Following a ghastly night of little sleep, as Bethany kept us fretfully awake for much of the night, with her besieged efforts to settle her harried breathing, the tolling of the alarm sounded the death knell to our scant few hours of rest. At 7:00AM, even had we managed a decent nights rest, I think our brains would have still been questioning our sanity, as we arose into the frigid cold of the early morn.

Thankfully, by this point in time, Bethany had managed to get her puffing under control, and appeared to be back to her usual self, even if she looked as tired as what we were feeling. It was with much relief then, that we set about to scoff down a quick breakfast, before walking the dogs, albeit via a much shorter path than yesterday, then scooting off for our day of gem hunting.

One of the main draw cards for Gemtree is the nearby gem and zirconia fields, of which they offer fossicking tours. We were lucky enough to have pre-booked a gem tour before leaving home, as upon our arrival, we found them completely booked out. Today is the day, so with five minutes to spare, we gathered at the little caged shed from which the gear we would be required to cart was to be issued. Strangely, for a tour that was supposedly booked out, we were the only couple in attendance, although we did arrive in enough time to watch a convoy of vehicles heading out on what we guessed was the zirconia tour. While I sat in ‘The Beast’ mumbling something about the could and how it felt like even my bones were on the verge of freezing, Bec made her way to the reception desk to report our arrival.

As it turned out, the convoy of four-wheel drives we had watched making a trail of dust up the access road was in fact OUR tour. With a scurrying about of staff, it was found that the number of participants had somehow been miscounted, thus they had set off without us, a full 20 minutes before the whole shebang was even meant to depart! Far from being another enduring mystery, this error was wholly to blame on someone other than ourselves.

We were quickly kitted out with the required gear for creating holes in the ground while searching for the elusive garnets for which we would be searching, all the while awaiting for the tour guide to return to show us the way out to the fossicking area. In no time, the lead truck returned, the driver beckoning us to follow him as we set off up the track. In short order, we came across the rank of other vehicles, all sitting in a line off to the side of the road. We commented on how close the gem field was, when we were tasked to fall in behind, before the trip continued. As it turned out, we were far from reaching our final destination, the others having been sidelined while the tour leader returned just for us. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, despite not being at fault, we did as asked as the convoy wheeled back out onto the main road, tracking along the deeply rutted and corrugated dirt road that led to the potted area in which the object of our desires were hopefully to be located.

Parking up in a small clearing deftly concealed by straggly bushes, the guide pointed us in the direction of a sprawling area of dirt that looked like a scene straight out of a war movie. Cratered with cavernous pits, mounds of red dust piled alongside, it was easy to see that this was going to be one hell of a dirty exercise. The actual process seemed simple enough, as our equipment was explained to us. Each group had been issued with a pick, a shovel, four sieves, a large tub and a 20 litre drum of water. The idea was to shovel dirt into one of the two ‘dry’ sieves and shake it all about. Transfer the remaining rubble to one of the two ‘wet’ sieves, washing the contents in the now water filled tub. Simple. Well you would think so, but in our excitement we soon had four wet sieves! That minor step of transferring the rubble from one sieve to another eluded us, time and time again. Didn’t really matter, it just made things a little muddy, rather than dusty, but at the end of the day, dirt is dirt and we were covered in it. I even took a close up photo of Bec, laughing as I told her how filthy her face was, caked as it was in mud and dust.

Sweety Dear, You’ve Got A Bit Of A Dirty Face.

Pick,

Shovel,

Sift,

Sort.

The Fruits Of Our Labour.

As we scraped away at the earth, sure enough we were soon finding what looked like little shards of pearlescent ruby red glass buried in the orange sand. With no pointers given as to where best it was to dig, luck played a huge part in our success or otherwise and Bec soon gave up looking for the ‘it’s time to retire mother lode sized stone’, preferring to scratch around in the top soil, where a multitude of small stones could be easily unearthed with little effort. Such was the thrill of the chase for her, that as her back began to spasm from the constant bending over, I found her casually laying in the dirt, still burying her ragged fingernails in the coarse grit, avidly searching for ‘just a little more colour’, each tiny slither of red finding its way into our ‘keeper’ tin.

Laying Down On The Job.

By 1:00PM, we had both had about enough, the heat and constant swarm of buzzing flies becoming too much, so we headed back to ‘The Beast’ where we compared our seemingly meager efforts with those of another family. In contrast, we had strived for quantity over quality, the other family exhibiting to us a couple of whopper looking stones. I cared not, as I was satisfied that we would have a neat collection of colour to put in a small bottle once home, to display alongside the bottles full of opal shards we have from our previous fossicking efforts at Coober Pedy and Lightning Ridge.

Just In Case You Forgot!

Back in ‘The Beast’ for the drive back to Gemtree, Bec happened to peer in the vanity mirror, crying out aghast. She was shocked at the film of dust that covered her face and somehow it was my fault for not having told her, letting her speak to strangers whilst in such a state. Now dear reader, if you wouldn’t mind backing up just a couple of paragraphs, there was indeed a point at which I did dutifully inform her of just that. I even have the photo to prove it. My fault however, it remained!

Back at the park, we returned our fossicking gear, heading into the little gem shop, where the results of our labour were sorted and assessed. We were quickly given the bulk of it back in a ziplock bag with the comment of: “Here’s your show and tell”. Worthless I would imagine, but alluring all the same. Two smaller packets were of rather more interest, six rocks having been culled from the pack. We are now the proud owners of six pieces of garnet that are of a size suitable for cutting and polishing, a service offered, for an extra fee of course, should we so desire.

And desire we did, Bec deciding to have three of them rendered into perfect little stones and set in a stylish ring, declaring that a ring displaying rocks we had unearthed for our very selves would mean more to her than any old opal ring from Coober Pedy. Well, there’s one stop we now won’t need to be making on our trip home.

It Should Look Like This When It’s Done.

Following a luxurious shower to wash the stubborn dirt and grime from our bodies (and faces!), we were surprised that our hands retained a muted orange hue of the dirt through which we had been burrowing, giving us the appearance of being hand models for an episode of The Simpsons. Surely it will wear off eventually.

It was just before 6:00PM that we next ventured out, making our way over, early I might add so as not to be left behind, to partake in a camp-oven dinner. Seated beneath a canopy of sparkling clear stars, even with a fire blazing and a couple of gas heaters stationed nearby, it was freezing cold. The great tucker, friendly conversation we struck up with a couple from Queensland and some odd outback entertainment (a long story in its own right) seemed to dispel the cold to some extent however and a fun night was had by all.

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.