa, being a six thousand foot high mountain blocking our path. Let’s just imagine it’s a bull and climb round it.

Finally we reached the bottom. Another boulder strewn river bed.

The climb up the far bank and mountainside was punishing. Gary was now in fierce pain, having to stop every few minutes. It detracted from our appreciation of the countryside.

The old lad was struggling and we suspected, from a WhatsApp voice message in Spanish, that there may be a problem with our accommodation, which would be unfortunate as it was the only place to stay in Vistabella and the rain was coming back with thunder and lightning accessories.

The pain was again apparent from Gary’s face.

The last 200 metres up a track into Vistabella were agony for him. It took him half an hour. We went to the only bar in town and found Dolores, the owner of the apartment which we were staying at. There was no problem with the reservation and she would take us via the butchers and the grocers to the apartment. We bought three types of sausages, wine, bread, butter beans and tomatoes and made a fabada bean dish. Just what the doctor ordered.

Let’s see what the doctor might order tomorrow for Gary’s knee.

Gary is upset to say the least. Bury my knee at Wounded Heart.

Night night.

What did we decide to do? Climb, climb, climb. Like a Nepalese commercial aeroplane which has just burst out of the clouds to see a wall of Himalayan rock coming towards it at 197mph. But not necessarily with that sense of urgency. And we kept our waste in our colons, unlike the pilot in the example above. But we needed to climb.

Please girls and boys. Can someone please stop this idiot talking such……. waste? Maggie, Georgie, Toni, Jetty, Che, Susie, anybody who has the remotest influence over David Graham Smith. Tell him to stop using rude analogies. Now!

We were walking away from this barren plain and our priorities were to gain altitude relentlessly and find water.

We were only halfway to Benessal. Because of all the diversions and terrain issues we were way behind target time. Come on boys, raise your game. In fairness Gary completely ignored the pain in his knee by dosing on a combination of cocodamol and paracetamol, which made it easier but didn’t make it go away.

We made really good time up the mountainside, covering three miles in just over two hours. It’s the track surface that slows you down. As well as the heat and ….. etc etc.

But our water was low and at this farmhouse, which was here out of the blue, we were chased by a noisy dog. It retreated as we stood our ground, and we leaned over the farmhouse wall shouting for the farmer to appear. She appeared with a smile and I introduced ourselves with an explanation that we were stupid Englishmen who had walked a long way and nearly run out of water. Adding that it wasn’t this hot in England.

She took our empty bottles and brought them back full of cool, clear water. Water I tell you! We made a show of drinking her gift and groaning our enjoyment.

Then we headed off to find the next track, and it was purely guesswork. We guessed right. Down another valley and eventually up the next mountain range. Looking for these minuscule mural markings.

The sun was lowering by the time we reached Ares del Maestrat, with still a way to go. This is a punishing day, particularly with …. etc etc.

The route from here was simple but not easy. Climb up the next mountain and then follow the sun for several miles downhill. Easy. But by the time we got to Benessal it was nearly sunset and we discovered that our hotel was another two kilometres up another hill, even though it had been billed as Benessal centro. Gary was in serious knee difficulty by this time, having toughed it out on painkillers that were losing effect.

I flagged down the next car and it happened to be two lads, one who could speak English well and wanted to use it. Over the course of 2 kms we became mates. And they dropped us off right outside the hotel. Thanks lads.

We’d covered 24 miles in the most difficult and unseasonal of conditions, with Gary striding through injury. Amazing. I’m not a fan but for a big idiot he had performed magnificently.

The sun was going down over the horizon.

The hotel was deserted apart from the owner in her 80s. She was reluctant to serve us beer, but we’d earned it. She was happy to serve us a bottle of Rioja and a grilled rabbit with artichokes.

And we were happy to eat it!

Night night.