Chapter Sixteen

GOLD FEVER

 

Just before the house was sold some relatives from England came to tour Australia and they bought an older model Toyota Hiace campervan. When their adventure came to an end they couldn't find a buyer for it, and as we had just sold the backhoe for a similar amount we took it off their hands. My partner and daughter took it for a small excursion, discovering, once again, that our newly purchased van needed an engine transplant. This time, though, it was taken to a proper surgery and given a new lease of life.

 

After the sale of the house I took off in my new home, and my now ex-partner made arrangements to return to England for a family reunion. While drifting along in the van, not sure what I was going to do with myself but getting used to being in a non-conflict atmosphere, Qantas agreed to another meeting with me and my solicitor.

 

Just before Christmas, wanting to spend some time with my daughter, I joined her and her mother in their temporary accommodations. Somewhere in our conversation the subject of Tasmania came up, and before I knew what had happened the three of us were on our way there in the campervan. The weather tried its best and succeeded, driving us away and cutting our holiday short.

I had always wanted to go gold prospecting again, and now that there was nothing important to do in my life I arranged to have a lesson on how to use a metal detector in the small gold prospecting area of Dunolly on our return through Victoria. The camping ground was full of expectant millionaires, and on telling our neighbour the reason for our quick visit he talked me out of the paid lesson and volunteered to show me how to do it - if I had my own detector.

 

He recommended the latest model from the manufacturer Minelab, and, impulsively, off I went to buy one in readiness for my lesson the following day. There was so much exaggerated hype from the sellers on how I could pay for a detector with just one find that I had no hesitation in handing over the cash for my fortune maker. I duly had the lesson and my rewards for the day were some bullets and scrap metal, but I was undaunted, and couldn't wait to return so that I could begin in earnest.

 

The following day on our drive back to Sydney I only had one thing on my mind, and that was prospecting. I didn't have a four-wheel drive vehicle like most of the prospectors and wondered how I would get to some of the more inaccessible places, but I had a brainwave that completely took over my thoughts. I would buy an all terrain vehicle (ATV) and mount the detector on the front. Then all I would have to do would be to drive around in comfort and collect the gold!

 

I eventually found a quad bike in my price range, but its slowest speed was not slow enough for gold detecting. The bike shop persevered with different cogs until they had it going slowly enough for me, but now another problem became apparent as most quad bikes have a hand throttle on the right hand side, and that was the hand I was going to use to manoeuvre the detector. The shop gave me an old twist grip throttle, and after attaching a pedal to it I mounted it in a comfortable place for my foot.

 

On the day my ex-partner and daughter left for England, I left for the goldfields of Victoria. My van was filled to capacity, as the quad bike took up most of the space in the back. I had bought two ramps and a winch to pull it on board and there wasn't any room to spare as it slowly made its way up and sat on the bunks! What I had thought would be a minor drawback having to unload the bike each night so that I could have my bed back eventually became a chore. After setting up camp in Dunolly and listening with excitement to the tales of old gold finds at the 'happy hour' beside the lake each evening, my heart would be racing.

 

While familiarising myself with the area and trying to perfect the mountings for my detector so that it would be correctly balanced, I was told the grim news that unregistered vehicles were not allowed in the national parks, and these were the main areas for prospectors. I thought that I had been so clever with my invention, and now it was like a white elephant - although an elephant would have been handy!

 

I was becoming tired of my cramped quarters and a 'for sale' sign on an old caravan caught my eye. I was nearing the end of my ten per cent share of the proceeds of the house, but decided that it would be worth spending the money to make my living arrangements more comfortable.

 

The caravan belonged to the new manager of the camping ground, who was affectionately called Rainbow, and as he was now living in the manager's quarters he had no further use for it. It had been on the site for sixteen years and, being the home of a smoking bachelor, it needed some drastic action to make it liveable again. I spent several weeks with a steam cleaner removing all the nicotine from the walls and ceiling, and the purchase of new carpets and bedding was a must.

 

While lifting the old carpet I found a $50 note, and as far as I was concerned it wasn't rightly mine, so I returned it to Rainbow. His appreciation was worth more to me than the money - although every camper said I should have kept the money. We all have our own values, and the only thing I wanted to discover and say 'finders keepers' about was gold.

 

I looked here, and I looked there, but where was the gold that the detector shop said that I would find? The happy hour by the lake didn't impart happiness of any finds, as weary prospectors told of all the holes they had dug in the heat of the day, with their only reward being old lead bullets, eyelets from the pioneers' boots, and other knick-knacks.

 

Most prospectors keep any little finds like this, so that anyone tracing their footsteps wouldn't have to go through the heartache of digging a hole in vain. If that were the case then you would have been the first person to cover the area with a metal detector - proving that the old prospectors knew what they were doing and didn't entertain any thoughts of the prospectors of the future!

 

My original intention had been to stay in Dunolly, but now, with the restrictions on my quad, I was not so sure. Everyone that had seen my quad with the detector mounted out in front said that I should go to Western Australia and try the vast outback and large saltpans. Go straight after Easter, they all said, as that was when the weather would be tolerable in the west.

 

What would I do with the caravan, I wondered, as I considered their advice. No one was sure if my campervan loaded down with the quad would even be able to tow the caravan such a long distance to Kalgoorlie. I removed all the caravan wheels, cleaned and regreased the bearings, and provided it with the luxury of new tyres. I wanted everything to be in my favour.

 

The day came for the test run and I went to great extremes to make the towbar weight correct. Using two bathroom scales, I loaded the caravan with the skill of an aircraft loader until everything was correct. Gingerly, I ventured outside the sanctuary of the camping ground from where the caravan had escaped the turmoil of travel for the last sixteen years, and we hit the open road. I had my doubts about the pulling capabilities of my van as it was sluggish on the way out, but on the return journey it was a breeze, so I put it down to a slight incline in the road.

 

I had been in Dunolly for three months, living and breathing gold, but without ever even getting the smell of it. It was now Easter and I was anxious to start my journey to the great west, but I knew that the roads would be busy and the chance of getting a campsite along the way would be impossible. On the morning of Easter Sunday 2002 I told myself, 'You haven't made a concerted effort to look for gold here since your decision to go to the west. Get out and give it one last try.'

 

I took my own advice, and went to a site only a few kilometres from the camping ground. I had been there before with a friend, and to me it was easy ground. The area I selected was part of an old mining venture, and at the conclusion of the haul the area had been levelled with a bobcat, leaving rows just over a metre wide. These were very convenient guides for the prospector, as the tracks were just the right swing for the detector.

 

There had been a lot of criticism from some of the prospectors at the camping ground as to the performance of my new detector. Just for fun, several prospectors with an array of equipment went one day to a section of a dry creek and made several holes into the bank at specified distances from the surface. A gold nugget fixed firmly to the end of a stick was slid into a hole, while a prospector tested his equipment to see what kind of a signal he would receive on the surface.

 

I was still new to the high-tech tuning of my detector and on that day I didn't fare so well. My know-how must have improved just enough, for while I was walking along the paths made by the bobcat, which must have had dozens of detectors over them before, I received a signal. Loads of metal had been dumped in the area during the mining, but I persevered and made the effort to dig a hole and see what was down there giving off the signal.

 

I had never found any gold and didn't really know what to look for, but when I found the object that was giving the signal it was like a small rock covered in grey clay. I had nothing to clean it with, so I licked it. What a foolish thing to do, I thought to myself, as the object was so sharp it felt as though I had cut my tongue. I needed reading glasses to look at close objects, but I could see that the little points that were now protruding through the clay weren't rusty steel, but golden spikes of a nugget.

 

I was elated, and I'm sure my feet didn't feel the ground as I raced back to the van to wash my new find! Yes, it was gold but how much? I had no idea of weights, but who cared - I had found my first piece! It was a similar exhilarating feeling to that which I had when I made my first solo flight. I tried prospecting for a little longer, but the excitement got the better of me and I headed back to the camping ground wearing the smile of a Cheshire cat.

 

I had to make the most of the moment and, with the aid of my hot glue gun and some electrical wire, I formed the nugget into a pendant. Five o'clock seemed so far away as I waited for the happy hour to begin. When enough people had congregated to discuss the woes of their unsuccessful day, I sauntered over, desperately trying to cover my enormous smirk. I sat in my usual chair and waited. Who would be first to notice my new jewellery? Eventually, someone brought it to the attention of the others and I became the hero of the day, with everyone insisting on fondling it. Scales were brought out and it was eagerly weighed.

 

As though by design, it was exactly one ounce. Its shape looked very much like England and it was thirty-three millimetres high. I had been given the privilege of being the first person on earth to touch this piece of precious metal. The thousands of dollars spent on equipment to achieve this find will never be regretted, as when I now wear it - properly mounted of course - I remind myself that I have achieved something that money can't buy.

 

I had second thoughts about leaving Dunolly after my find, but with the lure of the surface gold in Kalgoorlie uppermost in my mind, I turned the key and was off. Some start though - to my horror I found at my first stop that the rock garden I hadn't allowed for in my exit of the camping ground had sent my entire larder to the floor!

 

At the beginning of the journey I couldn't sometimes reach enough speed to get into top gear, so I made use of my GPS navigator, which showed me that I had been travelling up a slight incline. If it wasn't an incline holding me back it was a head wind, and the whole trip from Dunolly in Victoria to Kalgoorlie in Western Australia took five days of driving through mostly boring countryside.

 

Every now and then through my tired eyes I would see a hitchhiker standing on the road ahead and, being desperate for some company, I would start to slow down so that I could make a decision as to whether the candidate looked suitable. I hated slowing down as it took too long to get my convoy back to speed, and to make matters worse the prospective passenger would walk off the road into the bushes, unable to be seen. I soon learnt that there is no point in trying to give enormous kangaroos a lift!

 

Before I left Dunolly, I replied to an advertisement that would save me waiting the required three weeks for a mining lease, as the agent chose a site and applied for the lease before I set off. I had been sent a map of the 2,500 acres that I could prospect on, but had no idea where they might be on my road map, so I used my GPS to work out approximately where the site was. All I could tell was that it was a few miles off a minor road to the east of Kalgoorlie.

 

As I neared Kalgoorlie I tried to imagine what the land that I had leased would be like, and if in actual fact I would be able to get onto it, as the area looked so remote. One good factor was that the land I was passing all seemed so flat. I caught up with my friends from Dunolly that I had been spending the night stops with. During the day they would rocket ahead and find the next off-road overnight stop, which made it easy for me as I just drove until I saw them.

 

Discovering that the actual landscape was not the way it appeared on my road map, I searched for the dirt road leading to my leased site. To my amazement, a brand new sealed road that led to a mine site went along the side of my lease. The area was fenced as it was also a pastoral lease, and sheep were grazing on what appeared to be just red dirt. This was superb, as I had the choice of several gates to enter through, and also there were several tracks that I could drive along. I couldn't wait to put the ramps up and unload the quad to explore my acreage. I plotted all of the corners of the lease into my GPS and off I went to explore the boundaries and look for likely pockets of gold.

 

On reaching an area marked with a pick and shovel on the map, I came across a small caravan with a large German shepherd on guard. Too afraid to venture any closer, I tooted my horn, and while the dog barked an elderly man appeared from inside. The dog was soon silenced and I was beckoned over to the campsite, where I spent the next few hours discussing gold and prospecting with the vintage Austrian. The area with the pick and shovel on the map was just off my lease and belonged to my new friend, which was very disappointing to me as it was the only area that looked as though it had any possibilities.

 

I spent several weeks prospecting through the scrub. If I left the quad to search on foot I had to put the position into the GPS, as after walking for a few minutes the bike was impossible to find and all the landmarks looked the same. I went prospecting with several new friends that I met, but after driving hundreds of kilometres to different sites my only reward was a tiny piece weighing half a gram.

 

I had been making several telephone calls to the Qantas solicitor, trying to urge him to expedite his correspondence with my solicitor, and I felt that nothing would happen while I was so far away. I was surprised one day to receive a telephone call from who I thought was the head of Qantas security, and the same person who had instigated the police action against me. He asked if I would see him if he came to Kalgoorlie and, being eager for any communication, I agreed.

 

We met a few days later, but any prospects he put forward to resolve the matter were fruitless. I wasn't feeling well and was becoming depressed at my all-round situation, so I made a split decision to pack up my camp and return to Sydney. The return journey was similar to the five days I had endured travelling to the west, but it was a nice feeling to be close to my elder children again.

 

I ensconced myself in a camping ground near them and made arrangements to see my old family doctor, mainly to organise a blood test for my diabetes. Imagine my panic when he told me that my heartbeat was very irregular, so much so that I was instantly put on medication to stop any blood clots forming that would cause me to have a stroke.

 

A week or so later, while I was at the movies in a large shopping centre, I felt very strange, and on leaving the theatre the feeling remained with me that something was seriously wrong. I had centre management call an ambulance and felt very embarrassed as it arrived, siren shouting, at the front door. Hundreds of thoughts flashed through my brain as I was being monitored in the speeding ambulance. Was I going to die? Would my parked car be stolen? How would I manage if I were to be disabled? These and a multitude of other negative thoughts overwhelmed me.

 

It wasn't long before I was in hospital and connected to all the monitors, convincing myself to think of all the good things that I had done in my life - for if I was taken now, I'd had a good run. After being stabilised on medication I was discharged, and was to be readmitted in a month to undergo a cardioversion, which is a procedure to try to restore the rhythm of the heart. It worked, and I bounced out of the hospital as though I had been given a new lease of life, looking forward to hearing the results of a meeting my solicitor was soon to have with his counterpart in Qantas.

 

When my solicitor rang me with the results of their discussion, I was devastated by the offer Qantas had made to settle the matter. I informed my solicitor that I didn't think the amount was anything like what I was entitled to, and directed him to decline their offer. My heart couldn't take the negative news, and promptly reverted to an irregular rhythm again. Back in the coronary care unit of the hospital, the doctors decided not to try and restart my heart, but just leave me on the blood thinning drugs.

 

Enjoying morning tea with my ex-wife in a pretty nook in her garden, discussing the good things of the past and our three children, I suddenly realised that my heart was back in rhythm. That was certainly a nicer way to have it restarted - compared to being zapped.

 

While watching television one morning I saw an author being interviewed, and when viewers were asked to send an email detailing why they would like a copy of his new book on motivation my keyboard sprung into life with the request. I was pleasantly surprised when a copy arrived and I read it with enthusiasm to try to learn new skills. I could relate to all that was written, except for one statement that said, 'There is one thing that you still have control of - your thoughts.'

 

I sent the author an email thanking him for his book, but brought up the fact that I disagreed with that particular statement, and asked him to look at my website, where he would discover that I certainly didn't have control of my thoughts. I was overwhelmed with his encouraging reply, suggesting that I write a book of my experiences and cure. Without his active interest in my writing, I would never have considered putting pen to paper and, although it has brought back good and bad memories, I am pleased that I took his advice.