I was 18 the first time I went to Lightning Ridge with my broken-legged boyfriend and his pitbull named Tigger, in a clapped out Sandman panel van that had no air-conditioning and had been painted white, with a brush and house paint, in an attempt to keep it slightly cooler.
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We were probably the oddest things in most of the towns we stopped at along the way, but when we reached Lightning Ridge, no-one looked sideways.
Just like Darwin (and most of the Northern Territory) seems kind of detached from the rest of Australia in the way it marches to the beat of its own drum – aka feels like the wildest of wild wests – Lightning Ridge also seems a vibe unto itself.
I’ve remembered it for the past few decades as a wacky, eccentric place; the ‘Population *question mark*’ sign at the town’s entrance still sticking in my mind all these years later.
I wanted to return and see if my memory had served me right.
Was it truly a crazy, one-of-a-kind place, or was I just a baby beginning my exploration of the world with not all that much to compare it to yet?
So, that’s where we drove to last school holidays.
We only needed one overnight stop between here and there (at Dubbo), so why it’s taken me so long to make the trip a second time, I don’t know.
Too many other places we’ve never been to explore, I guess.
Lightning Ridge sits just below the Queensland border in outback NSW.
It’s a mining town, famous mostly for its black opal, and other opal gemstones.
It had poured rain the day before we arrived, which had inspired the frequent conversation between locals about it and the town’s drainage seemingly unable to carry the water away quickly — there were large puddles and full furrows everywhere.
The town and mine tour we’d wanted to book during our short stay was not running, we were told, because the minivan used couldn’t travel down dirt roads surrounding the main town with how soggy they were.
So, we were left to explore it ourselves, which is not such a bad thing.
You can go at your own pace, decide exactly the things you want to see and bypass others, and it usually gives you an opportunity to stumble across hidden gems — pun maybe intended — when you inevitably get lost while winging it.
We popped into galleries, shopped for opals, photographed stunning artworks by local artists on old unused opal agitators and stopped by to visit artist John Murray’s 18-metre tall Stanley the Emu sculpture outside town, which he created using satellite dishes and old, rusted Volkswagen Beetles on top of steel girders.
How he achieved such a feat, I don’t know, but it’s impressive.
Right in the main street — where many families would stop, so of course there’s an old-style sweet shop conveniently next door — is the historic Cooper’s Cottage.
Circa 1916, it’s one of Lightning Ridge’s oldest houses.
The humble miner’s dwelling is mostly as it was, showing how the early miners built their cottages from whatever materials they could find, with the inside just as patch-worked.
It kind of looks like a prop house built for a movie set or a gimmicky purpose-built tourist attraction to replicate a historic building because it’s so far from what homes look like these days.
So, of course, it’s cool to lay eyes on when you learn it’s authentic.
Across the road is another old opal miners’ hut from the 1930s.
It’s home to the Lightning Ridge Historical Society Trust.
We didn’t go inside because it was closed during our visit, but it’s furnished with historical items and has books by local authors, post cards, crafts and second-hand books for sale.
On the same block sits a relocated and restored nurses’ cottage from 1915, which also contains historical memorabilia and photos relating to nursing.
We did head down a mine during our visit, but it was so magnificent, with the most interesting backstory, that it begs a column all of its own.
In the late afternoon, we headed back to our heavily puddled caravan park, which was across the road from the town’s Artesian Bore Baths, which are open 22 hours of every day.
We wandered up for a look during a beautiful sunset, which seemed to be peak hour in the hot pool, with bumper to bumper bums lining the outer seats.
I don’t know how hot water has to be to sterilise floating bodily fluids, but I’m guessing it’s upwards of the 41.5°C these naturally heated thermal baths are, so we gave dipping a miss this time.
After missing the previous day’s downfall, we were also grateful our camp didn’t get rained on that night, but the cloud activity still hanging about made for the most glorious outback sunrise.
Lightning Ridge is still weird, still wonderful and still has a population sign with a question mark at its entrance.
We see things through different eyes in our 40s to what our 18-year-old selves did.
But in the way you might not remember what someone said, just how they made you feel, I think it’s the same with places.
I don’t remember exactly how the town spoke to me, just how it made me feel.
The vibe remains. The Ridge is remarkably radical.