I quickly settle in to a lackadaisical kind of existence at Grawin, staying all the while in the hovel that is John’s spare caravan. But I find I am falling into a life of unhealthy complacency, and after 3 weeks I decide to move on.
John himself goes back home to Numurkah on the 3rd day of my stay because of his wife’s deteriorating health, but before he leaves the 3 of us (that’s including Martin) spend the days erecting a shade roof over John’s two side-by-side caravans. This was quite comical in a three-stooges kind of way, and the end result looked like the proverbial dog’s breakfast.
The productive parts of the day get progressively shorter and the drinking parts get longer. Nights are cool to downright cold, but the days are heating up and the flies come out in force, contributing to the lassitude with which I find myself strangely afflicted, but in a pleasant enough kind of way. I guess I am in danger of becoming hooked on this lifestyle, and an alcoholic to boot.
Martin’s mining partner is Paul (Brady). My role in life devolves into providing unpaid consultancy services, in the form of ideas and impetus, for the erection of Martin’s new hoist on Paul’s lease. Lack of money competes with their lack of ideas and general lack of will to thwart much progress in the mining hoist department for the full three weeks I am there.
Oh, and Stumpy. Let’s not forget Paul’s little mongrel terrier Stumpy, who is a real character, has no fear, and is under the impression we all work for him.
Paul’s best (human) friend is Errol who is a true local and a legend, having lived at Grawin most of his life, and is a well-known and well-liked eccentric identity. Outwardly he is quite a dapper guy and most of the time is your classic High-Functioning Alcoholic. Paul is following closely in Errol’s footsteps, just not so much in the dapper department. In fact, he is a bit of a wild man to all appearances. But he has a good heart and is a bit of a bush philosopher.
It’s a surreal world down there
Paul, almost blind with cataracts, working his claim
Paul (L) and Martin (R) gouging for opals 14m underground
Shaft bottom, about 14m down from surface
The bird-life is particularly interesting around Grawin. I put in a bird feeder and attract all sorts of regular visitors – not the kangaroos though, they were always hanging around.
Female Mallee Ringneck parrot
Male red-winged parrot
More ‘roos
Yet more neighbourly ‘roos
My fancy ultra-light Helinox camp chair comes to a sticky end in Grawin. I’d just vacated it one day when a willy-willy (dust-devil) springs up out of nowhere and just picks up my chair and deposits it neatly into the campfire. Poof!
OK, that’s not as serious as when Errol falls off the roof of his house a few days later and breaks his right foot and his left arm, while attempting to install a TV aerial.
This burst of activity on his part is a rather half-hearted attempt to woo back his ‘missus’, who’d just given birth to his child Lorre (Errol backwards, yes, people actually do that!) in Grafton, and who was threatening not to come back at all unless he made some home improvements. But don’t worry about the lack of walls or flooring or the garbage dump surrounds.
Errol’s incident wasn’t as serious as when a neighbour of ours ended up in hospital with severe burns. This happened just after I arrived. Someone allegedly torched his camp, setting off his ammunition stocks and gas canisters in the process. The other version was that it was an ‘industrial accident’ of his own making when the latest batch of ice he was cooking up exploded – opinion seemed to be divided on that score, and I never got to the bottom of it. Paul, Martin and I were sat around the campfire when we heard the multiple gunfire going off close by, and I have to say the other two seemed strangely unperturbed by it.
Another amusing incident involving Errol occurred when he came rushing into the Club in the Scrub one night and yelled out he was dying of thirst and he’d sell his car to anyone who gave him $10 for it. The closest bloke immediately took him up on his offer and handed over the $10. But a few seconds later two cops came hurtling in and demanded to know who owned the car that had just pulled up outside. Errol, leaning on the bar, pointed to the guy who’d just given him the $10 and laconically said “him” as he took his first pull of beer. The cops had been chasing him up and down the opal fields half the night – speeding, no lights, car unroadworthy and unregistered and drunk-driving. The cops weren’t local but had been brought out from Walgett to investigate the camp-burning incident of a few days previously, and Errol was able to outsmart and outrun them on the meandering tracks through the maze of opal diggings. After a bit of haranguing the cops withdrew, and nothing was ever pinned on Errol for lack of evidence.
Abandoned mines near our camp. This was the original discovery area, and was the most productive part of the whole Grawin field
Roughing it in John’s spare caravan
A busy Saturday night at the Grawin ‘Club in the Scrub’
Paul and Martin’s truck
My diary entries now are all one-liners…
Wed 12: Grawin – helping John and Martin put roof over J’s caravan.
Thur 13: Sheepyard pub, and dinner at Glengarry Hilton (lamb cutlets with chips and gravy).
Fri 14: Grawin; Dinner, stew at Martin’s. Rained all night!
Sat 15: Grawin; some noodling. but found nothing.
…and then I just can’t be bothered writing anything anymore.
And so, one particular non-descript Tuesday morning, after 20 days of doing less and less each day, I just decide to up and leave. I’m sick of sitting around all day and sick of everyone bitching at, and about, each other, and it’s getting harder and harder to rouse the others to put in a good day’s effort on the claim.
-ends-