Copper Mine Train Ride

The pathways around Moonta just asked to be explored by bicycle rather than by car. The first stop of the morning was the brand new bicycle repair station at the Moonta Tourist Information  centre where I pumped my tyres up fully for the first time and also taught Roger how to use a Presta valve which, as you cyclists out there will know, is a fragile, fiddly thing.

All pumped up, we initially followed the rail trail which took us through some of the old mine precinct.

The railway line is for the little tourist train.  In the distance you can see a slag heap, of which there are at least four.  The heritage-listed site covers some 320 hectares, not all of it accessible to the public due to an unacceptable risk of falling down large holes.

  Old cottage, history unknown (to me, anyway). Drifts of wildflowers to herald the coming Spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At some point I realised that if I read every information board I would not make the train's departure at 1130.  I ceased reading information boards and relied on the on-train narration to fill in the gaps.

We had a tourist train to catch, so left the rail trail and pedaled smartly back to the Moonta Mine Museum, in front of which all the train tourists gathered as they waited for the train.  Wouldn't you know it, there were Devonshire Teas available and the time until the train came was just right for the consumption of scones and tea so we bowed to the inevitable and sat in the fickle sunshine to enjoy Morning Devonshire Tea as a break from the Morning Coffee ritual.

The old school was undergoing a facelift to ensure that bits of stone did not drop on the unwary tourist as they entered or exited the Museum.

 

 

Why Ryan's Express?  Well, it is to remember Ryan the shepherd, who found the copper stones in a wombat hole but who, through a course of gossip, intrigue, and general cheatery did not benefit from the discovery and died young(ish) and destitute.  His sad demise could be attributed to his lack of recognition and recompense, but alas his long and close relationship with the bottle was a more likely culprit.

Train driver reading the riot act about train etiquette, like keeping arms and legs inside the carriage when going past stone walls (or at any time really), and if you drop your camera or baby overboard for goodness sake pull the emergency stop button don't just leap off into the abyss, or the claypan, or whatever.

Off we went.

The train clattered happily around the mine site, giving us the opportunity to hop out and have a look-see at the interesting bits, and deposited us back at the station an hour later. Mind you this was just the new (post 1900) site: the old (pre 1900) site was too full of things like unidentified mine shafts and had yet to be tourist-proofed.  Back on the bikes, we went looking for the interesting bits that the train didn't go to.

We found the Moonta Uniting Church which, if you use the metric of  >1000 people being a mega-church, was Australia's first mega-church. It was all closed, so we didn't get a chance to see the beautiful old pipe organ which lived inside.

Of course the exemplary attendance may have had something to do with the fact that the zealous mine manager decreed compulsory attendance on pain of being at worst fired and at best having your pay docked.

 

All closed up, keeping the organ safe.

Scattered throughout the mine site were slag heaps and clay pans where, even after 100 years, nothing grew. Back in the operating days of the Moonta Mines no-one saw anything wrong with building shallow pools on top of slag heaps, filling them with sulphuric acid, and letting it percolate down through the whole heap before mixing the resulting licquor with sea water, sloshing it around with scrap iron, and pouring the unwanted residue out onto a slime pit which would 100 years later be a clay pan devoid of vegetation. 

Environment? What environment?

T'was possible to climb to the top and look out over the rolling wheatfields to the East, and the Spencer Gulf to the west.  T'was also possible to gambol about in the sulphuric-acid-infused expanses of bright red soil, should one desire to do so.

Ruins of a pump station, slag heap behind and wildflowers to soften the view.

Top of the heap.  Walkways of old railway sleepers for those who wished to keep to the straight and narrow.

From the top.

 

We found Hughes Tower, where steam engines pumped for over 50 years to keep the mines free of water. Between the demand for timber to feed the steam engines and the demand for scrap iron to help precipitate copper, the local farmers had a revenue stream that lasted as long as it took them to chop down every inch of the 'impenetrable scrub' which was what 'moonta' meant in the local indigenous language.

The pump tower. 

Wattle as well as wildflowers.  There was more vegetation around the pump tower, steam engines being less deleterious to the environment than sulphuric acid.

 

Saturated with mining history, and with the sharp odour of copper bringing back Mt Isa memories, we went home via the most direct route where I, being now sanctimonious about bicycle visibility seeing I had a fancy dyno hub and consistent red tail light, lectured Roger on his invisibility in the failing light. 

"You are almost invisible and no-one will see you.  You will get squashed!"

 

"I'll go down to see the sunset tonight," said I, "To get some nice photos." Which was problematic because the sun had used up all of its flim-flam yesterday and had none left for today. I took photos anyway because why take a camera down the beach if you're not going to use it?

 

Can you see the ghost seagull?

 

 

And that was the end of the day.