Desperado Pt. III

Maaka tells me he's a legend. He's a boilermaker-welder-fitter. A jack of all trades who works with his hands, metal, and heavy machinery bathed in the sweat, grime, and dust of the underground. He's got a tattoo to show his tribal affiliation, a tattoo to show the mourning he holds for lost family, and a tattoo to commemorate the man that he has killed. He's Maori from a small village in New Zealand. When the violence got to be too much he left, learned his trade by working for next to nothing in an informal apprenticeship and went on to service Australian tanks and submarines and lay tracks on the railroads before moving to Western Australia to make his name in the mining trade. He works in one of the most dangerous mineshafts in the region where he has survived five cave-ins. He thrives on the fear of dying. He even wrote a song about it-- and played it for me on his harmonica.

Desperado Pt. II

Jefferson was contractor on an army base somewhere near Dallas. Then his job got outsourced. He tried his hand as a salesman and got taken in a scam. He met his wife and moved to Australia where she was from, Brisbaine. He's been through training as a plumber, mechanic, and machinist. He's cleaned floors, trimmed trees, and painted roads. Nothing paid well enough or made him happy. Nothing fit. He heard that driving trucks in Kalgoorlie's mines paid well and he liked driving. He packed his bags, kissed his wife, and drove 2300 miles in 2 days across some of the most remote regions of the world to Kalgoorlie. Only then, did he pick up the phone to figure out how to get his dream job. Motivated, capable, and sincere as only a slow talking honest Texan can be, Jefferson is an ideal candidate for the job. He's in classes and waiting for an interview. "I've gone as far west as I can go. If I don't get this job, then maybe... I don't know."

Desperado Pt. I

When all else fails, you go west. When you can't get a job. When your lover leaves you. When you're running your past. When you can't find a home. Go west. Not unlike America, Australia developed from the east to the west. The frontier land is less fertile, less livable, and less welcoming; but coupled with these challenges are freedom and opportunity. Kalgoorlie attracts people seeking these things like bush flies towards the setting sun.

Jake has nothing but some sort of social service check to keep him going. $240 a month. He has nothing but a beat up car, a trailer, and a used SR-400 metal detector. He has named them Lucy, Marie, and Jody, respectively. "They are my family and I look after them," he says. He has landed a job as a caretaker on a startup prospector's plot. He looks after the equipment-and in return he gets to metal detect on the surface for missed alluvial gold. If he could just find a nugget he could turn his life around...maybe give it to his estranged wife or buy an extra tire for his car. He might be the happiest person I have met. He sings "My Way" like a gruff Aussie Frank Sinatra while setting up the bush camp he'll live in for the next two weeks, probably 50km from the nearest person. As I leave Jake...and Lucy, Marie, and Jody he shouts "Enjoy life, mate!" I can see him waving in the rear view mirror until he dNaisappears behind a cloud of fine red dirt.

Drinking

In Kal, even beer brewing hipsters wear day-glo shirts with reflective strips.

Drinking is universal. But how you do it, why you do it, and what you do while doing it changes wherever you go. In 1920 Kalgoorlie had a population of 28,000 people, 36 pubs, and 14 breweries. In 2009, Kalgoorlie now has a population of 30,000, 32 pubs, and 0 breweries. It makes you wonder 1) how do more people fit in less pubs? and 2) where does the beer come from? I've discovered that the beer is now shipped in on road trains (trucks that 3-4 tractor trailers long) from large national breweries...thank you globalization. I met some gents though who are looking to return Kal to its brewing best. They're company is called Beaten Track Brewery and they were kind enough to give me some samples and show me around. It started has just a hobby for these mining dudes and then it turned into a hoppy obsession. With 8 beers in development from a Belgian Style Blonde to a Rye-Wheat Extravaganza this microbrewery would seem much more at home in Brooklyn than in Kalgoorlie.

My camera crew (background) bravely documents a fierce headlock.

What seemed much more appropriate for the popular reputation of the town as a wild west partyville was a booze-infused Australia Day celebration that I attended at a local pub. The afternoon's pasttime consisted of girls getting liquored up with Emu Bitter, lubed up with jelly, and trying to pin each other in a baby pool full of more jiggle than Bill Cosby's fridge.

Mining students studying up.
But drinking in this town is not always about getting redonkulous. In this working-man's town a beer or two afterwork is a daily ritual. A self respecting guy might even just order a midi (half pint) at the pub and then be on his way. Its as much about quenching the thirst, bonding, and letting the dust of the day settle.

Wanna Muck?

He who gets dirtiest, wins.

Are you a young metallurgist, engineer, geologist, explosives expert, bartender, retail specialist, or recently unemployed? Are you a man? Do you live in Kalgoorlie? Yes? Then you probably spend most of your day thinking about mucking. Its competitive, it involves heavy tools, grunting, and mud.

Limbs are frequently sawed off.
The 8 events are mucking, sawing, railsetting, surveying, air drilling, goldpanning, hand steeling, and chugging beers. It requires strength, stamina, skill, and blatant disregard for safety. I witnessed the Western Australia School of Mining mucking team, the Wombats go through a rigorous training and if I didn't have to film it, I would have signed up for the team.

Wherever it is, that's where it is.

Entrance to a 3KM decline into the earth.
A common saying around here goes as follows "Gold is where you find it." In context of Kalgoorlie, this is not some sort of Zen philosophical credo about love striking when you least expect it or doing something that you love, it really just means "where gold is, that's where it is." And its usually underground.



Mechanical dinosaur eats 100 tons of rocky flesh in every bite.







Forget your notions of pick axes and shovels and "There Will Be Blood"y reveries. Today miners make big holes and you just drive right in with a big truck and a bogger and a front end loader and take what you want. Some of these mines go 3KM down--you'd better be outfitted properly.

Meanwhile or "picking up the pieces"

I think I speak on behalf of everyone back home in saying that a New York with out Dave Saltzman is a pretty dreary, raisin bagel filled, slightly less snarky place. But Dave's sojourn has impacted me particularly. Hi I'm Dan, Dave's roommate and medium time faithful sidekick. I had a dream last night where Dave was eating a bucket of gold nuggets and riding that giant shovel up and down a canyon.... all while singing the same three Billy Joel songs. Then he gave me permission to log into his account and give myself permission to post on this blog (thanks gold eating dream Dave!).

I don't have much to say now except that I have a new roommate named Ney, who seems like a cool guy, but really hates the Kennedys, works on Wall Street and used to like the Grateful Dead (though anything after some time in the 70's is total shit to him). I've also included a picture of one of the many bills I've had to learn how to pay in Dave's absence. I guess we're all growing up a little on this trip.....

Oh, and we miss you Dave.

Oh and I ate the rest of your hummus. Sorry bro.