The Opal Desert

by Di Morrissey

  When she arrived at Murray and Fiona’s camp another surprise awaited her. From what Kerrie had seen, most of the local houses were simple boxes with shade cloth awnings, struggling gardens and sheds housing hardworking dust-covered trucks, four-wheel-drive vehicles and earth-moving machinery.

  But Murray’s place was quite different. He had built a quaint rustic home from wood, including pillars of dead trees and old wooden railway sleepers, as well as stone slabs, sheets of corrugated iron and even stained-glass windows. A pergola, draped in a grapevine, shaded a long wooden table with church-pew seats. Bright red geraniums grew in all manner of containers from old kerosene tins painted in bold designs to roughly made ceramic pots. In the kitchen, pots, pans and interesting jugs and teapots were suspended from the ceiling above the workbench. Everything was colourful and practical.

  ‘Welcome to our camp,’ said Murray. ‘This is Fiona.’

  Fiona smiled at Kerrie. ‘I’m glad you came. Though this place is still a work in progress.’

  ‘It’s amazing. I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like this before. I love it!’

  ‘Want to see my favourite bit?’ asked Murray as he took Kerrie outside to the patio.

  Kerrie shaded her eyes. ‘What an enormous expanse of water. Is it a lake, part of river?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Nope, it’s my dam,’ said Murray proudly. ‘Looks a bit muddy at present, but she settles down. I stock it with yellowbelly so occasionally we can have a fish feed. When I first camped out here it was a massive natural hollow, and we got one of the miners to bring his earthmover and dig it out.’

  ‘Find any opals?’ asked Kerrie.

  ‘No, wrong kind of rock. Found a lot of fossils though.’

  ‘What a fun home!’ exclaimed Kerrie as they went back inside.

  ‘It’s kind of grown like Topsy,’ laughed Fiona, who was a warm, curly-haired woman with freckles and a big smile. ‘Every time Murray wants to take on a new project he builds another room. You should see the new bathroom.’ She led Kerrie through the kitchen and showed her an outdoor room, with a claw-foot bathtub open to the sky. ‘Doesn’t rain most of the year,’ she explained. ‘Though it’s quite nice to sit out here when it does.’

  ‘We kept the old shed, and it’s now my studio,’ said Murray. ‘Come and see it. Can you pour us a drink, please, Fee?’

  The old slab shed with its iron roof looked as though termites, spiders and possibly snakes could be in residence but when they stepped through the door Kerrie laughed.

  ‘It’s a real studio!’

  The lined walls were painted white. There were no windows but it had large skylights and an air conditioning unit, which, Murray explained, was powered by their generator. Scattered around the studio were paints, canvases, jars of brushes, easels, bits of driftwood, a coil of rusting barbed wire and the flotsam and jetsam of an artist at work.

  She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes to block the tears. ‘This seems so familiar,’ she whispered.

  ‘If you want to use it any time, feel free. There’s plenty of room,’ said Murray. ‘I’m working outdoors at present at various locations and trying different textures, adding the sand, soil, bits of scrubby bush, mixed in with the paint. You know the sort of thing.’

  Kerrie drew breath to compose herself. ‘Sounds interesting. Thanks for the offer. But I’m just here . . .’ She paused before she finished, ‘For a short time.’

  ‘What brought you out here?’ asked Murray as he led her outside to the patio where Fiona had set out drinks with cheese and bread.

  ‘White or red wine?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘A glass of white, please.’

  Fiona poured herself a glass of red and handed Murray a long lemon squash. Passing the cheese platter, she said, ‘Just break off a chunk of bread. The brie is quite runny.’

  ‘Home-made bread,’ said Murray. ‘We have a wood-fired oven too.’ He bit into the bread. ‘Thanks, darling. I was asking Kerrie what she’s doing out here.’

  ‘Murray said that you’re an artist. Do you plan on working out here? This is wonderful country to paint. Murray finds it endlessly inspiring, even though to city eyes it can look quite barren and uninteresting,’ said Fiona.

  ‘You know, I’m not sure why I’m here,’ said Kerrie. ‘Walker suggested it. Thought I could do with a change of scenery.’

  ‘Great bloke, Walker. I had him do my will a few years back, when I was sick,’ said Murray.

  ‘You’re one of the healthiest looking people I’ve seen,’ said Kerrie. ‘How sick were you?’

  Murray grinned. ‘Years of too much whisky, overweight and a poisoned leg almost did me in. But the blood poisoning was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Shook me up so I went on a fitness campaign and got myself back on track.’ He leaned over and patted Fiona’s arm. ‘Couldn’t leave my beautiful wife on her own with a half-finished camp, could I? Besides, she’d miss me too much, right?’

  Fiona regarded him fondly. ‘Yeah, right.’ She grinned at Kerrie, ‘Of course, like everything he does, he went overboard with the new lifestyle. Started running, bike riding, stopped drinking and even became a vegetarian for a while.’

  ‘And never felt better. I even took up surfing again.’

  ‘Surfing? Where?’

  Murray laughed. ‘Byron Bay, at first, though now we go to Indonesia for a month or so every year. Close up the gallery in the height of summer. Not much in the way of customers then, and Fee and I meet up with old friends from our wild youth and we go away and all pretend we’re twenty again.’

  Kerrie felt a pang as she watched the two of them smile, their casual interaction. ‘Sounds great,’ she said. ‘You have the best of both worlds.’

  ‘Many worlds. We have a nice lifestyle here,’ said Fiona. ‘Lots of friends, lots of visitors, the business does well. Murray gets asked all the time to work in Sydney or other cities. Even Darwin approached him. But we like it here. He’s part of the scenery, aren’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yep. I might make more money elsewhere, but what would I do with the extra that I don’t do now?’

  ‘But this doesn’t help you, Kerrie. Murray said your husband died recently? He must have been very young. That’s hard.’

  ‘He was a lot older than me but he was still young. He had so much more he wanted to do. And now, without him, I feel like the proverbial ship without a rudder,’ said Kerrie.

  ‘But you have your art. Why don’t you throw yourself into that?’ asked Murray.

  ‘Are any of your friends painters too?’ asked Fiona. ‘You could come out here and do a painters’ camp. Quite a few come through doing that.’

  ‘I know a lot of artists, but just through my husband.’

  Fiona and Murray exchanged a glance and Murray reached for more bread. ‘Everybody paints up here. Soon as the tourist season dries up and it’s too hot to work, out come the brushes. Everyone and their dog sells paintings. Stuffs them into a garage or a back room and calls it a gallery,’ he added disparagingly.

  ‘Murray, be nice. Not everyone is as brilliant an artist as you, darling. What sort of work do you do, Kerrie?’

  ‘I like landscapes,’ said Kerrie, surprising herself as she’d never thought about what she might actually paint if she did start again. ‘But I haven’t painted in twenty years. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m probably not much good anyway.’

  ‘Let us take you around. Go for a bit of a drive and see if you feel inspired,’ suggested Murray.

  ‘I don’t want to take you away from your work,’ began Kerrie.

  ‘Nonsense. Murray loves getting out to the wilderness,’ laughed Fiona. ‘We have a friend who can look after the gallery for a couple of days. I’d quite like a little escape too.’

  ‘Do you paint, Fee?’ asked Kerrie.

  ‘Not at all. I cook and read. Do come, I think you’ll enjoy it. Just a day or so.’

  ‘You ever camped in the bush, Kerrie?’ asked Murra
y.

  Kerrie shook her head. ‘I suppose I could do some sketching and maybe a watercolour,’ she said dubiously.

  ‘That’s the idea. You could take home some sketches and see what you can do with them later.’

  ‘Murray, don’t rush Kerrie. She might have other plans. Do you have any family?’ asked Fiona.

  Kerrie shook her head. ‘Not much. My mother died not long after my husband and my stepdaughters are grown up. I’m pretty well on my own,’ she added with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘That’s hard,’ said Fiona.

  Kerrie spent the next day wandering around Lightning Ridge. She spent time in the little museum and historical society housed in an old miner’s cottage looking at old photos of the opal fields. It all looked very exciting and busy. There she chatted to a charming museum volunteer who introduced herself as Holly and told Kerrie that she’d come to Lightning Ridge fifteen years before.

  ‘How enterprising. Do you mine?’ said Kerrie.

  ‘My partner did. We went our separate ways years ago, but I stayed on and taught at the school as a casual and now I volunteer here in the museum. There’re quite a few women like me in the Ridge. It’s a great place for a single woman. Lots of social life.’ She smiled. ‘And I just love the history of the area. There’re a lot of very interesting artists around here, too.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. Do you live in town? I gather a lot of people have places out of town,’ said Kerrie. ‘It seems a bit rugged.’

  ‘It can be. Some of the camps look pretty rough. Some people only come up here in the winter, for the opal season. Some of their temporary places have been here for thirty years,’ she laughed. ‘A couple of people converted a double-decker bus to a home and someone else made a very cute place out of disused railway carriages and even shipping containers. But that’s another story. Are you enjoying yourself? Thinking of doing some camping? Be sure and get out to some of the camps and mines. Know anyone here? I’m happy to make introductions if you like.’

  ‘Actually Murray and Fiona are looking after me.’

  ‘Lucky you. A great couple. Renews your faith in marriage, those two. Most people here are on their own or onto their second or third partner.’ Holly lifted an eyebrow. ‘You just can’t be too fussy. But I must say, under the opal dust, grime and working boots, some of the guys in the Ridge are decent enough and scrub up rather well.’

  ‘I’m not actually looking . . .’

  ‘Of course you’re not, I didn’t mean to be rude. You staying here long?’

  ‘Not really. I’m thinking of taking up painting again.’

  ‘You’re a painter! Lots of people come here and paint for the first time. I think they’re inspired by the scenery. Get Murray to take you to some of his secret locations – if you don’t mind roughing it.’

  ‘He’s already volunteered to do that,’ Kerrie replied.

  Murray laughed when Kerrie later wandered into his gallery and told him what Holly had said. ‘They’re not secret places, they’re just in the middle of nowhere and to some people there doesn’t seem to be anything there but a lot of sand. And it is a bit remote, which is why I like it. I love our lost places – like the middle of the Birdsville Track, the Simpson Desert, outside Oodnadatta – quite haunting. Not that I’m taking you that far away.’

  ‘He disappears for a month or more, sometimes by himself and sometimes with a mate,’ said Fiona. ‘I can’t be away for that long, someone has to run the business. But I enjoy his short trips. You’ll just love the bush. It’s magnificent.’

  Kerrie lifted her shoulders. ‘What can I say? It sounds very exciting. Can I help at all? What will I need to bring? You’re both so kind.’

  ‘That’s our pleasure and we’ll travel light. Just take the truck and camping gear, some food, water and, of course, the painting equipment. That’ll do us,’ said Murray. ‘Let people know that you’ll be out of touch for a bit, and not to worry. We have a satellite phone for emergencies. Not that there’ll be any, of course.’ He smiled.

  ‘No one’s going to worry if I don’t check in. I’m so excited. I hadn’t considered going bush. I thought this town and the opal fields would be as remote as I’d get. But I’m open to anything new right now.’ Kerrie suddenly felt lightheaded. It wasn’t the glass of wine that she’d had with her lunch but the idea of the possibilities, the adventures, and doing something utterly different from what she’d known. ‘I can’t wait for new horizons!’

  ‘Since we’re not leaving straight away, why don’t you do a tour of a mine?’ suggested Fiona.

  So Kerrie drove out near the airstrip, surprised to see opal camps scattered so close to it, and took a group tour down one of the working mines. Wearing a hard hat, she climbed down a spiral staircase, discovering the cool and even temperature of the mine, its underground earthy mustiness, and was surprised by the dugout caverns they called ballrooms. In the tunnels small motorised vehicles carried men and machinery to the face of the mine, where the miners were gouging through the sandstone.

  The mine tour leader explained, ‘You never know when you’re going to come on opal. There’re a lot of stories of fellows blowing up gem opal worth millions and salvaging the remains worth only a few thousand because they were in a hurry or didn’t know what they were doing. The more you know about the geology of the area, the better.’ He told the group about looking for ironstone gravel on the surface, and then drilling through layers of silcrete and mudstone, which the miners call shincracker because if the hard rock hit you it could break your shin.

  ‘What they’re looking for is a band of sandstone, preferably without colour. Unfortunately, some sandstone can go down well over thirty metres. But when they hit clay, hopefully under that is opal. You can pick up nobbies like pigeon eggs if you’re really lucky. Most of the mining here has either been underground shafts, or big open-cut mines. If you go up to the Three Mile, you’ll see one of the massive old open-cut mines. It’s closed now, but you can see what it was like in the old days.’

  Kerrie was intrigued and wanted to know more, but the group was moved on, finally ending up at the mine’s opal shop. The tour had given her an inkling of how relatively small-time opal mining was. Opal mining, she thought, was unlikely to ever become a huge and invasive industry like gas, oil and iron ore.

  Later Kerrie told Murray and Fiona how intrigued she’d become with her outback experience.

  ‘When you get home and get stuck into your sketches and paintings, you can digest things, look at your pictures and, you never know, perhaps you’ll start planning your next trip,’ said Murray.

  ‘Do you think you might come back?’ asked Fiona.

  Kerrie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I have to look after Milton’s legacy, but at present I’m not in any hurry to get back to Sydney. It’s so interesting out here. This scenery is so different. I wonder if it will inspire me to paint again.’

  ‘Why don’t you spend a bit more time out here? You could go to other places. You should definitely go to the Hill.’

  ‘Broken Hill,’ explained Fiona. ‘You’ve heard about the Brushmen of the Bush? Pro Hart and Jack Absalom. Jack is still going strong and Pro’s gallery is a great tribute to him and his art.’

  ‘I’ve heard about them, of course, but I’m not too familiar with their work,’ confessed Kerrie.

  ‘Best go and have a look then. There were originally five artists who started going outback to paint for fun and to raise money for charity. As well as establishing a much-loved style of Australian art they raised more than a million dollars,’ explained Fiona.

  ‘I reckon they made outback art mainstream, not just in Australia, but overseas, too. Sometimes critics knock it as being kitsch,’ said Murray. ‘But I think that’s because people in the city don’t believe the colours they paint really exist.’

  Kerrie nodded. Murray’s work also had such a vibrancy that the heat seemed to shimmer off the canvas. ‘I’m really fascinated by all this. I’ll go to Broken
Hill, then.’

  Murray laughed. ‘After you get there let us know what you think of it all. I want to keep tabs on you.’

  ‘Sorry it’s a bit late,’ said Murray as they set off the next afternoon. ‘It’s only a couple of hours to the campsite, and it will be nice to get there and settle after the heat has died down. Even in winter the sun can be fierce. But dawn is the best time of day, I think.’

  ‘I haven’t been out and about to see too many dawns for quite some time,’ said Kerrie. ‘Milton was a night owl. Used to work in his studio at night till all hours, then he wanted to talk about it. He was always so exhilarated and exhausted at the same time.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that it’s different for a sculptor,’ agreed Murray. ‘I like to paint by natural light so I tend to knock off at sunset and we go to bed early.’

  ‘We can’t get TV unless we use a satellite dish, so we haven’t bothered. And radio’s good enough to find out what’s going on,’ said Fiona.

  ‘This is just lovely,’ said Kerrie as the old truck drove along a dusty road. ‘The softness of the light after the full sun, the birds, and seeing those wallabies and roos, ears pricked and then bounding away from us. It’s magic.’

  ‘You got to be quick to catch the morning light. It changes so fast,’ said Murray. ‘Tonight we’ll get everything ready and then tomorrow morning we’ll set off in the dark and be waiting, brushes poised, when the sun comes up.’

  Kerrie discovered he wasn’t joking. Fiona and Kerrie had small pup tents beside the campfire they’d made. A fold-up table and three collapsible chairs made up their kitchen, but they ate on their laps around the fire and Murray dragged in a large log for his seat.

  ‘Fiona, you’re amazing! How can you cook such delicious food in one pot and on a barbecue grate?’ asked Kerrie. ‘Why does something so simple taste so good?’

  ‘Flavoured with gum leaves and the smoke from old wood, lit by stars and firelight. Can’t beat it,’ said Murray. ‘I’m going to sleep like this log. Will you wake up when I start banging the billy around in the morning?’