Open Pit Mining

A lot of people are opposed to open pit mining, tearing up huge chunks of the earth, so people can have more cars, more gadgets, more of everything, but trust me, when you've just lost your job, your girlfriend, and are receiving student debt bills, concerns about the world in 2200 are not the highest priority. Which is how I found myself a week ago travelling across the world, and starting work last week at Fimiston in WA.

Seconds before I’m about to get my truck into gear, Robb jumps in. He's invited himself. Having a companion for the tenth drive of the day up from the pit could make the trip go by faster. But with Robb, a man who envisions himself as raconteur and tour guide for the Australian outback, sometimes it can feel like an eternity.

It's a steep, treacherous drive up. I've only been here a week, and I'm still trying not to think about the wall collapses in 2017 and 2018. As I take the 160-ton haul truck around a hairpin turn with a hair-raising drop-off on the left side, Robb chimes in.

“Mate. There's a rumor you have narcolepsy,” he says. “Am I ok riding along with you?” 

“Narcolepsy? Where did you hear that?” A shudder shakes the truck as we scrape the far side. Having a medical condition could cause me to lose my license.

“I’m just telling you what I heard from the boys. You yanks need to pop pills to stay awake all day?”

“Coffee, I drink coffee.”

“We bogans. We mostly drink lager.” Bogan is a word I learned the first day here, that's a term of endearment for an Australian redneck.

“And beer here is limited to four bottles a day at the pub. What bullshit!” 

“Mate. You’re not allowed to swear onsite.”

We're not allowed to swear in a town full of miners in the Australian outback? I'm still getting used to all the rules of working here. But the pay is double of back home. The downturn in the mining in Utah pretty much ruined my life back there.

Later, after my shift is done, I go to what they call, “The Restaurant”, order a meat pie, and sit down by myself. I scan the faces of the other miners. Most of them simply look bored or tired. The company cafeteria is the only place to eat as we live onsite for two weeks, thousands of miles from anywhere.

The next morning I’m on shift at 6am after waking up at 4:45am. The sun is just coming up over the horizon as I climb up to the haul truck cabin. I hear someone behind me, and then Robb jumps in and slumps into the chair next to me.

We ride in silence for a while.

“Week 2. You’re still here. Looks like they haven’t given you the window seat yet,” Robb says (the window seat is the airplane ride out for people who’ve been terminated).

“I drive a haul truck as good as anyone.”

“A driver, and a surfer I was told. You look like a surfer.” 

“Where did you hear that?”

“From the boys. Sorry, there’s not a lot of waves around here.”

“Indeed.” Arid bushland spreads out to the horizon in every direction. 

“On the coast, there’s a few good breaks. On your week off, I’ll have some of the boys take you out to Cowie Bombie. 30 foot waves. A real crusher.”

Robb is going to get me killed. I’ve never surfed. But If I tell him, he will have ammo for teasing me in front of everyone else, so I just listen to him explain about surfing breaks until he stops talking.

With our schedule of two weeks of work, and one full week off in Perth, I wish I could surf. A week isn’t enough to fly back to Utah, but it's too much time to keep myself occupied in a foreign country.

“Someone also said you’re a good player in–what do you yanks call football? Soccer.”

“Bro, where are you hearing these things from?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Wrong sport. Basketball, I played for Utah state.”

“What position?”

“Point guard. Started as center, but my height made me natural as point guard.”

“Good on you. How did you get started with that?” He’s going to force me to tell him. 

“My dad taught me to shoot hoops behind the garage all summer, beginning from the first grade.” I tell him the whole story of how I went from practicing in middle school gym class to playing for Utah state.

I’m almost at the end of the story when we arrive at the processing plant. Robb jumps out. It’s another day of the grind for me–hauling rock up to the processing plant to be crushed into powder and have its copper and gold extracted.

At the end of the shift, everyone wants a lift, but shift boss Robb pulls rank and jumps into my cab again.

“Mate. There's a rumor you’ve got girlfriend trouble.”

“Dude. Where the fuck are you hearing these things?”

“From the boys.” He didn't mention the swearing this time.

“The right word is had.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” he says, “wife left me after my fifth tour in paradise here.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“No worries, ancient history.” He stares into the distance for a second. “The good news is there’s not a lot of women on a mine site to get tangled up with again.”

“There are a few.”

“The sheilas in the office are too jumped up for a bogan like me, but rumor has it Beth is into you. She’s a stunner, ain’t she?”

“She’s hot.” I’m certain I’m being setup for embarrassment and humiliation, but I file the info away, just in case.

“We’re coming up to the top now. Watch out for ‘roos. If you run over a ‘roo, they’ll send you back home. Animal rights these days.” Soon we are back at the plant. “Catch you later,” he says, and jumps out. 

As the weeks go past, I learn to not take Robb’s jabs personally. And as he gets to know me better, his greetings oddly become harsher.

“Morning, you look rough, roll in dingo poop before you came to the office today?” Robb says and looks me up and down waiting for a reaction. When there is none, he continues, “Today is a good day for you.”

“I get to drive your lazy ass down to the pit again?”

“No, because we have another Yank joining. A new starter. So you’ll get half the razzing. Or, maybe you’ll get more now we have two Yanks to make fun of.”

I see the new guy tagging along behind him. A squinty eyed blond kid, who’s acting as if he’s in the wrong place and not supposed to be here.

Robb pushes him in front of me. “Brad, meet Seth. He’s going to teach you how to drive a CAT 793 down the slalom course.” Then he winks at me, “Have a good one,” he says and walks off.

I look at the kid staring at the ground in front of me. “So, Brad. Where are you from?”

“Texas.”

“What part of Texas?”

“Dallas.”

“Driven a haul truck before?”

“Only a Komatsu 930.” He's definitely not giving away any extra information.

“You’ll be fine. Jump in, and I’ll show you how to operate a CAT 793,” I tell him.

I teach him the controls. Guide him on the drive up and down from the pit. Brad doesn’t have much to say, or doesn’t like conversation, I’m not sure which. If he’s all the way out here in the Australian outback driving a haul truck up and down all day, he probably wants to get away from something back home in Texas.

Hours fly past as I teach him the countless rules and protocol of the mine site. We’re soon on his tenth drive of the day up. 

“Hairpin turn coming up,” I say.

Seth's eyes focus tightly on the road ahead.

“There’s a rumor you have narcolepsy,” I say, pointing over the cliff. “Am I ok here?”

“Where did you hear that?” Brad says, looking over at me with sudden interest. The truck shudders. He’s scraped the uphill side.

“From the boys. Just one of the things I heard.”

“I’ve never had ‘narcolepsy’. I sleep like a log.”

“Good to hear.” I let him concentrate on the driving for a while until he calms down. “I also heard you played sports back home.”

“I did until I got injured. ACL injury,” he says. “Bro. Where did you hear all these things about me from?”

“My lips are sealed.”

After another week of telling him rumors I didn’t hear, I learn everything about him, and maybe he's learned something about me too.