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  1. #31

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
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    (Part III of The Midnight Caller.)

    After we arrived at where we were going to set up camp, and suddenly realizing that my near death experiences were over, and that I had survived, I got out with a keen desire to start kissing the ground, to start doing anything and everything to convince myself that I was still alive, even crazy things like running around shouting and screaming! Well, the shouting and screaming started almost immediately—the hordes of northern bugs found me before my feet hit the ground.



    I leaped back into the truck shouting and screaming to my partner to dig behind the seat to get me the can of Deet-laced dope. (By some stroke of luck, he had one in his front jacket pocket, and he handed it to me, while calmly chewing on his sandwich, yet still looking somewhat alarmed by my noisy re-entry into the truck. [I believe I have a story somewhere on this thread about Bugs, blood, and gold that goes into much greater detail.]) Anyway, being careful not to squirt any portion of the quasi-nuclear concoction on any of the plastic in the truck (bug dope and plastic don’t like each other at all—it always turns into a gooey get together—a very sticky relationship), I spread enough on me to keep the bugs at bay.

    However, while I was in the truck doping up, the bugs were busy doing what they do best; they were busy bashing themselves senseless in to every inch of glass, infuriated at not getting inside to continue their frenzied, northern blood drive.

    Being doped up, and feeling safe, we set up our base-camp on a flat treed area containing older growth spruce and fur, white-wrapped birch, and along the banks of the bordering creek, thick stands of green-leafed willows grew profusely. Nestled amongst the trees, here and there, were several old log cabins—none of them inhabited. But, all were proudly possessed of great character. Undoubtedly, each structure had many tales to tell, as all were located in a rich, storied goldfield--one where the noble metal had been hunted and chased for well over a hundred and twenty years. Moreover, the old road we had journeyed in on ran right through our camping flat. In addition, it was still used by the locals on their way to the lakes for fishing, and to the upstream claims for mining.



    We went through the never-favorite process of unloading everything from the back of the truck so that we could set up the wall tent. Once we’d put together a portion of the steel inner-frame, we hauled the white canvas up over the sidewall and roof supports. Next, I ran inside to lift up the remaining sidewall struts and poles, and then I set up, adjusted, and stabilized the wall legs while my partner steadied the tent. After our canvas home was up, we covered the whole thing with a massive silver tarp as extra protection from the sudden downpours that frequently occur in those remote mountains. We secured the tarp and the tent walls with ropes and stakes, and then set up our mattresses, bedding, and wood-burning stove.

    To say that I was wasted and hammered by lack of sleep, adrenaline drop, and road exhaustion brought on by sixteen straight hours of night and day travel (and punched-out logging truck stress) is to use pathetic, impotent understatement. Nonetheless, the long summer night was beginning to wane, and all I wanted to do was crawl into my sleeping bag and drift off to blissful sleep. That is what I wanted, but that is not what happened.



    When I started to strip to get into my night skivvies, I was seized upon by a dreadful realization that the tent was inhabited by uninvited guests--it was full of bugs that still wanted their share of blood. They lined the walls and roof of the tent, and they hadn’t given up at all, they'd simply waited in the tent, biding their time, fresh meat was on the menu. I swatted and clawed, but knew it was purposeless. Something had to be done.

    Well, I don’t know about you, but I can’t go to bed with bug dope all over my body—it doesn’t only eat plastic—it’s hard on brain cells, and harder still on other far more sensitive body structures. So, my partner, seized upon by the same realization as I, decided that he’d fix the problem. Bravely armed with his full compliment of clothing once again, he built a roaring fire in the tent--it was his secret weapon. In fact, it was amazing how quickly the moving mass of bugdom worked their way up the walls of the tent as the heat intensified.

    My partner was enjoying the show so much that he stuffed the firebox full of wood--threw the damper wide open--until the belly of the stove glowed cherry red. The bugs were now driven to the peak of the tent, spurred into marching along the ridgepoles, beating a hasty, motivated retreat out of the vent holes on either end. The outside northern night air was now so chilled (it was full dark), that the bugs never came back (they just couldn’t keep flying in that frigid night air. By experience, we discovered that every night, the little vampires ceased flying—flight was physically impossible for them at those lower temperatures).

    However, we now had a new problem, even if we’d chosen to sleep buck naked, it was far too hot in the tent to enjoy it. Our only option left was to close the damper on the stove, throw open the front flaps of the tent, toss them up over the sides, and tie them in place until the tent cooled sufficiently.

    (As mentioned earlier, we soon discovered the flightless nature of the bugs after a certain hour, and so every evening thereafter, we engaged in our nightly de-bugging ritual: firing up the stove, baking our brains as the bugs vacated, then throwing up the flaps to cool down the tent. As a result, it always provided a cozy, pest-free, sleeping environment.)

    Nevertheless, sleep eluded me that first night. And, here is the reason why--I soon found out that my partner’s (unknown to me then) snoring alternated somewhere between the decibel range of a screaming, fully-revved chainsaw, to close to that of the jarring stutter emitted by a completely-engaged Jake-brake (engine brake) on a semi-trailer! I tried pushing on his air mattress to interrupt his anguished, midnight symphony, but he would only snort, make puckering and slurping sounds, then hurry on by composing whole, new, improvised measures to his masterpiece.

    Mercifully, my brain came to my rescue, as I remembered hearing once that a sudden, loud noise could jar a person from their snoring, leaving them in a lighter state of snore-less sleep. In desperation, I whistled with all I had. (I can whistle at will, one of those piercing, ear-splitting whistles you hear at sporting events when a team scores.) The offending bedbug sat bolt upright in his sleeping bag—wildly scanning the tent in every direction—completely unaware of what had awakened him. I lay there as quiet as death, unmoving, eyes closed, the perfect picture of an unconscious tent mate. He quickly settled down, as everything was obviously calm and serene within the walls of the tent, and he went soundlessly to sleep.

    For about fifteen minutes . . . .

    Unbelievably, he launched into a whole new score of musically cruel and unusual torture! He rehearsed and then soared to unheard of almost operatic heights—I genuinely felt he was in danger of waking the long-dead residents of the little Old-timer's cemetery fully two blocks distant. So, I whistled again, with renewed, desperate effort. Once more, he sat bolt upright, and again, I remained motionless and silent. This time, he went back to sleep, but the snoring had ceased for the night, and I slept like the dead I had truly become.

    Upon waking the next morning, my partner was in a reflective mood. It took him a bit of time to come out and state what was perplexing him so deeply. Without a word of a lie (or you may boil me in oil), he finally spit it all out. “Did you realize that you whistle in your sleep?” he exclaimed. You woke me up last night, and I just couldn’t get back to sleep!

    (The rest of this story is yet to come, and my apologies, as I have yet to relate the end of the tale of The Midnight Caller, but I will get there.)



    All the best,

    Lanny
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jan 23, 2014 at 06:43 PM.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  2. #32
    us
    FIRE...Financially Independent Retired Early. Poor but free!

    Feb 2013
    Deep in the redwoods of the TRUE Northern CA
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    Snoring and mosquitoes...so much a part of any hard core camping experience. I slept in a tiny toyota 4x4 one night in AK, the mosquitoes were attacking the truck so hard it sounded like light rain on the windshield. (no, I am not exaggerating). Snoring? Well let's just say I take after my dad..rafter loosening...but I sleep thru it.
    We don't fight for gain. We fight for what is rightfully ours.

    Just another supporter of Land Matters http://www.mylandmatters.org/ The one stop place for mining matters on public lands!

    CA prospectors check here http://www.mylandmatters.org/Donate/Gift1.html

    A recent study found that there are just too many studies being done.

  3. #33

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
    5607 times
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jeff95531 View Post
    Snoring and mosquitoes...so much a part of any hard core camping experience. I slept in a tiny toyota 4x4 one night in AK, the mosquitoes were attacking the truck so hard it sounded like light rain on the windshield. (no, I am not exaggerating). Snoring? Well let's just say I take after my dad..rafter loosening...but I sleep thru it.
    Jeff,

    People that haven't had the genuine "bug" experience have a hard time believing how horrible it can be.

    I like your analogy to rafter loosening--that's a great one!

    All the best,

    Lanny

    P.S. I have a story about bugs and gold hanging around somewhere; I'll have to see if I can find it.

    Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .
    Aufisher likes this.
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  4. #34

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    The Midnight Caller Enigma, Part IV-A (Too long to post in one piece--part B to to follow.)



    That night I drifted peacefully off to sleep, kind of the same way that big, fluffy flakes do while drifting into a ridge, when accompanied by a soft wind, on a pleasant winter’s eve. Moreover, my partner, probably still suffering from post-traumatic-whistle-shock, had verbalized a bit of pragmatic logic, right before he turned in: “You know”, he said, “My wife always makes me turn over on my side when I snore at home—she says it stops me cold.” And, with that, he turned on his side and I heard no Jake-brakin’-chainsawin’ ruckus whatsoever. (Although, I did wonder why he hadn’t employed that tactic the night before—must have had something to do with gold miner wisdom he just wasn't willing to share.)

    Regardless, I found myself dreaming soft, easy dreams of nuggets in every pan, of virgin bedrock covered with pickers, when all at once my conscious mind was alerted by my subconscious that all was not right with the world. (You know the experience, when you’re peacefully dreaming, and all at once you find yourself awake, and you wonder why the heck you’re awake when you know you nodded off dead tired? Well, that’s what happened to me. I knew I was awake, but I didn’t know why.) Listening carefully, I noted that my partner was as silent as Grant’s Tomb. So, I was somewhat puzzled as to why I was awake. However, as I was just drifting off again, I clearly heard what my subconscious had heard to awaken me.

    “Snort—snuffle!”

    My hair stood on end; my body began to contract itself into the smallest form it could. (I knew how much protection the walls of a tent offered from a predator.) Then I heard something big twang off one of the guy ropes of the outfitter’s tent, and I heard an alarmed snort. This was not good. I already knew we were in bear country—thick bear country as a matter of fact, filled with blacks and grizzlies, and I wondered how long it would be until one of them (For yes, there was definitely more than one.) decided to test the sharpness of their claws against the flimsy resistance of a canvass sidewall.

    The only comforting thought I had during this paralytic horror was that they were on the same side as my silently dozing partner. (Yes, it was selfish hope, I’m not proud of it now, for the greedy carnivores would get to snack on my partner before they got to me. His body was a convenient barrier barring them from me, and yet he remained oblivious to the unseen horror outside the tent.)

    However, my brief sense of shameless security at my partner's expense vanished when one of the unseen malefactors shifted itself to the head of the tent right where our puny human heads were resting. Whatever evil power it was then began to rip up large clumps of grass! Now that move put me in a real pickle. These unseen carnivores were clever—a two-pronged attack was much harder to defend against. Moreover, imagine my distress when another began snuffling, snorting, and ripping up grass at the front of the tent!! All was doomed—I had nothing to lose now—any hope of using a human shield had fled. So, I reached over and shook my partner. He came awake with a very slurpy gurgle, then he dopily asked me if he’d been snoring again. Instantly, the snorting, snuffling, and the tearing of grass halted immediately. All was deathly still. I’m sure my partner wondered why I’d jarred him from his baby-like bliss. I shushed him and quietly told him that there was something alive and ominous, prowling outside the tent.

    I flicked on a tiny penlight I had stashed under my pillow, and started to make my way down to the foot of the tent where I kept a large, halogen flashlight. As I moved cautiously, the snorting and tearing started again. I turned around with the light, and my partner’s eyes were bugging out of his head. (Or maybe it was a bug. I don't know. They really are that big up north.) His hair was standing on end (it didn’t matter that it was already like that before he went to bed—it just looked perfect for the frightening mood of the moment), his jaw dropped, and he flew to the foot of the bed to yank the 30-30 from the scabbard. That much noise from within the tent quieted the noises from outside once again. Gathering all of my courage, I unzipped the front of the tent, and we stepped outside.

    On a bit of a side note, that light of mine could melt the eyeballs from the head of a bronze statue, and I quickly panned it left and right. Well, this didn’t sit well with the animals. Eyes lit up all over the place in the darkness. I was thunderstruck. It was an invasion-sized force! I’d never seen so many evil eyes blazing in the forest darkness.

    But all at once, those wild eyes in those huge heads jerked up from the ground. Massive blasts of steaming breath fogged the the chill night air, obscuring everything.

    Nevertheless, finding some hidden reserve of inner strength, I kept the light moving, shining the beam to illuminate whatever the living nightmare was. I watched in transformed terror as their claws turned to hooves, their imagined humps turned to manes—until, as one, with a great blowing and snorting, off they galloped.

    Wild horses.

    A herd of wild horses? Where the heck had they come from? (We found out the next day that there was a herd that worked its way all summer up and down the connected series of canyons we were camped in.)

    Of course we both had a good laugh (sort of a hysterical, fake kind of laughter if you must know), and we both shot out macho, man-bonding statements about how silly it was to get all worked up about bears, when in reality it was only horses. The kind of friendly B.S that lives briefly after a heart-stopping crisis, one where you've shamelessly lost every shred of your manly dignity. You must know what I'm talking about.

    Well, I know it’s hard to believe, but it took us a while to get back to sleep, but we worked on it by bucking up our spirits with a couple of cups of hot chocolate, and we may have even told silly, way less scary stories about real bear encounters. I don’t recall the exact contents of the conversation exactly—most-likely due to shock, and brain seizure, but eventually we went back to sleep. And, we awoke the next morning to a beautiful, clear day.



    (The Midnight Caller Enigma , Part IV-B to follow.)

    All the best,

    Lanny

    Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jan 23, 2014 at 06:50 PM.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  5. #35

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
    5607 times
    Prospecting


    When I look up and know it’s a crazy risk; when I begin to think it’s a possible chance; when I tell myself it’s a great opportunity to sample virgin ground; when I steadily gain confidence and plot a way up; when the first fifty or so steep steps reward me; when the firm footing suddenly abandons me, as one foot, then the other slips and bone meets rock; when I begin to think that thinking was a better idea; when I calm myself, then wish myself to believe it’s still possible; when I move up farther and find even less to grab on to; when I slip more frequently, lose skin, and leak blood; when I discover I can’t see the toes of my boots because the pitch is too steep; when my deep brain survival instinct initiates a neuron firing loop; when the mind fog suddenly lifts revealing the impossibility of heading back down; when every upward movement buys only fractions of toe or handholds; when I finally reach the spot that looked so tempting to find it’s only an illusion some pea-brain dreamt up at the bottom of the gorge; when I realize there’s nothing to hang on to and take a sample of dirt regardless; when I start to realize that playing Russian Roulette gives me the better odds; when the mountain goats are laughing so hard they fall off the surrounding cliffs; when the eagles start texting each other about some idiot glued to the rock, I realize how powerful the lure of gold is.



    All the best,

    Lanny

    Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .

    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  6. #36

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
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    (The Midnight Caller Mystery, Part IV-B.)



    After breakfast, we went to the truck, lifted the lever to let the seat fall forward, and then took out our metal detectors. We connected the batteries and then walked a few steps away to conduct air tests. My machine was working flawlessly. I tossed my chip with the nugget glued to it on the ground and got a nice low-high-low sound. All at once I heard the most awful screeching, and I figured my partner must have gotten his coil too close to the truck, all of that metal overloading his circuits, blowing out his speaker. As the screech and howl continued, I turned and saw a blur disappear into the tent. Nope—it wasn’t the detector at all—my partner had simply forgotten to spray up with bug-dope.

    Well, we went out that day and dug all kinds of square nails (commercial-made and hand-made nails), bits of lead, pieces of tin, iron wire, copper wire, shell casings, bullet lead, but no nuggets. We came home dog-tired and ready for bed. Up north where we were, you can get in fourteen or more hours of detecting in a day if the weather’s good, and we’d put in lots of hours of swinging the coil that day.



    I actually fell asleep before my partner that night, as he was updating his little spiral-bound notebook that he always carried in his front pocket. Anyway, it was sometime right near midnight (I sleep with my watch on) when I was once again awakened by my subconscious. I opened my eyes and listened (I’d learned to trust my subconscious by now). At first, all I could hear was a kind of scuffing noise off in the distance accompanied by a human voice, and then the words of that voice came clearer to my waking ears.

    Someone, approaching the tent from downstream, was weaving a tapestry of obscenity unlike any other masterpiece I’d heard before. The verbal assailant was a true scholar of the form--a genuine master. Moreover, if the outer air of the planet had been blue before he’d started, it was now a rich, dark, navy blue! As he got closer his tirade took on an increased intensity, but he was coming onward quite quickly, then he was hastily by, launching his copious cussing all the while to speed off into the trailing distance to be heard no more.

    My partner slept through the whole stellar performance. He was blissfully unaware of any part of it. I, on the other hand, was quite astounded by it, and I pondered it’s meaning and purpose until sleep finally overcame me. Contentedly, I was once again wrapped in the drowsy arms of Morpheus. Several hours later, my subconscious mentor once again placed a call. Taking it quickly this time, I listened alertly in the darkness.

    The same scuffing noise (accompanied by some highly creative, colorful language) was returning from the opposite direction! The bizarre oration's cadence and volume increased until it once again sped by the tent, hurrying on until its symphony disappeared into the distance toward the tiny hamlet (down-slope of our camping site). Other than the interruption of sleep, I in no way felt threatened by the unrequested demonstration of artistic, volcanic energy. So, I went back to sleep, thinking of it as a once-in-a-lifetime midnight performance—a northern oddity of sorts.

    It was not!

    (The next morning, in the dust of the gravel track that passed the tent, I could clearly see the outline of a bicycle’s tires, front and rear. That explained the speed with which the impromptu midnight orator had arrived and departed.)

    The next night, the preacher’s symphony of obscenities was repeated again at the exact same hour, only this time, as he approached, I woke my buddy so he could verify the act. He groggily complied, acknowledged his witness of the act, and then went back to sleep. Several hours later, as the bicycle preacher returned for his encore performance, I woke my partner and let him enjoy another soliloquy. (To say my partner did not appreciate being awakened for these twin sermons is to be overly vague—suffice it to say he enjoyed sleeping better. If I recall in more detail, It was something about how he valued his sleep—or some such rot as that.)

    The next night, I was sound asleep (I guess my subconscious knew that the midnight caller was no threat—I’m not sure), yet my partner awakened me to listen to the caller blast the air with his verses of profanic ecstasy. (I wonder why my partner felt the need to wake me? I was fast asleep, enjoying a well-earned rest . . . ?) Regardless, he felt I needed to enjoy another nighttime session.

    The next morning, we made out the tracks of the bicycle once more. We followed them upstream for miles on the quad, until they crossed a bridge over a stream. We quit following them at that point, as there was some good looking bedrock exposed along the bank downstream of the bridge. (Imagine gold miners being distracted by that!)



    But from the tracks we’d followed, it was obvious that the midnight caller traveled extensively at night, zealously spreading his colorful message far and wide.

    The next night, he returned again, with renewed energy and zeal in his delivery, and he truly waxed sublime in his oration. This time, my partner and I were both awake as our senses were assaulted. However, these verbal excesses were not getting us any prolonged sleep, so I determined to do something about it.

    You’ll remember that halogen flashlight—the one that could melt bronze eyeballs? Well, I devised a plan on how to use it to its full advantage.

    I kept myself awake the following night, waited until I could hear the first stirrings of the midnight caller’s latest sermon. I quietly unzipped the front of the tent, and when he was coming alongside the tent in all his magnificence, I gave him the full blast right in the eyeballs! He jerked as if he’d been pole-axed!! His head snapped up, his one hand clawed the air to fend off his impending blindness. Alas, he was doomed.

    Having lost control of his metal steed as he’d raised his hand, the gravel hooked his tire and off he shot at right angles to the road, launching himself gloriously into the now still night air, straight down the embankment, through the dense thicket of fringing willows, to be plunged without dignity into the knee deep water.

    We heard some strangled cries, some renewed cussing, a lot of snapping of branches, followed by a great deal of splashing water, and then we spotted him emerging from the gloom on the far side of one of the previously mentioned historic cabins. He mounted his horse of the night, and with many wet, squishy sounds rode off down the road. However, he did so in profound silence, no doubt lost in deep thought.

    We went back to sleep, and were not awakened by a return performance later that night. Indeed, the rest of our stay was unmarred by any further profane performances. Somehow, we’d found a solution to the mystery of what motivated the midnight caller on his nocturnal rides.

    Somehow, indeed.



    All the best,

    Lanny

    Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .

    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jan 25, 2014 at 12:24 AM.
    Terry Soloman and Hoser John like this.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  7. #37
    Charter Member
    us
    May 2010
    White Plains, New York
    Minelab GPZ 7000 -- Equinox 600 -- Vanquish 540 -- Minelab Pro Find 35 // Grave Digger Tools Nemesis shovel, Sidekick hand digger // Bunk's Hermit Pick // Sponsored By Fort Bedford Metal Detectors
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    LMAO!

  8. #38

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
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    Quote Originally Posted by Terry Soloman View Post
    LMAO!
    Glad you had a chuckle Terry.

    Thanks for dropping in, and all the best,

    Lanny

    Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jan 24, 2014 at 05:24 PM.
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  9. #39
    us
    Jun 2010
    440
    390 times
    There was a legendary miner named Flat Nose Bob up here in The N. Cal Sierras. He died a few years back. He was a true loner and mined
    for gold all year long, and got a lot of it, I'm told.

    My miner friends knew him well, and one stayed in a dilapidated cabin a few days with him.

    Epic poetry! And I love those mountain pics!
    Lanny in AB likes this.

  10. #40
    us
    FIRE...Financially Independent Retired Early. Poor but free!

    Feb 2013
    Deep in the redwoods of the TRUE Northern CA
    Teknetics Alpha 2000
    2,624
    4093 times
    Prospecting
    A very good read and pics. I lived every moment with you going from bears to horses. Thanks always for sharing Lanny.
    Lanny in AB likes this.
    We don't fight for gain. We fight for what is rightfully ours.

    Just another supporter of Land Matters http://www.mylandmatters.org/ The one stop place for mining matters on public lands!

    CA prospectors check here http://www.mylandmatters.org/Donate/Gift1.html

    A recent study found that there are just too many studies being done.

  11. #41
    us
    Mar 2003
    Redding,Calif.
    5,854
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    All Types Of Treasure Hunting
    What a hoot. We do meet some a the strangest charactors in the middle of the forest. Nice tag along through Canadian forests and criks Lanny. Hope Herb arrives in Tejas ok and gets to see this great post as he sure loves the great out a doors life ....thanx much-John
    Lanny in AB likes this.

  12. #42

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
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    Quote Originally Posted by bedrock bubba View Post
    There was a legendary miner named Flat Nose Bob up here in The N. Cal Sierras. He died a few years back. He was a true loner and mined
    for gold all year long, and got a lot of it, I'm told.

    My miner friends knew him well, and one stayed in a dilapidated cabin a few days with him.

    Epic poetry! And I love those mountain pics!
    I have a story I wrote a while ago about a loner like the Flat Nose Bob you're describing. He was in a rich spot and he drift-mined all year long and did nothing else.

    He died one day, but the locals (only 20 or so of them in the tiny, remote community) didn't find him for days, and the only reason they did is because he didn't show up to get his mail.

    However, not finding his body for a few days wasn't the biggest mystery. They couldn't ever find the cache of gold he'd mined. I wonder if it was the same with Flat Nose Bob?

    Thanks for dropping in, and all the best,

    Lanny
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Feb 01, 2014 at 02:35 PM.
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  13. #43

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jeff95531 View Post
    Thanks Lanny. I love all of our stories of WTF was I thinking because we all have done it and more than once. Thank God there is that 10% left in our brains that screams out "MUST...LIVE....MUST GET OUT OF THIS" that brings us back to tell the stories...of what not to do.
    Thanks Jeff, but sometimes I'd swear I'm down to only 5%! Maybe I could get a stem cell implant to restore me to 10%. Ha, ha.

    All the best,

    Lanny
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  14. #44

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by Jeff95531 View Post
    A very good read and pics. I lived every moment with you going from bears to horses. Thanks always for sharing Lanny.
    You're most welcome Jeff.

    There's a bunch of things I've collected along my way in addition to the gold: good friends, lots of pictures, and a story or two about the hunt for Mother Nature's golden metal.

    All the best,

    Lanny
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  15. #45

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
    Various Minelabs(5000, 2100, X-Terra 705, Equinox 800, Gold Monster), Falcon MD20, Tesoro Sand Shark, Gold Bug Pro, Makro Gold Racer.
    5,325
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by Hoser John View Post
    What a hoot. We do meet some a the strangest charactors in the middle of the forest. Nice tag along through Canadian forests and criks Lanny. Hope Herb arrives in Tejas ok and gets to see this great post as he sure loves the great out a doors life ....thanx much-John
    Thanks John for your kind words and appreciation.

    We do indeed meet some strange characters along the way while chasing the gold. Come to think of it, others have undoubtedly met me, or seen me on some of my exploits (like up on a cliff face) and considered me in the strange category as well.

    I too hope to hear from Herb soon once he's relocated.

    All the best,

    Lanny
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

 

 
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