Up Close and Personal in Kalgoorlie-Boulder

We woke to another stunning Goldfields morning. This was the last full day of our "little holiday". We breakfasted at the Inner City Cafe and Catering on Hannan Street. Busy, bustling, toasty warm, good food and well priced. Completely stuffed after our hearty culinary start, we were looking forward to our lunchtime massages back at the hotel in the day spa.

In the meantime, we felt that we needed to walk off our feast beforehand. We hadn't visited the Superpit on this visit, so we chose to point Henry Honda in that direction. As we entered the access road to the lookout, we realised that the tourist view had changed location and we would be looking at the Superpit from a whole new angle.

To describe the dimension and scale of the Superpit is almost impossible. What started out as the Golden Mile, with countless small leases, was amalgamated in 1989 by Kalgoorlie Consolidated Gold Mines (KCGM). Nearby Mt Charlotte, where Paddy Hannan had first found alluvial gold in 1893, is not part of the Superpit and remains an underground mine. Currently, the lifespan of Mt Charlotte has stretched to 2018. The Superpit's operations will extend to at least 2019, with gold processing to continue for another ten years. After that, who knows?

The open cut mine is approximately three and a half kilometres long, one and a half kilometres wide and six hundred metres deep. By the end of operations, the Superpit will have descended at least another hundred metres.

The lookout offered superb views. The position had changed from a central location to closer to the southern end. I spied a water truck at the very bottom, attending to its job spraying water to damp down the dust. From six hundred metres above, the truck resembled a flea doing a wee.

We left, suitably gobsmacked. The day was breezy and cold. After taking our photos, we retreated to Henry Honda and back to the hotel. Our massages were calling us. Miranda, at the Alleya Day Spa, took us in hand. Michael's back and shoulder massage was forty-five minutes of pure bliss. I was treated to a hand massage, a foot soak, file and paraffin wrap and reflexology on my troublesome tired feet. I was in heaven. Miranda and Alleya were the ultimate in pamperings for us.

Leaving Michael snug and relaxed in our room, I embarked on an hour's walk through the surrounding streets. From pink and grey galahs revelling in an afternoon snack to the quaint early miners' cottages, the wonderful laneways that remained from the time of the night carts and a representation of a poppet head in a front garden, I was in my element. I was even able to reduce my layers of clothing in the brisk afternoon air.

Returning, pink-cheeked and buzzing, Michael was in the bath. Miranda had recommended that he have a hot soak to ease his muscles and gain full benefit from the essential oils she had used. Shortly afterwards, the colour of a moderately cooked crab, he reluctantly left the water and joined me in the bedroom.

What to do in our final couple of hours of daylight. We knew that one of Michael's early sculptures - a large domed spider web, complete with redback, was resident in the Boulder garden belonging to our neighbour's son. On Burt Street. Which is an exceedingly long thoroughfare. I rang Lorna for a specific number. We then found the garden and the sculpture with ease.

Michael was chuffed. A big sculpture in Kalgoorlie-Boulder, his little spiders travelling the world and a hint of Dory ending up in Queensland boosted his self-esteem no end. I was thrilled for him.
In the fading daylight, we completed another cruise around Boulder photographing the entry statement and the infamous subway (due to its reliability to flood in heavy rain).

We finished our day with an early dinner at the Lemongrass Thai and Vietnamese restaurant. Due to rapidly depleting finances, we were pleased to enjoy a very tasty dinner (and the best fried ice cream I've ever had) at a very reasonable price.

Last evening in our room. We enjoyed a glass of vino each and retired to bed with a mixture of emotions. We'd had a wonderful break. We were very much looking forward to our own bed at the House that Rocks, but we were leaving with a relentless desire to return to the magic of the Goldfields later in the year.

One scoop = 80 tonnes...

three scoops for each haulpak (truck) = 230 tonnes...

the southern edge of the Superpit...

looking to the bottom...

terraces on the edges. Remember, each of those trucks way below carries 230 tonnes of rock...

the roads in and out. There are those haulpaks again...

aerial view of the Superpit. Half of Boulder (middle left of photo) disappeared inside it...

the punters waiting for a feed...

dinner time!

House with poppet head in a front yard...

looking east to the mullock heap on the edge of the Superpit...

restored miner's cottage...

just a beautiful house with a white picket fence...

Spider52 represented in Burt Street, Boulder...

and another photo!

Turning into the other end of Burt Street

Towards the subway - note the water height gauge...

and up the other side.

And the Clouds Finally Parted.

Our third morning dawned with a gloriously blue winter sky. The grey and the drizzle had gone. Our spirits soared.

A quick check on the weather map did not promise much in the way of warmth. The Big Freeze was continuing. We dressed in multiple layers and left the hotel. Deciding that we would return to the familiar, we had breakfast back at Blaze in Boulder. We left absolutely stuffed about an hour later.

Leaving the Big Smoke behind, we ventured west towards Coolgardie. As Kalgoorlie's almost twin, Coolgardie is tiny in comparison, with stunning federation architecture, very wide streets and a less hectic feel.

We chose not to savour Coolgardie's delights right then. That would come later. Instead, we turned the borrowed Honda onto North Coolgardie Road and travelled the short distance to the first of the deserted town sites. Bonnie Vale was gazetted in 1897, supposed named after a prospector named Bonnie who found a nugget in the vicinity in 1894. The town was not to last, but enjoyed its moment of fame as the site of a miner's rescue after nine days underground in 1907.

We gently turned the Honda onto the track leading away from the main road. Being very much a sophisticated city car, there was not a lot of clearance underneath the vehicle, so we picked our way carefully and slowly to avoid any unnecessary or alarming bumps.

We spent a very happy two or more hours, starting and stopping, walking and fossicking, looking and discarding. Mindful of our limited storage (the trusty trailer was nowhere in sight), we chose a few little delectable metal artefacts to add to our collection. Feeling seriously satisfied with ourselves, we left Bonnie Vale to return to Coolgardie.

Following ice creams, we set out to explore some of the local sights. The old railway station is now closed, apparently a museum, but there wasn't a soul around. The platform was dark and cold, but the train, two carriages and various pieces of equipment were sunlit and bright. We took photos and wandered here and there for a very pleasant half hour.

No trip was complete without a drive to the lookout and the expansive view from the top. Coolgardie is surrounded by giant mullock heaps, the waste material of a hundred years of mining. Many of the mullock heaps have been revegetated, so they now resemble low hills. Some of them were quite difficult to pick as artificially located, rather than genuine geographical features.

We drove lazily around the generous streets, enjoying the local historical buildings. The Cremorne Hotel, on the main street through town, had been beautifully restored and had become a private residence. Since our last visit, the verandahs had been reinstated, so the hotel had now been returned to its previous grandeur.

We cruised back through the late afternoon sun to Kalgoorlie and the warmth of our room. Knowing we were attending a  BBQ with Wayne and his family, I jumped into the spa bath for a wonderful bubbly soak. Michael joined me after I teased him that we couldn't go home without having christened the bath. He gracefully gave in. We both left the bath pink and deliciously toasty.

Wayne's family BBQ was a casual, easy gathering on his Mum and Dad's back verandah. Semi-open. Although I was sitting almost on top of one of the outside gas heaters, I remained chilly for the majority of the evening. The sensible guests attended with scarfs, beanies and gloves. The company made up for the cold, but I was still glad when we retired to our cosy little enclave.

As I thawed out, I drifted off to sleep, comfortably cuddling my beloved Michael. We'd had another wonderful day.

Michael with our City Slicker at Bonnie Vale...

random bits of metal at Bonnie Vale...

rivets - one of Michael's many loves...

echoes of the past...

view of the train cab...

Old Coolgardie Station

from the lookout...

afternoon light at the lookout...

 a Goldfields treasure...

looking north...

A Coolgardie original...

 and the Cremorne Hotel, sporting its new verandah.

Colder than a Witch's....

Yesterday was our second full day in Kalgoorlie. We rose from our lovely bed, eventually, and pondered our day's possible activities. The sky was leaden and the day did not look warm. That was the understatement of the century.

Michael had previously regaled us with tales of working in the Goldfields during winter, of not being able to feel his hands, of having his coffee cup slide as the ice melted underneath, of a bitter wind and freezing drizzle. As I had camped with him during both June and July and not experienced any of these conditions, I merely assumed that these were the ravings of my delusional husband.

I discovered that he had not been telling porkies. We set off for Ora Banda to have lunch at the historic pub and discuss Back to Ora Banda Day, which usually occurs in late September. As we exited the car, having reached our destination, the Antartic blast caused us to scuttle inside. Immediately. In all our visits there, we have always sat outside. Not this day.

The pub was warmish. Being old, it leaked cold air like a sieve. We attempted to toast ourselves in front of the open fire. As they were not pyromaniacs like us, there were only two logs on the grate. At least our knees defrosted.

Although the day was lacking in any semblance of warmth, Rhonda, on the bar, made up with her cheerful and welcoming disposition. She and her husband had passed the reins of the Inn to the younger generation. She was babysitting the hotel as her daughter Kiri was making the short trip to Perth (1200 or so round trip) to pick up the latest crop of backpackers.

We chatted amiably with Rhonda and enjoyed our burgers. We chose not to dally. Making one stop on the way back to Kalgoorlie, we stopped to pay our respects at the local historic cemetery. Reading the inhabitants' causes of death were about as inspiring as the weather. We left.

The heat in our smart loan car was up to thirty degrees. We eventually thawed out about five kilometres from our destination. Whether the cold or a chronic lack of sleep added to my discomfort was not clear. But I retired to bed for the rest of the afternoon.

Dinner with Sam and Wayne at the Lot 35 restaurant, a swish establishment on Hannan Street, was most enjoyable. And warm. A cheery notice of their front door advised us that this was not being left open, in order  to keep out the cold. Dinner, vino, and company were all top notch.

We retired back to our toasty room at the hotel. A cup of tea and I was out for the count. We knew the cold was going to continue. We were just hoping to see the sun in the morning.

The rather depressing cemetery board...

So Much for a Restful Holiday!

We set out for our holiday late on Monday afternoon. We were spent. Before leaving, we'd cleaned the house, cleaned the Gallery, organised a War Plan for Vicky and kissed the dogs. Madame Cat, as ever, didn't appear to care a toss. She'll get her revenge later. We will be given the Silent Treatment on our return, until she decides our bed is too tempting to resist.

In the low afternoon sunshine, we travelled all the way to Cunderdin. Meredith and Kim were offering us hospitality for the night. Dobby the dog greeted us, startlingly bald on his rear end. He'd developed an unfortunate skin condition and had been shaved. We felt for him. Baring his bum on cold mornings was a definite test of his endurance.

Their guest bedroom contained a bed straight from "The Princess and the Pea". Consisting of two mattresses (for convenience of storage), I almost required a rocket launcher to breach the height. Which we soon did. After a delicious dinner, a lot of laughter and brisk conversation we retired to the bedroom. I felt like Jack climbing the beanstalk.

A combination of a strange bed, an early start and a rendezvous with the Prospector made for a restless night. We were up at sparrow fart. Kim was already preparing a cooked breakfast prior to starting his work day. Meredith was dropping us at the station before work. The morning was bitterly cold and we watched the frost melting on their verandah roof, dripping steadily like an unexpected sun shower.

With enough gear for the Antartic, Meredith dropped us at the station. This consisted of the platform, a covered area with a bin, a cheery message that the train wouldn't stop unless we were booked passengers and a metal bench. We chose not to sit on the bench, fearing we may freeze permanently on that spot. Instead, we amused ourselves warming up in the sun and watching the pigeons on the silo roof.

The Prospector duly arrived. And stopped for us. We loaded ourselves and the bags onto the train and procured our booked seats. The train was moving again before we had found storage places for all our luggage. Then we settled in for the ride.

We really enjoyed this trip. The train travelled to the north of the Great Eastern Highway once we left the Wheatbelt behind. The Goldfields woodland was stunning. Water was everywhere. The wildflower season this year promises to be extraordinary. And we gazed upon parts of the glorious bush we had not ever seen. An absolute treat.

And we watched movies and followed the route on the entertainment system in front of each seat. The buffet was basic but the staff were accommodating and helpful. Driver Cam was a bit of a disappointment, as the images were delayed. We were highly amused to view the Prospector idling at a station, whereas we were actually hurtling onwards towards our destination.

We arrived in Kalgoorlie mid afternoon. We waited for some time for a taxi. The amiable driver moaned that there was always a shortage when the train and plane arrived simultaneously in the hub of the Goldfields.

Arriving at our digs, we settled in. The room was delightful, ground floor and overlooking the garden and the pool. There were children squawking and splashing in the pool. We deduced the water must have been heated.

After a pleasant dinner at the hotel bistro, we retired to bed. We were exhausted. Again a new bed and very efficient heating disturbed our sleep somewhat. We did not rise early.

After debating whether to spend all day in the spa bath, we were driven outwards, warmly dressed, for a very late breakfast. We had been given a car for the duration by Michael's old friend and former work colleague, Wayne. A Boulder boy, he was good humoured, quick witted and very generous. The car was a late model Honda and spotless internally.

We chose to explore Boulder first. Finding a delightful cafe, Blaze, in the old Fire Station, was the first bonus of the day. Opened for two years, Blaze was warm, inviting and offered good food and great coffee. Even though we arrived officially after breakfast had ended, they were totally obliging of my need for Eggs Benedict. And they allowed us to pinch  a copy of the Kalgoorlie Miner newspaper. We intend to patronise Blaze again before we leave.

After a walk up and down the main drag, Burt Street, photographing the wonderful old buildings, we hesitated about going elsewhere. Boulder had been hit hard by an earthquake in 2010, but there were no remaining signs of the havoc wreaked that day. We loved the atmosphere. Perhaps not as hip and savvy as neighbouring Kalgoorlie, Boulder had a gentler charm we were thoroughly enjoying.

We decided to give the Loopline Railway Museum in the old train station a go, Some museums have a tendency to bore me to tears and encourage me to become comatose. Not the Loopline. Inside the reception and giftshop, Vicky, the ever helpful front-of-house, charged us a measly two dollars for entry. We were captivated. The Museum told the story of the railway that had operated around Boulder and up to Kalgoorlie, prior to the line and half of Boulder being swallowed by the Super Pit. We spent a delighted hour or so there, bought a map and a book of "Old Kalgoorlie", along with oodles of free material. Michael chatted with the museum crew. The museum is a work in progress, with more exhibits being restored in their very large workshops. We look forward to returning.

A touch of banking, fifteen minutes of shopping in Coles for essential nibbles and drinks and we went in search of decent and less expensive dinner than at the hotel. Michael was enthusiastic about asking at the Kalgoorlie Tourist Information. Seven years ago, he would have entered most reluctantly. Now, he bolted through the door to peruse its treasures.

We settled on a local cafe, Manna Thai, for dinner that had been recommended by the staff. We picked up more free brochures and bought another book about the Goldfields woodlines. Michael was beyond ecstatic. With an hour to kill before the restaurant opened, Michael offered to take me to Williamstown, a very old area of Kalgoorlie-Boulder than may have predated the towns themselves.

With his exceptional memory, we found this little enclave with no difficulty. Williamstown was for the fringe dwellers, who obviously had no desire to be part of the Big Smoke. Original miners' cottages jostled for position with the odd new house, usually constructed from corrugated iron. Peeking into the backyards was an additional treat. There were treasure troves of items waiting for recycling. Then we couldn't help ourselves. In the fading light, we parked in an area that had been abandoned and started fossicking. A pair of kangaroos, one with a joey, watched us in silent curiosity. Even though Williamstown must have been picked over time and time again, we each scored a couple of delectable items. And we photographed. Then the loss of light forced us to leave this fantastic location, oozing with the echoes of history. Another place we vowed to return.

We picked up our Thai and a bottle of vino and retired to our room for the night. We were over the moon with our day's experiences. And I doubted if we would be slacking around the hotel the following day either!

Stay tuned.

A Crash Course in Pokemon Go!

Callum and Bronwyn roared into our driveway yesterday in their little electric blue buzz box car. They brought half their pantry with them, my Mothers' Day present and card and secret birthday business for my auspicious event on Sunday. We reciprocated with Bron's birthday present (from May), the guest room for their relaxation and a three-day opportunity to unwind from the madness of their jobs and the Big Smoke.

Callum is a restaurant manager at the Mullaloo Beach Hotel. Bron is an early childhood teacher from a sprawling, mortgage belt northern suburbs primary school. Hence, enthusiasm, energy, and cheerful dispositions are pre-requisites for both their jobs and constant smiling goes with the territory.

They are enjoying every second off their feet, a chance to be with each other and us and not having to do anything. Having said that, we walked into town and back yesterday afternoon, visited the Gallery and the delights of Beverley's main drag. They also cooked a magnificent feast for us last night. I think they were expecting the entire "Game of Thrones" cast to join us. And they washed up. I was in Nirvana.

Having been vaguely aware of the hype surrounding the launch of Pokemon Go - Ye Gods, we're back playing Gameboy - I was relatively unsurprised that Cal was already a devotee. My twenty-seven-year-old son has huge reserves of mental and physical fuel, is quick witted and super intelligent and has grown up in a very fast world. He has embraced all forms of technology and was always champing at the bit to be the First to own a new system, a new game, a new app. This has only ever backfired on him once. Impatient, as ever, to be able to play Halo 3 on his computer, he was amongst the initial purchasers of Vista, a disastrous operating system that caused mayhem and had to be uninstalled. Yet, Cal couldn't help himself. He had to have Vista immediately upon its release. And damn the torpedoes.

And so, twenty years on from Pikachu, we have been blasted back into the world of Pokemon. Caught in Callum's infectious glee, I asked him for a quick "Pokemon Go for Idiots". It turned out to be not that hard, even though I have absolutely no desire to participate in the actual playing. Basically, catch 'em, feed 'em, train 'em. Except, being 2016, there's more to the app that that. The player has an avatar, so he or she can exist in the real and virtual worlds. As do the Pokemon themselves. So yesterday, Callum captured a Pokemon outside the Gallery, on my laptop, on their esky, and within the confines of the House that Rocks. And I have the evidence to show their presence.

Apart from my own crash course in Pokemon Go, I have been highly amused at other "crashes" indirectly caused by this app phenomena. Initially released in the US of A, New Zealand, and Australia, those in the UK were apparently left out of the equation. Which has meant that savvy Poms have hopped onto Australian servers in order to access the game. Do not ask me how that is done...

Which means our second rate internet has crashed. Spectacularly and repeatedly. I suspect there may be some very unhappy Pokemon catchers out there as this app also involves the (utterly voluntary) surrender of cold hard cash. If the system goes down, which it has, the game is reset. Money gone to Pikachu?

About five people were expected to turn up to the Sydney Opera House over the weekend to mutually worship Pokemon Go. Quite a few more than that arrived at this auspicious venue. Some of the players were probably injured on the way. There have been reports of people walking onto the road without looking, into poles and generally falling over as they were too busy watching their smartphones rather than their surroundings. There are bruises to validate these stories.

However, Pokemon Go has also been charged with increasing community interaction. And good humour. People are outside chasing Pokemon. They are forming posses with their mates. And the young and foolish are finding themselves trumped by the older generation. Pokemon Go has been actively taken up by all ages. So, there are now emerging stories of the middle-aged beating the teenagers to a Pokemon in the vicinity. And laughing at the bemused reactions they leave behind.

As of now, Pokemon Go is still unavailable for Callum to resume the chase. The system is still crashed due to the volume of smartphones all attempting to load the app. This is not entirely bad. Callum has had to temper his frustration with patience. And this is a highly unusual circumstance for my breakneck son.

PS the internet has just resumed its good health so the chase is on again!

Last weekend, a few Pokemon Go players converged on the Sydney Opera House...

Beware of hazards such as roads...

and poles (the app even warns you to be aware of your surrounds)

with resulting reports and injuries.

This dog is not entirely sure of his pocket monster companion...

Zubat visited the East End Gallery

Paras was quite keen on the esky...

Dinglett perusing our floor

and Ratata distracting me from my laptop.

Which Pokemon have visited your house lately?