Prospecting Tales

[Lanny in AB]

Prospecting stories, tips, a few poems on gold hunting, and all are about chasing the gold. Just fly past the poems if you'd rather read stories.

The Tale of Sourdough Sue

It’s time for the tale of Sourdough Sue,
A right salty gal she was, through and through.
She’d followed the strikes all over the west,
And chasin’ the gold was what Sue liked best.

As summer was fadin’ there came word to her
A rush was a hapnin’, for certain, for sure
Yes, gold had been found, big nuggets, coarse flakes
“I’m goin’”, said Sue, “Whatever it takes.”



It seems in Montanny they had them a strike
And word of a rush, them gold diggers like.
So Sue grabbed her gear and loaded her mules
With beans, bacon, flour and stout minin’ tools

At last she was ready to head on up north
Sue knew t’would be tough, but still she set forth.
Why, week after week it was lonely and cold,
But Sue couldn’t shake the lure of that gold.

The weather degraded the farther she went
The storms she encountered seemed not heaven sent
The trek was slow, the wind howled in the trees
The snow was so deep Sue wished she’d brung skis.



Them passes was chokin’ with oodles of snow
The air in them mountains was forty below
Now Sue weren’t no Pilgrim, but this here was tough
The sun had skedaddled, and things were plumb rough.



Sue needed a spot to ride out that storm
A shelter and fire to get herself warm
Well, off in the spindrift she spied her a light
To Sue there weren't never a more welcome sight.

A cabin it was, for certain, for sure
The warmth that it offered was likely a cure
For cold toes and fingers with needle-like pains
(Escape from that storm didn’t take many brains.)

The cabin was home to one Hook-Nosed Bob Brown
His spirits was up, for they never was down.
As looks weren’t his strong suit, Bob’d loaded his mind
With right clever sayin’s from book quotes he’d find.



Now Sue came a stumblin’ from out of that storm
And Hook-Nosed old Bobby just turned on the charm
He sat Suzie down, right close to the heat
Then went to his stable—those mules got a treat,

Bob stripped off their harness, their cold heavy packs
He rubbed them right down with dry gunnysacks
He broke out some oats, some sweet meadow hay
Then forked them some bedding where both mules could lay.

Then back to the cabin he flew off to check
How Sue was a doin’, but she’d hit the deck
A buffalo hide, she’d found near the bed
And close to the fire, she lay like the dead

Well Bob had read somewheres to let such things lie
(T’was somethin’ on canines, to wake them you’d die?)
So Bob settled in for the last of that night
While the storm shook the cabin with all of its might.

The mornin’ it came with a hushed quiet chill
The wind had died out, but the cold was there still.
Bob built up the fire, then snuck off outside
To check on those mules, who thanked him bright-eyed.

Then back to his cabin he sped to his guest
For Sue was a stirrin’, so Bob did his best.
He threw on some bacon, them beans got a stir
Whatever Bob did, he did it for her.

For up on the wall, on a peg near the fire,
A stockin' was hung! For what you enquire?
T’was Christmas of course, and Bob had desired
A gift from old Santa, just like he’d enquired.

Right here lay a woman, fresh in from the storm
And on Christmas eve, he’d made his place warm.
He’d trusted in Santa to grant him his wish
This Sourdough Sue was a right purty dish.

Well Sue and Bob bonded. His nose wasn’t right,
But Bob was so witty, it fled from Sue’s sight;
She saw there, instead of what others had seen,
The solid-gold-Bob that'd always there been.


So, this is the tale of Sourdough Sue
Who went in a rush to find gold, it’s true.
But Sue wasn't savvy to Nick’s crafty plan
To scoot her off northward to find there a man.

And just so you’re certain, so there's not a doubt
(I’m sure in your mind you’ve figured it out)
In Bob’s Christmas stocking, hung there on his wall
Was a note from old Santa explaining it all.


All the best,

Lanny

 

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[tvanwho]

Hi Lanny

Some of us miss your great stories. Could you post any stories over on Steve H's forum at Detector Prospector.com. ? Maybe we can get Steve to make a Detecting Stories forum over there? I know Jim Hemingway visits us occasionally there too. Winter is almost here and I know a lot of us like to read tales of gold and treasure when the ground is froze.

-Tom V.

Just for you Jeff, here's the "wake-up" call to reactivate this thread.

I'll have to post a few more things here I guess.

All the best, and thanks for the notification,

Lanny

 

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[Jeff95531]

Hey Lanny. Ever hear of this?

SLUMACH'S GOLD (HOW TO FIND) SLUMACH'S GOLD AND WHERE TO FIND

 

[Lanny in AB]

No pressure Lanny. Anything from the last 8 months will do.

Wow! Over 10K views! Guess it has been busy!

Jeff,

It's always great to hear from you and to see what you're up to when it comes to chasing the gold.

I had a great season, found a lot of sassy nuggets, learned more tricks on how to find the gold, refined my detecting techniques a bit more, learned better how to listen to what my machines were telling me, sharpened my "where to look" skills by reading Ray Mill's book, and I also gained an appreciation for the very different things each unique detector can and can't do.

One day, I got into an old working high above the present channel where I came out with three different varieties of gold! That was a first for me.

The glaciers that had been altering the landscape untold thousands of years ago must have made at least three very distinct runs. Then, the modern stream (whatever "modern" means in terms of gold geology) or other glacial watering events cut down through those three distinct depositions to concentrate the results on bedrock. (I don't pretend to be a geologist, nor do I begin to pretend to understand Mother Nature's wiles when it comes to the mystery of depositing her golden offspring.)

The nuggets came in flattened, smooth pieces of a buttery yellow color; coarse sponge-like gold nuggets, that were rough in texture yet quite fragile; and nuggets that were fat with lots of rounded bumps for great character.

I hit spots where every once in a while the detector gave broad responses (not narrow, sharply defined signals) where groups of golden pieces were deposited tight and close together. That was a first as well!

It was a lot of fun, a lot of hard work, and a lot of learning all combined into a very productive season.

As with all things, the only thing I have to do now is find the time to write the stories, but the snow has fallen once already, the frost has painted its remarkably unique patterns on the window glass, and one day soon, Old Man Winter will roar loud and long and his icy fists will hammer down on the land to pound us into frozen submission. Then, the stories will come.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Some of us miss your great stories. Could you post any stories over on Steve H's forum at Detector Prospector.com. ? Maybe we can get Steve to make a Detecting Stories forum over there? I know Jim Hemingway visits us occasionally there too. Winter is almost here and I know a lot of us like to read tales of gold and treasure when the ground is froze.

-Tom V.

Tom,

Why, many thanks for your kind words! I don't know about the possibilities of posting stories on Steve's forum, but when I get a chance, I'll take a peek at his guidelines to see what's possible.

Thanks for dropping in and being so positive about the gold tales.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Hey Lanny. Ever hear of this?

SLUMACH'S GOLD (HOW TO FIND) SLUMACH'S GOLD AND WHERE TO FIND

I have, and there's been a TV series on exactly that recently, with the key players out chasing the clues. It's been somewhat entertaining, but as with all TV reality dramas, I take it with a cup of salt (a grain would not be nearly enough). I do hope they find something one day as there's been a lot written on the subject and the gold all those years ago had to come from somewhere, but when it comes to legends, there's always a discovery process that ends one of two ways. The dreamer in me always wants the golden legends to be found, but when I watch some of the things they attempt on reality TV to generate drama, the realist in me wakes up pretty fast.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Warning: Annual Christmas Poetry

Away up north where cold winds blow
There lived a miner, Woeful Joe
At blastin’ rock he was supreme
The gold he’d found, a miner’s dream



But when it came to making friends
Old Joe struck nothin’ but dead ends
No matter what he’d do or try
His friendship hopes would always die.

You see old Joe was mighty sad
As he was never ever glad.
True sadness he would only choose
So friendships he would always lose.

Joe cried about his minin’ dump
He wept about his leaky pump
He’d sob about his dynamite
He’d moan about his miner’s light

He’d wail when spikin’ down his track
He’d sigh about his achin’ back
He’d groan about his grub and gear
He kept it up twelve months a year.

Yes, Joe was really quite a wreck
His friendship efforts shot to heck.
But Joe was lonesome for a pal
So he made plans to get a gal!

Well Joe got busy right away
To lure a wife to come and stay
A bride by mail, his master plan,
A needful thing for such a man.

Well Joe wrote letters that were slick.
He lured a gal right mighty quick.
She loved the north, her letter said.
Joe’s heart it leapt, yet he felt dread.



For in his heart his sadness flared.
This chance at love, it had him scared!
For if rejected it could smash
His plans at love, his hopes to dash.

His bride named Peg came strong and stout
Chock full of fun, she sure stuck out.
This happy gal a big surprise
To Joe’s sad lookin’ miner’s eyes.

On Pegg’s face was stamped a smile
That lit the camp for half a mile.
She sure was happy, plain to see
It flummoxed Joe, most certainly.

But opposites do sure attract
For sad wed happy, that’s a fact.
On marriage day, just so’s you know,
Miss Peggy’s laugh was “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

Around the mines, the whole year long.
Her deeds were good, her laughter strong.
She tended needful folks in camp:
She cared for hobo, bum or tramp,

And any soul that needed cheer
Found joyful Peggy always near,
For Joe had cached a ton of gold
And told his Peggy, truth be told




To use the bullion in town
To save poor souls whose luck was down.
To every sort Peg gave her aid:
The snobby game she never played.

But in her heart deep down below
She felt a yearnin’ for her Joe
For sadness trapped him without pause.
So, Peg wrote off to Santa Claus!

Could old Saint Nick, if he’d the time
Just grant her wish, a hope sublime,
That her dear Joe would lose his sad.
Now how could that be somethin’ bad?

Then back Peg went to helpin’ folks
A singin’ songs, and crackin’ jokes
It seems she had a wondrous gift
Of givin’ souls a needful lift.

Moreover Peg was born right tough
Her Russian blood the strongest stuff
For gals on her Pegovski side
Were just as tall as they were wide

Now it was muscle, no, not fat!
(Now shame on you for thinkin’ that.)
T’was burly strength, all solid true
That powered all the deeds she’d do.

Those muscles, gosh, she had a whack
When minin’ timbers she could crack
By bendin’ them across her knee!
(I’m barely kiddin’ don’t you see.)

Well, in December, Peg heard sound
That Santa’s sleigh would soon be round.
Her wish for Joe on Saint Nick’s list,
But Fate dreamed up an epic twist!

You see, one night there came a thump
The firm set earth, it gave a jump.
The ground rose up and smacked back down
To wreck their little minin’ town.

Now folks was trapped most any place,
Down minin’ shafts of cold, dark space,
In drifts and tunnels by the creek . . .
Well, things things was lookin’ mighty bleak.



But Peg was made of sternest stuff,
And from this mess she took no guff.
She started diggin’ right away
To rescue souls, both night and day.

She freed an awful lot of folks
And did it all while crackin’ jokes.
That gal was tougher than most men
She’d rest a bit then dig again.



She smiled and worked until at last
She needed dynamite to blast
Through rock to clear a blocked up stope.
She called on Joe with perfect hope.

So Joe, he set those charges right
And cleared a passage by first light.
Then Peg went in to search the place.
Now every minute was a race



To save that rugged workin’ crew,
A trapped below with hopes so few.
But as our Peg crept down below,
The earth it shifted so’s you know,

And soon there was a mighty thump
Those mountains took another jump!
Then rock and timber, silt and dust
Roared out the adit with a gust!

Well Joe stood lookin’ mighty down
Across his face a woeful frown.
It seems when Joe was mighty sad,
He worked his best, so that ain’t bad!

Those rocks and timbers how they flew
The folks in town, they never knew
What strength was locked in Joe’s sad frame
Until they saw his rescue game!

He’d drill his holes then set to bust
Them rocks to nothin’ but small dust!
And soon the way was blasted clear
For him to find his Peggy dear.



His gal, well she was standin’ there
With clothes all torn and muddied hair
Yet round her were the minin’ men
A trapped down there since way back when.

And all were safe, t’was plain to see.
Yet, they stood shocked, but happily,
For Joe was smilin’ ten feet wide
His happiness he could not hide.

Well with his bride all safe and sound
Joe’s sadness never more was found.
T’was if Peg’s note to Old Saint Nick
Had worked a wondrous magic trick.

All the best to all, and a very Merry Christmas too,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Warning: Annual Christmas Poetry!

There lived a miner, name of Pete
That hit a pocket, mighty sweet
The gold was thick like toffee true
The quartz was loaded through and through

So Pete he worked that pocket out
Packed up his gold and gave a shout!
He’d tramped those hills for many years
He’d given blood, and sweat, and tears.

But now our Pete was mighty flush
So off he went in a big rush
To find a gift for his love true
A lovely gal named Honey Dew.

His wife had come across the seas
And she did all she could to please
Her rugged man that chased the gold,
Yet wanted children, truth be told.

Now, Honey Dew was never blessed
With child or babe. She'd tried her best.
But Pete was loved right through and through
By lonesome little Honey Dew.

T’was Christmas soon, and miner Pete
Was clueless what to buy his sweet.
For worst of all, in minin’ camps
There’s nought to buy but picks and lamps.

So Pete he wrote to Old Saint Nick
And prayed to God to seal the trick.
But mail in minin’ camps is slow
And when them winter winds did blow

The storms they closed those passes quick,
So Pete gave up on news from Nick.
He grabbed his pack and fine snowshoes
To cure his heavy Christmas blues.

Across the pass a town he knew
Had gifts a plenty, it was true.
With pokes of gold Pete hit the trail;
His Honey Dew he would not fail.

He’d find a gift for his love true
The gal that loved him through and through.
But on the mountain trouble came
An avalanche changed up the game.

A detour Pete was forced to make
That took him past a frozen lake,
And near that lake there stood a shack
With windows frozen, cold and black.

It looked deserted that was clear
And winter’s night was drawing near.
So Pete decided this was where
He’d spend the night a restin’ there.

The snow was drifted round that shack
The door he forced, but just a crack.
When Pete squoze in, he got a start
That almost stopped his mighty heart.

A ma and pa were frozen there.
Him in a bunk; her on a chair
Beside a crib with furs piled deep.
Then Pete, he heard the faintest peep!

He gently moved the furs away
A babe in swaddling clothes there lay
A little boy, it looked to be
But death was near, t’was plain to see

He quickly grabbed some tinder, bark,
With flint and steel he threw a spark.
The smoke rose up, the bark caught flame!
Pete knew he had to win this game.

He built a blaze to warm that shack
He took some jerky from his pack
He boiled some water, made a broth
And dipped the end in cotton cloth

To let the babe nurse on that brew
But not too much our Pete he knew.
He spent the night, then days went by
At last the babe yelled out a cry!

The worst was past, and Pete was due
Back at the camp with his love true.
In furs he wrapped the babe all warm
To keep it safe from Winter’s harm.

So, to the camp he swiftly flew
On snow-shoed wings with one life new.
This precious babe his gal would raise--
To God and Nick Pete gave his praise.

All the best, and a very merry Christmas to one and all,

Lanny​

 

[Hefty1]

Great poems as always, Lanny Happy Holidays.

 

[Lanny in AB]

Great poems as always, Lanny Happy Holidays.

Always great to hear from you!

It's been a while. I hope you have a great holiday season.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Hoser John]

Great to see the creative juices flow and a Merry Christmas to you too in Free Canada Lanny-tons a au 2 u 2-John

 

[Terry Soloman]

Merry Christmas Lanny!

 

[Lanny in AB]

Great to see the creative juices flow and a Merry Christmas to you too in Free Canada Lanny-tons a au 2 u 2-John

Thanks John, and a Merry Christmas to you as well.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Merry Christmas Lanny!

Thanks Terry, and a very Merry Christmas to you too.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Don't be a gold snob.

So, here's the deal on gold snobbery: While out gathering nuggets the last few outings, I've noticed that I have come dangerously close to the line, the repulsive gold snob line that is. What I mean by that is that I look at a patch of ground, decide where I consider the best place to look for the nuggets is, and then I hammer that ground and lose interest in all surrounding areas.

Sometimes that works as I'll capture some sassy gold, and other times there are no nuggets to be found no matter how many eddy currents I fire into the dirt. It's when faced with a case of nugget defeat that I begin to realize that gold snobbery is raising its ugly head.

So what is a gold snob? Well, since I'm the one that's flirted with the line, I should define the line: To me it's when I deliberately rule out areas to nugget shoot based on my judgment that no self-respecting chunk of gold would ever choose to hang out in the places I've decided to snub, thus making me a gold snob. In other words, I'm too good to go poking around in those unworthy areas, and that attitude pushes me to the gold snob line.

So here's the lowdown on that showdown of snob vs. humble nugget shooter. In every one of those recent hunts, when I experienced my epiphany (my dramatic realization) that I was becoming a gold snob, I overrode my hubris (my excessive bad pride), and I went to check those areas where no nugget could possibly dare to be found in comparison to the the prime ground my brain had previously chosen.

However, in each and every one of those cases of imminent snobbery, I found nuggets! One of those sassy nuggets is the size of my thumbnail and obese, yes in need of weight loss!! One has teeth, which I've never seen an example of before (truly, teeth). One was in a pocket with the pieces of steel I mentioned two postings ago, but it resided on a piece of bedrock that had no business hiding gold as it was to heck and gone from the pay streak, but the gold was there regardless. Another was on the margin of an abandoned excavation that had lots of exposed bedrock, the bedrock of which produced no nuggets, but the margin produced a nice nugget indeed. Still another was along a contact zone that produced all kinds of old square nails, can-slaw, slivers of bucket and track, etc., and yet the nugget was there in spite of my snobbery that no nugget would join such common trash, trash where even with my pan I couldn't find a speck of gold. Sadly, and with shame I admit, that in each and every case, I had to abase myself to go detect those undesirable areas, yet all of those undesirable areas turned out to be very desirable indeed!

What else can I say?

I guess I'll have to join Gold Snobs Anonymous if I'm not more careful, yet my recent success has reminded me of my humble roots where I used to be happy to detect anywhere just for the off chance of finding a nugget. Those dim, yet happy memories brought me back from the brink . . .

So, take a warning from me: Don't become a gold snob. It may just stop you from finding the gold that's there waiting to be got.

When in gold country, check the likely and unlikely areas. Gold sometimes travels bizarre paths to get to where it's waiting to be found.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

This post connects to my earlier post about joining the GSA (Gold Snobs Anonymous).

Well, I have a little time, and I'd like to jot down a few more specific notes about one day this past summer when I really needed to join the GSA.

I'd been out swinging my Minelab 5000 in the hot sun, during the hottest part of the day, in a particularly warm summer (on record), and needless to say, I was hot, thirsty, tired, and covered in dust.

But I need to digress a bit.

I was working a spot that had been excavated earlier. The miners had worked a layer of stream-run that consisted of about eight feet of assorted gravels. There were some big boulders, but most of the rocks weren't spectacular in size. The area was quite flat where the ground had been worked, with the canyon walls rising vertically on both sides. It looked like sometime in the dim past a large glacier had melted somewhere upstream and sent a big blast of material down the canyon, to arrive at the point where I was detecting as the canyon flared open allowing the material to settle out, almost like it had formed a lake there for a while.

The canyon walls were deeply green and soldiered by pines and fir with the occasional cedar and balsam thrown in for variety. The cottonwoods peppered the canyon floor amongst the evergreens. Most of the timber on the slopes ran somewhere close to 70-80 years in age, putting it close to its estimated growth around the time of the great depression, and considerably later than the major gold rush in the 1800's. The layer of undisturbed gravel contained all of the trashy goodies common to mining areas: can-slaw; random hunks and chunks of cast iron; pieces of copper sheeting; bits of wire, highly conductive sections, as well as iron wire of varying thicknesses; square and round nails were ubiquitous as always; ammunition cases or varying calibers as well as a variety of lead shot. What I did not find in my detecting was any gold. I did however find a nice silver dime that looked to have been dropped close to the end of the great depression as it was in fantastic condition with virtually no wear, and it was dated 1939. It was a United States Mercury dime, and it was a complete surprise. I found it on a road close to the site of an old cabin tucked back in the trees.

So, of course I poked around the cabin a bit, and that led to another surprise. Close around the cabin, I saw several excavations, and almost completely overgrown beside one of those excavations was a placer mine hoist bucket! That is the only one I have ever discovered in-situ, and it was one that was made from the materials they had handy, an old fuel drum with a very heavy gauge steel wire bail with a formed round loop at the top. Now, I've seen commercially made placer hoist buckets at old mine sites that are tourist traps, and this one was patterned in a similar fashion, but it was definitely made on site. Plus, they'd done quite a bit of work close to that cabin, including a significant trench that went down about eight feet, the depth of the overlying channel material I mentioned earlier.

All of this knowledge came rushing back to me as I stood there hot and tired looking at the clay layer that generated the floor for the overlying channel material that had been removed. All that was left was a tiny bit of channel material in little runs here and there on top of that armor clay. (The clay layer extended down undisturbed far below the point I'm describing, with the bedrock down about forty feet.) So, even though I was ready to pack it in, I overrode my gold snobs anonymous tendency and went back to my quad where I switched out the Minelab 5000 for my Gold Bug Pro to detect the clay layer. I theorized that if the old-timers from the 30's had moved all that material on the canyon floor in the trees by hand to get to the clay layer, that perhaps there might be a few pieces of gold left riding on or slightly punched into that armor clay. I mean, I know how hard it is to excavate channel material by hand, and those old boys with their hoist bucket had moved considerable material, plus someone had trenched as well, so there seemed to be a chance they'd found gold.

So, I started swinging the Gold Bug over that exposed clay. Well, the first thing I noticed was the almost complete absence of signals on that clay. I mean, I was working armor clay eight feet down from the original level of the old surface material, and whomever had done the excavating had also done me a huge favor by carting away all of the aforementioned trashy material riding in that channel! The only noise I was getting was from hot rocks, and they were imbedded in the clay, but it was easy to tell from their sound what they were. At last I hit a soft, repeatable sound. I mean, it repeated back and forth across the signal, and it repeated 90 degrees back and forth across the signal as well, always a good sign when looking for conductive targets vs. hot rocks or other annoying counterfeit signals.

I carefully removed four inches of clay. The signal was much sharper now, and the meter jumped into the 50 range. The bar meter for iron dropped right off as well. This looked and sounded very good. I scraped carefully with a plastic scoop the area I'd pinpointed, and out of the mud popped a nice nugget just over a gram in weight! It had been rolled down into the clay by the stream material that was now gone. Well, I fired the detector back up and started to search the area very slowly, scrubbing the clay with the coil. In about ten minutes I found four companion nuggets, and they were all in a line running roughly north and south from the original find. I worked the area hard, but got no more signals.

I moved over to a depression that had a bit of channel material still on the clay, got a soft signal, removed the material and there in a little pocket punched into the clay was another nugget! This one was about a gram and a half. So, all of the nuggets found so far were small, but they sure took away the hot and tired blues I'd acquired earlier in the day.

As the northern sun started to dip behind the highest peaks, there was one last spot I wanted to check before I quit for the day. I'd noticed it earlier on; it was an area where some stream material ran in a diagonal line across the clay, then dropped off to a lower portion of the clay where it appeared channel material or a larger size had cut deeper into the clay. I ran the detector over the material, and all I got was stony silence from the rocks. Nothing at all. Not a peep.

I took by bigger pick and raked off several inches of the channel material and scanned again. This time there was a disturbance in the threshold. Because I use headphones for this exact purpose, I heard that break. Without headphones, I never would have heard such a subtle disruption in the threshold. I scrubbed the ground and crossed the spot with the coil even slower this time. There was a definite break in the threshold, but still no signal. I scraped off more channel material, but I noticed that I was now hitting the underlying yellowish clay with each swipe of the pick as well. I ran the coil over the spot and this time it was a positive signal. However, there was no indication on the graphs that it was gold, just the sound of a target. I got my little pick out and carefully started to scrape material away. Once again, nature had hammered a depression into the clay. That depression was filled with river stones. I worked off the overlying material and hit solid clay all around. I made another pass with the coil and this time the meter jumped up into the 50 range with the iron bars still visible, but low. I ran my magnet through the material and it came out married to a bunch of ironstone (magnetite). I scanned again and the signal was crisp and loud, the iron bars gone. It was a simple matter to scoop the remaining material out. I ran the scoop over the coil and it gave a loud, sharp, clear sound. I started the sift-and-drop process onto the coil, then "Whap!" I didn't have to move a thing to see it on that elliptical. A round an robust six gram nugget was flashing golden in the waning sunlight. Let it be known that I don't find a lot of nuggets in that range as most of the pieces run from half a gram in size to around three grams in weight, so this bad boy stood out! Moreover, besides being round, it was thick to boot.

What had started as a hot, dusty, unrewarding day turned into a pleasant evening's sunset accompanied by a bunch of sassy gold in the poke.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

What's on the margins?

If any of you have read Ray's book on "Detecting for Gold", he talks about hunting the margins, the material or area outside of and surrounding a good gold discovery. In other words, too many people only swing their coils directly over the area where all the original placer work was done, and they ignore the dirt just outside or just beyond where the frenzy of mining took place.

This past summer, I was working some bedrock in an area where gold had been found in the past. I wasn't getting anything off the exposed slate bedrock, and this happens a lot when I'm working a spot that others have mined out. Nevertheless, it's paid enough times that I always give worked bedrock a try.

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On this particular hunt, it had rained the previous two days. The sky was what an old Scottish friend I once knew used to call "a soft day". What he meant was that it wasn't raining, but the effects of the rain still hung everywhere in the sky: low clouds, wisps of mist, cool dampness in the air, moisture clinging to the skin, and a soft gray light softening everything. Moreover, such conditions produce a restful quiet as Nature holds her breath until the sunlight brings the birds to life to chatter and sing again. So, because it was summer time, I knew the softness wouldn't last, but the reminder of my friend's expression in his strong Scottish brogue stirred the memory. It was indeed a wondrously soft, quiet day.

I climbed the gradual slope of the bedrock to overlook the aforementioned area. The miners hadn't mined to the left or the right of the spot, so recalling Rays words, I decided I'd give it a shot to see what was in the margins. Now, please understand that I've worked the sides of old prospect holes before to find gold, the sides and top edges being covered by the material that the Old-timers threw out as they drove down to hit bedrock while hand-mining or testing. However, the place I checked was machine mined sometime in the past, so there was no "throwout" factor as the workings were fairly shallow to bedrock, and only a small worked area at that. Abandoned excavations often translate to discouraging test results as not far downstream an large area was worked extensively. (Go figure! Glacial deposits can be the devil to read.) Nevertheless, I decided I'd follow the book's advice to check the margins.

The clay was a slightly bluish gray that really matched the sky that day. I worked my way all around the margins getting no good signals, only signals from bits of trash as the whole area was heavily mined from the 1800's onwards, and whenever I'm in such areas, I always find the ghostly footprints of the Oldtimer's passing.

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However, looping around to almost close the circle, I got a different tone, one that was whisper soft and mellow, not loud and rackety like the trash of the day. The ground dipped a bit where the workings had been slightly stepped down along the working's left-hand side. There was no positive reading on the meter, but the sound was sweet. I took my pick and scraped off about an inch of that stubborn clay and was rewarded with an increase of signal strength. But, still no reading on the meter. So, it was time to take off more clay. The mellow signal increased again. Now, it's my experience that a rapid increase in loudness with a diminishing depth of overburden usually has something to do with target size as tiny pieces of gold will get louder, but only marginally so unless you scrub them with the coil. This sounded more like a chunky target, yet perhaps only a common impostor like lead, copper or brass.

But with the next scrape of the pick, the meter began to read in the 50 range, so it was showing something that was conductive in the middle range. That gets the blood pumping. Well, the target came out in a lump of bluish-gray goo. I pulled off portions and kept running the scoop across the coil then I discarded the quiet pieces on top of a flat rock. (I do this now as I've tossed lumps before only to find that my target, especially small targets, was no longer in the scoop, but in the lump!) The signal was still in the scoop, and it was reading strongly in mid-range on the graph. By the way, I've noticed that some hot-rocks will impersonate targets in the mid-range, but they jump around; in other words, they don't stay pinned at a steady number. (It's also important to point out that nuggets will sometimes move around on the numbered graph as you work your way down to them, when they have iron or other distractors by them, or if they're on edge, etc.) But when I'm very close to the gold, especially larger chunks, the reading on the graph stays constant, and in this case, it wasn't fluctuating at all.

I finally got it down to one lump of goo between my fingers, and it rang out loudly. Inside that ball of clay was a nugget just under 4 grams. It was long and rounded too, quite unusual for the area. Moreover, it would still be there if I hadn't decided to take Ray's advice to hunt the margins, especially as it was obvious to me that the much better ground the miners had worked was considerably downstream and the actual exposed bedrock of the workings produced nothing at all.

Just a little panning eye-candy until I get my other pictures hosted:
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All the best,

Lanny

 

[KevinInColorado]

Tenacity pays off...nice job Lanny!

 

[russau]

Lanny I really enjoyed reading your post on this! It really made my day!! Thankyou!

 

[Lanny in AB]

Tenacity pays off...nice job Lanny!

Kevin,

It's always great to hear from you, and thanks for dropping in to leave a comment.

If you'd like to add a couple of your gold-chasing stories on this thread, I'd love to read them.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Lanny I really enjoyed reading your post on this! It really made my day!! Thankyou!

You are most welcome, and thanks for taking the time to say thanks; it means a lot to me as a writer of gold tales. It takes a lot of time to put them together, then to go back to find and post the pictures that go with the stories, so many, many thanks to you for expressing your appreciation, and all the best,

Lanny