While all this was happening, the Yak was quietly focusing on assembling the real main event, because everything had to fall into its proper place. The ‘dozers had scraped away the fill from the previous level, and he had calculated size of the blast, and the explosives needed with the advice of senior foremen. He then summoned the drilling rigs on tracks to put over five hundred holes down about a meter and a half apart and six meters deep, all defined by the rock type; because this was going to be a big one. But as for any mischief, or visiting politicians, the Yak’s interest was in the carriage of the blast only, not the reasons why or for whom.
Suddenly, the visit was tomorrow. The pace picked up and we were pushing ourselves to get the job done, mixing the explosive with diesel by shovel on tarpaulins, filling drums with it and driving it up to the blast site. There, with the heat beating at us off the rock walls and floor, we poured the mix down the holes, and when it reached the top it was tamped down. By the afternoon’s end the holes were finished and the Yak was supervising, linking them all up into a handful of cord ends to be joined to the detonator, then the detonator to the blast cap, then to the safety fuse he would set off to set the blast inexorably underway.
My gang was still operational on the day. The Yak wanted some more explosive mix made and further holes to be drilled, filled and joined to the main job, and I think our bosses wanted us around anyway, to deal with whatever might come up. Parts of the ministerial party were driven past us, and asked for and were given directions. I remember one young man thought we might misdirect them, as a sort of practical joke. They were gone so quickly there wasn’t time to tell him only a fool does that in the Bush anyway, let alone when there’s blast going down.
