Heavenly Beverley : Surprise Attack!

Due to Michael's nifty parking of Kermit adjacent to the gazebo, our bed was shaded from the early morning sun. I woke, feeling totally refreshed. The previous few months had been ragged and I had been persistently dog-tired. After a whole week away from all our responsibilities, I had regained my old vim, vigour, and vitality.

I watched Michael sleeping, not wishing to disturb him. When he was deeply asleep, all the worry lines in his face relaxed and smoothed, giving an impression of the boy he'd been. I smiled, not wanting to lose the moment. The morning was cool and breezy, ideal conditions for fossicking.

Once His Majesty was awake, we conducted all morning routines at an easy pace. Even so, we were ready to take a cruise around beautiful downtown Siberia just before ten o'clock. Whilst in Kalgoorlie, Michael had pinpointed the location of Siberia's boilers, just slightly further along the Golden Quest Discovery Trail. That seemed like an excellent spot to begin our day's activities.

Michael had taught me well. The early mining centres held an ongoing fascination and appreciation for both of us. I was enthralled by the physical remnants of the past, the ghosts who had left tantalising clues and the "Sleeping Beauty" comparison of the Goldfields woodland reclaiming the discarded towns and diggings.

Siberia's boilers were quite visible from the track once we had travelled far enough. Beyond them were the towering banks of the cyanide dams. But no evidence of head frames or other machinery or shafts to explain the presence of local gold mining that would be associated with cyanide dams. Quite the conundrum.

We mused long and hard. The boilers may be have been part of a water condensing operation, as there was precious little drinking water about. Why were the dams there if there was no processing at the site? And nearby was the wreckage of an ancient windmill, which just added to the mystery. We moved on, none the wiser.

Back towards the crossroads was a mass of abandoned shafts, trenches, and other miscellaneous diggings. All of this man-made interference was being swallowed by the bush, creating a surreal environment. Trees were growing out of shafts and on top of discarded piles of rock, as well as everywhere in between. An extraordinary place.

We followed a track up one of the ridges and parked Kermit in the shade. Michael was doubtful we'd find any metal of value to add to our collection, declining to bring his fossicking bag. Initially, he seemed to be correct. Again. There was almost nothing metallic left around this upended landscape. Not that we were any less excited. The ground itself was both stunning and challenging - full of rocks and boulders, with some beautiful white quartz here and there. Mining at Siberia would have been hazardous, back-breaking and often soul-destroying. The climate was not conducive to comfort - unbearably hot in summer and bitterly cold in winter. People died through lack of water or exposure, apart from those who didn't succumb to illness or injuries.

Michael was to regret leaving his bag in the car. As we ventured past the last of the shafts, we discovered the remains of their camps - tins of all sorts, water barrels, tools, implements, and trinkets. With only a solitary bag fit to burst, we carefully and gratefully made our way back to Kermit.

There was another part of the area we wished to explore. Now that Siberia's streetscape had been revealed to us on Google Earth, we were champing at the bit to find evidence of her residents. After a couple of false starts, we found a definite "road" that had run along the southern boundary of the town. We could see the wide streets, essential for the movement of horses and wagons. We pottered along these echoes of Siberia, discovering discarded and broken everyday items, Like everywhere in the Goldfields', Siberia's residents would have wasted nothing.

Shortly afterward, we called "time". We had been fossicking all morning and the unforgiving ground had taken its toll on our feet. We needed to return to our camp for a well-deserved rest.

We were totally unprepared for the scene of carnage that greeted us. We didn't need to guess the identity of the intruders. They had left incriminating evidence everywhere. Footprints were on the table, rubbish was strewn all about, the morning dishes were on the ground, our soap had been brutally and repeatedly pecked, the air pump box had been violated and its cord unravelled and attempts had been made to open the sugar container. Worst of all, the culprits had taken a liking to both my tea bags and hot chocolate sachets. They had raided my stash and consumed rather a lot. I hoped they were both dehydrated with bloated bellies for their crimes.

We had paid the price of our slack security. We had noted Russell and his missus casing the joint and they had taken full advantage of our absence. The moral of this story - never trust a pair of crows.

Cleaning up was both irksome and tiring. We slept the afternoon away. With the sun still warm, we took the opportunity for our first bucket bath of the trip. The spare tarp was laid out, the fire was stoked and the kettle filled to the brim and boiled for the occasion. the large basin took pride of place with the soap, flannel, towels and our fresh clothes all within easy reach on one of the chairs. We took turns splashing and sploshing the water all over us. Although not as cleansing as a shower, we were immensely satisfied with our impromptu bathroom set-up.

Dusk was jaw-dropping. And with the later moon rise, we were privileged to sit beneath a theatre of stars from horizon to horizon. The Milky Way was present in all her glory. We enjoyed our dinner and vino in front of the roaring fire, a hint of sandalwood delighting our noses.

And in spite of the crows' dastardly deeds, we'd had yet another marvellous day. This was living.