Rainbow Back.

Money is the name of the game. Its why everyone is here. Its not the red dirt, no, or the road trains, no, or the salt mountains. Port Hedland was borne out of the love of money (some may say iron), and people flock here for the hope to reap the benefits. Western Australia, the state where Port Heddy resides, is home to 75% of Australia's profitable land- the stuff where gold and pearls and iron and those money making materials come from. About once every four hours trains kilometers long enter and leave this town, with carriage after carriage transporting iron away and to the rest of the world, and each carriage costs one million dollars. The overseer of this project, BHP Billiton, is the reason why people leave in this inhabitable area. Everyone is somehow linked to BHP, like it or not.

The town is 85% men, who all wear orange or yellow long sleeved shirts with reflective strips on them. All of them. They are all miners, iron miners to be exact, and all have a reason to be here, usually heartwrenching. Left wives at home to save money to pay the mortgage, dont have a family so decided to move to Port Heddy and get filthy rich for no real reason, the like. I am working as a housekeeper/bartender at the Walkabout Hotel. Most employees are flown up from cities like Perth or Adelaide, housed and fed on site, and leave in a month or two to travel north to Bali.

Sea life

We pulled over to camp outside of Cassock, despite multiple signs stating the contrary. Lloyd put teh bait trap out just past the rocks covered with oysters in the shallow sea and brought me back a small hermit crab. He told me that the aboriginals eat them, so as the sun set and the fire reduced to cooking-perfect coals, I collected hermit crabs. As I write, the pot next to me is tinkling with them, scrambling over one another to get out.

I stand knee deep in the bath water Indian Ocean, wearing nothing but my welcome to Australia present from Lloyd, a great big outback hat with an eagle feather I found stuck in at a jaunty angle. I toss the line out, a guppy on my hook, and focus on the reel, ignoring the urge to yank each time the ocean swells tug gently at the line. Within seconds, the age old nbattle of man vs wild or, in this case, woman vs Australia commences. After a violent pull, instinct kicks in, detailed instuctions fly out the windon, and I'm pulling the catch in hand over hand, completely wrong like an overexcited child, whooping and hollering. No, its not an old old boot or a rusty tin can, but a symbol of iconic Australia, a reef shark, with my hook-mine!- plunged through its lip. Back at camp, after the mandatory photo shoot with my treasure, we inspect. Rough skin, sharp teeth, slitty yellow eyes and smooth feathery gills. I gut it, clean it, saute it in garlic and butter over our camp fire and we eat it with out fingers. One of my life goals, to catch, gut and cook a fish, with bonus points for it being executed in Australia, with a reef shark, and completely naked. Check.

Roo Head

My Uncle Doug told me about when he drove around Australia and he came home with a kangaroo skull. Although I never received the logistics behind the operation, I spent most of the flight speculating how one would acquire such a macabre souvenir. I told Lloyd that I wanted to leave Australia with a kangaroo skull, he retorted in standard aussie fashion: "Yeh, alright." On day three, we came across one. Unfortunatly for us, it hadn't been completely picked clean, nor had it been separated from what remained of its body. At first, Lloyd indicated half-heartedly that it was my duty to pull the skull off, but caved quickly and began chipping away delicately at it so as to maintain its integrity. We wrapped the 1/2 sun-bleached head into a bag, and it now resides strapped to the bumper, since Lloyd refuses to have it in the car with us until I get it properly cleaned and lacquered. Strange.

Long time coming.

After an uneventful yet blurry day of flights (20 hours in all) and not quite enough sleep, I caught the 7 am greyhound from Broome to Karratha in Western Australia, the least populated, least visited and largest state in Australia. The backpack feels heavy and comforting and I seem to have lost my knack for living out of the thing. Nine points for enthusiasm, four for organization and a meager two for efficiancy in packing the damn thing. I forgot my universal gaucho pants (teasr) and broke my thailand anklet that has been waking up and falling asleep with me for 14 months. Not a good sign. Or, depending on your outlook, a fresh rejuvenated ankle justing waiting to be adorned by symbols of new adventures. Fascination of the day are the bugs, soon, I fear to turn into warranted hatred in the weeks to come. Aussie bugs are bugs that have grown up heeding their insect-mothers advice and have eaten their veggies, or more specificaly, popeyes spinach. Broome is on the ocean so the breeze eliminates most human-bug contact, but inland on endless stretches of straight flatempty roads, they cross the street in packs of 100s, and when they hit the front of the bus, you risk being awoken from a doze believing its hailing golfballs in 100 degree heat. You'd be hard pressed to cover key lime colored splashes with a cereal bowl. Upon closer inspection, (yes, I peered at the grill), they are 3 to 4 inches, which makes them big enough to scare the shit out of my cat. If they were alive (God forbid), I would have been able to discern facial expressions. After almost an hour of executing a convincing impression of a pulverized bug, one of them unwrapped their mangled limbs and wings from around teh grate, cracked his neck loudly, gave the driver the finger and flew away. It was a terminator moment. Its difficult not to speculate on the number of bodies being buried in the outback. Its a perfect place to do so, if youre so inclined. My drver is a character straight out of a Coen Brothers movie. I bet he picks his teeth with a bowie knife. He stopped and stared a dead cow for three minutes before he took a picture with his phone, and slowly, thoughtfully, drove away. You know, so he could look at it again later. I was afraid to cough in his presence. "'I left behind two people, so let that be a lesson to those of you that remain. I won't wait for any of you. You guys have all day, but theres some shit I want to get done at home later." I made the mistake of laughing. It wasn't a joke. Luckily I wont bonus point by asking for permission to come aboard. I was granted permission, thank God. I almost saluted him. I think he might have really liked that.