Lightning Ridge
Lightning Ridge is a curious town in north-west New South Wales, famous for its large deposits of Black Opal and the miners who hunt for it.
When you turn off the Castlereagh Highway, the first thing that strikes you - apart from the already apparent dry heat - is how much scrubby brush there is, much more than the mining towns barren-landscape reputation would lead you to believe.
On the outskirts of the towns entrance, piles and piles of fine white stones appear amongst the bushes, deposited over the years from the many small mines dotting the landscape, and probably sifted over and over for missed opal by eager tourists.
Once you hit the main street you'll probably notice the large Tourist Information Centre, and it's definitely worth stopping in to pick up a free map - Lightning Ridge isn't a large town by any means, but all the good stuff is hidden out on dirt tracks cunningly signposted by old car doors that've been painted, numbered, and propped up at strategic points.
Other than the obvious displays of Opals, mine-shafts, mine-faces and lookouts, you can visit walk-in underground mines, various art galleries (or combine the two: Chamber of the Black Hand is a mine with sculptures carved directly into it's tunnels), a cactus nursery, a castle, a monument to astronomers and so much more. Of particular note are the two mineral-rich Artesian Baths: any time of the day or night you can luxuriate neck-deep in a large concrete pool of 42°C water from hot springs originating a kilometer below ground.
Drinking to stay cool
We visited on the last day of October - which coincidently was the last day of the tourist season, as temperatures begin to soar. Tourist attractions tend to close around midday in the off-season, so with little else to do until morning we sensibly headed to the pub.
In town, Lightning Ridge has two bars: a gigantic bowling club that is totally devoid of life, and nearby an equally gigantic pub - the Lightning Ridge Hotel Motel - which absolutely everyone seemed to descend upon shortly after knocking-off time, even the slick opal-waistcoated barman from the bowling club.
The locals are an extremely welcoming lot - more so even than Australia is already famous for - probably because the population of Lightning Ridge is constantly changing: todays stranger can be tomorrows resident. They come from all backgrounds and pasts yet share common goals: dig for the opal, escape the drudgery of town and city life, survive and enjoy, truly be yourself.
Trip Information
Lightning Ridge can be found 6km east of the Castlereagh Highway.
Temperatures can reach 50°C at the peak of Summer.
November to April is the hot off-season period, and some tourist attractions may close earlier in the day than advertised.
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We got into a drink-spill with a large aboriginal man - brilliant way to make an entrance - and spent the rest of the night talking with him, his mates, and, well, everyone really. Like many of Lightning Ridge's eclectic residents, he came to the Ridge to start a new phase in his life, and wasn't keen on revealing his name. Instead we spent the night trying to guess it from the various obscure clues - and red herrings - he'd drop in the conversation, and on examining my notebook in the morning I found (along with drunken drawings, drunken poems and overheard drunken conversations) we'd worked out that in his younger years he was a Rugby League player of some fame, now just trying to live life and enjoy the anonymity.
A storm had been brewing for some time that hot night. A small group of trick-or-treating kids passed by in costume, shortly followed by a big cloud of dust, sweeping the road in orange powder as the cool change blew in. The rain began to fall and - happy though they'd been - the locals began to cheer and the night took on a festive feel.
After a wonderfully boisterous boozy time with the friday-night-happy miners and locals of Lightning Ridge, we made our short way home to the motel, and slept with the air-con on a relatively icy 22°C.
Thankfully, a long soak in the hot Artesian Baths followed by a quick cold shower is possibly the best hangover cure I have ever stumbled across. For the perfect hangover brekky, look no further than 'Chats' on Opal street - easily the best breakfast I've had since leaving Sydney. Beautiful Turkish bread, beautiful coffee.
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