Virgin lands of the Commonwealth remain free from metallic touch beyond the coastline of Western Australia. The only way to get to the sole hotel in Derby, Western Australia is to brave the sweltering 9AM heat that hits you as soon as you step off the plane. There's no one in the office and the dining room with large fans swishing from the ceiling, is empty. Your anger abates as a sweet voice brings opera to your ears. There are a few people at the bar enjoying a few drinks. A one-man billiards game catches your eye, because the player is a tall jackaroo with sideburns, bush hat, tight jeans, and high heeled stock boots. Derby city is made up of a few houses, single-story offices, and a school located along the road to the airport. Derby, with its small population of 1,000, is nearest to Indonesia, with 96 million 900 miles away, and Perth, 1,350 miles away. On closer inspection, Derby citizens are not what you would imagine them to be. The sole exception may be Lucky, the pot-bellied Scandinavian at the bar, who shares memories of two up games in Kalgoorlie, the gold town, where five pounds was the minimum when it was a significant amount. In exchange for his life as an English pilot, your pilot chose a life taking tourists like you to Cockatoo and Koolan Island, the land of iron ore, 40 minutes north of Derby. In Derby, he can save more in a month than he could in England over a year. With air conditioning, he can withstand any heat in the comfort of his own home. You cannot leave without seeing the Kimberleys and the surrounding cattle country. With every story told in a Perth bar, the mountains have become taller, the valleys steeper, the bush more impenetrable, the men more imperturbable. That evening, you rendezvous with a trustworthy cattle station owner. To avoid the heat, you must eat your steak, eggs, and coffee before leaving at 6AM for the Kimberley Downs. The tarmac road ends and the car bounces and slithers over the corrugated dirt track. You are surrounded by fat bob trees, bush, and a thick, red cloud of dust. Four black cowboys ride up to meet you at a gate about an hour and a half later. Naturally, they are aborigine stockmen. The gate opens to a last rice that makes way for the Kimberley Downs below. Between two flat hills are the homestead, stockyards, and horse corrals. Through a large crack in the middle of the hills, one can spy the distant Blue Mountains and the tree-spotted, grassy plain leading to it. Napier Downs is adjacent to Kimberley, and together are run as one unit and equal two million acres. People, about 160 or so, and domesticated animals, 700 horses and 40,000 cattle, are supported in this environment. Looking down from the rise, it looks like a national park whose grass has turned brown in December. Six months of no rainfall can do that, and the dust the horsemen kick up is so thick.
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Virtually unaffected by the dirt of civilization lies a land in the Commonwealth, just beyond the coastline of Western Australia. The plane is one thing, but getting to the lone hotel in Derby, Western Australia can be troublesome with the overbearing 9AM heat.
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