In Coober Pedy, noodling for opals is generally discouraged, although a few tourist spots, such as the Old Timers Mine, have noodle pits open to the public.

All day long (when we weren't gathering dog's-tongue) we'd swing through the cypresses on the rope vines, and if it rained we'd huddle beneath an umbrella tree and play stickfrog.

For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath.

Even the call, which grew stronger the further nightwards she walked, and the press of earthwarmth it brought with it, even that was a compromise she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. And yet she couldn’t fight it. She couldn’t shut it out like she could the urge to reach, so she knew she’d have to learn to accept it. Perhaps in time she’d even be able to draw strength from it again. She took a small drink from her water-skin, which was still half full, thanks to careful rationing.