The town’s name comes from the Aboriginal phrase “kupa piti,” or, roughly, “white man’s hole.” After the first opal was found in the area just over 100 years ago, some of the earliest opal miners burrowed below the utterly post-apocalyptic, dust-storm-prone landscape to escape punishing temperatures.
The first person Merino met was Gabriele Gouellain, a miner from Germany who invited them into her dugout. As soon as Merino stepped inside, the scorching 117-degree heat wafted away and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Gouellain, one of the few female miners, told them to stay as long as they wanted, so the pair bedded for the night. In the morning, they were covered in dust and dirt that had loosened from the ceiling. “I could feel the earth was alive and wanted to tell its story,” Merino said via email. Over two years, Merino spent a total of a month and a half documenting the town and its inhabitants.
Around Coober Pedy, the earth is pockmarked with evidence of drilling. Like giant anthills, piles of mullock — rock waste spit up by mining machinery — fill the horizon. Miners sift through them, and once they move on, scavengers (or tourists) can “noodle,” or search the abandoned piles hoping to come upon a gem that was missed.
Over the years, the town attracted a motley crew that included returning World War I veterans and outlaws. Now it is a patchwork quilt of a community, boasting people from approximately 45 countries.
The town’s residents fall into several categories. Some have become rich beyond their wildest dreams, throwing huge parties and expanding their dugouts. One resident even had an indoor pool and underground beauty parlor installed, according to the Telegraph. Others made a fortune but frittered it away or never found anything again.
But for the remainder, the mines have held only false promises, never yielding treasure and slowly sapping time and energy. Coober Pedy is where “opal fever takes place,” Merino said, “[where] madness, ambition, greed, despair, distrust, crimes and obsession begin.”