Story 22. Security Pass....Please!

The town of Woomera sits about 30km north of My Gunson, a bitumen section of road extended for about 35km south of Woomera, this was, I had been informed laid down in case an important visiting dignitary decide to go for a drive from Woomera.

The end of this paved section the road ended abruptly where it continued like an unmade bed full of tyre eating, potholes as the National Highway continued bone jarringly south for over 100km to where it joined up with the civilised section of the National Highway just a few km out from Port Augusta.

Up to the mid 80's Woomera was a closed town, any visitor wishing to visit the town was required to stop at a road block guard house and enter the building to fill in a visitors form, this included, name and address drivers license along with time of arrival, intention of the visit, names of anyone you intend to visit while in town and the time of your departure. (Note: Not this is not an estimated time of departure).
Woomera was home to 2000 American Airforce personnel who talked and listened to satellites they drove about in space from a secret base just a little way to the south on the shore of Island Lagoon.

Woomera also housed a number of personnel from the Australian Airforce and a contingent of boffins from the Australian Weapons Research Establishment who played about with stuff no one was suppose to know about. Occasionally the odd smoke trail shot skyward at one hell of  rate, letting off coloured explosives along the way or the occasional appearance of weird flying machines that spluttered about, sometimes a Mirage jet or two were spotted racing over the nearby flat salt pans letting loose some new type of ordinance that occasionally identified one of the concrete filled army tanks out on the lake as either a national threat or simply something that got in the way of it's ground skimming capability.

As a gliding instructor I knew a few of the glider pilots from the Woomera Gliding club having had a hand in their initial training at the Waikerie Gliding club. Also having been one of the training instructors I had also had a hand in the training of their flying instructors.
I sometimes visited the club simply as a means of getting away from the mine site for a while.
The club had two gliders an old but very well kept K-13 two seater and a KA-6 both kept in a far corner of an enormous locked hangar. Often when retrieving these aircraft other military aircraft would be discovered quietly parked in another corner of this enormous building which took a good fifteen to twenty minutes to unlock, walk the length of the hangar, retrieve the gliders, exit and re-secure and lock the doors while pretending to ignore the other aircraft with their load of weaponry and coloured painted bands in place didn't exist.
A few of the US airforce personnel joined the club and learn't to fly gliders while stationed in Woomera.

One morning I was assisting with the instructing when a short gentleman with a severe crew cut approached, his presence producing an instant response from the other Americans. As they stood to attention and acknowledge his presence.
Walking up to me he reminded me of an Ernest K Gann character out of the book, "Fate is the Hunter" and announced, I am Colonel Pepper and I would like to learn to fly.
The thought of teaching an American Airforce Colonel to fly  struck me as a little odd, then he went on to inform me not all Airforce personnel fly airplanes, I fly satellites.




A local plumber was doing a job in the nearby town of Pimba just 6km south of Woomera.
For almost a week he had been going back and forth several time during the day stopping at the guard house each time to show his pass, and sign the book, even though the guard knew him quite well as a local.
In a bit of a rush and having passed through the gate three or four time during the day, the plumber slowed and waved to the guard as he continued on his way.
Retrieving his weapon from inside the door the guard shot out a rear tyre of the plumbers vehicle effectively bringing it to a halt, he then walked to where the shocked plumber had come to a halt only a few meters past the gate.
Peering in at the plumber the guard said, "You forgot to show your security pass and sign the book". 

Story 21. The Fuel Truck

With a 24hr operation all machines were required to stop at sometime during the shift for refueling.
For the CAT 769 dump trucks it was easy, the serviceman would wait at the fuel pump reading a  copy of a Mills and Boom book and after the crew had their meal break he simply refuel each machine as they left the park area on their return into the pit.

The CAT988 loaders were refueled earlier in the pit during a ten minute crib break when the crews would grab a cup of coffee, cake or biscuits while the loader took on fuel and the pit fitter had a quick look over the machine.
The other machinery could be stopped at anytime with out disrupting production.

Also in the pit were two sometimes three large 14inch warman pumps powered by a 3208 Cat these pumps kept the water levels down and pumped the seeping water 140 feet up and out of the pit where it could be used in the mill or stored in any of the many dams.

With as many as three Loaders operating and fourteen dump trucks available the service truck visited each in turn.

One night shift while refuelling one of the pumps the service truck became semi-bogged in one of the sumps, truck tyres on the wet rock often made traction difficult.
Out service man discovered he could move a little both forward and back but was having great difficulty climbing over a small rise.
Frustrated he began going back a little further each time in an effort to increase the run up hoping the extra speed and momentum would help him make it up and over the small rise.
A large rock was preventing him from being able to go back any further, each time he reversed he did so until his progress was physically stopped by the rock as the back of the truck struck it each time bringing the truck to a sudden halt.
Frustrated at being stuck his reversing became more determined as the truck was brought to a sudden halt each time as it struck the large rock.

Seeing his plight the grader operator picked up a large heavy steel cable we used to pull the dump trucks out of  bogs, soft ground, and occasionally from over the edge of the dump when a dump truck had reversed a little too far and became stuck a little way down the slope.

Arriving he  found a highly agitated and certainly frustrated serviceman. They hooked the rope on and after a few minutes managed to drag the service truck free, much to the delight of the busy serviceman.

A quick inspection of the truck found by using the large rock as a back stop to bounce off in the search of added momentum the service man had shortened the trucks chassis by almost three feet!!


Close to the fuel pump stood a raised cleaning station, this was a small platform about three meters above the ground and positioned at the same height as the Dump truck's walkway. Behind was a raised water tank with clean water, this enabled the truck drivers to step out and clean the windows without having to climb up the truck carrying a heavy bucket of water to clean windows or wash out the often dusty interior of the cabin of the dump truck.

During one night shift a truck driver miss judged the platform and failed to stop the truck in time, knocking over the stand and with it went the 10,000 gal water tank.

This crew were from that moment on forever known as "F troop" from the popular TV show of the same name, which in the opening credits showed as similar water tank being knocked over.




and  

Story 20. Night Shift Can be Scary.

One of the most dangerous work practices especially in mining is shift work.
Night shift is easily the highest risk period of any workforce.

In CSR's time Mt Gunson worked three, eight hour shifts, night shift began at 11pm and ended at 7am.
Anyone who has ever worked a night shift will be aware the 3am to 5am period is the most dangerous time to work, it's also during this period the mind simply craves sleep. This is a problem experienced by every operator involved in the operation of heavy equipment.

The CSR mine management in the 1970-80's were stubbornly opposed to any equipment being fitted with a basic am/fm radio, "it would distract them" was one reason given, any suggestion of a two way radio being included in any of the equipment to enhance site communication was met with, "they will be playing with the darn thing all night and not concentrating on the job at hand".

There was little to nil understanding of basic fatigue management in the 1970-80 or the fatigue problems associated with a three eight hour shift roster in a camp environment.

A night shift worker ending his shift at 7am would shower and have breakfast, by the time they had completed a few domestic tasks or spent an hour or two socialising and relaxing before heading off to bed it would be around 10 - 10:30 am,  similar to a normal day experienced by permanent  day workers only it was time shifted 12 hours.

At at 3pm the afternoon shift crew would begin to prepare for their shift, clunking about in heavy work boots and generally raising the noise level in camp for an hour before heading off to work. Then shortly after 4pm the day shift would knock off and arrive back in camp, banging and crashing as they headed to the showers or the bar then sat about camp talking noisily and socialising.

Had a permanent day shift worker (or management) regularly experienced being woken every day at 3am and again at 4am the problem of sleep and fatigue would have been understood by management, but unfortunately this never happened.

Years later I was placed in charge of a large mine in Western Australia where administration management insisted on having a compulsory staff meeting every day at 2pm. when asked why not later at a more convenient time for night shift who after knocking off as 6 am having breakfast and got to bed by 9am were then required to get up at 1:30pm to attend the meeting which ended at 3pm. Night shift normally rose at 5pm to start their 12hr shift at 6pm as a result of this the night shift supervisors were getting only 4 hours sleep each day.
I was informed by the administrators the meeting time was based on the majority of attendees at work at that time, so it was easier for everyone.
The real reason behind the time chosen was the administration staff knocked off at 3pm and it suited them perfectly.
After senior management left me in charge for two weeks, I did a head count at the first meeting I chaired and found the night shift supervisors made up most of the attendees.
Using the understood rules I informed every one at the meeting for the next week all compulsory staff meetings would be conducted at 2am.

By day two every one had a working understanding of the problems they were imposing on night shift, by the end of the week compulsory staff meetings were agreed to be conducted at a more convenient time.

Mt Gunson mine worked an eleven day week, then shut down for three days.
 Almost all the workers left site and went home for the three days.

The last shift was night shift which ended at 6am, knowing everyone would be in a rush to leave site I would spend an hour filling in everyone's time sheets leaving only the load count, and a signature needed to complete the paperwork as they made their way through the office.

I would knock off a half hour behind the crew after dropping off the maintenance forms and paperwork at the main administration office.

While driving south after one night shift, I was about 50km south of the mine when I noticed one of the operators vehicle stopped on the side of the road and parked in an odd sort of way with the front wheels against a small windrow. I stopped and walked over to see if the driver was in trouble and needed help.
As I approached I noticed he was sound asleep at the wheel, the engine still running and the automatic transmission still in gear. Obviously he had fallen asleep and the car had simply continued on its own for a while, his foot had dropped off the accelerator, allowing the vehicle to slow down then eventually run off the long lonely stretch of road where it was slowed further by the soft dirt and eventually come up against the windrow and been brought to a complete stop.

I reached through the open window and moved the transmission to the park position.
Then I lay on the engine bonnet and looking in through the front window knocked loudly on the windscreen.
The driver stirred, then suddenly realising he was driving grabbed the steering wheel.
At the same time I screamed at him, he screamed back at the sudden appearance of the terrified face looking at him through the cars window while trying to swerve left and right as he attempted to bring the already stationary vehicle to a complete halt.
I climbed off the front and peered in.
Are you awake Harry? I asked.
Where in the blood hell did you come from? he said appearing unsure of what just happened and my sudden, unexpected appearance while he thought he was still driving.
I left site a half an hour after everyone left, I explained.
Oh shit I must have fallen asleep. he said, I'm wide awake now.
He looked it. Good, now Ill follow you into Pt Augusta and we will stop for a coffee, I said.
And a change of underwear, Harry added.

Story 19. That's My Bloody Ore Body.

The years 1980 to 1984 South Australia was in the grips of a drought, the normal 200mm (4inch) of rain fall a year failed to arrive four years in a row in an area with an evaporation rate of 3.5metres (11 1/2 feet) a year.

By Christmas 1984 all the grass in the area had long gone exposing the red sand, sheep had trimmed the underside of all the trees the lowest branches had been raised almost two meters, sheep stations had sold off their stock, rabbits were seen climbing trees to just find something to eat.

In certain areas it was possible to sit on the ground and see for miles under the raised skirts of the trees where the undergrowth had vanished.
Thousands of kangaroos moved into Woomera every night to graze on the town lawns and ovals or anything that resembled an edible green.

For months a drilling company we had often used had been conducting exploration drilling through the Woomera restricted zone for another company and were nearing the last two holes of the exploration line. With only two weeks before Christmas they had been hoping to be able to finish the contract before Christmas rather than have to return to complete just two or three after the holidays.

With nothing of interest to show for months of work the client had indicated they were loosing interest and would be agreeable if the driller wanted to abandon the last two holes and return home for Christmas, ending the exploration program slightly early.

With two holes to go rain began to fall in the area for the first time in four years.
By morning all the tracks in the area were impassable to all but 4WD vehicles, no way the heavy drilling rig would be able to go anywhere for a few days.
Facing the fact they were rained in, it was decided to drill the remaining holes while waiting for the tracks to dry out.

Parked near a small dam they completed the drilling and with only a day before Christmas they packed up and began the slow journey south.

With the truck and vehicles covered in the sticky red mud they decided to pull into Mt Gunson for a few hours to wash for the first time in months and blast the sticky mud off the vehicles for the long trip south.
Being ever curious as to what the drillers were up to Allen Turnbull stopped by.

The driller complained the last two holes took much longer to drill because of the nature of the rock he showed Allen the retrieved sample of rock.

Allens eyes lit up as he inspected the sample.
Hard rock be buggered he said, "That's my missing bloody ore body he said.
Where did this come from? he asked.

The driller thought for a moment then informed Allen about 100km north of Woomera, near a small dam, retrieving the exploration map where after a few moments identified the location, pointed out the small insignificant dam, the map identified as, Olympic Dam.

 

  


  

Story 18. Drilling on Island Lagoon.

Despite several discussions between CSR's management and Mt Gunson's Allen Turnbull the self taught site geologist about additional exploration of the ore body we were mining Allen was having considerable difficulty convincing CSR to do any exploration drilling.

In the late 1970's Allen knew the sulphide ore body we were mining was only a remote off shoot to a much larger ore body that lay somewhere close by along a fault line that ran roughly north south from Strathalbyn just south east of Adelaide to Burra continuing on and along the western side of Pernatty Lagoon and Mt Gunson where it continued northward.
Other parallel faults containing copper also ran though the Kadina, Moonta area. Alan could only raise a luke warm response from the bloody Sugar Miner as Allen called CSR's senior geologist who only agreed to do some basic infill drilling to explore the immediate area around the immediate Mt Gunson ore body.

The Mt Gunson ore body contained copper, zinc, lead, silver and cobalt which was a problem at the extraction process for both copper and cobalt were very similar, this was a bit of a problem of which we were penalized as it was considered a contaminate by the customer, what it didn't contain was gold, this along with other clues indicated it was just a minor part of a much larger, or as Allen called it, "the real ore body".

In the early 1980's CSR decided to allow some shallow exploratory drilling to the north west of the mine on the salt lake of Island Lagoon, along a 5km line between an iconic cone that gave Island Lagoon its name and the eastern shore.

ISLAND LAGOON Salt Lake sth of Woomera South Australia.

 

Rather than pleasing Allen the idea he knew was a waste of time and was absolutely bloody furious at CSR's bloody stupidity and argued with the senior bloody senior bloody Sugar Miner there was bloody nothing under bloody Island bloody Lagoon except bloody hematite which had been bloody test drilled back in the bloody 1950' and there are already bloody great mines in bloody Western Australia digging up bloody great lumps of the bloody stuff.

There were two problems drilling the lagoon, one was its inability to support heavy equipment, The so called dry salt lake was like most "dry" salt lakes in Australia are only dry for the first 10mm or so of the surface. Once the thin surface layer of the salt is broken, a thick, clingy, black to brown mud waited below to trap any one stupid enough to try to challenge it. To get a heavy air track drill 5km off shore would require careful planning along with a system to allow day to day servicing and refueling of the drilling equipment.

The second problem was the Island Lagoon area also contained an very sensitive and highly secure American Secret Satellite communication base on the North Eastern corner of the Lagoon.

Never the less to prove stupidity has no limit CSR persisted and after negotiations with the American base, Government agencies, Woomera security and a drilling company willing to risk loosing a drill or ancillary equipment beneath the pristine salt surface with little regard to the fact they would also be ruining a popular tourist photographic spot.

After months of preparations, a drill was delivered to the rocky eastern shore of the lagoon where it was broken down into three major components.

A Bell Jet Ranger  helicopter arrived and the first section of the drill was hooked on.
As we watched it take up the slack and prepared to lift it into the air the noise and the surroundings began to vibrate with a lot more energy than I had expected from the chopper even when lifting the heavy load.

I looked around to discover a much larger military Huey Chopper standing off close by watching the operation.
As the Bell lifted the load and moved off toward the Needle the Huey moved with it maintaining a position between the Bell and the Secret base, preventing any thought the Bell may have in making a dash toward the base.
As the Bell returned for the next section and for each additional flight the two choppers flew to and fro, in parallel, together.

Six months later the drill had slowly walked back to shore as it completed its drilling program along the way and proved the 1950's drilling and discovery Hematite was in abundance was bloody correct.

Bloody Sugar miners!

  

Story 17. Christmas, a time to be careful.

In the late to early 1980's we were still paying employees fortnightly with envelopes containing cash, this was arranged through a bank in Woomera about thirty kilometers away, two of the women from the administration office were usually tasked with the job of driving in and picking up the money, if the amounts were extra large a security escort was included in a second car. It was how business was conducted and the system worked well.  

Within two kilometers of the Cattle Grid Mine were a number of bores, each had a pump that lifted the water from about 60 meters below the parched surface and pumped it back to site via long continuous lengths of 100mm welded polly pipe.

A number of the bores were being shut down and in my spare moments I was going out with a saw cutting the disused pipe into several 100mtrs lengths tying four or five of them to the back of my vehicle and dragged them back to the storage area near the mine site. When crossing the main access road I would stop and check for traffic before crossing the road with the long lengths of pipe which would take a minute or so for me to drag them clear of the road. 

The last day before the mine shut down for Christmas, I was clearing the last of these long lengths of pipe and as usual I stopped at the edge of the road to check for traffic. I could hear a vehicle approaching so waited for them to appear.

Around the bend the security vehicle appeared, driving close behind it were the women carrying the Christmas pay, Not wanting to hold up this important delivery I held off crossing.

One hundred meters away the security vehicle suddenly stopped and pulled up on a slight diagonal across the road the doors on either side quickly opened and two heads took up positions on either side behind the open doors.

I waited, they waited, we were too far away to shout to each other, all the vehicles had come to a stop, now I thought what next as I watched the two heads watching me from just above the door windows?
I waited some more, no one moved, just the sound of flies and occasional crow broke the silence.

With no other option, I moved my vehicle slowly forward and mounted the side of road, I could see the heads moving side to side, ready, armed and waiting for my next move, the lengths of polly pipe followed as I continued across the road and down the other side, four 300mtr lengths of pipe following as I moved off and disappeared into the scrub on the other side.
It would be another full minute or more before the pipe finally cleared the road.


     . 

Story 16. The Access Road.

From the national highway the turn off to the mine site is a reasonably well kept dirt road its about 8km to the Cattle Grid and the open cut mine the single-men's camp is a further 4 km further on.

Everything going in and out of site uses this road, during summer the road develops pot holes corrugations and the odd dusty holes. With summer temperatures in the low to mid forties (100 to 120f) keeping the road in good condition was an ongoing problem. Corrugations often became so extreme vehicles often had trouble just staying on the road, mainly because of excessive speed which was the original cause of the corrugations in the first place.

In the early eighties a two km section from the cattle grid toward the single-mens camp had to be moved further north in a large loop to maintain clearance from the western end of the mine as it moved further north west.
 
In an effort to maintain the main access road maintenance and grading was performed during the night, when traffic was low or nonexistent this helped retain water which helped as a binding agent as the road was maintained. A heavy road roller was used to help form a hard surface to help retain the moisture content within the road structure.

At 3am one morning the grader operator called up to say he had the grader blade stuck and needed help.
Curious as to how something with a highly mobile and infinitely adjustable grader blade could be stuck.
Investigation quickly revealed the grader blade had become stuck after a passing vehicle had become caught in the large windrow of material the grader was moving, the front wheel had dragged the steering out of the hands of the driver where it dragged the vehicle toward the grader the hard cutting edge of the blade opened up the side of the vehicle and part of the seating like a sardine tin from behind the front wheel all the way along to where it finally came to a stop where it had destroyed the rear tyre and rim.




   

Story 15. Birthday Siding

Every months or so our order of explosives would arrive via train.
The railway ran mostly along side the national Highway, it wound its way across the barren and uninteresting countryside scooting around the larger saltlakes it squeezed between the many small ones as it meandered northward.
The National railway would notify the mine of a shipment of explosives by phone, information would be passed on when the two or more freight wagons would be uncoupled and left at the closest railway siding.
Birthday Siding was ten or so km south of the Mt Gunson turn off and quite near the turnoff to Oakden Hills, a local sheep property to the west, marked by two rocky haystacks that poked about 150 meters above the landscape, Oakden Hills was one of two sheep station properties the mine lease straddled, the other, Pernatty Station, was also the name of a large salt lake just to the east of the mine.

Being notified by the national railways of the delivery of two or three hundred ton of explosives could at best only be used as a general guide, the shipment could arrive anytime from the actual day of notification to up to ten days later.
Sometimes when returning to site the railway wagons would be seen parked at the unattended siding in the open, looking abandoned on the side track just three hundred meters from the national highway, unlocked, unsecured while the mine site waited notification of the expected arrival of it latest shipment.

   

Story 14. Bloody Dangerous thing to leave laying around.

Bloody Dangerous.

With the arrival of the new crew were a few KIWI lads, big, well built enjoyed each day to the fullest.

I was filling for night shift and sitting in the mine office waiting for their arrival when one of the big KIWI's wandered into the office carrying a four foot long snake by its the middle.

The reptile hung like a limp length of rope evenly on both sides as he entered.

Hey ozzy, I found dis movin around in da car park, whot sorta snake it it? he asked.

I was amaised by the snakes seeming lack of excitement and asked if it had been run over?

Na he said oi ad to chase it a bit dey move fast here he said holding it out for me to see.
The small head moved with little enthusiasm.

Its a Taipan, I said, if it bites you I have just twenty minutes to get you to hospital I informed him

Ya mean its poisonous, he said his eyes lighting up.

The most poisonous one in Australia.

I could be dead if it bit me then? he asked.

Has it bitten you? I asked now becoming a little concerned.

Na its bin lyk this all the time then added, it could kill me dead?

In twenty minutes I replied watching the limp reptile looking about, you had better be careful when you put it back outside, it could become aggressive and have a go at you, I suggested.

Shit he replied, Why do you leave somfin as dangerous as dis just laying about on the ground, some one could git hurt he said carrying it back out the door.

Story 13. 1984. Mine For Sale.

1984.

CSR's ability to manage the mine was somewhat less than poor, it was top heavy, appointing three managers into a position where one competent person would do. It had sub-managers who never left the office, and appointed managers into position with absolutely no experience.

In five years I had made my way from pick axe to assistant shift boss, CSR continued to appointed a number of unqualified shift bosses above me as I could never rise any higher due to not having been originally employed directly by CSR.

These inexperienced appointed managers simply left me with the task of running the shift, organising production, while they rode about in the vehicle with me or sat the shift out in the mine office.
(The Phillips factor? where people are given higher and higher positions until they end up in a position one level above their capabilities and eventually quit or become incompetent in managing the role.  This idea is often taken as every one who has spent considerable time in a management position is actually one level above their competence.)

One equipment operator rose through the ranks, studied and achieved an unrestricted shot firers ticket, achieved the level of occupational first aid certificate, then went on to gain a Mine Managers diploma from Adelaide University and became the third most senior qualified person on site, but could never hold a position in management because of CSR's archaic management practice. When he finally left the company he was snatched up by other much more successful mining companies who not only recognised but actually valued his capabilities.

One dark March 31st night, both Les R and myself returned to the pit shortly after the shift had finished and everyone had left.
Borrowing a forklift from the truck shop Les drove it down the haul road and parked in front of the mine office where I had managed to man handle a large coke machine from the mine crib-room and using the forks transported it into the pit where we set it up near one of the lighting plants and plugged it in and turned on the bright flood lights to highlight the bright red machine standing tall and in stark contrast against the black of the night.
It was close to 2 am before we returned everything and got to bed.

The crew next morning immediately noticed the disappearance of their treasured coke machine from the crib-room and as the vehicles made their way into the pit there before them, standing in the middle of the dark pit, in all its bright red glory lit from all sides was the missing coke machine, standing like the monolith from Stanley Kubrick 2001 A Space Odyssey, ... cue the music.

It took some time before anyone realised it was the first of April.

The question of who could have done it was an unsolved mystery for many years after, helped along by the likely list of perpetrators all being so drunk they couldn't remember much of the night before and thought maybe they had.

By the middle of 1983 CSR decided with the low copper prices and high overheads they would close the mine, and we began a gradual reduction of employees as we headed for the eventual closure in mid 1984. almost six years from the date I started when I was told the mine would close in eighteen months.
As we approached closure the entire mine was advertised for a sale price of $4.2m AUS.
As the most senior non senior shift boss who could operate every thing on site and knew where it was at any given moment I was often given the task of showing likely buyers about.

One gentleman from Western Australia seemed more interested than most in buying all the machines, and we spent almost the entire day driving about site as he ticked off each machine from a list after climbing over it and giving it a good inspection.  Toward the end of the day we were driving out of the pit when he asked if there was anywhere he could take a photo of the pit with the machines in it.
We stopped off at one of the viewing areas and I waited while he took a couple of pictures, then turning to me said, I cant believe you have run out of ore.
A little shocked by his remark I pointed out there was $14m worth of ore exposed that CSR was simply going to walk away from, due to their high overheads and currently having just 48 actual workers on site there were now 80 CSR appointed managers who had a job for life.
My buyer suddenly became more interested in the conversation asked, You mean to tell me if I bought this mine today for $4.2m I could continue operating it tomorrow, just how long would it take to extract the $14m?
Knowing the mine volumes we shift I guessed four months.
And CSR is just leaving it? Just walking away from $14m? he asked.
Yup, I replied, adding that is $14m exposed there is another $10m or so ready to clean off so add another month for that .
Is it possible to actually see it? he asked.
We drove back into the pit and I drove along the edge of the exposed ore body pointing out the additional ore yet to be cleaned off.

It was dark by the time I dropped him off at the main office.

A week away from the final closing date I was called into DOC's office late one afternoon thinking it was the end.
We have a new owner who wants to carry on mining for nine months, DOC informed me. He wants to hire an completely new crew and keep just five of the original managers on site, no one from CSR is to be offered a job, you are one of the five he has asked to stay. 

I was a little shocked by the unexpected news.
You are asked not to tell anyone about this arrangement DOC replied. He will be bringing in an entirely new crew to run it.
For the three weeks during the ownership change over period I enjoyed the unique position of being paid by two separate companies at the same time.
Then I began spending time with the new operators teaching them how to drive the Dump Trucks while learning their way around the pit.

Late one afternoon I was summoned to a meeting in the board room on top of the main site office, the very same room I had first visited for my first unorganised CSR job interview almost six years previous.

As I entered I was surprised to discover all the workshop fitters seated around the table and a room full of cigarette smoke.
John Court introduced himself as the managing director of EMAC and now EMECO who now own the mine in partnership with Brian McMahon from McMahons.

Brian McMahon was a stocky gentleman I had never met, he stood up and continued.
First, he said, I know the workshop is a closed union shop I have no problems with that, As an owner of other interests, occasionally I may bring other equipment on site for repair plus I will also bring some of my own fitters on site who know this equipment to help out.  

While we run this project the company will continue to pay what you currently earn, plus we will also pay your union fees and we will continue to pay for any other agreements won by your union, for the rest of the fitters not in the union I will pay 15% more.
Anyone not happy with this deal your pays have been made up and are available for you down stairs.

I was stunned by the blatant way this new organisation stood up to the union, I expected trouble but there was none, most of the dedicated union men picked up their pay and moved on.

Story 12. Testing the New Suzuki 4WD.

Suzuki 4WD.

The Suzuki car company, in the hope of breaking into the mining industry dropped 3 little Suzuki 4WD vehicles off at the mine on trial for a few weeks. These vehicles were a little on the smallish size compared to the more suited HJ 47 TOYOTA's we were using at the time.

Warren Brown the mine manager was given one of these vehicles to evaluate, the two shift bosses the others.

With all an metal construction and a smallish 4 cylinder engine these little buzz boxes were put through their paces as they drove around the pit, fitted with only the basics, bare floors no linings of any description the interiors were all open panels a short bench seat either side in the rear forced the occupants to sit facing each other with their knees spread due to the lack of room and two ultra basic seats completed the front.

One Saturday morning a dozer was pushing up a stock pile of clean sandy material in the pit and had produced a pile almost ten meters high.
Warren Brown decided to pop into the pit with the intention of having the dozer operator move on to another job he had in mind.

He approached the large heap, satisfied there was sufficient material to do the task and parked at the foot of the pile then climbing to the top waited for the Dozer to complete the next pass before stopping it to inform the operator of his next task, a little further on.

The operator understanding what was needed moved on and over the heap, Warren inspected the pushed up material as the Dozer headed off pleased with to see there were very few rocks in the mix, then followed the dozer tracks over the pile and down the other side.

At the bottom he discovered the 70 ton Dozer tracks had passed exactly over the middle of his little Suzuki from engine to rear door reducing it to something that now stood less than a 150mm high with four wheels laying flat and encased in the mustard yellow metal that was once a loan vehicle.

As the dozer crested the heap the operator had been unable to see anything directly ahead or below and feeling nothing unusual simply carried on.

Eventually arriving back in the office an hour or so later Warren rang Suzuki who by then the business had closed for the weekend.

The flat pack vehicle was retrieved and placed on the back of the supply truck with instructions to deliver it to Suzuki first thing Monday morning.

9am Monday morning Warren phoned the manager of Suzuki to explain the fate of the vehicle. Just as luck happens, the truck pulled up in front of his office with the vehicle strapped down on the back, as Warren began his story.

I think it has just arrived the Suzuki manager informed Warren.

Oh good, Warren replied could you let the driver know if you want it slid under the door would you prefer he pop it into your letter box?.

Story 11. The Sudden Demise of Lake Turnbull

Lake Turnbull.

Allan Turnbull approached me one morning after we had a huge rain storm overnight.

There is now a bloody huge lake directly in front of my bloody ore body we are going to fire and "I don't want it ending up in the bloody water can you get rid of it before we let the bloody shot off"? he asked.

I put Allan's job on my growing list, one job was to move some of the overburden that lay spread over the access road to the same ore shot that had been fired the previous day effectively preventing all vehicle access to the lake.

Two hours before the shot was due the lake still remained untouched, this had been caused by other problems delaying me gaining access to the area.
Allan approached, expressing some concern regarding the possibility of the water ruining his bloody ore.

Knowing there was no way I would be able to do anything to remove the water until I had access I was in a bit of a bind.

In the powder magazine we had a large roll of sheet explosive about a meter wide and four meters long and around 15-20mm thick, this had been kept in storage for years and was simply taking up space in our storage, it was once used to shock harden the crusher jaws.

Taking to it with a panel saw It cut it into 20 or so 50mm wide four meter long strips. These long strips were unrolled and after folding a corner and placing an instantaneous detonator inside the folds, it was then laid out under water and held down with a rock or two on the bottom of the shallow lake, a delay was then wired with two lines into the ore shot, the second line ran direct from the initiation point with a matching delay in case there was a fault or break in the line of the original initiating underwater shot caused by a wayward rock breaking the line.

The idea was to detonate the shot in the lake 250milli seconds prior to the ore body going off.
Hopefully it would be enough to enable the water to be thrown clear before the ore body landed in it.

Blast time was scheduled to coincide with lunch time and with all the equipment clearing the pit we made final preparations for the blast.

With the pit cleared sirens and flags up we were making the last check that the pit was safe to fire the two shots.

As the safety vehicle passed my observation spot on its way out of the pit thus indicating all was ready, I waved my hard hat to indicate to the shot firer inside the safety bunker located inside the pit it was safe to now fire the shot.
Allen walked up to stand along side, instantly noticing the large untouched lake still directly in front of his precious ore body.

I thought you were going to get rid of that bloody water he said slightly louder then necessary to make his concern felt.

I noticed the shot firer had acknowledged my waving hat by waving his back and had disappeared inside his bunker.

Watch carefully I informed Allen.
A second or two later the lake suddenly erupted instantly became hidden in a cloud of steam, the ore body then went off and the entire view became hidden in an expanding cloud of steam and dust that quickly filled the pit.

We stood in silence, waiting for the visibility to clear.

Finally the dust moved on, the ore body appeared dry, the lake had vanished, the entire pit seemed fresh and clean as water ran down haul roads and dripped off the pit walls.
Allen turned to me and smiled, Good work, exactly what I would have done, he said as he walked off.

Story 10. Allan Turnbull and Copper Rubberite.

Rubberite.

East 45, ore floor.
It was getting toward the end of the shift as I approached a large group of budding University Geologists all standing in a large circle facing inward.

At the head of the circle stood Alan Turnbull ex British Royal engineers, self taught geologist who knew more than any one alive about the ore formation and the reason the Mt Gunson ore deposit lay 140 feet below ground level beneath a 130 foot layer of Whyalla Sandstone.

Behind him standing in stark contrast and supporting a 130 foot high layer of a boring dark green coloured over-burden was a well washed section of the actual ore body, clearly displaying its folds and faults in fine detail.

I parked some distance away so as not to disturb Allan's lecture to the students on folds, formations and chalcocite.

I noticed a small lump of rubber cut from one of the truck tires laying on the ground, anything left on the floor of the pit for any length of time took on a dark green hugh from being in contact with the copper ore, I picked it up and played with it in my hand as I approached, waiting for Allan to finish off his story and notice me.

Ready for blasting? he asked as he finished talking and acknowledging my arrival.
I had come to remind Alan we were planning a blast, most of the heavy equipment was already in the process of clearing the pit and I needed his group of undergrad Geologyists to start making their way out as well.

Alan snatched the small lump of green rubber from my hand, turned to the circle of young Geologists and began explaining a unique ore found only in this particular mine, Copper Rubberite and with little further explanation handed the sample to the student immediately to his left who studied it for a few moments before handing it to the next student who after a similar inspection silently passed it on, this continued until after completing a full circle of the group the precious sample was returned to Allan.

Not one of you questioned the sample, not one of you even performed the most rudimentary inspection of this sample and not one of you have ever heard of Rubberite, Allan burst out, scolding the group for taking his word for something no one had never heard of.

Allen put the sample between his teeth and bent it back and forth then handed it to the student to his left, Now you test it, he demanded, and so each student in turn placed the sample between his teeth and demonstrated his ability to bend copper rubberite before it was eventually returned to Alan, who then handed it back to me with a broad knowing grin having caught out the entire group of semi educated smart arse's.

Story 9. Millionairs Row.

Millionaires Row.

It was mid morning.
I was working on top of the ore body, marking cups with a felt pen to show the driller the depth he was to drill each hole.
We used Air-tracks to sink a 75mm diameter hole into the hard rock that contained the ore body.
Each hole was marked with an exact depth.
We drilled each hole to a floor profile as the top of the ore body undulated up and down often a meter or two like a miniature range of hills, most hole depths centered around 3mtrs deep plus or minus a meter or so variation as we made adjustments to followed the top profile.

I had been marking the shot for almost three hours and in need of relief, being in a remote part of the pit I simply stood at the edge of the ore body, flopped my member out and began pissing over the edge of the ore body, suddenly I noticed approaching me below and walking along the face of the ore body was Debby from the mine office catching me in full flow with my tool in hand.

"Millionaires row is on fire" she informed me seemingly ignoring my leaking member.
My mind engaged in pissing, cup marking and thinking only of floor profiles took a little time to understand what it was she was telling me.
Who? What? Millionaires Row? Fire? I questioned as I cut my relief short and shook off the last drops while attempting to act non fussed as I put my equipment away.

"Millionaires row is on fire" she repeated, going on to inform me all the mine staff had left the office to help fight it and I was now in charge of the pit.

I dropped what I was doing and headed out of the pit to see a plume of black smoke rising about two miles away in the direction of the single men's camp.
Shit, I thought, then noticed the small water cart heading toward me along the haul road at a great rate of knots.

I parked near the stand pipe and checked the overhead tank was full, it had a 14inch gate valve and when opened could dump 20,000ltrs of water into the water in just a minute or two, so long as the header tank was full.
The small water truck would only hold 2000 liters and under the pipe should only take a few seconds or less.
I turned on the pump that filled the top tank to top it up and not taking any chances left the over flow pipe open so the pump would keep the overhead tank constantly topped up.

Two workshop fitters were in the small vehicle and after working out it lacked brakes they finally brought it to a stop then after a few moments eventually found reverse in the old crash box and managed to park somewhere near the down pipe. I opened the valve the moment they stopped and had with water poring over the back of the vehicle quickly filled it using the hit and miss method of fulling their tank.

With a loud gnashing of gears they set off in a plume of blue smoke and splashing water from the tank.

I followed along and arrived at the camp to see fire billowing from the roof space along Millionaires Row, near where it joined Pussies Passage in a T junction.

Windows were open as the occupants of both Millionaires Row and Pussies were throwing their belongings out side, others had formed a convoy to pick up the belongings and carry them away to safety as the flames progressed.
It was a difficult fire to fight traveling along under the low tin roof the two water trucks were having difficulty getting at the seat of the flames as they attempted to stop its progress.

John Hollcroft approached me looking concerned, If it gets past Pussies passage there will be no stopping it from taking out the kitchen and wet mess along with Tinpan Alley and Skid Row he said.

The D9 dozer is ready to be picked up at the workshop I suggested,.we drove to the workshop, and in record time John was heading back to camp with 680 horsepower going flat out attached to 70 tons of unstoppable metal with attitude.

By the time we returned the fire had progressed into the roof of Pussies Passage.

To gain access to the fire the dozer easily pushed away the skid mounted laundry block severing the plumbing and water supply in the process. After quickly checking the rooms were empty the Dozer easily cut it's way completely though the building as he pushed Pussies Passage out of the away, separating the fire from the rest of the complex while unheeding occupants clambered out of the windows of the now highly mobile building.

With the fire now cut off from the main part of the complex I headed back to the mine to keep an eye on the pit and water supply.

A week or two later after the insurance company had visited I was given the task of cleaning up the sad looking site, many of the occupants had lost precious family treasures, irreplaceable photos of loved ones past. I found a tin full of two cent coins all molded together in one solid mass, the chassis of an expensive shortwave radio, all that remained was the metal of the chassis.
And while sweeping away the deep layer of ashes off the foundations I uncovered a large pile of photographs of various past and present employees in various stages of undress accompanied by one of the woman on site who was standing next to each topless, apart from smelling of fire the photos were mostly untouched, which couldn't be said for the woman in the pictures.

Story 8. A Union of Sheep Fucking Idiots.

A Union at work.

Unionism in the 1970s was fast becoming a relic of the past, having long out lived its use by date, the mostly unemployable knuckle dagger's who were paid by the union and referred to as "organisers" had previously discovered as the British coal industry closed down around them they were abandoned by their unions and left totally unemployable because of their union association. They were forced to migrate to Australia in a desperate effort to survive.

With the Sheep fucking union making headway in the open cut mining industry through CSR and the Mt Gunson workforce, the workers were gradually being coerced into making various pay claims on management under the umbrella of more pay a better life, regardless of the effect it had on the viability of the struggling mine which was management top heavy and experiencing record low international copper prices.

One day I was with a group of five or so managers discussing the pit plan, we stood at the top of the pit very near the haul road when we noticed one of the dump truck drivers passing with a magazine spread open and resting over the steering wheel, he was so interested in the magazine he failed to notice the group standing ten or so meters away looking in on him as he drove past .

This observation was commented on by several senior managers within the group.

As a serious safety issue this was a sack-able offense, inattention while driving a 50ton truck placed not only himself but his fellow workers in danger, ( try texting and driving on the road ) the operator was called into the office where he had the appropriate mine safety section read out before being given his marching orders.

The union hearing of this stepped in accusing the mine management of victimisation of one of its members and called for the mine to strike in protest.

As the mine workers all agreed the incident was a blatant disregard of safety the operator in question received no sympathy from his fellow workers.

The union was furious by the lack of support shown, especially from its rank and file, plus the fact they had driven over 200km to help only to be shunned by the workforce.

The Sheep fuckers union promptly called the entire site to a meeting the following day and suggested a site-wide strike be held to show support.

With the help of Mr Dunn a mill worker and union planted stooge who seem to have little idea of the gravity of the initial problem or its possible consequences, regardless, he had been prompted by the knuckle draggers to support the proposed site wide strike, seeking nothing less than re-employment of the irresponsible driver despite his obvious and blatant disregard for everyone's safety.

So with the help of the totally unionised truck workshop and the clueless mill workers, the union, with a quick show of hands and no proof of actually having a majority, closed the entire site for two weeks.

Due to the operational timing of our export shipping along with the financial pressure of cancelling a ship that was only available three times a year, the operator was reinstated.

A victory for union stupidity and a significant financial loss for every one concerned.

Returning to work two weeks later many of the mine employees questioned why they had to take the financial loss for one persons blatant stupidity and why the Union had became involved.

Four weeks later the reinstated truck driver resigned.

And many of the mine operators resigned from union involvement.

Story 7; Malcolm the Surveyor.

SURVEYOR.

The years before computerised surveying Lasers were the new innovation.

The entire open cut mine pit was completely surveyed every twenty eight days, this was to allow for an accurate estimation of the actual material quantities moved and allowed for a more accurate data to be used for royalty payments.

Mt Gunson Mine had its own team of surveyors headed by Malcolm a highly experienced surveyor with many years of quantitative surveying.
Malcolm was short round and very much over weight.

The monthly survey required a measurement to be taken every ten or so meters in a grid pattern covering the entire working pit, comparisons deducted from the previous month gave the volumes moved for accounting and legal purposes.

Normally Malcolm would remain behind the theodolite at the top of the pit while an assistant walked the pit grid with a staff, placing it on the ground at various locations to enable Malcolm to take a measurement via a laser fired from the Wild theodolite, this operation often took two days to complete, the assistant often walking ten or more kilometers as they moved about the pit.

Malcolm in a moment of madness decided to do something about his weight and had begun exercising. With the monthly pit survey taking place he decided he would do the job of pit pickup and walk the grid while his much fitter assistant remained at the theodolite at the top of the pit taking and entering the measurements.

To aid communication the surveyors used a separate radio system, this was a small voice operated two piece radio that could be worn on the head with the tiny radio it self being slipped to a belt or placed in a pocket,  by simplify speaking into the head set microphone the radio turned itself on and off automatically via a VOX system (Voice Activated Transmit) freeing up both hands to operate the theodolite or carry a staff.

Malcolm set off along the top of the pit making his way along the edge of the 90 meter high waste dump, stopping every ten or so meters to allow the theodolite about half a kilometer away to take a measurement.

Knowing Malcolm was a much slower walker than his assistant, I had been recruited to do the grid on the floor of the pit at the same time to help speed things up.

With the radio connecting the three of us we were soon making good progress with the pick up.
Although I couldn't see Malcolm, I knew roughly where he was via his radio reports on the top of the spoils dump high above me.

Suddenly a strange noise opened the radio transmitter which picked up a long series of, “oof's, thud, ow, oof, thud, clunck, rattle, clunks, oof's the noise locked up the radio channel as it continued.

Confused and unable to communicate while the radio was being jammed by the on going clanks, clunks and oof's, I looked around the pit for a possible cause, noting the assistant at the theodolite was pointing in the direction where I suspect Malcolm was.

Realising the problem must be Malcolm I ran along the bottom of the pit to a corner in the dump where looking up at the dump slope I discovered Malcolm, oofing, about two thirds of the way down followed by rising dust as he slid, rolled, and bounced down the rock strewn dump, the radio faithfully reporting his ongoing oof's, clunks and ow's.

Although still some distance away I continued to run to the spot I expected Malcolm to eventually arrive, picking up the separate mine radio I informed the shift boss of the problem and where to meet me.

Malcolm eventually slid to a stop near the bottom of the slope, rocks and stones dislodged during his descent continued to trickle down the slope bouncing against his hat and keeping the VOX microphone open, transmitting the resulting clacks, clunks and rattles as they struck or rolled over his hard hat.

Malcolm lay un-moving against the bottom of the dump as the detritus continued to descend from above.

I still had someway to go as I ran toward the partly buried, hulk of the un-moving Malcolm.

As I drew near, the stones eventually slowed to a stop, finally allowing the radio to go silent for five or so minutes.

“Malcolm, are you ok”? the assistant asked over the now silent radio.

More silence followed.

“Malcolm, are you ok”? he repeated.

More silence.

As I neared Malcolm I saw his bright red round face turn slowly toward me as I scrambled over the rocks.

“Are you ok”? I asked the radio picking up my question and repeating it in his headset as I climbed the unstable slope to where he lay partly covered with small rocks and dirt dragged down during his descent.

He nodded, “W..  w.. winded”, he puffed into the radio.

I looked back as the speeding shift vehicle came into view and sliding to a halt just below us. The vehicle had barely stopped when the drivers door flew open and the shift boss leapt out with the large first aid bag in tow.

Malcolm and I watched as a strap caught a door handle and instantly brought the highly mobile shift boss to a complete stop as the bag and his attached arm all jerked to a sudden halt, the shift boss, ending up flat on his back on the ground, raising a small cloud of dust as he landed.

Malcolm began laughing, quietly, deep down, causing a few stones of gravel to rattle against his hard hat and reopen the radio link.

“Looks like our first aider may need first aid”, I said as I made my way back down the slope to check the new patient .

Story 6: The Sheep Fuckers Union.

Unions,


Included as part of CSR's ownership of the mine was the a large workers union who also represented the Australian sheep shearers, they were also known by many as the Australian sheep fuckers union.

Unionism in the fifties grew in proportion to the arrival of the British workers who escaped the relative poverty of Brittan to settle in the expanding cities and industry of Australia, With them came the very thing that had a hand in helping cause the very problems they were escaping from, a restricted work practice and corrupt unions.

The workshop on the mine site was a closed union shop and a no union membership no work ideal of the unions.
Unions had for years attempted to break into the open cut mining industry and failed, mainly due to the short life of 5 or ten years of many open cut mines.

They were firmly entrenched in the Australian east coast underground coal mining industry, this was a progression easily achieved by the mentality of the British migrant worker who thought life simply couldn't function without a union to represent them in big business as it had done in England, where the English unions actions had not only made it uneconomical to mine coal but were challenging the English government to continually provide additional financial support to keep them open, the industry was already so uneconomic to mine coal in England at the time it was actually being subsidised by the people of England and cost far more to mine than the price received when selling it.

Maggy Thatcher when she became Prime Minister of Great Brittan simply looked at the economics of coal mining and closed the unprofitable coal mines in England, throwing hundreds of thousands of workers and their knuckle dragging unionists out of work while saving the country billions in no longer having to support a dead industry, causing the collapse of the militant coal mining unions.
Unfortunately many of these unemployable miners migrated to Australian where they attempted a similar action and failed when they realised the Australian coal industry was a stand alone private industry and would not be supported by the Australian Government or at the expense of the tax payers.

Unions were entrenched in CSR's sugar operation and naturally tagged along when the company took over the operation of Mt Gunson copper Mine.

The union attempted to spread their money grabbing web out from the fitters in an attempt to include every one who worked on site.

I had been exposed to the Sheep fuckers union some years before when I worked as a toolmaker with a components manufacturer and knew how they worked. I also knew the interest of the workers wasn't a high priority despite their verbal flatulence, their management focus was shifting from representing the workers to becoming more of a financing arm for the Labor political party, and looking after the senior union members who could suddenly afford multi million dollar houses and holiday homes in fashionable sea front locations while reportedly living on their meager union pay.

A common tactic employed was to invite one of the workers out for a private meeting, buy them a few beers pat their arse while boosting their ego, then discuss a planned workers strike for more pay regardless of the financial state of the company involved, company survival isn't an issue with a union.
Their stooge would be told the next union meeting they would state their case then ask for a volunteer from the shop floor to propose the union motion be put to the workers, a strike for better pay would be suggested or in one case more chocolate ice-cream (Pilbra Iron ore mining cica 1980's)

After putting up his hand as the proposer of the motion a group vote would be called by a simple show of hands after which the union would declare a majority show of hands without an actual head count, the entire site would suddenly find it's self not only out of work for a week or two but out of pocked as well as often than not any pay increase would often take a year or two to make up the loss.

Unions would then use this claimed success to promote the strength of their union power.

Often than not, these management issues only come to light when union fees were due, very similar to politicians in power suddenly finding additional funding for schools, hospitals and roads when election time is approaching.

Like all on site, the local union official was an employee and only visited those who resisted, he would keep returning until people joined as a means of stopping the ongoing harassment.

It was only in the 1990's when a non labor government brought fairness to the Australian work force from knuckle dragging union tactics by declaring it illegal to force people into financing something they didn't want and compulsory unionism became illegal.


Long before computers handled membership it was all manual handling and filing.

Having knowledge of the management and style of the Sheep Fuckers union I joined the first time I was visited by the "friendly" site representative, then within hours posted off my resignation and union number knowing my letter would no doubt arrive at their head office weeks or months before the initial joining paperwork arrived.

The office being unable to find a yet to be issued membership number would place my resignation on the pile pending or unknown where it would stay for months or possibly years.

By the time it was eventually processed months later it would be assumed I had left the company and moved on.

I could fob off the local rep one year later with the story I had posted off my membership renewal knowing he would receive nothing of my expired membership as the head office had assumed I had left the company months previously having my payment matched the date my union fees were paid indicated and I had been financially paid up member as per their exit rules.

Though this didn't stop the union from sending several final notice letters over the following years threatening serious legal action as they claim the termination was not fully paid up when I submitted my resignation and now owed the additional year(s) membership. Eventually I began to file their unopened correspondence in the bin.

The unions could use a local minor dispute in a small insignificant far away mine site to their advantage by threatening to expand any dispute into a rolling sympathetic company wide job walk off at other important CSR sites.
It was this unethical ability of the union along with a low copper price and far too many managers that eventually convinced CSR to sell off and close the mine site.

At Mt Gunson the job of the site union official was "streamlined" when responsibility was handed over to a higher ranking representative from the industrial town of Whyalla some 200km to the south.

He made a personal yearly visit, collecting union fees while writing down the details in a large book, with the promise of sending by post the receipt and paperwork once his office had entered the details into the official system. Six months after his visit not one member had received any paperwork or had been contacted.

Twelve months later the "dedicated" union official showed up once again to collect the union fees, I asked if he had the receipts to hand out from the previous year.
He went silent, I informed him no-one on site had received confirmation they were members of the union or even financial.

He was never seen nor were we bothered with the bull shit of a union again.

Story 5: The Single Mens Quarters.

Accommodation.

During the first five years on site, life for eleven days or nights consisted of three 8 1/2hr shifts. Night shift started at 11pm and ended at 7am, and I think was the most dangerous shift possible.

Just trying to sleep while on night-shift was always a problem.

During the day the cleaners made no concessions as they talked and cleaned, heavy footsteps and chatter of anyone walking along the narrow wooden corridor between the fifteen or so 6 x 8 ft rooms that lined either side could be heard easily through the thin cheap plywood  walls.
During the evening the noise levels were worst for anyone trying to sleep, it was impossible to sleep as the day shift crew upon arriving back after work would play loud music, shout stomp up and down the corridor while enjoying a beer or two with little regard to the plight of the night shift crew trying to sleep before rising at 10pm to head off to work at 11.
I often found it difficult to sleep during the day or evenings as the work hours and odd meal times pushed my circadian rhythms completely out of whack, often I survived on just two or three hours sleep a day for the entire eleven days.

The camp was made up of four sections, each named appropriately,

Millionaires Row: contained many of the long term male and female employees.
Pussies Passage: The female section.
Tin Pan Alley: Contained most of the miners.
Skid Row: Seem to consist of the noisy drinkers and smokers.

All areas of-course had their exceptions.

I spent my first two and a half years on site living in Tin Pan Alley.
I had thick carpet on the floor, bookshelves full of books on Aviation, engineering, computer books and general Novels. Outside the small window I encouraged a native tree to grow which eventually managed to supply some shade to my outside wall protecting it from the hot afternoon sun.

One occupant rebuilt a Harley Davidson Motor cycle, complete with chrome accessories, then announced his final departure by revving it up and riding it down the entire length of the Tin Pan Alley corridor and out the door. Leaving behind a permanent deep and smelly oil stain on the rooms floor and a long black tire mark down the passage lino.

My next door neighbor was a fitter on permanent day shift and a staunch union man. His alarm clock would go off at five am every morning and buzz loudly for an entire hour, before he rose from bed and turned it off. Often his girlfriend would stay over night and I would be entertained for two or so hours most nights while the two fuck, moaned and thumped against the walls to the sound of protesting bed springs while they enjoying the advantages of cohabitation.

Further along a KIWI did shift work in the mill, his goal was to earn enough money so he and a small group could buy a large yacht and spend a few years sailing it around the world. After four years he returned to New Zealand the group bought the yacht and set off on their adventure of a life time, only to run into a rock two days after leaving port, where it sank out of sight.

The cleaners were all young females, someones girlfriend, on their days off they often climbed on the roof of the single men's quarters where there was a shallow depression and sun baked topless.

To say alcohol was a problem on site was a bit of an understatement, one worker would buy a half a carton of beer every night after work and only go to bed when it was finished.
Another gentleman got so pissed one night wandered down to Tin Pan Alley's toilet block and instead of turning right into the ablution block turned left instead, waking the startled occupant of the room as he opened his cupboard door and proceeded to piss over his clothes, ruining a very expensive camera.

In Skid Row, one occupant, a budding herpetologist was rumored to be keeping two very deadly full grown western brown snakes in his room and allowed them to wander freely about, this unsubstantiated story he said allowed him the option of never having to lock his door. When he moved out some years later I assisted him in emptying his room and took part in the search for the missing two deadly pets he reported as not having seen for a few months. One was located keeping its self warm wrapped about the coils of his small bar fridge. The second we eventually located inside an unused work boot under his bed.   

Night shift,  never a popular shift, in the late 1970's am/fm radios weren't a standard item in Cat machines neither were two way radios, the management feared we would spend time playing with the radios when we should be paying attention to operating, the thought of providing something to fight off fatigue or improve safety while locked away for 8+ hours in a dark box was still foreign to OH&S, despite managements uncaring attitude we each had a car radio we could fit along with an antenna with some sort of a clamp we could set up in a few minutes after taking off a 12v tap from one of the large batteries on the 24v machines, some operators had radios that could also play cassette tapes, that was considered the ultimate must have among operators.
Wayne, was a master of the loader despite having restricted movement in one arm, could load a 50 ton dump truck in well under a minute, in the space of a year Wayne wore out three cassette tapes of, Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and could read an entire book during the night between loading trucks.
 
As a shift boss I quickly learned to pick up of subtle changes in people's attitude, it might be a change from their usual seating location in the crib-room at the start of shift, being talkative when they are usually quiet, or appearing to shy away from making direct eye contact when I  handed out the tasks at the beginning of the shift.
Having someone working night shift while being intoxicated was always a risk,
Not being a fully qualified medical practitioner I was deemed unqualified to pass judgement on a persons sobriety, understand the 1970/80's were twenty years before breath and drug testing in mining prior to commencing each shift became the norm.

In the 1980's It was up to the shift boss to make the call on how to handle the problem.

(1) we couldn't send them back to camp on suspicion of being unfit for work without proof, to obtain proof required sending the operator into Woomera 30km away at night for a blood test with a high possibility of having a collision with a Kangaroo along the way.
(2) we couldn't let them sit in the crib-room until such time they were deemed fit for work, shift bosses couldn't make the fit for work call.
(3) we couldn't let them go to work in fear of being a danger not only to themselves but to their fellow workers.
(4) we couldn't send them home with pay.     

My solution was to put them on the front end loader, here they had to pay attention, the job required them to remain alert all night as empty trucks arrived at minute intervals.
Usually after twenty minutes or so the problem child would call me up claiming to be too sick to work and suggest he may be better off having the night off, PROBLEM SOLVED.

Operators knowing I took no prisoners quickly learned to show up for shift claim they were feeling too sick to start work and would go back to camp.
This system worked, so long as they didn't attempt to push the friendship

Story 4: A Change of Job.

A CHANGE.

Mr Warren Brown was the mine manager, I had never met him, he was just another name I had heard on site.
After work one day I was picked up by one of the mines shift bosses Damien O'Reilly and taken to the pit where I met Warren Brown who was standing on the side of the pit waiting for a blast to go off.
I hear you have a truck license and have driven trucks, he began.
My father owned trucks all his life I began wondering how he knew.
I'm looking for a truck driver in the pit, would you like to be considered for the job, it pays better than working in the mill, he informed me.
Not sure just how the employment system on site worked I hesitated.
I'll talk to Butch Harding in the morning and sort it out, Warren said, not waiting for my answer.

Two days later I found myself in a Caterpillar 769 dump truck with Mike Goodall ex British SAS who spent much of his service time in Norway playing about in snow, I began learning everything there is to know about 769 dump trucks, ore head grades and the really odd names used to designate areas in the pit like west 73 or east 40 as well as how to conduct war in 40deg below zero.

The mine crew seemed to be much friendlier than the mill and being the newbie on site I didn't seem to stand out all that much.

In the 70's the mine owner, CSR (Colonial Sugar Refinery) as part of a world wide oversupply of sugar, the company began a diversification program, they bought two or three mines in Australia as part of this expansion.

Unfortunately the CSR management system was still firmly entrenched in the 1920's. People on site were either employed directly by CSR and therefore considered to have a job for life and those who weren't employed by CSR directly and were never considered to be part of the real company.
Long term employees whose expertise on the job and should have easily qualified for a position through a progressive management system were never considered as all management positions could only be appointed to official CSR employees or appointed directly by CSR's head office 3000km away in Brisbane.

Site management suffered as a result as appointees often arrived with 20 or 30 years experience in CSR management in the sugar industry but had absolutely no experience in a mining environment not helped by the fact we worked an eleven day week, odd work hours and in an isolated location well away from the normal 8 hr five day week comforts of a large town or city.

Many of these appointees never last long, giving us the feeling CSR transfers were simply CSR's way of thinning out the dead wood in the system by giving them first a promotion in management then a transfer to a job they knew they couldn't handle knowing they would eventually find themselves out of their depth and comfort zone and simply quit.

Not every one is suited for a mining environment.
One CSR management appointee had spent some time on site with his wife and two very young children. As a privileged CSR employee they were very well paid, supplied a house and given other perks of the job. Unable to accept living in a remote environment even though Woomera was just 30km up the road and Port Augusta an hour and a half south his wife simply refused to live on site and was making life very difficult for all.
Packing the car one morning after an argument she and the kids drove off with the intention of returning to her east cost comfort zone.
Before she had driven far her husband poked the barrel of a 303 into his mouth and removed a good part of the back of his head.

Separation strain on marriage, drinking and marijuana were the main problems people faced on site.

A 50 site caravan park allowed a few couples to live together, the company also supplied a 20ft transportable room for extra space with each van

16mm current movies were shown twice a week.

The wife of one enterprising couple performed live strip shows.

Story 3: First Week on the job.

THE FIRST WEEK.


Butch Harding, a name known by every person who ever worked at Mt Gunson in the 70's & 80's.
Foreman of the Mill, Butch also organised the mines football team, and kept most of the mill employees on the straight and narrow, although it was a good thing that sometimes the straight and narrow had a few bends.
Butch was head of the dedicated team who kept the mill running.

I showed up for work, my first day, new hard hat, fresh face and clean clothes.

Wearing clothes that had yet to experienced the black rain that persisted under the mill, or the thick black grease from a crusher change, or the accumulation of dirt, that, after a day or two simply cant be washed out. Yup! all the signs of being a new boy on the block. "Shit he even combed his hair" someone murmured.

I was introduced to the team one at a time then instantly forgot every name as I became overloaded by sounds, sights, people and everything else in the new surroundings.

This is Acky he will be looking after you. Butch said as a tall blonde chap stepped out to shake my hand, from the accent it was obvious he was Scandinavian.

We did a tour of the Mill, the floats and conveyors, finally ending up at the bottom of the primary crusher. Maybe every one starts here and works their way into the Mill building I thought, as we stopped alongside the wide conveyor taking the crushed rock up to another smaller crusher.
Acky pointed out an orange painted square on the ground a little off to one side, of the primary crusher, then three more forming a larger square.

"We", Acky went on want to shift the primary crusher control room from the back of the crusher and put it on a stand off to one side to stop it being constantly shaken apart and to make it a lot quieter for the crusher operator.
Your job is to dig four holes for the new foundations they measure 2ft 6" by 2ft 6" by 2ft 6" deep he explained. Also the ground here is mostly hard rock. We went off and found a pick and shovel and I set off chipping into the rock hard ground.

For two days I chipped my way down shoveling the broken rock onto a nearby heap, the going was painfully slow, but by the end of the second day with the four holes measuring exactly as instructed I stepped out.

Acky dropped by as I was packing up, he walked to each hole and appeared pleased with my effort, then informed me they had a jack hammer I could have used.

The next day I was quickly promoted to holding a hose and washing all the fines into a scavenger pump from a black rain that constantly fell from the overhead ball mill, for the next three days I was constantly wet and covered with black sand.

Story 2: A Job Offer...I think?

The Job Offer.

Having applied for "a" job at Mt Gunson in 1977, I was eventually sent a telegram asking me to visit the mine site for an actual job interview.

Living at Waikerie in South Australia at the time, it was a five and a half hour drive.

With very few details on hand I left home at 5am and by 8:30am was heading north from Pt Augusta along the rough track called the Stuart Highway, driving slow to avoid the rocks and deep pot holes that littered the unsealed North / South, joke of a National Highway.
I drove slowly to conserve fuel, after about an hour I came across a complete 12 wheel bogie wheel assembly, obviously it had fallen from the back of a truck and now lay apparently forgotten or abandoned in the middle of the National Highway. My concerns raised after seeing the large wheels in the road as to what the conditions must be like further ahead.

A little after 10am I arrived at the mine site, feeling a little relieved after having successfully made the journey without damaging the car although feeling very much out of place.
Following the instructions, I parked near the main office, a large building surrounded by crushers, conveyors and all sort of bins towers and things I had no idea of their purpose but could only assume needed for the extraction of copper.

Feeling nervous I made my way to the office building and entered a long narrow corridor. Signs over each door informed the unwashed the task was being performed within. A small square window a little way inside had a sign, "Pay office", I looked in to discover it contained two women busy with paperwork, as I peeked in they looked up. "Can I help you"? one said, rising and approaching the window. I handed her the telegram and said I had been asked to meet with the employment officer.

She read the telegram carefully then went silent for a time before informing me the employment officer had left site for a two week break and was at a loss as to why he had sent it knowing he would be on holidays on the day indicated adding I may have to return for the job interview later. After a long pause she asked how far had I come?

Feeling a little disappointed and certainly not looking forward to having to perform the journey a second time just for an interview, I informed her I had left Waikerie at 5am and had only just arrived.

She cast an eye at the large clock on one wall and after a pause told me to wait a moment, turned and approached the second women, the two re-read the telegram then cast an eye in my direction before chatting among themselves for a moment, the second woman frowned as she picked up the phone.

After a minute or two both women approached the window, informing me the employment officer was out of break and wouldn't be returning for two weeks, then handing me the telegram went on to express their confusion as to why he would have sent me the message knowing he would not be on site.

The phone rang, one of the ladies returned to the desk to pick it up, then after a short conversation returned to inform me his assistant had been located and would be available to have a talk with me.

After given instructions as to her location, I left the building, walked to the opposite end to climb a very long steel set of stairs that rang loudly with each step. Halfway up, a door at the top opened and a women in her thirties appeared, she stopped as though undecided to continue on or stop, after showing initial surprise, she began down the stairs toward me, the two of us greeted each other as she passed with out slowing appearing to be a little occupied as she continued on her way down, I continued on and up.
At the top of the stairs I opened a door onto a rather large cavernous open room, gathering courage I entered.

A woman in her mid thirties was standing opposite a large trestle table, she raised her head and began adjusting her top as she walked around the table to greet me. Then explained the employment officer was out on break and she had no idea how or why he had sent me a telegram to meet him today.
I handed her the telegram and for a few moments she simply stood and read the message before finally handing it back without further comment.
So the trip wont be a waste of time I'll get you to fill in the employment forms she said gesturing to a small pile of paperwork laying on the trestle.
I looked the pages over then handed her an envelope containing the same paperwork I had been sent and completed days earlier.
She removed my forms and read then then seemed at a loss as to what to do next.
She asked me what condition the road was in, and after my reply informed me she had nothing else for me and the company would be in touch.

I returned to my car thinking the entire trip had been a total waste of time and began the long drive back home, arriving late in the afternoon after having completed a round trip of 1,100 kilometers.

It was another six months before I was finally offered employment as a laborer along with  the news the mine would be closing in a year and a half.

Story 1: The National Highway.

Highway North.

Those who remember the joke that was the National Highway that lead from Pt Augusta in South Australia to Alice Springs in the Northern Territory in the 70s will have memories of a track, that certainly didn't deserve the title of road, let alone Highway or as it was labeled on the official maps at the time, "The Stuart National Highway".

Leaving Pt Augusta and heading north, the bitumen of the The National Highway quickly ended a few kilometers north of town to become an unpaved rough track, in summer the highway produced a fine choking white powder dust that easily hung in the air, further along the track turned into a fine red dust. No matter what the color it was so fine it easily found its way inside every vehicle using this road. Not only was the dust a problem it exposed huge sharp rocks that formed the base of the joke of a National Highway.

Australia's elected leaders even to this day are mostly focused on developing the country to the east of the well named The Great Australian Dividing Range, a line of hills and ranges run north and south along the eastern side of the continent of Australia, the same range is also responsible for jamming most of the Australian population into a narrow strip of land along the east coast, the Great  Dividing Ranges also blocks great quantities of rain drifting in from the Pacific from penetrating further into Australia's parched interior,
East coast Australians know or care bugger all about the true Australia west of the Great Dividing Range.

I began using the lower part of the Stuart Highway in the mid 1970's after obtaining a short term temporary job 150km north of Port Augusta at a Copper Mine called Mt Gunston, so named because of its proximity to the near by prominence left behind after the prehistoric seas retreated from central Australia, Mt Gunson soared to a height of around 200feet above the local countryside.

Traveling north in the mid 70's the road quickly became a challenge, as drivers were forced to use both sides of the road in their quest to avoid the largest or sharpest of the protruding rocks all the while keeping an eye out for rocks flung up by the sparse traffic going in the opposite direction or the occasional wandering Kangaroo, Emu's, sheep or tourists who having been blinded by the chocking raised dust of the passing traffic often simply stopped in the middle of the road while they waited for the dust to clear and surprising any following vehicle .
Speeds on this National Highway were usually somewhere around 80 km/hr although there were some sections where the road went through red clay which allowed much higher speeds, this clay became another special problem in the wet.

A journey of 150km would usually take an hour and a half in good conditions, some employees of the mine would boast of their ability to comple the journey in just one hour, it was certainly possible if you were prepared to put up with the violent shake rattle and roll, their vehicles, suspension and tires seldom lasted long.

After a good rain, the road having been graded, often with very little additional maintenance was in many places a good half to one and a half meters below the level of the surrounding countryside, these sections became completely submersed in rain and formed rivers as the deep muddy water sought lower areas to run off while hiding the waiting sharp rocks and deep pot holes.
Speeds during the wet were often reduced to around 20km/hr while vehicles were forced to use very low gears as they pushed red mud bow waves along while trying to avoid the red mud splattering and completely covering their windscreens while being forced into using up the precious limited clean windscreen washing water. My slowest trip along the National Highway was four and a half hours performed mostly in 2nd gear.

It wasn't unusual to come across tourist buses parked in the middle of the road unable to move back or forward along the wet clay sections, the passengers usually standing or seated about on chairs or large rocks on one side of the road with a make shift BBQ going, while they waited for the road conditions to improve.
The first question usually asked when meeting a bogged bus on the road was, "Is the road open"? Provided they could make it past the 10 or 15km of the clay section, the rocky sections of the Stuart River could with care support slow moving traffic in most conditions.

In the early part of the 1980's just one hundred and seventy nine years after federation the Australian Government decide to complete the sealing of the road north to Darwin, and west to Perth in Western Australia, the journey from Pt Augusta to Mt Gunson Mine was eventually reduced to one hour.