21.3.11 – Furnaces and geese (Whyalla, South Australia)

Pouring red hot slag

21.3.11 – Furnaces and geese (Whyalla, South Australia)

A maze of muddy brown roadways, winding between immense black structures.  Pipes and gantrys, chimneys and enormous buildings into which several jumbo jets would comfortably fit.  Men in high-viz jackets and white hard hats.  Steeply sloping mountains of black coal, brown iron ore, grey dolomite.  Huge wheeled vehicles of unimaginable shapes or purposes.  Long lines of coke furnaces, high as a ten storey block of flats, one vomiting red hot oozing matter into an oversized railway truck.  Mountainous clouds of steam, piles of black and brown twisted metal, glimpses of sinister orange glows within the interior of dark cavernous sheds.  A concrete wrecking ball the size of a house, dropping from a crane’s swinging neck.  A vast bowl, full of white hot slag, pouring in an orange waterfall onto the ground.  Stack upon stack of blue-grey rectangular blocks, still shimmering with heat.  Like a set for Mordor, this is what Whyalla’s economy is based on – steel and iron ore.  Seeing it close to was breathtaking, and somewhat scary, even from the interior of a mini-bus. 

HMAS Whyalla on the land

Meg and Bill under HMAS Whyalla

Thereafter, we again encountered Australia’s apparent love for putting huge things where you would least expect to find them.  In this case, it was a battleship (corvette), a mile from the sea and six feet off the ground.  The HMAS Whyalla was the first ship built in the yards where Bill’s father later worked.  It was brought back over 40 years later, and hauled up the same ramp down which it was launched.  Well, why not. 

Wet Meg in the Wetlands

Clearly, Whyalla took my remarks literally about it being home just like Glasgow, as it maintained a steady, dreich drizzle all day.  It seems that yesterday accounted for about one tenth of the normal annual rainfall for this area, and it has plainly made up its mind to produce the other nine tenths this week.  We decided not to be put off, and kitted up to walk in the wetlands conservation area.  A soft rain whispered down onto silver ponds, set amongst bright red soil, low blue/green bushes covering gentle mounds.  Birds aplenty.  In the distance, Whyalla was largely lost in the mist.  Two ladies feeding the ducks and geese called to us, in the friendly, open way Australians do.  ‘What a lovely day!’ and there was no hint of irony.  They explained with delight about the birds they feed twice a day.  They pointed out two plump geese they’d recently rescued from acute neglect - no access to water for three long years - now happily paddling the quiet pools with their large webbed feet.  A handsome white gander, hand-raised since he was a fluffy yellow chick, consented to allow one of the ladies to cuddle him and to fondly kiss his bright red head. 



From blast furnace to fluffy chick.  Who cares if it’s raining?