You would have been expecting a banner pic of a thousand mullock heaps but in this town, where there are probably more car wrecks than driveables, Lightning Ridge is the elephant’s graveyard and perhaps a sign that digging for opals may not be the romance the finished product would have us believe.
Now, I’d already seen Cooper Pedy, so my expectations were suitably tempered. The horror stories of murder and mayhem from Lightning Ridge however, saw my apprehension suitably raised. Even the name has a Stephen King backstory. A grazier went looking for his shepherd and flock back in 1870 and found said shepherd, his dog and 600 sheep struck dead by lightning.
After an excellent run from Walgett, I crested the last little hill and dropped down into town. After almost a month free camping I was running out of water, electricity and…knickers, so I booked into the Opal Caravan Park for a week. The other reason was that, there was a lot of sightseeing to be done, and best done without a house in tow.
With a storm front looming later that night, everything that could be washed, was. So, the next two days were spent indoors so to speak. Apart from the town centre, all other secondary roads are dirt and, after my recent experience, thought it prudent to sit tight. If your into opals or coffee, Lightning Ridge is your destination. The town has developed a series of ‘car door’, self-drive tours that radiate into the surrounding opal fields. While each has a destination, the points of interest along the way, listed in the guide, are…well…mmm….silk purse out of a sow’s ear(?). I found exploring the NOT opal fields and talking to the locals, was where the treasure was really to be found.
On the surface, opal mining seems to be a mugs game. Ramshackled hamlets in various states of decay, and rusted or abandoned machinery, dots the landscape. More disconcerting is how eerily quite opal fields are. It was like Miner’s Picnic Day every day. I found out later that opal mining is a seasonal activity. Only the cooler months see the hum of generators and the clang of steel. Summers here are oppressive, and with housing consisting mainly of tin-roofed sheds and 60’s era Viscount caravans, you can see the downside.
The week passed quickly. The caravan park was only a couple of hundred metres shy of the Artesian Bore Spa, one of many scattered across the Great Artesian Basin. A hot bath is a soothing change for any road weary caravanner. Word was about, that it was all happening at the Grawin Opal Fields, about 50klm south-west of Lightning Ridge, so when I checked out, it seemed the place to head to.
Spent the first night at Cumborah, a tiny, tiny hamlet with one church, a free campground and excellent internet (go figure). The next morning I passed through Grawin and started on the circuit’ that would take me to opal fields at The Sheepyard Inn and further on, near the Glengarry Hilton.
I set up behind the Sheepyard Inn and was soon on foot exploring. However, just like Lightning Ridge, very little but silence across the mullock heaps. The opal fields are large and a few utes wandered in around beer o’clock from out in the scrub. The rules out this way are strict. Keep Out signs are everywhere and even poking around in someone else’s mullock heap can incur a $5000 fine or a shotgun fired over your head. Opal mining is a hit or miss affair, but when you strike a vein, particularly black opal, that’s when the ‘fever’ can kick in. It can make you do crazy things, as I found out when I talked to claim owners Mark and Angela.
Mark and Angela are seasonal prospectors who had taken on an apprentice to help with the mining. All was going well and then, the black opal seam appeared in the bowels of the shaft. They had pulled out not an inconsiderable amount. Then, one night, Mark awoke to find himself in a headlock being dragged by his apprentice into the loungeroom, where he commenced to stab Mark with a knife in what they could only assume was a drugged induced frenzy. This was after the apprentice had stolen the precious store of black opal and hidden it (they suspect) down an abandoned shaft for collection later. Mark survived (and recovering) and the apprentice is now in jail awaiting trial for attempted murder and theft of the opal, which has still not been found. This gives that stillness quite a menacing undertone, don’t you think?
Contrast the pock marked landscape with the meticulous Anzac Memorial Park just a couple of minutes away from the Inn.
The Glengarry Hilton was only ten minutes up the road, and although touting itself as ‘world famous’, I’m not sure what the attraction was…till I had one of their burgers. It was delicious! Believe it or not, the Glengarry opal fields has it’s own golf course. A sign and arrow on a car bonnet was the only clue, so I took a long walk in the late afternoon to find it.
The next morning with van in tow, I trundled down with a view to playing 18 holes. However I spent a good hour extricating my rig from six inches of mud, cleverly disguised as a car park, so my enthusiasm was somewhat dented. Nevertheless, have come this far, and already a misfortune to rue, I might as well top it off with a bad game of golf. This time I CAN blame the course -trust me. The only thing I could rely on was the club face making contact with the ball. What happened when and where the ball landed was a lottery. Still, it was an experience not to be missed, if never to be repeated.
A rain front was scheduled to move in that afternoon, so I got back on the tar and spent a couple of nights at little Comborah. Good soaking rain for the locals and a safe spot to wait it out. I thought the Ridge would be my last stop in NSW, but something came up.
