The very, very, very, very last day of detecting. I got an early start and checked out of the motel, looking nice in the morning sun.

I was going to drive back to Coiltek in Maryborough, where I would exchange my SDC 2300 for a 5000. Cop that you muthafarters! Hey, that was tough wasn’t it? I must be a brother from a socially deprived area who talks tough…… you filthy muthafarter! I think twice is quite enough don’t you? You muthafarter. Oh dear it’s going to be one of those blogs.

Anyway the day was bright and warm and I was ready for another physically demanding day in the bush, detecting and digging for gold. And the drive back was great through dry farmland stretching for hundreds of miles.

Picking up my 5000 I felt like a man, just like Jesus’ son. When I held it I knew it was powerful. Maggotfarmer! My first destination was a target area on the edge of Maryborough. See… ‘target area’. This Mutha is focused! I worked among the old diggings from the1850s trying to find that elusive piece of gold, but it didn’t come.

In desperation I drove to two other locations and realised that, as Jim Morrison said, this was the end. My friend. Still …… a challenge for next year! I dropped off the detector and headed for home in Melbourne, a fair distance away, aiming to be there by 7.30pm. The skies were beginning to fill with smoke and I was driving towards the source. Controlled burning! These folk play with fire!

The views are not stunning, but starkly beautiful to me.

Home for dinner and bed, then two days fishing before returning to the UK. Saint Patrick’s day is also my grandad’s birthday, long gone but never forgotten.

I usually drink a Guinness to him and the saint. I love it when it falls on a matchday and I can remember him at Bramall Lane, where we both belong. Cheers Harry.

These two days were down around St Kilda, pier fishing and enjoying the sight of the place.

Capped by catching a couple of fish…..

…. and a great meal by the beach with Georgie and Adam. Beautiful kids.

Oh well, home is calling and my old lass could do with me around for a while, I think! Cheers to Australia and to those who made it a great place to be.

Night night.

A cold night and a cool morning in Avoca, which had a big regional Pétanque competition starting at 8am as I drove through on my way to the goldfields.

I returned to Maryborough and went back to where I left off yesterday. It’s a classy little town, a bit rural as Australia seems to be outside of the cities, but ok. The station is great.

Some of the houses throughout this region are absolutely stunning. But I wouldn’t buy one. This area relies on community spirit and me and Maggie recoil at ‘community’ and Maggie isn’t that keen on ‘spirit’. Boom Boom.

I was detecting early and once again it was a continuous flow of shot and fragments of wire. Bill called down to see how I was doing and he was disappointed for me. The sun was beating down and the air had heated up. If I was finding owt I’d be in heaven really.

You need to be careful in these parts. There are some deep and dodgy mines, and some have snakes in that fall down and can’t escape.

In desperation I switched locations but ended up getting lost in a conservation area on dirt tracks where I didn’t have a signal. Luckily I came across some folk camping in the bush to gold hunt, and they directed me along the tracks to a road that I recognised. They let me photograph their map of the area. Time to go home.

It was clouding over but the views were still epic. Vast lands stretching for thousands of miles.

It was better than a good meal in the local, wild hare, hung to get that real gamey flavour with sweet vegetables. It reminded me of the way they cook it in some areas of Netherlands. Right good; and in bed for 9pm. No gold, no worries……. Bugger it, I need to do it again tomorrow!

Night night.

And they’re worth a lot more. Anyway my loves, today was the fourth consecutive day in the bush, although today’s bush was less isolated than the Kara Kara. That was a strange feeling place, not antagonistic but watchful and maybe resentful. All these goldfields saw massive population growth over days, not weeks, and success was rewarded by theft and murder. And if I see any baston digging up gold when I’m not then I’ll stick my pick in his head and nick it! Today was a lovely day. The temperature had turned in the night and I’d had to put another cover on the bed, but it was brilliant to be cool in the morning sun.

I checked out of the motel, drove down to Coiltek, where I’ve hired my gear, and extended the hire to Sunday night. Tonight I’m staying at a smaller town called Avoca, just to see if a change can change my gold luck. Coiltek advised me of a local place to find gold, just a couple of miles away. Now, I’m not sure that this isn’t Muck About a Pommie Week, but I’ll trust them.

I found the track, parked up and started detecting. Plenty of action but all old iron, or lead bullets. Then a revelation occurred. An old bloke, who had been in Coiltek when I was there, had heard that I hadn’t found owt for four days and he drove down to where they’d sent me. He introduced himself as Bill and told me to pack up and follow him. Diamond geezer.

He guided me to hot spots where he had found lots of gold up to last week, and walked round with me for a couple of hours. Then he had to go to pick up his cousin from hospital who needs a triple heart bypass. Bill, you are a gent and I’ll see you again tomorrow!

The day went on, but you don’t notice time passing when you’re prospecting, particularly when it’s pleasantly warmed up. However plenty of action but no gold. No freakin gold. No freakin gold.

In the end some monkeys moved in to where I was prospecting so I wrapped up and came down to Avoca, a typical rural Oz town.

The light on the way down was beautiful as the sun was slipping down. But still reasonably high as it is still late summer/early autumn here.

Avoca is small but pleasant. A bit like me, and my room in the Avoca Motel was great.

The centre of the village is the memorial to lost soldiers, loads of them in both world wars.

Poor little buggers. Dragged from here to Palestine and Gallipoli when they should have been shearing sheep and herding cattle. Cop this; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZqN1glz4JY

Need any hankies? If you do then don’t worry. It’s normal.

I showered and went down to the Victoria Hotel for beer and dinner. There was a very lively Hen Party doing a bus tour of the region in a day. They were very drunk and kept singing about the bride that ‘her name is Sheila, her name is Sheila, she drinks and smokes and ***** all the blokes, her name is Sheila.

What they said she did with all the blokes didn’t refer to playing bridge with them or anything civilised like that. I can’t repeat it. I caught a photo of the reluctant rearguard who had to be dragged back on to the bus. The older woman up front is the mother of the bride, who sang the song most loudly. The lady on the left drank her drinks through that straw in her mouth which was in the shape of a willy and things. Disgusting.

The food was great, which is lucky because it was the only place open in town. Tomorrow is gold time!

Night night.

The third day in the bush, fourth if last week’s day trip with Damien is included. And you don’t need scales to weigh my gold. Because I haven’t chuffing got any. WAAAAAH!

But wait! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and I’ve got no chuffing gold! WAAAAAH!

Today I’m going northwest to some mountains in the Kara Kara National Park and I reckon I’ll strike lucky there. No problem.

A scorcher again, and I immediately get lost in the hills. Luckily I’ve got my GPS and iPad and discover I’m walking southwards instead of northwards. It’s due to having the sun in the north moving from right to left, instead of in the south moving left to right. It disorientates old buggers like me.

Prospecting for gold is restricted in this park and I had planned to get to the western limit of the permitted zone, up in the hills, and then detect my way back to the car in, more or less, a straight line. And maybe this tactic is working.

And then………..

You can’t always get what you want. Thanks Mick. The bush can be really spooky, even in broad daylight. You’re alone, at least you hope you are, your machine makes whistling noises that would attract the dead, and you’re in the homeland of the Dja Dja Wurrung people who want gold prospectors not to gold hunt on these ancient lands. Well sorry guys but I bought my miner’s permit and I’m allowed. Is that ok with you? Pretty please.

There is a lot of dry grass, bone dry fallen branches and eucalyptus trees full of resin. I’m not surprised at the fires and the speed at which they raced through the land.

Ah well, the day is moving on, no gold and I’ve physically had enough. Like a rusty old boiler. Oh, here one is!

Back at the ranch after a Chinese meal and just about to shower and go to bed. I need a change to bring some new luck. Friday 13th wasn’t a gold day, but it was a great day. I’m in the freakin Aussie bush for Christ’s sake (written in a slightly high pitched Australian accent). I’m alive, pronounced aloive, and all is well. I’ve extended the metal detector hire for two more days. I’m moving to a place called Avoca and I’m going to find gold.

Night night.

Last night I was down town in the Park Hotel, had a couple of drinks and a great fillet steak for 15 quid. I asked the bloke behind the bar if he could get me a taxi and a fat baston with tats said ‘no worries I’ll give you a lift’. He did and then I went round to his farm this morning to do some gold hunting on it. He’s my best mate now and his place is epic. Hello Murray!

This is his house.

His mate lost his leg in a motorbike accident and he got an artificial one. When he died he left it to Murray, who attached it back to a bike for old times sake.

Murray’s farm didn’t throw up any gold so I pushed off on to common land next door, which had lots of old gold workings on it.

It was another hot day and it was hard hammering away at the earth with my pick and carrying several litres of water on my back.

Again, over the course of another five hours I got no gold. Just iron, including a metal miner’s button.

Ah well. There’s always good food and a welcome Carlton Dry at the Park Hotel with my new mate Muzza.

Night night.

Well I’m trying but it’s thin on the ground nowadays.

It’s been a semi-family reunion in Australia with Tone and Jet visiting Georgie and Adam, who have moved out here for a while. I’ve tagged along but the girls have gone back home for work. Love you kids.

I dropped Jetty off at Melbourne airport yesterday and drove on up to Maryborough, which is central to the Victoria goldfields which boomed in the 1800s. There’s still gold about but not on the surface so much. I’m here to get some!

I’m staying at a motel on the edge of town and it’s cheap and pleasant.

This morning I drove down to Coiltek, a shop out of town that specialises in gold prospecting equipment, and hired a metal detector and a pick. I’d been in touch with them for a couple of months before I came out. By 11am I was out in the bush, with my gear on and sweating like a dog.

I took a reading on my GPS on where I’d left the car as it is so easy to get lost in quite featureless land. I got buzzes on the detector straight away but it was iron parts used by the prospectors 150 years ago during and after the gold rush. Thank you Neil.

There were nails, screws, wire and flakes of thin iron sheet littering the surface and just underneath.

The sun is so much stronger down here as there are holes in the ozone layer over Australia, and carrying round two litres of water, the detector, a pick and assorted implements was bloody hard work. Pronounced ‘bladdy’.

Under the canopy of eucalyptus trees the land was silent, like someone was there and watching me. It was hard work digging into the ground whenever there was a buzz. The machine is sensitive and detects tiny fragments of metal, but I wasn’t getting gold.

By two in the afternoon I was starving and opened up my supersize tin of Heinz baked beans. What a treat!

After lunch I followed the old mining patches, hoping to find gold that the old timers missed.

No joy, and the heat got intense. I’m glad I did my research and knew what to expect and what to do to avoid ending up like this poor baston …… pronounced baaarstad.

I still had that feeling I was being watched. It was quiet, no birds, no people, no animals. Then I looked up and caught sight of this bugger …. pronounced bagger.

A kangaroo clocking me and keeping very still. I moved quickly and he bounced away in seconds. A ‘wow’ moment.

Towards the end of the day I came across some old works which relied on horses to drag around grindstones, making deep circular tracks whilst the stones ground the gold out of solid rocks. Fabulous history.

After 6 hot and sweaty hours graft I decided to call it a day, and got back to the car. I hadn’t seen a soul, apart from Roo, and had no gold; but I’d loved every minute. My haul was impressive, but all iron. Never mind, I’ll try again tomorrow.

Night night my matey dears. X