Heavenly Beverley : A Tail Wind to Siberia

I was intermittently aware of howling winds during the night. Given my fatigue, I kept drifting back to sleep. Michael was beside me and I assumed that if he wasn't worried, all was well. Unlike me, he was profoundly alert to the violent flapping of the gazebo and slept very badly. Periodically, he was forced from bed to tighten the galloping gazebo's ropes and pegs. Our relatively flimsy shelter seemed intent on entering low earth orbit.

Just before dawn, the storm was at its height. The wind was at screaming velocity and we huddled together, watchful and alarmed by the weather's ferocity. Michael's jeans and my bra were hanging off the roof's supporting bars and I had a fleeting vision of our clothing masquerading as Dorothy and Toto flying away with the gazebo.

Our miraculous survival improved our mood, along with the morning light . We reluctantly rose, dressed and set about dismantling the camp at Bonnie Vale. Slowly, carefully and methodically. The excitable gusts of wind dictated our every move. The gazebo roof was rather tricky to subdue. On our second attempt, we tamed the wildly flapping material and shoved it unceremoniously into its bag.

The dishes were washed, dried and packed away one at a time so they wouldn't blow away. We sorted our boxes, organised Kermit, and the trusty trailer, and ended up far more ordered than when we had departed from Beverley. We were suitably amused by this observation.

On our way, we stopped at the abandoned mine workings to collect the stamp head battery base plate. Michael wandered off and discovered the remains of the boilers. He returned with only a few items to add to our collection. We farewelled Bonnie Vale and went breezily on our way to Coolgardie for the last shower and fresh clothes in ablutions pretty close to luxury.

Whilst we were at the roadhouse, I made a startling realisation, accompanied by that unmistakable sinking feeling. Horror of horrors, I hadn't brought enough of Michael's meds. And I had no repeat prescriptions. We were going to have to find a doctor. Bollocks.

I rang the Kalgoorlie Hospital. The amiable Tim, on phone reception, directed us to the Boulder Medical Centre. He assumed, correctly, that we did not wish to go old and grey waiting to be seen in a hospital emergency department. But, first things first. Michael declared he was hungry.

We revisited the Inner City Cafe on Hannan Street. Sushi and a pot of tea for me. A delicious chicken burger with chips filled the hollow space in Michael's stomach. Then we were off to the quacks in Boulder.

The medicos' waiting room was packed. Half of Boulder obviously needed to see a doctor. However, we had no choice. Michael needed these prescriptions. So, we amused ourselves with the newspaper, and I charged my laptop (again) and logged onto Facebook and Google Earth, Then I participated in a spot of shopping. Just as my computer's battery was filled to capacity, we were ushered into the young Asian doctor's inner chamber. She was articulate, witty and very thorough. She inspected Michael's spotty arms, checked his blood pressure and wrote the necessary scripts. We were impressed with her care. And we now had knowledge of a medical centre we could attend in the case of illness or injury whilst in the Goldfields.

Quick stops for the necessary meds and fuel for Kermit and we were ready to leave Kalgoorlie's hustle and bustle behind. I was really excited.We were revisiting memories.

In October of 2009, Michael and I had launched forth into our very first Goldfields trip. Unbeknown to me, Michael was quietly and deliberately testing my mettle. Neither of his previous wives had displayed the slightest interest in his passions - for the Goldfields, for her history, her symbols and her ability to tell stories. And certainly not for Michael's original metal sculptures, which he created as scaffolding to share the goldfields' tales. When I met him, he had already decided that if I couldn't share these passions, I would be for the kybosh.

Fortunately for me, being besotted with the man meant I was receptive to his love affair with the red dirt, abandoned mine sites and the shadowy echoes of the deconstructed towns. His storytelling was engaging and his contagious enthusiasm brought the Goldfields to life. By the conclusion of that initial trip, Michael was having to drag me out of the tips and "resource centres" he had shown me. I remember shouting at him, "just five more minutes! This is so cool."

North to Siberia. I could appreciate the meaning behind the name. For the miners and their families, this place must have seemed so remote and harsh and lonely. Yet for me, coming to Siberia was like arriving in paradise.

The country was extraordinary. There had been plenty of recent rain. Little plants were wriggling their heads through the surface of the earth. Wildflowers were everywhere - showy and vibrant waves of pink and yellow and purple and white.

Leaving the gravel road, we poked along faint tracks until we found a beautiful little clearing bordered by mature eucalypts and the swaying singing tall scrub. We were surrounded by firewood and open ground to build a decently warm fire. We set about pitching the gazebo. We decided to attach both the solid and flyscreened "walls" as well to maintain our inner sanctum as a no-fly zone.

With us both working steadily, we still didn't complete the camp until well after dark. The night was chilly and Michael wasted no time constructing a fireplace, lined with old iron sheets to keep our fire safely contained. He had added rocks as steadying supports for the sheeting. We sat close to the building heat until a succession of unexpected explosions began peppering us with fiery debris. One of the rocks had taken it upon itself to disintegrate, noisily and spectacularly. Hastily retreating, we felt like we were in a disaster movie, dodging the eruptive fury of an active volcano. With a final ear-splitting blast, the rock broke completely apart, but not before sending a shower of vividly red embers in our general direction.

We retired to bed soon afterward. Being attacked by our fireplace had not been on our evening agenda and the excitement was all too much. We felt the pressing need to snuggle into our cosy camp bed in our insect free enclosure.