Prospectors

And then we drove down another steep dusty track, where we came across Max and his wife, real prospectors in a real goldmine, though it was all a bit Beverly Hillbillies and I couldn’t help thinking come listen to my story ‘bout a man named Ged while we talked to them, a conversation which lasted as long as it took Ella to snaffle the emergency jelly snakes I had in my pocket for exactly a situation like this, a situation where we need her to stop whining and let us listen to somebody else.
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Now forgive my cynicism, but I don’t reckon Max is the most astute businessman I’ve ever met, though he does look the part with that hat and his dirty fingernails and eyes so bloodshot from the dust that you can barely make out the whites. But then he’s bought this bit of land and set up his goldmine and for a start they’re using blunt tools, the sort his employee is showing off in the photo (and both employees look like they’re fresh out of a correctional facility).

And secondly, he’s getting quite old, which means he’s more than a bit deaf and I had to repeat my name three times to stop him calling me Dana. And when he did get my name right, he reminded me that Sarah’s a biblical name because Sarah is the wife of Abraham; the second brush I’d had with Jesus today and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

Anyway, the whole lot of them were stark raving mad. Max said he’d show us around the mine provided we pretended to be investors and not tourists because “I’m not licensed for tourists”.

“Have you been in this sort of work long?” I asked one of the blokes on site.

“No. Never done it before”

“And you reckon there’s much gold to be found?”

He looked dubious. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I suppose” was his reply. “We’ve literally just started up, got a truck full of stuff parked over there. We’ll start washing it later and see what we find”.

Max was keen we stayed for lunch in the dining room, so keen he asked us four times, though I think it had more to do with the fact he’d found out Darren was a doctor and wanted some sort of medical opinion, a situation Darren often faces. He even offered us the use of their toaster, which is more than any Sydneysider has offered us in eight months, but Ella wasn’t really in the mood for lunch in a corrugated iron tent, so we made our excuses and buggered off back up the hill.

“Well Max, I hope it pans out for you, if you see what I mean” I said. Looking at the set up, I don’t feel optimistic about their chances, but I’ll be watching the news for a breakthrough just in case.