Heavenly Beverley : Shattered...

The Goldfields dawn, only a few hours after I'd finally gone to sleep, was grey and sullen with the constant threat of rain. I was not feeling very bright either. However, as soon as I was blearily awake, I rang Alex's mobile. He was in the Emergency Department at one of the major teaching hospitals, known as Charlie's. He'd had a drip inserted, bloods taken and a cardiac ultrasound. He was on his back, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for results.

Meanwhile, my foot was a tad wobbly and spotty, but quite functional. As I went to sit in my chair with a steaming cup of tea, I spotted an innocuous tiny black spider scuttling back into one of the joints of my camping chair. Maybe, just maybe, this little creature had been responsible for my world of pain. Normally, I like to live and let live but I was not in a merciful mood. Whether this spider was a local or a hitchhiker from Beverley, he or she was not welcome. After a short prayer, we poured boiling water inside all the chair's joints.

The morning was warming up rapidly. I felt hot and clammy and hungry and a bit surreal. We needed breakfast and a shower. We packed up clothes, towels, meds and toiletries and headed for Coolgardie. On the main drag, "Way Out West" Cafe looked cool and clean and comfortable. Run by two Kiwi sisters and their brother, who was the chef, Elina was on Front of House. We ordered eggs on toast (with bacon for Michael), great coffee and a large revitalising mug of tea for me.Whilst we were sitting in the cafe, the rain began bucketing down, so we took our time. We charged my laptop and my mobile and I checked online for any further updates from Alex in the Emergency room. No more disasters were evident. I heaved a sigh of relief and enjoyed my second mug of tea.

Feeling slightly more awake, we ventured next door to Arthouse 65, owned and operated by Coolgardie local artist, Jacqui Mills. We spent a very pleasant half-hour or so with her, viewing her artwork and discovering her delightful tropical courtyards she had created between her gallery and her house. A most unlikely oasis in the middle of the Goldfields.

We had been planning on driving the forty kilometres to Dunnsville, but I was exhausted. We checked into the showers at the roadhouse and soaked our weary heads. Returning to our camp at Bonnie Vale, we lay down on the stretcher bed to catch up on some shut-eye. We both instantly fell asleep.

Mid afternoon we woke and sampled a late lunch of cheese, olives and crackers. The heat of the day was lingering, so we embarked on some research, now that Bulong was out of the equation. Michael had camped at Siberia, forty kilometres further north. We'd sailed past the Townsite sign on our first trip. We had not stopped as Michael had been in a nicotine withdrawal frenzy and was driving fairly rapidly in the direction of ora Banda for some fags.

And, since meeting Brian, we were fired up with a new enthusiasm to Explore Locally. Siberia, what a wonderful name, was deserving of our closer attention for a few days.

Alex reported in via his mobile. Alex's chest pain had been indicative of another episode of pericarditis. Every time he was exposed to a simple virus, like a cold, his heart lining became inflamed, causing symptoms similar to a heart attack. He had been discharged on another medication and was due to meet with the Cardiology team shortly. In the interim, he was cheerful and perky and looking forward to dinner with friends. The resilience of the young.

Eventually, the day cooled and we pottered away from our camp on another trek. We were still tired and didn't walk very far. Donning our hats and bags and carrying water and the essential Rid, we followed our tyre prints back towards our entry off the main track. Surprisingly, there were still treasures to be found, right next to where we had driven.

Returning to camp, we sat in our chairs, watching the approaching storm in the last of the daylight. Ominous clouds were all around us. We'd already fastened the gazebo's "walls" firmly in anticipation of rain. The weather promised more than a few sprinkles of precipitation. This reminded us of the Rogue Storm of Golden Horn.

Rewinding seven years to our very first trip, we had been camped at the very picturesque and abandoned Golden Horn Mine. Whilst enjoying another cool evening at the end of a hot day, an intense storm cell had snuck up on us. I remember cowering on the floor of Michael's work ute, waiting for the apocalypse to consume us. Then as quickly as the storm had threatened us, it vanished to scare the living daylights out of other unsuspecting and unprepared campers.

Back to the present. The sky show was spectacular. Even I was grudgingly impressed. Fork lightning flashed, bursts of thunder rumbled menacingly all around us and frequently heavy squalls of rain persisted after dark. The wind was rising but I was beyond caring. I retired back to bed and knew no more. Michael stayed up to watch the spectacle until he joined me in our snug bed.

An eventful day.