The grit-faced bushie who loved a drink, and the thrill of finding floaters

Ned Conroy, the craggy-browed Scotsman with the missing teeth and a dusty face the  colour of the red earth he dug in, loved the bush, and the chase for floaters – those bits of gold on the surface – and then the dig-down search for the hidden reef.

And he wasn’t perturbed by the near-miss when, in the pitch black after his lamp snuffed out, several tons of earth collapsed right in front of him.

Or the time when a large snake tumbled down the mine shaft and landed on his shoulder.

When I visited them in 1970, Ned and his mate Banjo were two of the last three prospectors at Darlot, in Western Australia’s northern goldfields, where once there had been something like 5,000 people.

Ned was an alcoholic. He said working remotely in the bush suited him, keeping him on the task of the search for the yellow stuff, and away from the hotels.

Ned talks widely of the joys of life in isolation, the routine of a bushman, the challenges of surviving when you’re not finding much, and the beauty of a harsh landscape.