Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .

[Lanny in AB]

Do you love to chase the gold? Please join me--lots of gold hunting tips, stories of finds (successful and not), and prospecting poetry.

Nugget in the bedrock tip:

I had a visit with a mining buddy this past weekend, and he told me of an epic battle to get a nugget out of the bedrock, and of what he learned from the experience. I thought some of you might like to learn from his mistake.

While out detecting one day, he came across a large sheet of bare bedrock. The bedrock was exposed because the area had been blasted off with a water cannon (a monitor), by the old-timers! It was not fractured bedrock, in fact it was totally smooth.

He was not optimistic at all of the prospects of a nugget. But, for some reason (we've all been there) he decided to swing his detector over that bedrock. After a long time, just as he was about to give up on his crazy hunch, he got a signal, right out of that smooth bedrock.

There was no crevice, no sign of a crevice, nada! So, he had to go all the way back to camp to get a small sledge and a chisel. The signal in the rock intrigued him, but he still wasn't overly optimistic. For those of you that have chased signals in a similar situation, sometimes there's a patch of hot mineralization in the bedrock that sounds off, but this spot, according to him, was sharp and clear right in the middle of the signal, not just a general increase of the threshold like you get when you pass over a hot spot in the bedrock.

Anyway, he made it back to the spot and started to chisel his way into the bedrock. If any of you have tried this, it's an awful job, and you usually wind up with cut knuckles--at the least! Regardless, he kept fighting his way down, busting out chunks of bedrock. He kept checking the hole, and the signal remained very strong.

This only puzzled him all the more as he could clearly see that it was solid bedrock with no sign of any crevice. He finally quit at the end of the day, at a depth of about a foot, but still, nothing in the hole.

An experienced nugget shooting friend dropped by the next morning to see him, and asked him how the hunt was going. My buddy related his tale of the mysterious hole in the bedrock, and told the friend to go over and check it out, and see if he could solve the riddle.

Later in the day, the other nugget hunter returned. In his hand was a fine, fat, sassy nugget. It weighed in at about an ounce and a quarter! After my friend returned his eyeballs to their sockets and zapped his heart to start it again, he asked where the nugget had come from.

Imagine his surprise when he heard it came from the mystery hole!! He asked how deep the other guy had gone into the bedrock to get it. "Well, no deeper" was his reply.

So, here's the rest of the story as to what happened. When the successful nugget hunter got to the bedrock, he scanned the surface got the same strong signal as my buddy. He widened out the hole and scanned again. Still a solid tone. He widened the hole some more so he could get his coil in, and here's the key and the lesson in this story, he got a strong signal off the side of the hole, about six inches down, but set back another inch into the side of the bedrock!!

My unlucky friend, the true discoverer of the gorgeous nugget's resting place had gone deep past the signal while digging his hole!!

Now, of course, a good pinpointer would easily solve this problem. The problem was, my buddy didn't have one, so why would he widen the hole, right? Well, the other guy was the one with more experience, and that's why he did. It was a lot more work, but what a payoff!

So, my buddy's butt is still black and blue from where he kicked himself for the next week or so for having lost such an incredible prize.

Some nugget hunting lessons are harder than others to learn. . . .

All the best,

Lanny


P.S. When in gold country--check the bedrock, regardless of whether it looks likely or not! Mother Nature likes to play games sometimes.

 

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[63bkpkr]

Now THAT Mr. Lanny is a Real Nugget! And welcome back from the hills with a Jillion new true stories stored up there in your well tuned mind, we look forward to hearing a few once you have the time.

I made it up into the NorCal hills in late September as night was about to fall upon me. I spent a little over three weeks looking for my Quartz outcrop, mighty tough going, but did not find it. I left the area when the smoke from various fires began to congregate in the canyon. About four days later it rained in the mountains (and snowed) so I went back in. The sleep was poor, the work hard and finally I had to call it quits as I felt unsafe out on the hills. Lots of underbrush (some with 1/2" long spikes to get past) , kinda like a jungle out there. Some interesting Micro canyons and great views but no color other than the bushes.

Hope your efforts were worthwhile!......................63bkpkr

 

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[Lanny in AB]

Now THAT Mr. Lanny is a Real Nugget! And welcome back from the hills with a Jillion new true stories stored up there in your well tuned mind, we look forward to hearing a few once you have the time.

I made it up into the NorCal hills in late September View attachment 1516443 as night was about to fall upon me. I spent a little over three weeks looking for my Quartz outcrop, mighty tough going, but did not find it. I left the area when the smoke from various fires began to congregate in the canyon. About four days later it rained in the mountains (and snowed) so I went back in. The sleep was poor, the work hard and finally I had to call it quits as I felt unsafe out on the hills. Lots of underbrush (some with 1/2" long spikes to get past) View attachment 1516455, kinda like a jungle out there. Some interesting Micro canyons and great views but no color other than the bushes.

Hope your efforts were worthwhile!......................63bkpkr

Nice to know you got back safely, but I feel your disappointment that you could not find your quartz outcrop; that's a bummer. As well, I too share in the disappointment of the summer fires that cut things short as I was onto some very good gold, but everyone was ordered out of the area due to the fires, over a million acres were burning, largest fires yet and what a mess.

So sorry to hear about the devastation in California due to the fires. I can only imagine how hard it is for those affected.

As they say in the movie, The Motherlode, "There's always one place you haven't looked", and I'm sure that if you keep looking you'll one day find your quartz outcrop.

Thanks for the pictures and the write-up, and hope to hear from you again with a few more details of your trip added.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

"Gold is a hard kept secret.

The good, the bad, the strong and the weak all flock to the kind of warmth that gold gives off." Louis L'amour, Sackett

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Gold Snob Rewind

So, I was out this summer chasing the gold, and this past summer was stinking hot, a bona fide cooker. It was so hot, I thought I saw a couple of birds using potholders to pull worms out of the ground!

Due to the extreme temperatures, I probably wasn’t in the best mood, well, let me rephrase that, I was heat-cranky, downright grumpy. You have to understand, I come from either the land of the chosen frozen or the land of the frozen chosen; I’ve never been right sure which it is . . . Regardless, the day was too hot for such a cold-blooded being as me to be about, and since I couldn't remove enough clothes to cool down without someone calling the police about a pervert loose in the woods, I had to settle for not enjoying the day at all.

Seriously, the heat had left my poor brain on low-power mode, instead of its usual high watt wonder. (Likely because sometimes I wonder watt I’m thinking about when I’m high on gold fever.) Regardless, with my brain in over-heated rebellion, I was getting shutout, getting beat like I stole something, getting skunked . . . getting no gold.

Even though the skunk was haunting me, I truly had been searching the best looking ground, checking an area of exposed bedrock with lots of adjoining areas that were shallow to bedrock, and all of those only lightly covered with mild soil allowing the Gold Bug Pro to have no trouble sniffing out any wayward gold.

So, I’m poking along, sweating just like a pig that knows exactly what’s for dinner, when I realize I’m at it again. I’m being a gold snob. I’m only searching the places I think are prime for gold, the sweet-looking inviting places, and I’m ignoring the real ugly places, the places no self respecting gold nugget would ever hide. But all at once, somewhere in the dim, perhaps slightly cooler recesses of my overheated brain, a switch flips, and I’m forced to face reality once more: I am, yet again being a gold snob.

Realizing the shame of my moral defeat as a repeat offender, and needing to get out of the sun’s inferno to sit a while for a recharge, I locate a giant boulder not far from where I’m nugget hunting. Next, I discover the half-shade it’s offering, crunch my body into the cooler darkness where I haul out a bottle of water. After ten minutes of hydration and a welcome bit of shade, my brain gets all grateful that the neurons are no longer the consistency of Gorilla Glue on dried fish. However, once the brain is recharged with the neurons and synapses firing in the right order again, my brain starts to nag me about how stupid I’ve been to search only the great looking places. (There’s nothing worse or more shameful than a lecture from one’s own brain.)

So, I abandon the good looking nugget locations with no gold and head off in search of the places I’ve been avoiding all day, the places that look all wrong, the places with awful footing, the spots where Mother Nature or some mad miner has also dumped super nasty looking clay.
However, one thing I’ve learned, and seem destined to have to relearn, is that gold is where it’s resting, not where it should be resting. (Don’t overthink that last statement.) Now don’t get me wrong, I find nuggets in sweet looking ground, nuggets that were exactly where they should be according to the physics of ultra-heavy objects coming to rest during hydraulic events, but even so, that shouldn’t stop me from looking in places that look all wrong, should it? Yet, for some reason, it does.

See, here’s the thing, whenever I’m working previously disturbed ground, all kinds of geological items were tossed around in the process, either by hand-mining techniques or by machine powered excavation. Therefore, things got moved, things got dropped, so things get forgotten, and mistakes are made. All of these events conspire to deposit gold in places it should not be. (That’s a bit oversimplified, because Mother Nature sometimes dumps the gold where it has no right being dumped as well; moreover, glaciers, Mother Nature’s heavy-duty movers, sure jack things up as well.)

Forgive me while I digress, but I’ll never forget one sunny day of panning on the river. I saw a buddy working some dirt on the other side of the stream. Well, seeing me, he jumped up and waved frantically at me to come over. So, I obliged, and in his hand was a nugget of over half an ounce! I asked him where the heck he got the dirt, and he told me the tale of how he’d always seen this pile of pushed up dirt along the main trail. A pile he and I had walked by a hundred times, but on the hundred and first time for him, he decided to sample that pile. Well, the big nugget he held was the biggest piece he recovered, but that pile held a lot of other nuggets as well, and they all tallied up to a serious sum. So, whatever the reason for that dirt sitting there for a hundred plus years with every prospector scorning it by ignoring it, why it made no difference to the gold; the gold was there regardless. Someone had moved that dirt many years back and everyone since then knew the pile couldn’t possibly hold any gold. They were sure convinced they were right, but they were sure wrong.

So, remembering that story, and remembering the other times I’ve been brain-shamed while being a gold snob, I hit the ugly spots. (Sometimes I’m just dumber than a gardening tool, or a pile of rocks, or a sack of hammers . . .)

Now, you can’t make this stuff up (that is, what I’m about to tell you), but within four sweeps of the coil, I had a target, and by now it’s obvious that the target was a nugget, for it weighed in at a bit over three grams. It was resting in a little run of loose gravel sitting above the bedrock on some ugly chunks of disturbed clay. I imagine the loose gravel came from the bedrock lower down at some time, was moved up by man or machine, and the little bit that fell from the miner’s shovel or excavator bucket hit the clay which stopped the nugget. I searched the rest of that ugly clay above the bedrock and liberated a couple of smaller pieces, but then the gold quit; however, at least I didn’t leave that day without some gold in my gold bottle.

So, the next time my brain gets to be the consistency of hundred-year-old beef jerky, and the next time I try to convince myself the gold can only be found in the sweet looking spots, I’ll rattle those nuggets in my bottle, kick myself in the pants and head over to hunt the places where the gold shouldn’t be if I’m getting skunked where it should be.

All the best,

Lanny

P.S. This tale of course goes along with the wisdom of countless others that while hunting in an area where gold has been previously found, where there's evidence of other workings, either hand methods or done by machinery, the disturbed ground is a good place to check. In fact, the first nugget I ever found, and it was a beauty, was up on the edge of a prospect hole, just under the moss. It had been thrown up, but not quite out of the hole by the miner, and it had rested there for about 130 years undisturbed.

 

[old digger]

Sorry I'm late, but Happy belated Birthday! I've had a lot going on in the past couple months.
I suspect that the snow is starting to fall in the higher elevations up there, but hopefully you can get out a few more times. Good Luck!

 

[Lanny in AB]

Sorry I'm late, but Happy belated Birthday! I've had a lot going on in the past couple months.
I suspect that the snow is starting to fall in the higher elevations up there, but hopefully you can get out a few more times. Good Luck!

Thanks for dropping in to say hello, and thanks for the birthday wishes as I appreciate it. The snow is in the upper elevations, and we had some lower down way earlier than usual, but it's all gone now. If I get another chance to chase any gold, I'll sure give it a go.

Did you get a chance to chase any gold this season?

All the best, and thanks again,

Lanny

 

[old digger]

Did you get a chance to chase any gold this season?


Lanny[/QUOTE]

No, I didn't, but I did get my two granddaughters (5 & 6) interested in detecting around in the yard. Now when they come over they ask if we can go ''treasure hunting''. One is wanting to hold the pinpointer and the other wants to hold the shovel. I have twice had to replace the batteries in the pinpointer because they seem to always have it on and ready use. And when ever we find a coin or something significant they run to the house and tell grandma ''We Found Some Treasure'', lol

Thanks Again, Dennis

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

"Gold is a hard kept secret.

The good, the bad, the strong and the weak all flock to the kind of warmth that gold gives off." Louis L'amour, Sackett

All the best,

Lanny

Hello Lanny, good to have you back. It's been fairly normal temps over this way, continually trending down so far, and several light snowfalls. Jo and I figure we'll put in our backyard skating rink this coming weekend and hope for good ice for Christmas. Then we'll play lots of hockey with our children and grandchildren, lots of good fun. But this is not why I posted here. It was your Louis L'Amour reference to the Sacketts.

I have most of his books and probably have read them all at one time or another. The series about the Sackett family exemplifies his creative authorship in traditional western settings. However I must say that generally I enjoy Zane Grey's western novels a bit more because, all else being about equal, there is more emphasis on romance. I guess I prefer happy romantic endings.

We enjoyed your latest goldhunting contribution very much with thanks. I suppose the gold snob theme will resurface occasionally in your writings Lanny, because it is oh so true.

Jim.

 

[Lanny in AB]

Did you get a chance to chase any gold this season?


Lanny

No, I didn't, but I did get my two granddaughters (5 & 6) interested in detecting around in the yard. Now when they come over they ask if we can go ''treasure hunting''. One is wanting to hold the pinpointer and the other wants to hold the shovel. I have twice had to replace the batteries in the pinpointer because they seem to always have it on and ready use. And when ever we find a coin or something significant they run to the house and tell grandma ''We Found Some Treasure'', lol

Thanks Again, Dennis[/QUOTE]

That's so much fun when you get the youngsters out chasing treasure. I've done that many times with young ones, and it's a whole new world of discovery for them, truly, and they seem to love it so much.

I'm glad you got a chance to get them hooked, now watch out as they might be chasing nuggets in your favourite spot soon!

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Hello Lanny, good to have you back. It's been fairly normal temps over this way, continually trending down so far, and several light snowfalls. Jo and I figure we'll put in our backyard skating rink this coming weekend and hope for good ice for Christmas. Then we'll play lots of hockey with our children and grandchildren, lots of good fun. But this is not why I posted here. It was your Louis L'Amour reference to the Sacketts.

I have most of his books and probably have read them all at one time or another. The series about the Sackett family exemplifies his creative authorship in traditional western settings. However I must say that generally I enjoy Zane Grey's western novels a bit more because, all else being about equal, there is more emphasis on romance. I guess I prefer happy romantic endings.

We enjoyed your latest goldhunting contribution very much with thanks. I suppose the gold snob theme will resurface occasionally in your writings Lanny, because it is oh so true.

Jim.

Jim,

It's good to be back, and I'll try to hammer out some of the stories about how I retrieved some nice, sassy gold this summer. I really had a lot of fun and had good finds.

I've read Louis' books more than once, and I enjoy his stories when his western men are out chasing the gold. Louis has some pretty good insight about the process as I believe he spent a little time chasing the gold himself.

Have fun on the rink! We always get out for some good pond hockey when it gets cold enough, but right now the warm winds are still a blowin' and things just aren't freezing up enough yet.

Thanks for stopping in, and I hope you had a productive summer chasing the silver.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Warning! Annual Christmas Poetry

The Tale of Bookish Hank

There was a fellow name of Hank
Whose father owned an eastern bank.
But Hank detested bookish chores
And yearned to see the great outdoors.

So off he fled to seek his fame
Where mountains blue called out his name
To mine some gold a way out west.
But findin’ gold’s a rugged quest,

For Nature hides her gold right well,
As Hank or any soul will tell,
But Hank determined he’d succeed
To find the gold he’d sorely need.

He chose a spot far from the rest
Then sunk a shaft and did his best
To hit the bedrock way down deep
Where sassy nuggets love to sleep.

But boulders huge, they barred his way
And stopped that shaft producin’ pay.
So Hank was feelin’ mighty blue
And fretted some just what to do.

His grub was low, his cash was shot
With winter comin’ sure as not
Those mountains blue would turn pure white
And close the passes left and right.

So off to town Hank went right quick
To see if folks could help him stick.
But what they had, they needed sore—
That made Hank’s outlook mighty poor.

Back to his claim he trudged that night,
Downhearted true, a sorry sight.
The great outdoors, he loved them so,
But all they’d given Hank was woe.

His thoughts fled swift to his dad’s bank,
To keepin’ books. His heart, it sank.
To add up sums would sentence him
And make his life so mighty grim.

He had to fight a better fight . . .
And then it hit him, dynamite!!
With some of that, he might prevail
And blast those rocks that made him fail.

But where to get it without cash?
He had to think of something rash.
Now, in the town, there was a mill
For crushin’ ore freight-ed downhill

That brand-new mill would need a plan.
To do their books, they’d need a man
To tally things, to work things out.
Hank smiled, then gave a mighty shout!

The mill hired Hank right on the spot.
And with his wages, yes he bought
A case of feisty dynamite,
To blow those boulders left and right.

On Christmas day he reached bedrock.
With candle lit, he stared in shock
At golden nuggets there below,
A magic golden wonder show.

Well, irony’s a fickle dame
But she helped Hank out just the same;
For keepin’ books was what saved him
When things were lookin’ mighty grim.

Merry Christmas everyone, and all the best in the new year too,

Lanny

 

[old digger]

Wishing your Christmas is joyous!

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

Thankyou Lanny, me and Prospector Jo sure do enjoy your writings. I was getting primed-up to ask you to post something soon, so this was a real treat. I don't suppose you would do an encore and consider posting just one more Christmas poem, maybe one from the past that we also enjoyed so much? Maybe one about ol' Santy Claus?

Jim & Jo

 

[Terry Soloman]

Merry Christmas Lanny!

 

[Lanny in AB]

Wishing your Christmas is joyous!

Many thanks for the kind wishes, and all the best to you as well,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Thankyou Lanny, me and Prospector Jo sure do enjoy your writings. I was getting primed-up to ask you to post something soon, so this was a real treat. I don't suppose you would do an encore and consider posting just one more Christmas poem, maybe one from the past that we also enjoyed so much? Maybe one about ol' Santy Claus?

Jim & Jo

Thanks for the PM with the note, it was much appreciated, and thanks for your ongoing appreciation for the poetry as not everyone likes poetic expression, but I like to experiment with it from time to time. As far as an encore goes, I'll have to see. I've been extremely busy of late and that is why I haven't had a chance to crank out any volume of summer gold stories yet, but I'll see what I can do.

As for reposting, that's pretty easy, so I'll see if I can find what you've requested.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Hi Jim, here's what you requested, I believe . . . I had to go back quite a ways to find it.

Warning, prospecting poetry!

Old Santy Claus Came out One Night.

The miner bent sat in his shack
T’was Chrismas eve, the sky pitch black.
A blizzard roared outside his place,
A lonesome night for him to face.

Still, up he gits to hang his sock,
A nail he drives with played-out rock,
And hangs that stockin’ up with care
In hopes that Santy will be there.

Why--ain’t no cookies--nor no milk,
The finer things just ain’t his ilk.
No puddin’ pie, nor Christmas cake
The finer things ain’t his to make.

His money’s gone; the claim don’t pay,
The vein he chased has pinched away.
Upon this ground he’s toiled his best
Those four-score twenty years his test.

The things that always easy were
Just ain’t that way, not now, for sure.
Yet up he gits and hangs his sock,
He sez his prayers and winds the clock.

The storm, she smacks that shack about
But it’s built snug—the cold stays out.
So, off he goes to sleepy land
But comin' soon, a visit’s planned.

It seems a grizzly’s wide-awake,
He’s huntin’ hard for grub to take.
Then up he sneaks upon that shack.
(This ain’t no Santy with his pack!)

He checks the door and finds ‘er stout
It seems the miner’s locked him out.
That ain’t no Christmas way to awe
Twelve-hundred pounds of fur and claw!

So, Mr. Bear he checks the place
And sets himself a torrid pace.
He’s had no lunch since early fall . . .
He finds a weak spot in the wall--

(The stacked up rocks where shack met hill
That miner hid his mine with skill)--
Then Griz, he rips some stones away
And steps inside to eat and play.

He’s in a room, but not the shack
(This spot's fer grub and stores to pack)
His nose tells him, “The food’s in here.”
His stomach senses fun is near.

He finds a ham just hangin’ there
And chomps ‘er down without a care
He even finds a jug to try
He rips the cork, and drinks ‘er dry.

He’s feelin’ rather light of head
He staggers some, then off to bed.
The world she turns from night to day
The storm has purged itself away.

On Christmas morn the miner wakes
He checks his sock, his head he shakes.
No gifts therein, he feels right poor.
And hungry some, un-bars the door.

The storage room ain’t lookin’ fine,
A bruin’s there, he’s all supine. . .
If Santy Claus left him this brute,
Ol’ Santy thinks he’s mighty cute

Fer’ layin’ out this nasty gift,
That’s blockin’ up his minin’ drift!
Now, what to do? Well, that’s the trick
And thinkin’ thoughts he plans right quick

To tippy-toe around that bear,
And do it all with greatest care,
Yet if he slipped, or sneezed, or stomped
That miner’d get himself right chomped!

Then all at once, a brand-new plan.
He spies himself a blastin’ can.
He twists some fuse and strikes a light,
He’ll do this job, and do ‘er right.

A lengthy roll toward the bear,
Then thunder happens everywhere!
Now Mr. Bear is wide-awake--
An exit hole he sure does make.

The bear he's gone, but that there blast
Set things in motion mighty fast.
The ground and hill began to quake.
The living rock commenced to shake

The portals’ timbered rotting wood.
(His Christmas morn weren’t lookin’ good).
“Aw Durn”, he cussed, “She’s gonna’ give.
There ain’t much chance I'm gonna' live.

But he was wrong. And when t'was done
A Christmas gift that miner'd won.
For near the portal, to its right
He saw himself a golden sight.

A vein of quartz all laced with gold
His wondering eyes did there behold.
And in his mind he knew this was
His real gift from Santy Claus!

All the best,

Lanny

P.S. Here's some background info on what inspired me to write this poem--there's a Charles Russell (legendary Western artist and author) connection, as I believe the story I'll refer to in my following notes is from one of his early collections:

This poem is a compilation of several different experiences--the one where the bear broke into the trailer (through the window) of some mining buddies of mine and drank all of their canned beer--got hammered--and then tore through the door when he came to and wanted out.

Another is an experience from a very old western tale I read where two prospectors are lost in a blizzard on Christmas Eve, and their pack horses stop in the trail, as they know there's a cabin just off the trail that their human companions can't see. So, the prospectors hole up in the cabin for the night, hang their stockings (a token Christmas celebration as they won't be making it to where the celebrations going on) and head off to sleep.

Well, in the back of the cabin (the tumbled-down part) there's a griz a hibernating. The big fire they've built in the rock fireplace awakens him (and the smell of the bacon they'd fried), and pretty soon there's a big bear right in the main room licking up their leavings by the fire. Well, hot lead starts flying thick and fast, the bear becomes Christmas dinner, and after a feast, the boys decide to check out the fallen down part of the cabin where the griz was hibernating.

It turns out that there's a bunk under the caved part of the roof on one side, with the skeleton of an old-timer in it--all dressed out in buckskins, a flint-lock rifle laying beside him--a true old-timer--one of the first. So, that gets them thinking, and they scour the ruined part of the cabin, find a hiding place, and there's a nice, fat poke of gold cached in it! (They gave the weight in the tale--it was most impressive, but I can't recall it right now.) So those two old boys got their visit from Santy Claus.

 

[63bkpkr]

Thank you Lanny for both poems as they tell of so much chance playing in the lives of 'folks' as often it seems it is chance that guides our lives. But then how do we know that what guides our lives is that bit of light that comes to us each year as we celebrate Christ mas as maybe, by chance, it is truly that light that guides us through our lives if we just choose to follow it. Merry Christmas to you and your family as well as all the folks and families associated with TNET!.............63bkpkr

 

[Lanny in AB]

Thank you Lanny for both poems as they tell of so much chance playing in the lives of 'folks' as often it seems it is chance that guides our lives. But then how do we know that what guides our lives is that bit of light that comes to us each year as we celebrate Christ mas as maybe, by chance, it is truly that light that guides us through our lives if we just choose to follow it. Merry Christmas to you and your family as well as all the folks and families associated with TNET!.............63bkpkr

Thanks so much for dropping in to leave such a kind note, and I too wonder as you have wondered . . .

As for the Christmas season, I too hope it fills others with a desire to help and do good and to be grateful, indeed I do.

All the best to you Herb, and a very Merry Christmas as well,

Lanny

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

Hi Jim, here's what you requested, I believe . . . I had to go back quite a ways to find it.

Warning, prospecting poetry!

Old Santy Claus Came out One Night.

The miner bent sat in his shack
T’was Chrismas eve, the sky pitch black.
A blizzard roared outside his place,
A lonesome night for him to face.

Still, up he gits to hang his sock,
A nail he drives with played-out rock,
And hangs that stockin’ up with care
In hopes that Santy will be there.

Why--ain’t no cookies--nor no milk,
The finer things just ain’t his ilk.
No puddin’ pie, nor Christmas cake
The finer things ain’t his to make.

His money’s gone; the claim don’t pay,
The vein he chased has pinched away.
Upon this ground he’s toiled his best
Those four-score twenty years his test.

The things that always easy were
Just ain’t that way, not now, for sure.
Yet up he gits and hangs his sock,
He sez his prayers and winds the clock.

The storm, she smacks that shack about
But it’s built snug–the cold stays out.
So, off he goes to sleepy land
But comin' soon, a visit’s planned.

It seems a grizzly’s wide-awake,
He’s huntin’ hard for grub to take.
Then up he sneaks upon that shack.
(This ain’t no Santy with his pack!)

He checks the door and finds ‘er stout
It seems the miner’s locked him out.
That ain’t no Christmas way to awe
Twelve-hundred pounds of fur and claw!

So, Mr. Bear he checks the place
And sets himself a torrid pace.
He’s had no lunch since early fall . . .
He finds a weak spot in the wall--

(The stacked up rocks where shack met hill
That miner hid his mine with skill)--
Then Griz, he rips some stones away
And steps inside to eat and play.

He’s in a room, but not the shack
(This spot's fer grub and stores to pack)
His nose tells him, “The food’s in here.”
His stomach senses fun is near.

He finds a ham just hangin’ there
And chomps ‘er down without a care
He even finds a jug to try
He rips the cork, and drinks ‘er dry.

He’s feelin’ rather light of head
He staggers some, then off to bed.
The world she turns from night to day
The storm has purged itself away.

On Christmas morn the miner wakes
He checks his sock, his head he shakes.
No gifts therein, he feels right poor.
And hungry some, un-bars the door.

The storage room ain’t lookin’ fine,
A bruin’s there, he’s all supine. . .
If Santy Claus left him this brute,
Ol’ Santy thinks he’s mighty cute

Fer’ layin’ out this nasty gift,
That’s blockin’ up his minin’ drift!
Now, what to do? Well, that’s the trick
And thinkin’ thoughts he plans right quick

To tippy-toe around that bear,
And do it all with greatest care,
Yet if he slipped, or sneezed, or stomped
That miner’d get himself right chomped!

Then all at once, a brand-new plan.
He spies himself a blastin’ can.
He twists some fuse and strikes a light,
He’ll do this job, and do ‘er right.

A lengthy roll toward the bear,
Then thunder happens everywhere!
Now Mr. Bear is wide-awake--
An exit hole he sure does make.

The bear he's gone, but that there blast
Set things in motion mighty fast.
The ground and hill began to quake.
The living rock commenced to shake

The portals’ timbered rotting wood.
(His Christmas morn weren’t lookin’ good).
“Aw Durn”, he cussed, “She’s gonna’ give.
There ain’t much chance I'm gonna' live.

But he was wrong. And when t'was done
A Christmas gift that miner'd won.
For near the portal, to its right
He saw himself a golden sight.

A vein of quartz all laced with gold
His wondering eyes did there behold.
And in his mind he knew this was
His real gift from Santy Claus!

All the best,

Lanny

P.S. Here's some background info on what inspired me to write this poem--there's a Charles Russell (legendary Western artist and author) connection, as I believe the story I'll refer to in my following notes is from one of his early collections:

This poem is a compilation of several different experiences--the one where the bear broke into the trailer (through the window) of some mining buddies of mine and drank all of their canned beer--got hammered--and then tore through the door when he came to and wanted out.

Another is an experience from a very old western tale I read where two prospectors are lost in a blizzard on Christmas Eve, and their pack horses stop in the trail, as they know there's a cabin just off the trail that their human companions can't see. So, the prospectors hole up in the cabin for the night, hang their stockings (a token Christmas celebration as they won't be making it to where the celebrations going on) and head off to sleep.

Well, in the back of the cabin (the tumbled-down part) there's a griz a hibernating. The big fire they've built in the rock fireplace awakens him (and the smell of the bacon they'd fried), and pretty soon there's a big bear right in the main room licking up their leavings by the fire. Well, hot lead starts flying thick and fast, the bear becomes Christmas dinner, and after a feast, the boys decide to check out the fallen down part of the cabin where the griz was hibernating.

It turns out that there's a bunk under the caved part of the roof on one side, with the skeleton of an old-timer in it--all dressed out in buckskins, a flint-lock rifle laying beside him--a true old-timer--one of the first. So, that gets them thinking, and they scour the ruined part of the cabin, find a hiding place, and there's a nice, fat poke of gold cached in it! (They gave the weight in the tale--it was most impressive, but I can't recall it right now.) So those two old boys got their visit from Santy Claus.

That was just grand Lanny, thankyou very much for all that you contribute to this forum. Merry Christmas and all the very best to you and the family in the forthcoming New Year.

Jim & Jo