Blue Sky. Red Desert. Silver City.

...the producers of Mad Max (and many other movies) came here to use the sweeping red panorama as a backdrop. It is magnificent. A seemingly limitless horizon - you can almost see the curvature of the earth from this vantage point.

It's high summer, 1883, out in the hot red desert country in western NSW, as a miner from Cornwall, one of many here (because of their mining skills) carefully and painstakingly drills a hole, slowly turning a steel bar while his partner wields a heavy hammer. It’s slow and painstaking work, in this era before power tools - turn, hammer, turn, hammer - until the hole is deep enough. Now the miner takes black powder - gunpowder - and lights a fuse. Quickly, he retreats to a safe place and waits till he hear a dull thud and the sound of splitting rock. The rock pieces that fall away gleam in the candlelight. Packed into that rock, waiting to be crushed and smelted, is silver.

Miners at work in Silverton circa 1895

The miners, strong and tough, earn 7/6d per week. The young boys who help, some as young as 14, earn 1/3d. Life is hard. Water comes by horse and cart and costs a shilling a barrel. Lunch underground is bread and jam. There's a working smelter up on a hill, to separate the minerals from the rock, and scattered all around are small rock-walled dwellings with canvas roofs to house hundreds of miners - along with the inevitable ladies of the night. This was a place called Silvertown, later Silverton, and this mining venture marked the beginning of activity and exploration that would see, a few years later, major ore discoveries close by - and the rise of what was to become a thriving mining community and a significant Outback city.

The red desert that surrounds Silverton

It's high summer, 2007. I'm here, same spot, about to see and explore what remains of the mine, today called Day Dream Mine. Caretaker Beth is my guide. She gives me a belt with battery, a helmet with a spotlight attached, and down we go, into the remains of the mine to try to get a sense of what it must have been like, way back when. Outside, the sun blazes high in a blue sky, but down here, in these narrow corridors chiselled out over a century ago, it is cooler. The Cornishmen worked here by candlelight. Such huge effort, such primitive tools, so long ago. But Beth assures me the effort was worthwhile. Our spotlights pick out silvery glitters in the rock above our heads. The rock mined here, the silver it ultimately produced, returned handsome dividends for the mine owners: $10,000 in the first year alone - a fortune in today’s dollars.

The entrance to Day Dream Mine; the approach to the mine

The red earth I see all about me when I finally climb out of the mine contrasts quite dramatically with what I saw earlier that morning, as my CountryLink train raced past neighbouring Menindee, on the Darling River, which supplies much of Broken Hill’s water needs. Days ago, heavy rains had inundated the region, and already golf-course green grass covered the ground as far as the eye could see. This was causing much excitement among the local animal population - feral goats were nibbling and then dashing away as the train approached. Sheep, too, came close to the track, flocks of emus danced about in celebration and kangaroos anticipated a tasty meal before the sun rose high in the sky. It was an enthralling sight.

Kangaroos shelter from the midday sun

And then, after a relaxing and comfortable trip, we reached the end of the line - Broken Hill, popularly known as The Silver City, and set at one end of the Barrier Range, 48 km east of the South Australian border. The city sits 304 m above sea level and has a population of about 22,000. Although mining created Broken Hill and is the source of its wealth, it is also an important centre for pastoralists, many of whom have huge sheep properties. Millions of wool-producing Merinos are protected from dingos by a 600km fence.

Before coming out here, I’d researched the region, and as I wander around, I discover that history is a tangible presence, above the ground and under it; it permeates the countryside as far as the eye can see. The vast semi-arid desert, dotted with blue-grey saltbush, truly beguiles. For 30,000 years, the Willyama people lived here, until the arrival of explorers like Charles Sturt who noted, in 1844, a “broken hill” in the diary of his journey. Sturt was followed by settler-pastoralists (including two sons of novelist Charles Dickens) and in the early 1880s by prospectors. When valuable minerals were discovered, miners came in their thousands and a syndicate was formed to lay claim to the area. What had been discovered was beyond their wildest imaginings - a massive lode containing silver, lead and zinc, an orebody shaped like a boomerang, 7km long and 220 m wide. Head frames, powerhouses, workshops and winder houses went up along the top of the ridge that held the lode and lower down, on the slopes, smelters were constructed. The syndicate became The Broken Hill Proprietary Company and ”the broken hill” in northwest New South Wales became one of the world’s main suppliers of lead and silver, setting the stage for a new start to Australian industrial development.

But I’m still in Silverton, and before leaving, I look around the atmospheric old “ghost town” that squats in the dust - isolated yet an integral part of the Broken Hill experience. The famous pub is here, a cafe and some art galleries (there are many artists resident in the region) along with two restored churches. Don’t be surprised if a camel strolls by - you can even enjoy a sunset camel ride if you feel so inclined. Not far away, you can look towards Mundi Mundi Plain, to a view you’re not likely to forget; small wonder the producers of Mad Max (and many other movies) came here to use the sweeping red panorama as a backdrop. It is magnificent. A seemingly limitless horizon - you can almost see the curvature of the earth from this vantage point. The pub, incidentally, has pictures from various movie productions on display along with other classic Australiana.

The old hotel, Silverton; "Mad Max" country

Thirty minutes back along the road and I’m in Broken Hill. The first thing that strikes me is how similar the city centre is to many others I’ve seen in country Australia - Bathurst immediately comes to mind. The same wide streets, angle parking, classic old buildings, unhurried atmosphere, friendly greetings. Pubs, too. Many are ancient, including the Palace Hotel (1889) with its long verandahs casting welcome shade and cast-iron balustrades. It featured in the movie, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

But as familiar as it looks, Broken Hill is different, because it backs onto a massive grey-black wall of rubble and smelted leftovers, maybe 100m high. It runs the length of the town, and leaves the visitor in no doubt as to what Broken Hill is all about. Up top, a handsome restaurant called Broken Earth gives me great food and a grandstand view of the city. And after I order (Tuscan burger with marinated eggplant and roasted peppers) I walk the few metres over to the city’s Miner’s Memorial, where hundreds are listed and recalled - names, dates and cause of death. It’s a sober reminder of the perils underground, and up here, overlooking the mines and the city, an appropriate place for quiet remembrance

Smeltered leftovers rise high behind the old Palace Hotel

Mining back in those early days was tough, conditions were often dangerous, wages were low and fat profits went into the pockets of the syndicate. It’s not surprising that the emergence of a strong union movement - and industrial action - is woven into the tapestry of this city from its very beginning. Strikes were common. A strike in 1892 to protest the use of scab labour saw union leaders imprisoned. Many strikes were to follow, up and into the new century, culminating in a work stoppage in 1920 that would make life better for the miners.

Today, the industry is constantly changing; the 3,000 miners needed to extract ore has been trimmed down to just 600, thanks to computerized equipment. You can see the action at Delprats Underground Tourist Mine. It’s a 2-hour tour, deep in the bowels of the earth. You descent in a cage, just as the miner’s do, with your helmet and spotlight. Go south on Iodine Street, cross the railway tracks and turn right following the signs. Tours are held at 10.30 am weekdays and at 2 pm on Saturdays. You should arrive 15 minutes before the tour starts.

I am in the old Trades Hall now, a graceful building featuring stained glass, a fine polished wooden staircase, union banners and memorabilia - and a huge banquet hall, with a handsomely decorated ceiling in pale green. Here, the history of Broken Hill comes to you not with a whisper but a defiant shout. On the walls are portraits of union officials cleverly created in crushed stone, in display cases are rows of buttons worn with pride by men long since gone to their rewards. The hall was built from 1898 to 1905, for the Barrier Industrial Council, which was an amalgamation of eighteen unions. Its foundation stone was laid by the father of Federation, Sir Henry Parkes.

Facade of the old Trades Hall

Broken Hill is a surprisingly green city. For this, the locals owe much to a local named Albert Morris, who lobbied (in the 1930s) for a protective reserve around the town to keep dust storm damage to a minimum. And, helpful to a visitor like me, plaques at regular intervals offer capsule histories of streets and sites. These wide thoroughfares are named mostly for minerals or chemicals or for Broken Hill bigwigs. It’s easy to find your way around, and there are plenty of good motels, cafes and restaurants to make your visit comfortable and carefree. When you arrive, I suggest you head first to the local Visitor’s Centre and pick up a map to assist you on your walking tour of the city. The brochure gives details of important buildings and heritage sites like the museum with its display of old locomotives, railway machinery and minerals, or Australia’s first mosque, built in 1891 for Muslim camel drivers from Afghanistan and India, or the Royal Flying Doctor Service headquarters. There’s a Driving Tour map, too, called The Silver Trail - get one, rent a car and you’ll get to see what I saw.

It’s time now to head for Broken Hill’s many art galleries. The late Pro Hart heads the list, of course. The famed artist’s gallery features a remarkable collection of Australian works - Albert Tucker, Arthur Boyd, Norman Lindsay, John Perceval, Charles Blackman, David Boyd and Fred Williams. A room is devoted to works by William Dobell. Pro Hart was born in Broken Hill in May 1920 and he worked underground as a miner before before devoting his life to art. He loved to collect vintage cars, including Rolls Royces (one is covered with his artwork). The three-storey gallery is at 108 Wyman Street, open 9-5 weekdays and Sunday afternoons.

No visit to Broken Hill would be complete without a visit to the Silver City Art Centre and Silver City Mint - and, later, as the sun sets, to the sculptures in the Living Desert. The Art Centre, at 66 Chloride Street, contains a superb collection of art along with hand-crafted jewelry pieces in silver. This gallery is home to The Big Picture, which is an understatement if ever there was one. In a specially designed space is the world’s largest painting on canvas, 100 metres long and over 12 metres high, stretched in a circle around you. The painting features the landscape of the region, along with local animals, reptiles and birds. Painted by Peter Andrew Anderson, it was opened to the public in 2001. It is a breathtaking accomplishment.

Painting and jewelry on sale, Silver City Art Centre

The Living Desert (and Sculpture Symposium) is on the northern outskirts of Broken Hill, along Nine Mile Road. Its 2,400 hectares contain aboriginal sites, a regeneration reserve and panoramic views from rocky outcrops. On one of these are twelve huge sandstone sculptures, carved by artists from around the world, including indigenous Australians. They are monumental, majestic and perfectly complement the site’s natural beauty, especially as they catch the setting sun. Stand in the silence, watch a wedge tail swoop high in the sky, marvel at this pristine landscape as shadows lengthen and dusk arrives. I can’t think of a better way to conclude a visit to Broken Hill and Australia’s accessible Outback.

View to the Pinnacles from The Living Desert lookout

http://www.visitbrokenhill.com.au