by Di Morrissey
‘Born and bred. Just love the place. I’ve made countless TV shows about our country. From cooking to survival, to talking about the future of the planet,’ said Jack cheerfully. ‘And if you want to paint, get out there, girl. Nothing like it anywhere else in the world.’
‘I’m beginning to see that. How far is White Cliffs from here? If I drove there, is there anywhere to stay?’
‘There’s a motel and one of those B&B places. Both underground. It’s not too far. You could take a day tour over there. You can see the whole place in a couple of hours. Not like here, you need a good week to do it properly!’
After she left Jack Absalom’s gallery, Kerrie continued wandering around. She could see why tourists stayed a while in Broken Hill; there was a lot to see and do. But she was now less interested in restaurants, shops, galleries, mine tours and historical places. She longed to recapture the tranquillity and intense creative urge that she’d shared on her camping trip with Murray and Fiona in the isolation and strange beauty of the bush. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before.
She was on her way to the tourist information office to see about going to White Cliffs when a small tour bus parked outside the post office caught her eye. It was hard to miss. The minivan was covered with paintings of emus, gum trees, red rocks, strange carvings, mullock heaps and windmills. Across its side was painted ‘Davo’s Best Tours’ and a list of locations was displayed underneath. But what caught Kerrie’s attention was that the rough pictures were similar to Jack Absalom’s painting of White Cliffs.
She pulled out her mobile and rang the number painted on the bus.
‘Davo’s Tours, Davo here.’
‘Hi, I’m in Broken Hill and I was hoping to go to White Cliffs. I’ve seen your bus. Where do your tours go?’
‘Depends. Do you want the whole box and dice camping under the stars, or just a day trip?’
‘I think I just want to go to White Cliffs for the day, to start with.’
‘Can do. I leave the Hill in the morning at eight, make a couple of stops, get to White Cliffs in time for lunch, spend an hour or so seeing the town, then back here around six. If there’s enough interest I could run over to Opal Lake, but it makes for a long day. How many people do you want to book?’
‘Just myself. I have a car but I think it’s easier to go on a day tour. I haven’t heard of Opal Lake. Is it a real lake?’
‘Real enough, when it rains. But that’s not often. Used to have water in it but it’s dried up now. It’s a couple of hours from White Cliffs.’
‘Where’s your office? I’ll come around and pay you,’ said Kerrie.
‘The office is right behind you if you turn around.’
Kerrie turned around and saw a solidly built, tanned and bearded man wearing khaki shorts and a bush shirt, a battered bush hat and sturdy boots standing a hundred metres behind her. While he might have been trying to look like Crocodile Dundee, he reminded Kerrie more of an overweight football coach. He was holding a mobile phone to his ear and he grinned to acknowledge her, lifting his finger in a bit of a salute. She walked towards him. He held out his hand.
‘Dave Best. I run Best Tours. Call me Davo.’
‘I’m Kerrie. Kerrie Faranisi.’
‘Visiting the Hill, eh? Where’re you from?’
‘Sydney, but I’ve just come from Lightning Ridge.’
‘On the opal trail. Been out to any of the other opal fields, like Yowah?’
‘No. I’m not an opal fossicker. I’m an artist looking for, well, inspiration, I suppose.’ She smiled.
Davo took a small notebook and a stub of pencil out of his shirt pocket and flipped to a page. ‘Umm, got six booked and you make seven, that’s enough to make the tour worthwhile. Room for more, if they turn up. So, Kerrie. You’re in. Where’re you staying?’
She told him and he nodded. ‘Right. See you at seven forty-five at the front door. You might have to organise an early breakfast. You paying cash?’
The next morning, Davo pulled up right on time at the hotel where Kerrie was staying. Kerrie was carrying her oversized hold-all and had packed her pencils and sketchbook. She thought it was unlikely she would have time to sketch, but put it in anyway, just in case. The other passengers were two widowed sisters, a retired couple and a Danish couple on their honeymoon.
As he drove along Davo infrequently pointed out things of interest, but mostly he chatted to the retired couple who were sitting closest to him. It took more than three hours to reach the small settlement of White Cliffs. When it came into view, someone commented, ‘Not much here. Looks like a ghost town.’
‘It’s all underground,’ said Davo. ‘The mines and the homes.’
Kerrie could see how the township got its name. The settlement atop the two main hills seemed to be propped up by white cliffs, which were, in fact, white soil tipped down the hillside from the diggings. Around the rise of the small hills spread a flat red plain smudged with the grey-green stubble of hardy desert plants.
The bus stopped outside the pub in the main street and everyone went inside for a cold drink. Kerrie walked around the bar, looking at the photos and memorabilia tacked to the walls. When they’d finished their drinks, they wandered back outside.
‘Anything else to see?’ one of the sisters asked Kerrie as they looked at the opal shop, the general store and a camping and hardware supplier.
‘I think there are more buildings up there on the small rises,’ she replied.
‘Too hot to walk.’
‘That’s an interesting-looking house,’ said Kerrie, noticing a round building with large glass windows.
‘I wish we could go into one of the underground places Davo told us about. I’ll go and ask him.’
She found Davo sitting at a table outside the pub talking to a man who had a selection of rocks spread out and a glass jar of coloured stones beside him.
As Kerrie approached, Davo lifted up the jar and spoke to her. ‘Want to buy a jar of rough for a hundred bucks? Could get ten times that for them when they’re cut and polished.’
‘Thanks, but no. Actually some of us would like to go up the hill, or the one further over there. Is that where everyone lives? Do they mine for opals there, too?’
‘Some do. There’re a couple of underground motels, a decent B&B and a coffee shop over there. And some people have a bit of a shop or gallery attached to their places.’
‘So they live and mine in the same place?’
‘Some do, but most of the hills are dug out now, so serious miners are digging further away. I’ve got a camp meself, well out of Opal Lake.’ He waved his hand expansively towards the red plains. ‘But been some mighty opal come out of this little place. It’s called gem crystal opal. Light with bright fire flashes. Brilliant stuff. The opal from here really put Australia on the map. You should go and look at the cemetery. Not far to walk. And the first experimental solar station is further along. It’s closed now, but proved a point. Then you can go past the Blocks and Sullivans Hill to the fossicking field and, well, that’s it, you’ve done White Cliffs.’
‘I see. Well, after you’ve taken us to these places I’d like to see Opal Lake, too,’ said Kerrie.
Davo lifted his shoulders. ‘Dunno that anyone else wants to trek all the way out there. More of the same, ’cept smaller. Scenery much of a muchness, if you’re looking for that.’
Kerrie could tell that he didn’t want to go any further than White Cliffs and suddenly his attitude made her determined to go to Opal Lake.
‘Look, Davo, you said that a visit to Opal Lake was an option. Well, I want to take that option.’
‘Okay. I’ll talk to the others. But they’re not going to want to hang around out there, I reckon. It’ll be just in and out.’
‘Well, that might not be long enough for me. Is there somewhere to stay? If there is, you could just leave me there and pick me up next time you’re on tour.’
He shrugged. ‘Yep, there’s a pub, a small motel
and a B&B. Not as much as here.’
‘That sounds fine. Could you give me details, please, and I’ll call them.’
‘Did I mention I won’t be back for a week?’ said Davo with a smugness that annoyed Kerrie.
‘No. You didn’t. But that’s fine, too. Pick me up in a week then.’
‘Cost you extra, if I have to make a special run out there.’
‘I’ll pay. Now, shall we get going?’
There were a couple of surprised looks in Kerrie’s direction when Davo announced that there would be a detour to Opal Lake to drop her off. Most of the passengers seemed happy enough to have an extended trip, even if they weren’t staying more than ten minutes.
‘What’s out there? It is an interesting place?’ the Danish girl asked Kerrie.
Kerrie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been there. But I’m about to find out.’
The girl smiled. ‘It sounds very romantic.’
Kerrie leant back in her seat, wondering about her sudden decision. What on earth was she doing? Had it just been Davo’s complete lack of co-operation that had irritated her, or was she finally doing what Murray and Fiona had suggested – listening to her heart and following whim as it took her fancy? She pulled out her phone to ring the B&B and make a reservation only to discover that there was no mobile reception.
The ground was flat and red but occasionally it looked like sparks glinting in the afternoon light.
‘It’s the gypsum fragments,’ said Davo when someone asked about the sparkles. He pointed out a dry gully lined with wild orange trees and for the first time expounded at length. ‘They say trees are an indicator of opal because they grow where there’s water along the fault lines. You seen the lines of trees along gullies and creeks. What’s called wild orange is more of a shrubby tree, has fruit kinda like a plum, generally full of ants. But it has a pretty orchidy sort of flower. Box trees, leopardwood, gidgee trees, every area has its speciality. ’Cept for Coober Pedy where there aren’t any trees so they built one of steel.’
‘Apart from the trees, how can you tell where you should dig for opal?’ asked one of the Danes.
Davo gave a hard laugh. ‘Opal is where you find it, mate. Miners all have their theories about why opal is in one spot and not over there a few yards away. It’s anyone’s guess. Opals are a mystery.’
‘Sounds like they can be hard to find,’ commented the retired man. ‘Are you looking for opals?’ he asked Kerrie.
His wife looked at Kerrie’s casual but groomed appearance and manicured nails. ‘Does she look like she’s going to take up digging?’ She smiled at Kerrie. ‘I hear you’re an artist.’
Kerrie returned the smile, adding, ‘I have been known to get my hands dirty.’
‘This looks similar to White Cliffs. But smaller,’ said the Danish girl as they drove into the small town.
Davo pulled up in front of the Opal Lake Hotel, which Kerrie thought looked like every other pub she’d seen since she’d left Sydney.
‘Time for a cold drink, use the toilets, pop into the souvenir shop or walk down the street. Fifteen minutes and we’re off,’ he said to the group. Then to Kerrie, ‘Well, here we are. Opal Lake. See you in a week.’
One of the men sitting outside the pub said, ‘You leaving her here? Give you a bit of trouble, did she, Davo?’
Davo shrugged. ‘Her choice. Don’t ask me what she’ll do with herself here for a week. Not my problem.’
Kerrie heard the exchange but ignored it. The man behind the bar was polishing a glass with a torn cloth. ‘Good afternoon. I’ve just arrived with the tour bus and —’
‘What can I get you?’
‘Actually I want to know where the B&B is. I’m staying in town for the week.’
‘No car then? Hmm, probably the best place is the Golden Dome. Up on Sampson’s Hill.’ He pointed towards one of the small hills at the far end of the street.
‘I hope they have a room, though it doesn’t seem too busy around here.’ Kerrie smiled, trying to sound cheerful.
‘There are a few people around. Everything’s underground so it’s hard to tell how many tourists are about. A private plane came in yesterday with a party of four. The caravan park is fairly full, too. We’ve got rooms, but I don’t think it would suit you. Not sure about the Shincracker. That’s the motel.’
‘Do you have the number for the Golden Dome?’
‘Here, use my phone. Mobiles don’t work too well around here unless you have a sat phone.’ He pushed his phone towards her.
Kerrie was starting to regret her impetuous decision until she heard the woman’s voice at the end of the phone. It was friendly and welcoming.
‘Of course we can put you up. Do you want a double room or a large family double? No ensuites, plumbing is too difficult, but the bathrooms are central.’
‘It’s all underground, isn’t it? Maybe I’d better have the big room. I don’t think I get claustrophobia, but just in case,’ said Kerrie.
‘You’ll be surprised! Just drive up Sampson’s Hill and swing around to the right at the top . . .’
‘Actually I don’t have a car, I came on the tour bus and decided to stay on.’
‘No worries, I’ll pop down and get you. I have to pick up the mail anyway. You’re at the pub, you said?’
Kerrie waved goodbye to the other tourists as they got back into Davo’s small bus. Davo gave her a nod and a cocky grin as he closed the doors and the bus drove off, leaving her standing there with her carry-all slung over her shoulder and her sunglasses shading her eyes.
‘Sit down, miss, if you like,’ called out the publican. ‘Pam will be along in a minute. She’ll look after you.’
‘I hope I don’t look like I need too much looking after,’ replied Kerrie.
‘You’ll like the Dome, and Pammie’s a good sort. They’ve done a marvellous job on that place. Doug’s done it all himself, too,’ said one of the customers.
‘Are you a local? Are you a miner?’ asked Kerrie.
‘I reckon everyone’s a miner who comes to stay here,’ said the publican. ‘We all walk around with our eyes down, just in case we kick over a floater.’ He grinned.
‘And it’s happened,’ said another man. ‘Mick here picked up a beauty in the creek behind town a few years back.’
‘An opal?’ asked Kerrie. ‘A valuable one?’
‘You bet. He gave it to one of the girls working behind the bar. She left town the following week. Silly dill.’
‘Here’s Pam.’
A small red car drew up and a woman got out. ‘I’m Pamela James.’ She smiled at Kerrie. ‘How you going, fellas?’ She nodded to the men sitting outside the pub. ‘Where’s your luggage?’ She opened the passenger door for Kerrie.
‘I decided to stay here on the spur of the moment, so I hope I’ll be able to pick up a few necessities. Davo said he’ll come for me next week,’ said Kerrie as she got in beside Pam.
‘No worries. How about you pop into the general store while I go to the post office and you can get a toothbrush at least.’
While Pam collected her mail, Kerrie looked around the small general store. ‘Well,’ she thought. ‘I’ve got myself here, so I’ll just have to rough it.’ With that she bought some toiletries and a couple of souvenir T-shirts with ‘Opal Lake’ embroidered across them.
As Pam drove up the hill to the Golden Dome, Kerrie was surprised at the expansive view of the flat country. There was the occasional tree and mounds of mullock, as well as mine shafts and machinery. A far line of hills broke the horizon and a cloud of dust trailing behind a vehicle seemed to follow a road scratched into the dirt.
Kerrie noticed that some places had vegetable gardens that were fenced and shaded. Some of the entrances to the underground dwellings were partially visible, while others were fully screened by slabs of corrugated iron and tarpaulins. In one garden rusting machinery and an old-fashioned caravan had been turned into garden ornaments, making it look messy and cluttered.
‘Some places look a little abandoned. Is that because most of it is underground?’ asked Kerrie.
‘No, not entirely. A lot are empty. People might only come here for a couple of months a year. But Doug and me hardly ever get away. It’s good to be busy. This is us.’
Kerrie was pleasantly surprised when Pam drove through two red rock pillars with stone frogs sitting on top. She parked the car in a rough clearing near clumps of red flowering bushes. Behind the parking area was a shady outdoor spot containing tables and chairs. Pam opened a green doorway into a bright foyer filled with lush potted palms. The domed roof above them disappeared into the orange stony earth of the hillside.
‘How lovely,’ said Kerrie.
‘Have to pick your time to sit out here. Cool evenings are best, but you have to use insect spray. Sometimes the midges and mosquitoes are bad.’
Steps descended from the entrance foyer, and Kerrie realised that she was walking into the hillside beneath the dome. The walls were bright with white limewash, which was painted over the rough surfaces where the rooms had been dug out. While electric lights blazed, wherever possible skylights had been set into the curved ceiling to let in even more light. Some skylights seemed to double as air vents.
‘It’s so bright, so light. And so cool.’
‘The underground stays around twenty-three degrees all year round. Bit like living in a wine cellar,’ said Pam. ‘This is the reception area. I’ll get you a form to fill in. There’s a bar off the kitchen if you want to help yourself to iced water or juice. There’s a lounge area, reading room, dining room and laundry down there. That corridor leads to the bedrooms and the bathrooms are just up on that level near the laundry so you won’t have far to walk.’
Kerrie’s room was a cave scooped out of the earth. It was white and clean and, although there were no windows, it didn’t feel at all claustrophobic. ‘This is so homey. It’s amazing. Did your husband build all this?’
‘These hills have been cleaned out of opal, so people made homes up here. Doug still has tunnels running back into the hillside and every time we want to expand, he digs out another room.’ She laughed. ‘The original mine is still back there if you want to have a look. We run tours for visitors, but they won’t disturb you.’