Journey into the outback

It was 6pm on a Monday evening. The greyhound bus towered before us with 'Alice Springs' typed in luminous red above the windscreen. Our shoulders bore the weight of our belongings alongside the creeping feelings of uncertainty.

A broad man with a far reaching beard clung tightly onto a crumpled sheet of paper as he approached us.

'Names?' He grunted. He looked exhausted.

And just like that, we were heading for Coober Pedy.

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Our decision to travel into the outback for work was based upon two factors. Firstly, the financial benefit. Having drained our resources on a road trip between Melbourne and Perth, we were in desperate need of some cold, hard cash. Living in the outback would provide us the opportunity to save a few thousand dollars without spending a penny. Our second reason was for the adventure. When I stepped off the plane and into Melbourne in February 2019, I was bitterly disappointed. As far as the eye could see, civilisation boomed. The red sand, the cacti, the kangaroos - they didn't exist in Melbourne. I wanted to see the outback.

The road to Coober Pedy was treacherous. It took a total of 11 hours to travel by coach between Adelaide and the tiny mining town, passing through Port Augusta and into central South Australia along the Stuart Highway. We left the buildings behind in exchange for far reaching plains of nothingness. Of course, this is not geographically correct. Those far reaching plains of nothingness actually encompassed an arid environment, sparse vegetation, lose soils and a low lying topography. I stared out of the window of the coach, watching the blank space unfold before me, utterly terrified of what I had signed up for. I got little sleep as I fretted about our future (not to mention the consistent head banging on the window frame as the bus swerved to prevent yet another kangaroo death on the road).

We were literally dumped on the corner of a dirt lane at 5:00am. A straggly man whistled and howled at us as we tore our rucksacks from the breaches. Dingos (or stray dogs, but that's not as impressive) peered out from the darkness of a nearby empty gas station. The sun was just beginning to rise, it was freezing and we were knackered. Hurriedly, we made haste for Radeka Down Under. Strange name for an even stranger place.

Coober Pedy is an opal mining town in Northern South Australia. The first European explorer was the the Scottish born John Stuart in 1858. The name is actually derived from Arabana language which translates to 'White man in a hole'. I think that is brilliant.

Coober Pedy is home to roughly 1,700 inhabitants who mostly live underground. Yep, underground. The harsh summer temperatures mean that residents prefer to live in 'dugouts' beneath the earth's surface where sandstone keeps the temperature at 24 degrees all year round. Our accommodation for the night was, therefore, in a cave.

We were given a map of the underground tunnel network which we followed blindly at 5:30am. We were instructed to head to 'the dungeon'. Fabulous. It was even colder underground, there was no light and the surface was rough and pebbly beneath our feet.

What met us was truly abysmal. We shone our torches across the sorry scene but I quickly learnt that it was better to just not look at all. A stack of wobbly bunkbeds pressed against the hard, dark earth of the tunnel, covered in layers of thick, woollen blankets. The kind that makes your skin crawl. The draft billowed around the blackness as we crawled beneath the stiff covers and attempted to sleep in the cave.

We must have achieved 3 hours of cold slumber before Laura resurfaced to check for any communication from our employer. We had received very little information prior to our arrival and we had no idea what to expect. Low and behold, she had a text.

'Can you girls get to the airport in half an hour? Someone called Ashley will pick you up there.'

An airport? I was so tired, I barely even questioned it. I'd already endured an 11 hour coach journey into the abyss and slept in a cave under the desert. What more could there possibly be?

On 3 hours sleep, we dragged our sleepy heads out of bed and up to the receptionist whom we begged a lift to wherever this airport may be. He was very kind and took us immediately. As we trundled along dirt tracks towards the airport, I was amazed to see Coober Pedy in the light. There was sand everywhere and everywhere was sand. It is a fantastic sight when you have not witnessed it before. We drove past excavated towers of yellow rubble caused by blasting used in the mining process. It was like weaving between gigantic termite mounds. Strangely, it was beautiful.

Our driver left us at the 'airport'. It was not, by my definition, an airport. A wire fence and a wooden building greeted us, as did a man in blue plaid shirt and a happy go lucky smile. There was no security system, no tarmac. I couldn't even see any aircraft.

'Girls! You made it. William Creek?' He beamed, ushering us towards him. We rounded the corner of the wooden shed to yet another shocking discovery. The tiniest plane I have ever seen. I still stand by it today - those things are not meant to fly.

It stood proudly on the orange dust, white wings stretching out, meeting our alarmed faces and chuckles of disbelief. What the heck had we got ourselves into? Our chirpy, chappy pilot checked the fuel by climbing a ladder and placing a dipper into the top of the wing. The plane tipped slightly as he lent across. Brilliant....I thought. Surely this is not happening.

We were instructed to put our bags into the undercarriage. They didn't fit. If our rucksacks were too large for the plane, how on earth was it to fit two more people!

In the end we sat with our rucksacks squeezed between our legs and the tiny seat in-front of us, buckled up in a queue - one behind the next. The interior of the plane reflected the 1950s. A vanilla leather with light brown fringes. Not to mention the huge headset to be placed over our ears as we ascended. My forehead practically touched the roof.

As I watched the pilot pull up the yoke in our tiny 4 seater plane, I nearly vomited. The ground lurched from beneath us and we took off (incredibly wobbly) into the cloudless blue. Below, Coober Pedy became a small dot in the middle of a desert. Orange, yellows and browns expanded in all directions, not another settlement in sight. I was mesmerised. Rows of linear sand dunes formed huge barricades across the empty, sunburnt landscape. We followed the rabbit-proof fence across the sand, swaying as the wind ricocheted against the tin can plane. If you looked carefully, you could point out tiny emu tracks, cattle ranch boundaries and sometimes even camels. Yet still not a human in sight.

We flew for nearly an hour over the sea of sand before passing the top of a huge ridge, stretching from east to west. Little did I know, this was a ridge I would come to love. I would be running up and over it most evenings as I chased the sleeping sun over the desert. I would sit and dangle my legs over the edge as a pilot played 'Wagon Wheel' from his phone speaker and we took it in turns to throw rocks into an old fire pit. For now however, it was just a sandy ridge. A few moments later and I was looking down upon a cluster of buildings appearing through the haze as we circled above. My new home.

I squeezed Laura's shoulder in excitement and fear. The plane thumped onto the desert floor and sand spat at the windows as the wheels screeched to a halt on the airstrip. I was surprised at how many people I could see through the circular glass of the plane. The place was a bustling hive of activity!

Several planes started their engines as we left our aircraft. More people adorning the blue plaid shirts and chinos wandered about the tarmac, clipboards in hand. From what I gathered, groups of tourists followed another chirpy chappy pilot towards their plane. As we tugged our rucksacks out of the door, a yute (known to us Brits as a truck) pulled up alongside us.

A tall, white haired man with a low voice greeted us. This was Trevor, the owner of William Creek. Legend has it that he has huge swathes of gold and riches hidden beneath the desert surrounding William Creek, but let's not get too ahead of ourselves. He lumbered us into the back of the yute and we skidded towards the short tin roofed bungalow that would become our work house for the next four months.

Our journey had already been full of surprises. I had absolutely no idea what to expect for the months to come. I was exhausted, nervous, excited and I felt sick to the bottom of my stomach. The adventures that followed however, were nothing short of brilliant.