Read Online Right to the Edge: Sydney to Tokyo By Any Means by Charley Boorman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charley Boorman
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mean?’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
It was a great little plane, each engine producing 180 bhp; the tail was set quite high, which made it stable and fast, and the undercarriage was retractable.
And talking of retractable undercarriages, mine had retracted pretty sharply on those cane tracks yesterday. The bruise on my stomach was almost black now and it had spread right across my middle. There was bruising on my shoulder too and I couldn’t move my left arm properly. My own stupid fault, but I was suffering, I can tell you.
Graeme flew us from Cooktown out over the Great Barrier Reef. We were on the eastern side of the Cape York Peninsula and he said we couldn’t be in the air without seeing the reef. After that we would cut across Princess Charlotte Bay and the mountains, then fly the width of the Cape to a place called Weipa on the west coast.
The land in this area is traditionally owned, by which I mean Aboriginal. Weipa is a town built around an open-cast aluminium mine - they call it the Oasis in the Wilderness, and the Barramundi Capital of Queensland. The barramundi is a sport fish that can live in both salt- and freshwater, and one of the great delights of the Weipa community is catching it.
Graeme was going to inspect three boats in the area and would be back in the morning to fly us up to the northern tip at Bamaga. His remit covers any kind of marine situation, from assessing the amount of fuel on a massive cargo ship, to litigation, insurance claims, hull inspection, you name it.
He dropped us at the airfield in Weipa, where a lady called Bianca Graham was waiting to meet us. She had organised a trip to the mine and her parents, John and Chana, had very kindly offered to put us up for the night.
Both John and Bianca worked for Rio Tinto, the aluminium mining company that for the past forty years has been skimming ore from the red dust in this part of Queensland. They mine a total area of four thousand square kilometres on two separate leases, which were negotiated with the traditional owners when the aluminium ore was discovered. They pay for the privilege, of course. The money goes into a trust fund which the tribal government distributes throughout the community.
The whole thing seemed to have been planned around conservation. When the miners finished in one area they only moved on to another after restoring the land to how it had been before. Aluminium ore is found close to the surface, so they skim the topsoil, lift the ore and put the topsoil back. Then they replant.
Lynn Olsen showed me the process. Lynn is a truck driver, and when I say ‘truck’ I mean a massive Caterpillar dumper. It is enormous - the cab is situated over the front wheel on the left, and you have to climb a fixed iron stairway to get to it. The top of the wheel rim is taller than I am and Lynn told me that when she first started driving one of these trucks seventeen years ago, it was a little daunting. Now it’s second nature. She took me up the dirt roads to the ore fields where the dust was loaded. Then we returned to the plant, drove up a ramp with a grille cut through it and the truck drained its cargo. The dust was then scooped up and taken to be washed. After that the loose ore was transported by train to storage facilities before being shipped to processing plants all over the world.
The Caterpillar itself was quite easy to operate, and although it wasn’t the case when Lynn started, now something like half the drivers are women. She reckoned they were better at it than the men. ‘The truck gets smaller,’ she told me. ‘It’s huge when you start out, of course, but over the years it just seems to get smaller and smaller.’
When the shift ended we drove out to the Grahams’ house in a quiet suburb, a stone’s throw from a gorgeous tropical beach. It was beautiful and so tranquil, flat water and white sand with palm trees that were fairly dripping with coconuts.
‘We love the view,’ Bianca told
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
It was a great little plane, each engine producing 180 bhp; the tail was set quite high, which made it stable and fast, and the undercarriage was retractable.
And talking of retractable undercarriages, mine had retracted pretty sharply on those cane tracks yesterday. The bruise on my stomach was almost black now and it had spread right across my middle. There was bruising on my shoulder too and I couldn’t move my left arm properly. My own stupid fault, but I was suffering, I can tell you.
Graeme flew us from Cooktown out over the Great Barrier Reef. We were on the eastern side of the Cape York Peninsula and he said we couldn’t be in the air without seeing the reef. After that we would cut across Princess Charlotte Bay and the mountains, then fly the width of the Cape to a place called Weipa on the west coast.
The land in this area is traditionally owned, by which I mean Aboriginal. Weipa is a town built around an open-cast aluminium mine - they call it the Oasis in the Wilderness, and the Barramundi Capital of Queensland. The barramundi is a sport fish that can live in both salt- and freshwater, and one of the great delights of the Weipa community is catching it.
Graeme was going to inspect three boats in the area and would be back in the morning to fly us up to the northern tip at Bamaga. His remit covers any kind of marine situation, from assessing the amount of fuel on a massive cargo ship, to litigation, insurance claims, hull inspection, you name it.
He dropped us at the airfield in Weipa, where a lady called Bianca Graham was waiting to meet us. She had organised a trip to the mine and her parents, John and Chana, had very kindly offered to put us up for the night.
Both John and Bianca worked for Rio Tinto, the aluminium mining company that for the past forty years has been skimming ore from the red dust in this part of Queensland. They mine a total area of four thousand square kilometres on two separate leases, which were negotiated with the traditional owners when the aluminium ore was discovered. They pay for the privilege, of course. The money goes into a trust fund which the tribal government distributes throughout the community.
The whole thing seemed to have been planned around conservation. When the miners finished in one area they only moved on to another after restoring the land to how it had been before. Aluminium ore is found close to the surface, so they skim the topsoil, lift the ore and put the topsoil back. Then they replant.
Lynn Olsen showed me the process. Lynn is a truck driver, and when I say ‘truck’ I mean a massive Caterpillar dumper. It is enormous - the cab is situated over the front wheel on the left, and you have to climb a fixed iron stairway to get to it. The top of the wheel rim is taller than I am and Lynn told me that when she first started driving one of these trucks seventeen years ago, it was a little daunting. Now it’s second nature. She took me up the dirt roads to the ore fields where the dust was loaded. Then we returned to the plant, drove up a ramp with a grille cut through it and the truck drained its cargo. The dust was then scooped up and taken to be washed. After that the loose ore was transported by train to storage facilities before being shipped to processing plants all over the world.
The Caterpillar itself was quite easy to operate, and although it wasn’t the case when Lynn started, now something like half the drivers are women. She reckoned they were better at it than the men. ‘The truck gets smaller,’ she told me. ‘It’s huge when you start out, of course, but over the years it just seems to get smaller and smaller.’
When the shift ended we drove out to the Grahams’ house in a quiet suburb, a stone’s throw from a gorgeous tropical beach. It was beautiful and so tranquil, flat water and white sand with palm trees that were fairly dripping with coconuts.
‘We love the view,’ Bianca told
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