#goldfever

Fly swatting and sand hucking

“Some of it, you learn the hard way.

Some of it, you read it on a page.

Some of it comes from heartbreak.

Most of it comes with age.

None of it ever comes easy.

A bunch of it, you maybe can’t use.

I know I probably don’t know what I think or do,

But there’s something to—some of it.”

“Some of It,” Eric Church (of course)

Does this sound like vacation to anyone else?

Get up at 6:30 a.m.

Make breakfast

Drive into the desert, where you’re going to get ambushed by flies

Swing a metal detector in the sweltering heat for three hours

Lunch break

More metal detector swinging and aforementioned fly swarms, but progressively worse for 2 more hours

Drive back to camp

Shower

Eat dinner

Get in van sauna and attempt to go to sleep with mosquitoes buzzing in your ears and nibbling your knuckles

That was our daily grind—or slog as our Aussie friend described it—while detecting for gold in the Australian Outback.

—

On our second day of detecting the goldfields of Western Australian, my emotions build like the looming storm: Hot, boiling, until it breaks and the rain washes the nasty notions away and settles the red dust. I’m tired of the heat—which was downright oppressive last night—and the flies and the mozzies. We slept in our sweltering van sauna rotating our wet wash rags through the dorm-sized freezer in our mini fridge. I hope whoever invented air conditioning got a Nobel Peace Prize. I mean, it was so hot I felt like I was gong to choke on the thick, hanging air and suffocate in my sleep. There wasn’t a single breeze in the air. You could have felt the breeze off a kangaroo fart.

Needless to say, I didn’t get much rest and ended up losing my shit over burnt toast this morning, but recovered at least for the time being. Yeah, Spank burnt the toast and I about blew my top. I’m not a parent, but from what my friends have said I imagine my feelings for the Outback are somewhat similar to those first few months of parenthood and sleepless nights. I wake up and the morning is pleasant like a cooing, rested baby, and even though I only got a few winks myself, the slate is clean. Then I step outside and the first flies tickle my lips and remind me of the obstacles and annoyances that lie ahead. My only hope is that I’ll wake up again tomorrow with the same renewed sense of awe and wonderment.

I collect the shit I lost moments earlier and we finish up breakfast and coffee and hit the road for the 30-minute drive to our detecting spot. You can tell it’s going to be another scorcher by the number of flies that congregate on your back and how early they do so; the earlier the hotter AND the more flies you’ll have hitching a ride by the end of the day. Spank and I both pop nuggets early on, but then the ground went silent so we decided to head back to town and test another detecting location just a few miles from our caravan park. We started down the dirt road toward the other open claim and the sand went soft and pillowy, like a fresh dusting of snow. I err on the side of caution and warn Spank not to attempt it, but he airs on the opposite side of caution; not because he’s reckless, but because he’s confident in his ability to get unstuck. Me, I’m not interested in getting stuck in the first place, but the man’s gonna do what he’s gonna do.

And, we got stuck. Neither of us are overly concerned. We hawked for the extra Outback package coverage for the van rental, which would give us a free tow, but we still didn’t want to walk the two miles out in 100-degree weather with our tails between our Yank legs.

So we get to digging. We dig out and Spank guns it in reverse on three separate attempts, but to no avail. All I could think was, CrossFit ain’t got shit on this sand digging stuff. There’s an idea. Every CrossFit gym should have a sandpit full of buckets. You just dig and launch sand for a half hour every day—and pay $150 a month. We allow ourselves three water/AC breaks to sit in the van and collect our wits and energy then get back at it. One last go. We dig tracks for our van nearly down to the hardpacked ground then fire up the ole Hippie Van for the grand finale. This is it. I slip on my gloves (not to keep my hands feminine—we’re far beyond that—but because touching the hood of the van is like touching a hot skillet) and give the van a good shove as Spank rams her in reverse on more time. I have a good feeling about this one, and she motors back through that rough patch she had hit three times before. I let out a yelp. Yes! Freedom!

It wasn’t so much that we had escaped the sandpit, though of course that was reason to celebrate alone, but what was even more exciting is that we had done it together without getting irritated. We just chipped away at it and made it happen (with a little hip nudge from the man upstairs, I’m sure of it). Despite the exhaustion that followed, it actually felt good to work really hard at something and see what Spank and I accomplished together. Plus, I got a nice “atta girl” from my hubby for maintaining a positive attitude and not busting his balls about driving us into the dirt (ahem).

We did end up with a few nuggets to show for it! I got eight and Spank got 16.

Sometimes you travel to remind yourself how good you have it at home—for me, this is one of those times. I’m giving the metal detecting all I got, but man it’s challenging. Still, I can see how it keeps you going. You just have to pop one nugget, or escape one sandpit, and boom, that second wind kicks in. Life is full of second winds. You just have to push yourself to the brink for it to click on.

Goldfever.

© Iris van Gelder