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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[Hefty1]

Sushi yup they are out there, you will see me stop once in awhile and check my pants legs to see if i have picked up any hitch hikers. We are off to the Judds concert.

Hefty

 

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[nuggy]

Great poem Lanny, was that pulled brought back to mind by the one I pm'd you on the same subject? You suggested I post it, so here is my one, written over 10 years back.


GOLD FEVER

I met him up a west coast creek,
he was bearded and fairly old,
I thought him a very decent bloke,
he taught me to pan for gold;
I should have thrown him in the drink,
and ran off down the track,
for gold has ruined all the years,
on which I can look back.

I caught a fevered golden dream,
and started moving stone,
peace, content, home and love,
are things I've never known,
I spent my young life seeking,
for that gleaming, golden glitter,
and all I have to show for it,
are mounds of stone and litter.

In wet and cold I've searched for gold,
and dug till flesh was broken,
all because of a colour or two,
and a few words that were spoken,
I've worn out shovels and pans galore,
it's cost a huge amount,
I've worn a thousand boots away,
and too many socks to count.

Now that I am old and bent,
and can barely shake a pan,
I'm going to pass the disease along,
to ruin some other man,
so if you see me, old bent and smiling
the only thing to do,
is run like hell, don't stop for a spell,
or my victim may be you.

 

[Lanny in AB]

Nuggy--your piece, why it's a little masterpiece of prospecting truth, and I love the ending--perfect! And yes, when you PM'd me, it got me thinking along poetic lines.

Thanks for posting your poem--it's so true--and, all the best,

Lanny

 

[SushiDog]

Um What's a Judd?......SushiDog

 

[Lanny in AB]

Lanny that poem was great........and the end is right on the money....looking for it is what makes it.
Cause once you found it, after a little heart pounding, the hunt for the next one is on.

Hefty

Hey there Hefty--thanks so much. I like how you summed it all up.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Lanny....you're a stand up guy, and I sure was hoping we could use your thread here....that will be great! Doesn't hurt for some guidance and permission, right? I sure Hefty will be pleased, and I will LQQK to him for guidance as well....SushiDog

When you get back--post away Sushi--it'll give me something to bust up these winter no-prospecting blues.

All the best--have fun--hope you find something good,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

You know--I thought I'd lost this story forever, but I found it today! It's about one of my dredging misadventures while I was investigating what I thought might be promising bedrock.


Well, here's another tale of summer's fun.

Once, I tried to cross the swiftest part of the stream to get to the other side of the river while I was dredging, so that I could check things out. I like to think of it (my attempt at crossing) in terms of the world famous River Dance. The dance has a lot in common with my efforts that day: both of them require very rapid movement of the feet, clever planning, and lots of spinning and whirling of the body, with accompanying (sometimes) melodious tones.

As I got suited up one gorgeous summer’s day to get into the dredge hole, I looked at the far side of the river. A cliff was rising out of the river--it progressed up the mountain in a series of timbered bedrock steps for several hundred feet.

At the base of this black mother rock, there’s a wicked pool of water where the river fires most of itself through a narrow bedrock chute. Just upstream of the chute, the river slams into the bedrock wall, cuts back on itself in a suction eddy, then whirls on in a quick right angle turn to create a channel of about eight feet in depth, yet the width is only a couple of yards across.

The rocks and boulders in that hole perpetually shimmy and shiver under the relentless thrumming of the stream.

Nevertheless, my fevered gold cranium had a giant brain wave—a true inspirational melon buster it was. I peeked across the river, and since I was already suited up for underwater gold hunting, my noggin seized on a way to progress safely to the other side.

Now, remember, with a cliff on the other side, holding on to that far bank wasn’t an option. However, since the weather was nice and hot, and the river’s level was dropping day by day, I figured it would be a good plan to saunter over and have a peek underwater, right along that aforementioned chute edge, to see if any nuggets were trapped in it’s cracks and crevices. Why, I told myself, I’d just peek around before the snipers did later on during the lower water of late summer.

As I’ve mentioned, I was suited up for the task anyway. In fact, I had on my two wetsuits, my shorty, my farmer-John with my 7mm cold-water hood, my mask and snorkel, my Hooka harness, and my regulator conveniently slung over my shoulder. I was ready.

So, my pea-sized brain (notice how my brain shrunk from earlier on?) decided it would be a glorious idea to secure my arm around an anchor rope tied off upstream, and then tiptoe across the river—while keeping constant pressure on the line to maintain my balance in the stiff current. Capital idea for sure. Why, I’d work my way to the far side of the chute, gently lower my lithe, aquiline body into the river, and let the sixty pounds of lead I had strapped to me do what lead does best.

The aforementioned would all take place while I casually examined the bedrock for poor, dejected chunks of trapped gold—underprivileged, little river orphans in need of adoption, so to speak.

That was the plan; that is not what happened.

After firing up the dredge to fill the reserve air tank, with the motor purring contentedly, I stepped away from the dredge, intent on flushing out the new game of the day (this is a bird-hunting metaphor for those of you that only fish, or, for--heaven forbid--those of you that get their meat at the Supermarket).

Come to think of it, it’s too bad I didn’t have my hunting dog with me, as he’d have absolutely refused to pursue that swift-water game I’d chosen. He’d have turned tail, shot off for the cab of the truck with a smug look on his face, then bedded down for a safe snooze! (Upon reflection, there’s something about a dog being smarter than a human that just doesn’t sit well—maybe I should wise up and pay him a consulting fee to save myself some grief.)

Man’s best friend, dog brains and canine wisdom aside, I decided that I’d quickly get to the task and ford the stream. So, I walked away from the dredge and immediately stepped onto a slippery sheet of slanted slate. Not to worry, I told myself, for I had ankle weights on that would quickly stabilize my precious piggy toes and feet in that torrid stream.

Thinking back on the as yet unmentioned debacle, there must be some science of river physics that my dim brain hasn’t quite grasped. It must be a ratio or an equation that goes something like this: river velocity x mass + hyper-slippery rocks=stupidity to the tenth power! And, if you divide that by dim-wittedness, you get a very predictable result—with every stagger and stumble, the river exerts an ever increasing degree of control over the flailing foreign body that’s trying to stagger across it (NASA should consult with me on bizarre test theory, or at least pay me to stay out of the water!).

But, I digress yet again—back to the story (which is presented in third person this time, as it seems far easier to review the events as a casual observer, rather than an engaged participant). As the dredger stepped boldly onto the underwater slate, the river's frolicsome control started almost immediately, for as the gold-seeker's left foot went forward down the slippery rock, it jammed the left foot’s big toe into a cantankerous boulder, thus causing the formerly happy dredger to launch into a tapestry of glorious, colorful words, with melodious tones (melodious much like the sounds of boar grizzly attack upon a she cougar with cubs is gently melodious).

This auditory, toe-trauma event in turn created a momentary lapse in sanity, causing said golden boy to move the right foot in response to the hopping, hammering pain being emitted by his throbbing left, big toe. Furthermore, the river current promptly seized the complete right leg in a solid grasp, while the right foot simultaneously slid down a slippery incline.

This in turn caused the back of the aforementioned mega-bozo to twist slightly, creating some sort of physics wonderland where the broad part of the back now acted like a garage door trying to cross the river, all while perfectly upright, perpendicular to the current! This exponentially increasing force utilized the might of untold millions of gallons of playful glacial melt water that spun down the river at roughly Mach III. (Please do not take this speed as the truth—this is a mere estimate only, as I had no calibrated instruments with me for precise measurements of velocity). This enhanced water force, in turn, acted out its vengeance on the porposing dimwit grimly maintaining his death grip on the safety line!

I must call a brief pause here to say that there’s nothing so annoying as your buddy watching you thrash about as you helplessly flail about in the river. It's not annoying that your buddy is watching. No. What's annoying is that while he’s watching he's laughing such a jackal-like, high-pitched laugh that it's terrifying and frightening off any man or beast within a three mile limit, up or downstream, thus eliminating any other possible source of help or rescue!

But, not to continue the tale, after several ballet-like corrections on old pea brain’s part, he’d righted himself by using the safety line. Well, almost righted himself that is . . . pulling back hard on the safety line to come upright, his soggy garage-door-body, now acting like a rudder, began to rocket him back across the river, bouncing him carelessly off of boulders as it propelled him toward, yet still downstream of, the dredge. In fact, this aquatic inertia gave birth to a modified barrel roll of some notoriety, which spun the twit gleefully on the safety line like a tailless kite in a hurricane.

Oh, did I mention that his Hooka regulator was hanging across his shoulder as he artfully (Yup--like really bad art!) stepped into the stream? Well, now his regulator was streaming straight behind him, and since the newly minted moron didn’t have his snorkel in his mouth either, he began to try to drink the river dry.

Oh, ragged drinking on his part it was! For, after his cranium would dunk, he’d re-emerge shaking his head, and smacking his lips. However, he'd then bellow unpronounceable syllables of watery wisdom, quite like clever beer-hall chitchat—chitchat as if he’d been drinking steadily for two days! Nevertheless, he soon floundered (this fish metaphor is quite appropriate, as both eyes now felt as if they were squashed and compressed onto the same side of his head) his way up the safety line and stood waist-deep in the placid river, confident and controlled, magnificently on firm footing once again.

Yes, the blessed bliss of terra firma was finally his. And then befell the withering, perplexing shame of trying to explain the purpose of all those careful, aquatic aerobatics to his landlubber mining partner.

Nonetheless, after a witty explanation to said lubber, the dauntless dredger cautiously proceeded back to the chute on the opposite bank. Once there, he launched himself into the slack water behind a lip of protruding, protective bedrock at the head of the chute.

With regulator in place, he stuck his head underwater only to see that the bedrock was as smooth as a bathtub in most of its entirety . . . But, there just off to the right was a small crevice, and in that crevice was a chunk of brightly beaming yellow gold. Oh, it was magnificent and glorious in its resplendent beauty, the bright sunshine winking off its sassy, golden hide.

Therefore, the salmon-brained dredger quickly shifted his gray matter in to neutral and tried to reach the golden prize, forgetting all about the precarious footing, as well as his temporary shelter from the stiff current.

This mysterious, puzzling act propelled him once more into a form of river dance. No, this performance was not in any way connected to the River Dance that toured the world for years. No, this was a dance accompanied by colorful, strangely explosive, disharmonious tones instead of lively, upbeat music.

At last, the soggy, yet intrepid dredger, much refreshed after finishing his audition for the river dance, returned to his gently purring dredge, stuffed his brains back in through his ears and nose, reordered his eyes, and then quietly went about an uneventful day of boring, ordinary dredging.

River Dance indeed.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[strickman]

I wish I had it on film !!!!!

 

[Lanny in AB]

I don't Strickman--then I'd have to relive it every time I watched it--felt dumb enough the first time around.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[nuggy]

Very entertaining thanks Lanny, Sounds almost ballet like the way you describe it, but un- choreographed lol.
We have tourists coming here to do bungee jumps, water tobboganing with parachutes, canyoning and all manner of such things, that ride of yours could be a moneymaker! You probably picked up some bruises that the tourists wouldn't like though. Nuggy

 

[Lanny in AB]

That's for sure Nuggy--I'm sure you've picked up a few on your adventures as well. And you're right, the tourists wouldn't want any of those bumps and bruises. Thanks for your kindhearted compliments--glad you enjoyed the story.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[patches63]

brings back memories. some days its enough to just make it home/back to camp alive.two years ago,snapped a few hookah hoses together so i could reach a submerged bedrock ledge/cliff in middle of the flooding trinity river.looked promising out there,kinda of a sport dive.naturally i also had visions of gleaming sassy nuggets long overlooked.100 lbs lead plus ankle weights,and away i went.my pards cracked open a couple pacificos and began to philosophise.had to army crawl under the wicked current,using available cover.reaching the rugged slaty/schisty escarpment,was planning how to explore this reef like area.was down perhaps 20 feet and begining to climb up when WHOOOOSH was breathing water instantly.had grabbed a differrent reg harness that morning.not my usual converted to lp scubapro with new checkvalve.cheesy daewoo regulator,air line broke off right at the swivel fitting,shot through the d ring,out from under my weight harness and was gone.along with my dignity,as after walking back upstream to camp,had to grab another belt,re-rig my hose and crawl back out retrieve my 100 lb weight belt.since i had bailed out/dropped my lead and gone up for a breath of fresh air,as they say.and then was swept 100 yards downriver before dragging myself out.too long a hose for heavy water/non commercial regulator.and they call em checkvalves,cuz yer supposed to check em!

 

[Hefty1]

Good afternoon all
Well we survived the trip
Have not seen hide nor hair of sushidog yet.

Hefty

 

[Lanny in AB]

brings back memories. some days its enough to just make it home/back to camp alive.two years ago,snapped a few hookah hoses together so i could reach a submerged bedrock ledge/cliff in middle of the flooding trinity river.looked promising out there,kinda of a sport dive.naturally i also had visions of gleaming sassy nuggets long overlooked.100 lbs lead plus ankle weights,and away i went.my pards cracked open a couple pacificos and began to philosophise.had to army crawl under the wicked current,using available cover.reaching the rugged slaty/schisty escarpment,was planning how to explore this reef like area.was down perhaps 20 feet and begining to climb up when WHOOOOSH was breathing water instantly.had grabbed a differrent reg harness that morning.not my usual converted to lp scubapro with new checkvalve.cheesy daewoo regulator,air line broke off right at the swivel fitting,shot through the d ring,out from under my weight harness and was gone.along with my dignity,as after walking back upstream to camp,had to grab another belt,re-rig my hose and crawl back out retrieve my 100 lb weight belt.since i had bailed out/dropped my lead and gone up for a breath of fresh air,as they say.and then was swept 100 yards downriver before dragging myself out.too long a hose for heavy water/non commercial regulator.and they call em checkvalves,cuz yer supposed to check em!

P-63--What a great little story. It's insane the things we get into some times while we're out chasing the gold. Wow--that was some current you were fighting your way under--been there and done that and it's no fun. I sure hear you about losing your dignity as well--nothing too flattering about coming up from a very obvious fiasco--done my share of those too.

I like you pun about "check valves"--nicely done. Thanks for sharing your little gold hunting tale of misadventure.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Good afternoon all
Well we survived the trip
Have not seen hide nor hair of sushidog yet.

Hefty

Welcome back Hefty--glad you dropped in. It will be nice to see the update on your prospecting adventures.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Hefty1]

Thanks Lanny
Yup Sushidog is alive and well
I will let Sushi tell about the finds of the day.

Hefty

 

[Hefty1]

Hey Sushi...
Here is the link to the patent of my fathers D.A.M. Blue Bowl.
http://www.freepatentsonline.com/4428830.html

Hefty

 

[Lanny in AB]

Sushi and Hefty--It'll be nice to see what you two have been up to.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[nuggy]

Hi Sushi and Hefty, sure hope you had a great time, can't wait to hear about it. Nuggy

 

[stryker-one]

I really enjoy reading your posts Lanny. I'll be looking at all your stuff. Thanks for taking the time to post them. Have a good Christmas and a good new year.

Stryker