By Erik Skye

December 26, 2010:

It’s 38 degrees C for a high, as I make my way from Esperance to Kalgoorlie. That’s just over 100 degrees F. I’m comfortable though, as I have water and shelter and limit my exertion. It’s a dry heat, and windy, so a little sweat has a nice cooling effect. The disconcerting part (later) was that it was still 34 C at 9:30 p.m., and I wondered if I’d be able to sleep.

The farmland seemed to end only half an hour north of Esperance, and then it turned into bush. I think its “bush” (with the “outback” being even more dry, hot, desolate, and RED). There are dry lake beds scattered all around. What’s left are salt flats. I read in Warren NP (where the big trees are) that salt from rains are deposited by the “westerlies” (winds that circle the globe at these southern latitudes) as they hit Australia. The sign referenced numbers like 70 to 200 kg of salt deposited per hector of land annually. So there’s a lot of salt in this landscape, and in the dryer areas (inland) that accumulates because of a lack of water run-off. Thus salt flats. I started looking at metal things and sure enough – rust. This I would not normally expect in such a dry climate (the rust I was observing).

I saw a camper van pulled over on the side of the road, next to one of the dry lake beds. From it were two French travelling companions having lunch (their Christmas supper, actually), complete with table and chairs and wine, out on a salt flat. Cool! I had to have a picture. So, I stopped to do that, and in the process had a short conversation. Their names are Demetri and Alexi. Demetri said his middle name is Erik, and that it is his father’s first name too (instant buddies?). When I told them I was from Alaska, Demetri said all he knows about Alaska is so because of the movie “Into the Wild”. I gave them my card with website address so they could see my blog. (Demetri/Alexi – Send me an e-mail about your travels. I left you quickly because I felt like an intruder and didn’t want to disturb you both more.)

Travelling further north brought me to rich gold country. I stopped at an old town site named Dundas, which was basically a series of tracks out in the bush with plaques to tell the significance of each location. I could see tire marks in the now dried mud and immediately appreciated why so many people have modifed 4 wheel drive trucks (see photo example, and note the snorkle added for water crossings). The sandy red soil looked like it turns into a real mess when you add water.

Next stop was Norseman, an active gold mining community. Gold was discovered here in 1894 when a horse came up lame and the owner, upon inspection, found gold-bearing quartz stuck in its hoof (that’s the story). The gold comes from hard rock around here. I spent time up on Beacon Hill where there was a little nature trail and exhibit shed. The wind felt good up there.

I was walking the empty streets of Kalgoorlie this morning. It’s a working man’s town of about 30,000, which sits on “The Golden Mile” – Australia’s richest gold-bearing deposit. The nearby Super Pit is the world’s largest open-cut gold mine. There’s money and rough characters and plenty of large bars (some openly advertising strip tease shows) here. It almost has a theme town appearance, with a lot of well preserved and still functioning buildings reminiscent of late 1800’s colonial architecture.

I had pancakes in Kalgoorlie this morning too. Guess what? They came right away – meaning they weren’t fresh either. Apparently this is acceptable in this country. I’ll be having muesli from now on. But it reminded me of the French woman and Margaret River (see Day 11). I think I was too harsh on them both. Margaret River is simply becoming so popular a destination that it’s becoming over commercialized (in my opinion; I see this all the time with once-unique towns). But the French woman at the restaurant is what I wish to return to.

No offence to my French and Australian friends; I’m comparing cultures to gain insight: I ponder many sub-themes in life, and the French culture is one of them. I view the French as highly cultured and easily insulted. (Let me tell you a story about a vile little Frenchman I met in Canada a few months ago to make that point – though he was probably French Canadian.) The Australians are the opposite, perhaps with the exception of Melbourne and Adelaide. (I’m making observations, not judgments.) When the French woman told me that ‘the pancakes aren’t fresh here’, I took it as snobbery (this was in the context of her overall bad disposition). In retrospect, I believe I was mistaken. I now believe that she herself was insulted by aspects of the Australian culture in which she was immersed (and that what I was witnessing was her own sense of disapproval). Maybe I’m reach too far at this conclusion, but it feels more accurate than my initial impression. Anyway, the French are a sub-theme here dispite my fetish. I’ve met many so far, and France is part of the early history of European discovery of Australia.

Did you know there are wild camels in Australia? There’re 10's of thousands of them, apparently an import that got away and bred like the rabbits. I was told by a man in Norseman that they’re shy because they’re hunted.

Just as I was finishing publishing this blog from the streets of Kalgoorlie (using Wifi), an older Aussie gent exclaimed 'leave that f*&%ing thing at home' (my laptop). I told him what I was doing and that I enjoyed it. 'Okay' he agreed. Then another sports car roared past (many have nothing better to do here). I said 'you have a lot of them here'. He replied 'their wankers', in agreement. (I would have called them pricks.) He then expressed fondess for Palin and his impressions of Alaska, which many Assies do. He said 'Palin's pretty'. 'Yes' I replied, 'it probably got her some votes.' We smiled.