Mining Country!

We left Calliope and headed back over the Range, inland to the mining town of Moura.  Although we are on a tight budget at the moment (our entire accommodation budget will be spent on Fuel over the next few weeks!) we decided that we needed to stay in a caravan park. I was knee-deep in dirty, smelly, wet washing and the caravan needed a really good clean out. After a rushed pack-up in the rain in 1770 and then sitting out the huge rain storms in Calliope, everything needed some TLC. And in order for me to clean everything properly, I need to have a good supply of power and water at my disposal.

While I was cleaning and drying everything, we found this little stow-away..

..however, Zaccy wasn't too sure about it when it jumped on to his shoulder!

We checked into the Moura Caravan Park. It is a very pretty little caravan Park, but we noticed there was something a bit strange about it. One half of the park is beautifully manicured, palm trees everywhere, a lovely swimming pool, but the other half is gravel, not a sign of a garden bed and these little portable houses everywhere. We soon realised that the mining companies have bought out part of the caravan park for their employees. They have also converted some huge properties – which used to be paddocks – into temporary housing.

The pool at the Moura Caravan park

After another beautiful sunset, another huge storm came rolling in.

Moura is a small town in the centre of a large coal mining district. The area used to be used for underground mining until three major mining disasters claimed many miners lives. After 1994, underground mining ceased and the area was operated as an open-cut coal mine.

The name of the local coal mine changes each time it's sold - currently Dawson Mine. We drove out to see the mine and were pleasantly surprised to find a huge viewing platform which gave a fantastic perspective of the operating pits. The boys thought it was wonderful when the HUGE mining trucks went past and all gave a wave or a honk as they past.

While we were in Moura, I decided to get Will’s broken finger checked out by a doctor. After being shuffled from Medical centre, to hospital, and back to the medical centre, we were given the all clear and Will was told he could start to use his finger again.

A monument in the caravan park of a big bolder
with a piece of a petrified log in the rock!

Another local