'Welcome to Port Hedland' the letters read, painted in bright white against a striking blue background on the giant storage tank located along the port's main approach road.
Below it, the BHP sign emblazoned in big orange lettering clears any doubt that this is primarily a no-nonsense mining town. The invitation strategically faces north out to sea and welcomes four chief visitors.
The first three are travellers and wanderers: slow-moving, but overly enthusiastic grey nomads - older (mainly retired) Australians who travel around the country in caravans, motorhomes, or campervans - who visit during winter months; the humpback whales who migrate during the Antarctic winters to give birth to their offsprings, and the turtles who nest on the local beaches during the summer months.
The fourth type of visitor is the FIFO (short for Fly In – Fly Out) mob who work at the mine sites and the port. They are hard to miss with their hi-vis gear, their weathered boots, and their sun-bleached helmets as they step on or off the aircraft, either arriving onsite or returning home.
And then there’s us locals who call this place home.
It’s a bit ironic that although the port of Port Hedland is the largest bulk export port in the world, however, our resident population comprises of just over fifteen thousand people.
(The Port of Port Hedland, along with the neighbouring port of Dampier is responsible for approximately 77 per cent of Australia’s and 42 per cent of the world’s iron ore trade along with Dampier. Based on Australia’s GDP of $1.9 trillion in 2018-19, the Port Hedland Port Supply Chain contributed either directly or indirectly some 3.4 per cent to the national economy. Source - 'The Economic Significance of the Port of Port Hedland' - A Report by ACIL ALLEN (June 2020)).
But, I digress!
I’ve lived here for seven summers (having relocated from Brisbane in 2017) and have learned a lot about regional living in this short period.
𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴.
Life in the region is tough and mirrors the rugged landscape and the remoteness of the region. While the weather during the winter months is picture-perfect, it lulls you into a false sense of belief that life here isn’t bad at all.
And then summer arrives with a vengeance and slaps you hard in the face, and with it come the flies too.
These aren’t your average city-dwelling ‘shoo-them-off-and-they-fly-away’ flies. These nasty locals are the Navy Seals of the fly world. They travel in platoons, hitching a free ride on your back, whilst the most adventurous of the lot make a dash straight into your mouth, up your nostrils and into your eye sockets... Ugh!
Unsurprisingly, locals revert to wearing fly nets when going about their daily tasks, and for anyone visiting, you’d think there’s a beekeeper convention in town.
And it’s not just the gruelling temperatures or the nasty flies that make life challenging out here. Healthcare, lack of amenities such as schooling, child care and housing, and the cost of travel in and out of town are strong deterrents.
From a newly arrived migrant’s perspective, why on earth would you give up all that you have in your home country, only to move to a remote outback town to be eaten alive by flies?
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴.
Even for us, giving up the comforts of big city life in Brisbane and relocating here was a tough call to make. But like most people, we were attracted by the wages and the additional perks offered by my employer to live locally.
I must it, the first few years were tough; not the job itself, which was fantastic, but more so the lifestyle change. With one toddler in tow and another on the way at that time, and a lack of family , we had some major adjustments to make and we wondered if the move was worth it.
Things became a bit manageable after three years. This is because we had probably acclimatised to the local conditions and my career prospects were looking brighter with every ing year, but also because we had begun to appreciate the little things in life that came with small-town living.
Life here is uncomplicated and simple - no horrendous traffic jams and no unnecessary distractions. The unfettered living, the wide-open spaces, and the ability to go fishing, camping and exploring in the untamed (and untainted) landscape is an absolute joy and a privilege that we now take for granted.
The best part for me? It’s the special bond I’ve developed with my kids thanks to the countless hours of togetherness - all the school pickup and drops, all the extracurricular activities together, and all of those weekends spent building sandcastles and playing ball, every moment an absolute privilege, every day a huge blessing.
You can’t put a dollar value on that, can you?
From a career perspective, moving to regional WA is a no-brainer. If you look past the challenges, are willing to rough it out, and can avoid the trap of chasing big city life (as a majority of migrants do), you will find yourself in a far better position financially.
Opportunities abound in the regions, and I daresay this is true for most other rural towns in other Australian states as well. I’ve known young men and women who’ve ed as apprentices, worked their way up into full-time positions, earned decent money, invested wisely, and were able to pay off their house within a decade.
Now that’s something worth considering, isn’t it? My suggestion to all new migrants - broaden your horizons, look at opportunities beyond the big cities, and be open to moving to regional Australia.
And if you do relocate to Port Hedland, don’t forget to pack your fly net.
Trust me you’ll fit right in!
/SNIP/
