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  1. #1

    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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    Prospecting Tales

    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

    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jun 14, 2014 at 11:35 PM.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  2. #2
    us
    fowledup

    Jul 2013
    Northern California
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    Great story, Lanny! Thanks for sharing it with us.
    Aufisher likes this.
    Folks may not remember the words of what you said but they dang sure will remember how you made them feel!

  3. #3

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
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    Warning: Prospecting Poetry



    I hope you guys enjoy this.

    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 t' 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 t' 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
    His four-score twenty’s now 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 t' sleepy land
    But comin' soon, a visit’s planned.

    It seems a grizzly’s wide-awake,
    He’s huntin hard for grub t' 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 t' 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--

    It’s at this point where shack meets hill
    (The miner’s hid his mine with skill)--
    That griz he pulls some stones away
    And steps inside t' eat and play.

    He’s in a room, but not the shack
    (This spot's fer grub and stores t' pack)
    His nose tells him there’s food 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 t' try
    He rips the cork, and drinks ‘er dry.

    He’s feelin’ rather light of head
    He picks a spot, then off t' bed.
    The world she turns from night t' day
    The storm has purged itself away.

    On Christmas morn the miner wakes
    He checks his sock, his head he shakes.
    He gives a sigh, he’s feelin’ poor,
    And to his mine, 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!
    Well, what t' do? Now that’s the trick
    The miner’s thinkin’ mighty quick.

    T' tippy-toe around that bear,
    Well that would take the greatest care,
    And if he slipped, or sneezed, or stomped
    The miner’d get himself right chomped.

    Then all at once he has a 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 beams and posts began to shake.

    That portal needed new, strong 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 the right
    He saw himself a golden sight.

    A vein of quartz all laced with gold
    His wondering eyes did there behold.
    And to 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, lower down, 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 story 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 then stop in the trail, as they know there's a cabin just off the trail that their human companions can't sense or see. So, paying attention to the horses, 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 are going on), and they 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 succumbs and becomes Christmas dinner, but 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 way back there's a bunk under part of the roof where it's caved on one side, with the skeleton of an old-timer under 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 that thinking leads them to scour the ruined part of the cabin where they find a hiding place. In that place, there's a nice, fat poke of gold cached! (They gave the weight of the poke 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.



    Attached Thumbnails



    All the best,

    Lanny
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jun 14, 2014 at 11:46 PM.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  4. #4

    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 fowledup View Post
    Great story, Lanny! Thanks for sharing it with us.
    Thanks for your kind comments!

    All the best,

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

  5. #5
    us
    Keith

    Feb 2013
    Glendale
    Gold Bug Pro, Gold Buddy drywasher, Black Magic, Pro Gold recirc, Custom highbanker/2.5" dredge, Roadrunner Member
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    Those pictures are fantastic.
    Men are strong so long as they represent a strong idea they become powerless when they oppose it. Sigmund Freud

  6. #6

    Apr 2003
    Alberta
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    ​A Visit From Old Nick



    Out West there toils a man named Nick

    That fills folks’ wishes purdy slick,
    Yet only when they’ve done their best
    Will Nick step in te do the rest . . .

    So get yourself a comfy spot
    For you’ll hear things, as like as not
    Which may seem false or might seem true
    But how you see it’s up to you.

    * * * * *

    A boy there is whose name is Pete,
    His sister Sue is mighty sweet,
    And yet their lives are far from fine
    Their Ma and Pa are clothed in pine.

    Pneu-mo-ni-a—it holds the blame,
    So things will never be the same.
    ‘Cause, life is rough for orphaned youth
    And that’s the cold hard, durn-ed truth.

    But these two kids has Uncle Joe.
    His ways are kind. His speech is slow.
    His hands are big. He’s got huge feet.
    His sense of humor’s never beat.

    But loyal, Uncle Joe is most,
    He’d take his licks and be a ghost
    Before he’d ever break his vow
    To see them kids raised-up somehow.

    But—times is bad and mighty tough,
    Depression woes have made things rough,
    ‘Cause things is hard in ‘33
    And that’s a fact now, yes-sir-ee.

    The jobs is gone, the banks ‘r broke
    And findin’ cash, it ain’t no joke.
    But Joe he plots himself a plan
    To garner riches if he can . . .

    He packs his gear to head out West
    Where Argonauts once did their best
    To wrest the wealth from nature’s hand;
    To dig some gold, is what he’s planned.

    So one spring day, he bids adieu
    To little Pete and tiny Sue.
    He packs his gear and strides away
    Into the West, to find some pay—

    To give those kids a decent shot
    At food and clothes, and like as not
    At books and school and learnin’ fun.
    His quest for gold is number one.

    He sets his pace to reach the land
    Where noble nuggets have been panned.
    Through untold miles he keeps his pace,
    To reach the hills, that guard the place.

    At last he spies the quested spot—
    Those magic hills where Oro’s got.
    But as he strolls those treasured creeks,
    Joe finds he’s late by many weeks.

    The news she’s bad, for times is tough
    And many folks has got it rough.
    The Sourdoughs feel bad for him,
    They know Joe’s chance, she’s mighty slim.

    His farmin’ skills won’t help him know
    How far to dig, or where to go.
    But Joe decides he’ll stay to mine,
    To work for others will be fine.

    He’ll work until he’s learned the tricks.
    For once he’s learned, it always sticks.
    So one fall day, he quits the creeks
    To hike some slopes—for gold he seeks.

    A bedrock rim crops from the hill
    It lures him in and fires his will.
    A cut is there from days gone by—
    A tunnel black has caught his eye.

    A drift he views from long ago
    He ducks his head and shouts hello,
    An echo greets him in a blink—
    The air, she’s got a potent stink!

    A cougar’s made her den in there
    For bones is scattered everywhere
    And cougars they’s a tough old lot
    And fightin’ them gets mighty hot.

    Undaunted though, Joe probes about
    And finds the big cat’s ventured out.
    Off to the left he spies a seam
    And starts his miner’s diggin’ dream.

    A month of dirt--he runs it through.
    It’s mighty poor, that’s awful true.
    Yet on he digs to test some more.
    Them kids needs him, of that he’s sure.

    The days is short, the weather’s cold
    The sluices gripped in Jack Frost’s hold.
    The Sourdoughs, they start to fret—
    They pull their freight and out they get.



    Well Joe, he’s now the only one
    That’s diggin’ dirt fer Winter fun.
    Yet what he’s gettin’ ain’t worth spit
    Dejected now, he packs to quit.

    His heart is heavy, that’s fer sure,
    For tortured ways there ain’t no cure.
    Them kids wuz sorely countin’ on
    His help, but now that hope is gone.

    Sweet Sue and Pete—no Christmas—none.
    No clothes, no books or school’in fun . . .
    But then at once, Joe hears a sound
    Which makes him snap his head around.

    Just up the creek there stands a sight!
    A Sourdough with beard of white—
    With cow-belled mules all fully packed.
    And through the snow old Joe he's tracked.

    He’s heard of Joe from those gone south,
    (Rich gossip spread by word of mouth).
    Of miner’s woes the news spreads quick,
    He shakes Joe’s hand—his name is Nick.

    Old Nick he tells a tale or two
    Of how things wuz in ’62,
    Of how he struck it rich those days,
    Then left for Frisco’s finer ways.

    But now Nick’s bored from sittin’ there
    In all that balmy ocean air,
    His life’s gone soft with wine and song—
    Not bein’ here, it seems all wrong.

    Imagine Nick’s complete surprise,
    When up the hill he looks and spies
    That Joe’s been diggin’ in his drift!
    His bushy brows give quite the lift.

    Nick scrambles up to check his mine
    And then his eyes begin to shine.
    He says to Joe, “Now here’s a sight.
    You took a left instead of right.

    The clay that’s blue, she marks the way
    That maps the seam where lies the pay.
    And here’s a truth that must be told,
    It leads the way to sassy gold.”



    Old Nick and Joe worked day and night
    And chased blue clay off to the right.
    At last they found a seam of pay
    Where fines, and flakes, and nuggets lay.

    Well Joe, he hollered, hooped and cried
    And Nick he grinned a mile wide!
    When Joe he turned to thank Old Nick,
    Old Nick had pulled a clever trick—

    He’d up and vanished without trace!
    No tracks or mules any place.
    No trails through the virgin snow.
    No camp of Nick’s just down below.




    * * * * * *

    The Argonauts, when tales are told,
    Recount of Nick from days of old,
    Who lost his life in ’62,
    While minin’ seams with clays of blue.

    Out West there toils a man named Nick
    That fills folks’ wishes purdy slick,
    Yet only when they’ve done their best
    Will Nick step in te do the rest . . .

    All the best,

    Lanny






    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Jan 05, 2014 at 11:42 PM.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  7. #7
    us
    Mar 2003
    Redding,Calif.
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    I love it when ya get them creative juices a flowing Lanny. Thanx much for the great thread and truly hope your 2014 is righteously golden in Free Canada-respect-John
    Lanny in AB and Aufisher like this.

  8. #8
    Charter Member
    us
    I can dig it! "WP"

    Mar 2007
    Arizona
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    Awesome!
    Aufisher and Lanny in AB like this.

  9. #9
    us
    FIRE...Financially Independent Retired Early. Poor but free!

    Feb 2013
    Deep in the redwoods of the TRUE Northern CA
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    When I was just a kid, up in the mining ghost town of Warren ID, my folks knew two loggers named Stan and Ernie. They both had very low "bass" tone voices and when liquored up properly, would leave us spell bound with renditions. I actually found one of them on line just now...here it is.
    (Thanks Lanny)


    The Cremation of Sam Mcgee

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.
    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
    Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
    He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
    Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".
    On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
    Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
    If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
    It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
    And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
    And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
    He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
    Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
    "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
    Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
    So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
    A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
    And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
    He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
    And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
    There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
    With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
    It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
    But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
    Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
    In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
    In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
    Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.
    And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
    And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
    The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
    And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
    Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
    It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".
    And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
    Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
    Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
    Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
    The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;
    And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
    Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
    And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
    It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
    And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
    I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
    But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
    I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";. . . then the door I opened wide.
    And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
    And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
    Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.
    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.

  10. #10
    us
    fowledup

    Jul 2013
    Northern California
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    Lanny reminds me of a modern day Robert Service. The shooting of Dan McGrew is another Service favorite. I think I've said something of this before, but there used to be an awesome place to go outside of Fairbanks, at Ester gold camp called The Malamute Saloon. Sawdust a d peanut shell floors, swinging doors, the original bar and bar back from the Malamute Saloon in Dawson. Really cool place, they had a guy with this booming bass voice recite service poems, and they performed period skits.
    Folks may not remember the words of what you said but they dang sure will remember how you made them feel!

  11. #11
    us
    FIRE...Financially Independent Retired Early. Poor but free!

    Feb 2013
    Deep in the redwoods of the TRUE Northern CA
    Teknetics Alpha 2000
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    YES! The shooting of Dan McGrew was another one! I didn't post it because I wasn't sure if I found it...didn't remember the words exactly. It's only been 50 years since I heard it.
    TYVM for the name fowledup...I'll google Robert Service later
    PS Even tho I never made it to Fairbanks...I did get the Tee shirt from The Malamute Saloon
    Last edited by Jeff95531; Dec 29, 2013 at 01:18 PM.
    fowledup and Aufisher like 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.

  12. #12

    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.
    5,323
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by kazcoro View Post
    Those pictures are fantastic.
    Many thanks!

    All the best,

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

  13. #13

    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.
    5,323
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by Hoser John View Post
    I love it when ya get them creative juices a flowing Lanny. Thanx much for the great thread and truly hope your 2014 is righteously golden in Free Canada-respect-John
    Thanks so much John. I hope you have a great 2014 as well!

    All the best,

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

  14. #14

    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.
    5,323
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by Goodyguy View Post
    Awesome!
    Thanks for your comment!

    All the best,

    Lanny
    Last edited by Lanny in AB; Dec 29, 2013 at 08:17 PM.
    Aufisher likes this.
    Nothin' quite as fun as chasin' sassy nugget gold! http://www.treasurenet.com/forums/me...mysteries.html

  15. #15

    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.
    5,323
    5607 times
    Prospecting
    Quote Originally Posted by fowledup View Post
    Lanny reminds me of a modern day Robert Service. The shooting of Dan McGrew is another Service favorite. I think I've said something of this before, but there used to be an awesome place to go outside of Fairbanks, at Ester gold camp called The Malamute Saloon. Sawdust a d peanut shell floors, swinging doors, the original bar and bar back from the Malamute Saloon in Dawson. Really cool place, they had a guy with this booming bass voice recite service poems, and they performed period skits.
    Thanks for your nice, solid compliment, and thanks for the extra information--very interesting.

    All the best,

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

 

 
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