Tag Archives: Geology

Day 5 – Not as originally planned

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Wednesday 3 September 2025 – Mother Nature played a few games with Kuba’s plans today. The idea had been to do a landing and walk to a glacier. This one, actually,

but keen eyes on the bridge had spotted a polar bear nearby.

Yes, there really is a polar bear in this picture, which gives a good idea of how keen are the eyes of the crew. Here’s a closer view.

This meant that we couldn’t land, mainly for the polar bear’s benefit, since it would have been shot if it had started to make a nuisance of itself.  So we cruised around in Zodiacs instead. On the shores of the fjord, which is called Wijderfjord (I’ll let you guess why) there was an abandoned trapper’s cabin from the days when that sort of thing was permitted.

There was plenty of bird life to be seen – the ubiquitous kittiwakes and other gulls, who found the various islets very convenient scouting posts for any possible picking on other species they could consider.

On the shore line, we saw a gang of purple sandpipers fossicking around and feasting on the region’s delicious seaweed.

There were arctic terns flitting about,

and every so often coming over to check us out.

The geology was fascinating: close-to, layers of different coloured rock made some lovely patterns;

and, far-off, we had some wonderful landscapes.

Specifically, there was a canyon for us to explore.

This river flows from Five Mile Lake; but we could only go a short distance up because there was quite a considerable current flowing out of it into the fjord. You can see what looks like rapids further up the stream in this picture.

Having cruised the canyon, we then made a landing, which I hadn’t expected,

and took a short, but somewhat exhilarating hike

up to a viewpoint,

where we got a different perspective over the canyon

and the wonderful scenery.

Kuba (left) and Gunnar are the guides that drive the Zodiacs and lead the excursions.

They are both armed and dangerous, mainly to any importunate polar bears.

On the hike, we saw some interestingly split rocks,

and some of the local vegetation.

Then we headed back to the ship.

Kuba explained that his original plan had been to do the canyon and associated landing in the afternoon, with a somewhat longer hike to Five Mile Lake.  But it wasn’t that far from where we couldn’t land earlier because of the polar bear; the bear could easily have covered the distance to the second site during the morning, so we couldn’t risk an afternoon hike there, hence the abbreviated morning walk.

Instead, for the afternoon, we moved around the corner into Woodfjorden and did a landing at Jakobsenbukta. Again, the scenery was awesome.

The shore was basically a glacier river delta, with lots of water (and driftwood).

The weather was incredibly mild, possibly as warm as 8°C, so most of us were wearing (relatively) light clothing and carrying very little.  The exception was Doina and Denis, who live and breathe (and make a living from) online content, so they were fully kitted up.

The site was not one that Kuba or Gunnar had ever visited before – they had taken a look at maps and decided that it looked promising for a short hike; having landed, they then discussed which direction we should go.

The direction they chose wasn’t a problem for most of us; we’d followed instructions to wear our rubber boots. Not everyone had, though, so there was a bit of a hold-up whilst people worked out how to cross a water-filled channel – not deeper than wellie boots, but deeper than hiking shoes!

The delta had areas of still, calm water, which made it a fantastic source of my favourite kind of image – reflections!

The view back to the ship was quite impressive, too.

Jane spotted a footprint,

which we assume came from a reindeer, as did a small pile of droppings we passed. We also passed some Campion moss

which has evolved a survival defence against being eaten by reindeer, which is one of the few animals which can digest normal moss. Thus, it being slow-growing, this clump could be quite old. (Campion, The Wonder Moss?) We were enjoined to take care and avoid walking on it and others like it.

Our walk took us towards the near ridge you can see below, with Kuba leading and Gunnar behind (so he was the rear Gunnar at this point).

However, Rolf’s footwear developed a technical problem

and so Kuba and Gunnar had another planning session and decided to split the party. Kuba led a few of the party, including Rolf, obvs, back to the landing site, where (I think he had to spill the beans on a surprise, here) they could help the ship’s crew, who were planning a bonfire.  Gunnar took charge of the rest of us and we walked on to the ridge. It’s important for the man with the gun to go first in order to be able to protect the rest of the group if need be, so Gunnar was now our forward Gunnar.

We got to the top of the ridge, which gave us a chance to take in the fantastic scenery. Kuba had explained that the triangular rock was caused (as can clearly be seen here) by two converging glacier flows.  Geologists call this shape a “horn”

and I guess the most familiar to Europeans is the Matterhorn. The other famous one is Artesonraju in Peru. You may never have heard of it (I hadn’t), but you’d recognise it as the mountain which inspired the Paramount logo. To the left of the horn above is a cirque – a circular ice field with a glacier emerging from it.  The light was great for landscape photography.

After some moments for people to take in the view

we headed back down the way we came.  Agnese, the other Italian lass, found a fossil

which Gunnar told us was strictly not to be taken away from the scene. Apparently there is a chance that baggage will be scanned to check for illicit stone or fossil removal, with fines as a penalty, so no-one took the risk. No, they didn’t. Really, officer.

We could smell the bonfire before we could see it, and then there it was,

brilliantly setup by the ship’s crew, who were doing the environment a favour by consuming some of that driftwood.

Someone had even had the idea of using driftwood to create a bridge over that awkward water-filled channel.

Everything was beautifully set up, with Anni manning the bar

 

so quite quickly we had a relaxed, party vibe going on the beach.

Russell the Viking, together with Chief Officer Morten and AB Rasmus

Gunnar and AB Malte doing competitive seesaw

Proof that two females are the equal of one male?

The evening sun gave us a marvellous backdrop.

Once back on the boat, we had yet another splendid dinner from Roger, our Swedish chef (but no muppet, he), who had cooked fish that had been caught from the boat the previous evening. And timing allowed another fishing session for those who wished to join in.

As backdrop for this, we had a rainbow

and a fabulous sunset

which I think made a fittingly splendid end to another splendid day. It may not have been as originally planned, but Kuba and the skipper between them hatched up a good plan B (and then C) so that everyone had a great day.

Kuba has a plan for the morrow, too, of course – he always has a plan. Let’s see whether circumstances allow it to proceed in its original form, eh?

Coober Pedy – Life Underground

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Monday 26 August 2024 – Today was our last full day on the Ghan, and our final excursion, to a far away place with a strange-sounding name – Coober Pedy (pronounced “Peedy”). It was an exceedingly content-rich day; in other words this is a long post warning. I recommend you get yourself a cuppa or a glass of something stronger and settle down to read about the day.

After our stop at Alice and moving on overnight, the landscape had changed markedly.

We pulled into Manguri,

which was just a halt, really – no actual station or anything; just a gathering point so that people could hop on to the relevant coach for their chosen excursion. It was noticeable at this point that the temperature had dropped significantly now that we were moving south; it was very pleasant, in the low 20s, and a nice change from the 30+ temperatures we’d had further north.

We were booked on a general “explore Coober Pedy” tour, and I have to say I had no idea what to expect; all I knew was that it was the centre of a significant mining industry. The industry in question, or the quest which caused a lot of industry, is opals, and it’s a very significant one – Coober Pedy is estimate to produce around three-quarters of the world’s opal supply.

It turns out that mining opals is akin to gambling.  It’s not quite the same; gamblers always lose, the only winner being whichever house provides the game. In opal mining, it’s possible to win big or lose everything; apparently there’s a phenomenon called “opal fever”, where miners simply get addicted to the search for the next big opal seam. The trouble is that there’s no certain way of locating a seam of opal-bearing rock except simply to dig a hole and start looking around. It was not long after our coach set out (on a dirt road for much of the way) that we saw the first evidence of what effect this speculative hole digging actually has on the landscape.

Every single one of those heaps of rock, which are called “mullock heaps”, marks the presence of a hole that someone has dug in search of opals. They are everywhere on the landscape.

Apparently, even if nothing is found, the holes are not filled in with the mullock that’s been excavated, as this would result in unstable and unsafe terrain; so the holes just remain there, with a heap of mullock beside each one.

Some digging obviously uncovers rich seams which get expanded as they’re explored,

and some appear sufficiently promising that drills are set up to explore further

with blowers to clear the excavated dust away – drill on the left above, blower on the right,

and a blower in action above.

There are two main types of drills – small-bore ones for initial exploration, and larger-bore for creating a main hole from which tunnels can radiate out in the search for these precious mineral creations.

The process of claiming territory to mine is quite straightforward, but the manner of extracting opals is delicate and precise as opal is a fragile material; it doesn’t lend itself to industrial-scale large mining machinery, which is why the landscape is dotted with holes and heaps. Anyone can basically dig a hole anywhere for initial exploration. If such exploration yields a sufficiently good prospect of finding opal seams among the rock, then a (renewable) claim can be lodged (and paid for) for a certain area around the hole and for a certain period of time – maybe 20 metres for three months – and the person who lodged that claim puts pegs to mark the claimed area. They are then not allowed to move the pegs or to lodge another claim until the expiration of the current one, which puts a stop to people making multiple explorations. And there’s absolutely no guarantee that an exploration will find opals – it’s entirely a gamble.

The base rock in which opals form is sandstone. Water, seeping into the ground, picks up silica from the sandstone and then settles into cracks and other voids in the stone. Over millions of years, the water evaporates, leaving behind deposits of silica spheres; if these spherical silica deposits are arranged neatly in a uniform lattice arrangement, the interference and diffraction of light between the layers creates the colours which mark out a valuable opal; if irregular, then the result is called “podge” and is not particularly valuable. Extracting opal from rock requires extreme care – if an opal is cracked it loses all its value, so it is basically a manual operation, which explains why the good stones are so expensive.

The landscape this extraordinary industry produces is unique and strange.

You’ll notice that the landscape is utterly devoid of trees, which means that early settlers and miners were a tad short of the usual materials for building houses. The solution was direct and simple – to build dwellings underground. The stone is soft enough to make excavation easy, and yet firm enough not to collapse; the resulting dwellings (like cave dwellings everywhere, of course) are stable in temperature throughout the year, which is good, since outside it can be anything from below freezing up to 50°C. We got a chance to see what an underground house looked like later on in the day, but there were a few other things to look at first.

Our driver, Jason, described the terrain, as he drove us towards a particular viewpoint, as having once been seabed. Clearly, the waters had receded, and when they did, a remarkable process of erosion began, and what was seabed was worn further away in some places but not in others. This left some significant outcrops of stone which appeared to have “broken away” from the rest of the landscape. Actually, they were just remaining bits of seabed, but their appearance was such that they re called

The Breakaways. It’s an extraordinary landscape.

Having admired this amazing vista for a while, we headed back to Coober Pedy. The houses there are not all underground dwellings. Some are perfectly normal houses

and some are sort of hybrid, with some areas above ground and some below.

Underground houses are marked by ventilation shafts

which you can see sticking up above ground here – clearly, there’s a need to get fresh  air circulating around the dwelling.

It’s not just housing that has gone underground; so has worship.  The town features two underground churches.  We were taken as a group to the first one, a Serbian Orthodox church, which is built into a hillside.

Inside, one can see, by looking at the roof and walls, that it’s been created by two types of drilling machine – square and round.

It’s an attractive interior

Jane and I also visited the Catholic Church in the town.

In between visiting the two churches, we had an underground lunch

which was served up in the excavated but no longer active areas of an opal mine that was still in use.  We had a quick tour before sitting down to lunch,

where one could “noodle” (sort through loose stones in search of opals) or “pick” – chip away at the rock.

Whichever method one chose, a useful implement to have to hand was a “black light”, i.e. an ultra-violet light, whose beam illustrated the presence of opals within the rock.

This was technology not available to the original settler miners. Apparently what they did was to drill until they heard the sound of glass being broken, which meant that they’d found some kind of a seam, and then proceed by hand.

Outside the lunch location was some machinery which showed that the mine was still active.

as well as an exhibit of an old-fashioned windlass, which would once have been used to hoist up excavated rock.

The final component of the day was to visit a combined opal museum and underground dwelling.

Our time there started with a short lecture about the different sorts of opals (doublets, triplets, etc) and how they’re produced, with careful polishing to bring out the colours. Then we were shown round the underground dwelling which is part of the operation. It really is just this house, you know? but with no windows.

The first three pictures below are of a section excavated in the 1920s and inhabited by a miner; the remaining pictures are of the modern extensions!

Some people professed themselves uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in the bedroom, which could, of course, be utterly and absolutely black and carry with it the extreme risk of barking your shins or banging your head during any nocturnal wanderings. I think it would be great, provided there was just a tiny bit of illumination.

There was, of course, a retail opportunity.

Outside, one could wander up on to what was effectively to roof of the house – you can see the ventilation shafts.

Its location gave a good view over the town of Coober Pedy.

The town’s location and unique geology have made it a great location for films where utter desolation is needed (e.g. Mad Max), to the extent that the town has erected its own version of the Hollywood sign.

Wandering about, one can see that there is merciless merchandising of the underground theme.

Sadly, we didn’t have time to get to the underground bar before we had to go back to the train. En route, Jason and the other coach drivers stopped short of the train in a location which enabled people to take a shot of its entire length,

and was, of course, the location for a feeding frenzy of selfies.

We arrived back at the correct side of the train to find that the crew had set up drinks and canapes outside

which one optimist used as the venue to propose to his girlfriend.

(She said “yes”, apparently.)

And so ended an exceedingly unusual, interesting and enjoyable day, full of strange landscapes and bizarre life choices. The morrow would see us arrive into Adelaide and the end of our journey on the Ghan, so stop by these pages to see what happened when we arrived.

Ayers and Graces

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Sunday August 25 2024 – Before we could get to today’s keenly-awaited excursion, we had to deal with the non-trivial matters of getting up, showered and dressed within the confines of our small cabin. Although it required some fairly precise choreography between the two of us in order not to be bumping into each other all the time, it was (for me, at least) much less awkward than I had been fearing.  The bathroom area in our little cabin is small, but very well-organised, and doing the morning’s ablutions was remarkably trouble-free. I was also quite surprised to have slept reasonably well; my last experience on a sleeper was from London to Edinburgh and it was ghastly – noisy, uneven and uncomfortable. The Ghan was rather noisy at times – there was what felt like shunting done during the night, leading to lots of creaking and groaning, some of it on my part; and it was accompanied by a certain amount of lurching (the carriage, not me), but throughout all that we both managed to grab a reasonable amount of sleep.

We got a good breakfast, swiftly and competently served by the crew, who really work hard and do a good job; our section manager was a lass called Esther, who, as well as helping dish out the meals, was excellent at ensuring that we knew where we had to be and when, and that we had the right bits of identification card on our “Look At Me, I’m A Tourist!” lanyards.

I have had a great and abiding love of aerial photography, having had the excitement of my first views from an aeroplane at the age of nine. (Hence, on this trip I’ve been lugging around with me a drone which I haven’t really had a chance to use yet.) This love of aerial photography means that today’s excursion is one which I’ve been looking forward to with considerable excitement. First, we had to get to Alice Springs (or Mparntwe, as it’s known to its indigenous owners), through countryside of a type which was really rather familiar by now – scrubby and burnt in places.

At about 11.30am we pulled in,

and, as is standard in large-scale tourist activities everywhere, were sorted into buses to take passengers onward to their various activities for the day. Our bus was driven by the usual bluff Australian chap, in this case called Gerry, who was good enough to take us up to a viewpoint so we could take in A Town Called Alice (see what I did there?).

The viewpoint has a complicated aboriginal name

but we know it as Anzac Hill, which leads to the War Memorial.

On the way up, signs remind visitors of the many contributions to the war efforts of the 20th and 21st centuries made by solders from Australia and New Zealand, from WWI through to Iraq.

The lookout offers a great set of views over Alice Springs.

The gap above is where the road south leads out of town. This is the Stuart Highway, the longest road in Australia, which has been with us since Darwin and will still be with us after some 2,700km as we reach Port Augusta, just 300km short of Adelaide, the ultimate destination of this train ride.

Apparently, property prices in Alice are very high despite its rather remote location. This is because it can’t expand any further without infringing on indigenous land or cattle stations.

On the way down from the lookout, the backs of the commemorative signs are also decorated with reminders of the various conflicts.

Gerry also drove us around Alice to get a view of the place. It’s unremarkable  – just this town, you know? – and it’s kind of difficult to capture the feel of a place from a moving coach, but it does have (at least) a couple of striking murals.

Slightly frustratingly (because I wanted to get on with the day’s main activity), we had to have lunch first; this was served to the Ghan’s passengers at a place called Madigans.

It’s worth mentioning that the stewards from the train were part of the service, so their responsibilities carry on even off the train; they really do earn their corn.

And then – at last! – we were off on our excursion proper.  Here is a clue as to what we were about to do.

It’s a Cessna 208 Super Caravan, an aeroplane with which we first became familiar in Madagascar as we flew north to Anjajavy. Two of these aircraft awaited the group of 12 undertaking today’s flights, and there was a ripple of amusement as one lady, who was maybe one egg short of a clutch, couldn’t get to grips with the idea of a caravan being anything other than something you go camping in.

It was interesting to see the GABA (Great Australian Bugger All) from above,

though the landscape was actually very varied and interesting.

It included Pine Gap, the local US spy base near Alice,

and a not-inconsiderable bush fire

whose smoke affected the view across some salt flats.

After about an hour in the air, though, we caught the first sight of the reason we’d undertaken this 90-minute flight.

Yes, there it is, top right.

Uluru, or Ayers Rock in the old language. The pilot made sure that each side of the plane had a good view of this remarkable lump of masonry, which has a variety of aspects, depending on the angle of view.

It is, of course, an iconic part of the Australian landscape, and a considerable tourist magnet, as shown by the size of the local airstrip

and the number and variety of accommodation opportunities in the vicinity, such as this – another one which looks suspiciously like camping.

What we hadn’t known about beforehand was another remarkable rock formation quite close by Uluru, which we also flew by for a look –

The Olgas, or Kata Tjuṯa in the local indigenous language. There are 36 domes in this extraordinary formation.

The day’s aerial excitement wasn’t over, either. We landed at Ayers Rock airport to refuel and took off once again

to fly back to Alice, but we took a slightly different route back, over another fantastic formation called King’s Canyon – another local landmark which we hadn’t known about before today.

Apparently, one can go walking around the canyon, which sounds like a very interesting way of passing a morning.

By this time, the sun was going down, and the angle of the light really highlighted the considerable amount of geology that goes on in the area.

Among all of this huge landscape, one could spot the occasional outpost of civilisation

and looking at it in its greater context, one could only wonder

Why? Why there? What’s going on?

The ride back was actually more interesting than the ride out, but eventually it was time to land back at Alice

and be taken to our evening meal, which was at the Alice Springs Telegraph Station, the original site of the first European settlement in central Australia, one of twelve stations along the Overland Telegraph Line.

It was billed as “dinner under the stars”

which was fine in theory, but somewhat overshadowed by the clouds which cropped up and made seeing the stars a bit tricky.  A chap called Tom tried to show us some of the local astral geography, but it required a certain feat of imagination to get much out of his undoubtedly enthusiastic efforts. There was also the possibility of a camel ride

and a band entertained us just loudly enough to make conversation difficult,

so we took the opportunity of the first bus back to the train in order take a rest after a memorable day. I know that seeing Uluru is something that practically every tourist visiting Australia will do, but our view of it today was a great pleasure; and to see the other formations in the area was, if anything, even more exciting.

We have one more day on the train, or, more accurately, largely off the train; tomorrow we spend much of the day visiting a place called Coober Pedy where life is largely underground for a variety of reasons. This is an intriguing prospect and one I hope you’ll return to these pages to find out more about.