The Days Are Beginning To Merge

It’s difficult to remember where I’ve detected each day. It’s hot, in the 30s again today. It tires me out when I’m hacking piles of rocks and solid ground, for hours on my knees in supplication to Theia, a beautiful, oracular Greek goddess believed to be the radiance found in gold. Tell me, most powerful of oracles, where will I find the most gold today? Sharing this foresight is well within your capability, but will you concede to my humble entreaty?

No. So I’ll just have to bloody guess, again. I’m up early and off back to McDermid Reserve near Talbot. It was clear as a bell last night. There are two lads who live in the pub and do odd jobs for Stu, the owner. They pointed out the Southern Cross to me in the jet black night sky, outshone by the Milky Way as clear as if we were in a desert. And in a strange kind of way we are.

Daddy, was Jesus a goalie?

And in a strange kind of way you know, he was.

Thanks Billy.

The clear, cold night left a legacy of mist in the valleys as the sun rose.

When the day breaks, over roof slates, hope hung on every washing line. Thanks Richard. Dawn really is a calm and majestic display of rejuvenation.

Unlike this ancient baaastard.

Back to McDermid, a 45 minute drive today. At least in the light I have a good chance of seeing a Kangaroo before it jumps through the windscreen. They are unpredictable and there are hourly driving restrictions at night in some areas because so many die in road accidents. And you need to check your insurance small print too.

They are much more graceful and less dangerous at a distance.

I wasn’t up for it today. I felt weak and drained, but I parked my car a mile from the Reserve and walked in the heat down the dead end road.

The reason being that at the bottom of the road is the Reserve on the left and a complete and utter ex-convict nutter called Bill living next to it. He doesn’t like prospectors and makes life difficult on occasions. Well Bill, I’ve got a nasty turn of phrase when the mood takes me and it can be hurtful, so choose your weapons.

I knew of this bloke’s reputation, and he had a Ute parked outside his ramshackle house so I knew he was there. But I found gold here last week and I had the Right to detect again. But I didn’t want him to damage the car so I was happy to leave it safe and walk.

There isn’t much ozone, so the sun burns your skin quickly, and the sky colour shifts slightly towards purple during the day.

And it gets frickin hot.

There are lots of old workings here. My heart wasn’t in it. I struggled.

More workings.

There are different types of workings, but they all date from around the 1850s to 1870s. They dug down and piled up the waste outside the hole, creating a mullock heap. The old timers didn’t have detectors so they couldn’t find all the gold in the rocks and soil they dug out and threw into the mullock heaps. So sad folk like me detect around them and find the small pieces that slipped through the net.

I didn’t find any. And when my attention to the noise of the detector wanes, then it’s less likely that I will find gold. The sound generated by small gold is almost imperceptible. Detect slowly, overlap strokes and pay attention.

I burnt out by 15.00. Physically and mentally out of it. Walking back to the car I hoped Bill didn’t decide to be silly. And he didn’t.

I went straight back home, showered, ate and slept.

Night night