Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . .

[Lanny in AB]

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

Nugget in the bedrock tip:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the best,

Lanny


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

 

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[Lanny in AB]

Lanny,
You keep giving out tips like that and the Governor of California is going to be out in one of the streams near the Capitol working the river. Your inputs can just work a person into a frenzy about being out there "playing" in the hills! Heck, I'd leave tonight even with snow on the ground if I could recall a spot like that that I'd passed up ten or more years ago. O Geez, I just thought of that spot! It stands about 10 feet out of the summer time water but its in a narrow gorge so it would be engulfed during high water! Okay, Okay so I was talking out of place as I Am Not going into the Canyon right now due to being a sissy but maybe the Gov. will? Now what trail was I on when I found that loose Rock formation?? That would have been about 30+ years ago so I'm going to have to prod my brain cells to recall that one. Man you messed with my mind again. Oh, thanks like really!

63bkpkr

If the governor wants to go out and try some sniping, I'm up for that.

I hope you do recall a few spots you've trekked over, what with all the hills you've stomped through over the years. I'm glad it's got you rackin' your noggin, and I hope it nets you some nice gold to boot.

All the best,

Lanny

 

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[Lanny in AB]

Lanny and the rest of you folks. Thank you so much for your willingness to share your knowledge and experiences. I learn so much from this forum.

I found my first real nugget, with a GB ll, on the Salmon River of Northern California this past summer. It was the size and shape of a rat dropping and found on bedrock which had been "cleaned off" by others. No mistaking the sound.

Again, thank you.

You're most welcome. And, you've stumbled across a great gold finding truth--gold is found where it was once found, and often it's found where others are convinced the gold has already all been found. Now we both know that's not true, but try not to let too many others know. Especially those that are convinced that the Chinese got all the gold in the areas they worked!

Congratulation on your first nugget--you'll never forget the first one, nor will you ever forget what gold sounds like now that you're a seasoned pro--once you get that first one under your belt, your uncertainties flee.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Moving this forward in my thread (re-post) in a response to a request by Jim Hemmingway--the Christmas month starts tomorrow:

Warning--Prospecting Poetry!


I hope you guys enjoy it. It's a bit of a long read.


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 is from one of his early collections:

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

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

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

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

 

[Hefty1]

Thanks Lanny
Just had to go and use the bear poem.

 

[Lanny in AB]

Thanks Lanny
Just had to go and use the bear poem.

Aw Hefty--I'm sorry about that. It's true that you're still traumatized about that bear that trashed your camp. So, I guess if I get the time, I'll have to write one without a bear just for you.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[63bkpkr]

Re: Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . . and Bears

Hey Lanny,
Cute poem, neat pictures! FYI - from the number of bear scat piles around the two camps on Hefty's claim there was more than one bear stirring the pot down there. I'd seen one pile there earlier in the year, possibly between 200 to 300 pound animal. I know there are larger animals in the general area as I've seen them first hand, magnificent things when they aren't tearing up your camp! Recall that they tagged his air mattress tore up the tent, ate the food and that he spent the next 12 or so hours not sleeping well on the hard ground. All in all a good reason to complain (a little) about the bear poem though I suspect he had a mile wide smile on his face when he sent his email to you.

Happy first day of December, 63bkpkr

 

[Hefty1]

 

[Lanny in AB]

Re: Bedrock and Gold: The mysteries . . . and Bears

Hey Lanny,
Cute poem, neat pictures! FYI - from the number of bear scat piles around the two camps on Hefty's claim there was more than one bear stirring the pot down there. I'd seen one pile there earlier in the year, possibly between 200 to 300 pound animal. I know there are larger animals in the general area as I've seen them first hand, magnificent things when they aren't tearing up your camp! Recall that they tagged his air mattress tore up the tent, ate the food and that he spent the next 12 or so hours not sleeping well on the hard ground. All in all a good reason to complain (a little) about the bear poem though I suspect he had a mile wide smile on his face when he sent his email to you.

Happy first day of December, 63bkpkr

The bears do seem to gang up on the gold hunters--I don't know why that is. Now, I wouldn't mind if the bears would let me know where there was a secret cache of gold nuggets hidden, even if it was simply a strip of virgin dirt the old-timer's missed! And of course Hefty had a big grin on his face when he wrote what he did--he loves to crack a joke, that's for sure.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Hefty1]

Lanny you CRACK me up

 

[Lanny in AB]

WARNING--Prospecting Poetry.

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 sees 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

 

[Hefty1]

Your the master Lanny.


Hefty

 

[gold nuggets]

I usually don't read poetry Lanny, but once I started on
A Visit from Old Nick, I couldn't stop reading and smiling' til
the end. You have quite a talent for poetry and I could visualize
all that was going on. Very well done for sure. Thanks......
Gold Nuggets

 

[EagleDown]

I usually don't read poetry Lanny, but once I started on
A Visit from Old Nick, I couldn't stop reading and smiling' til
the end. You have quite a talent for poetry and I could visualize
all that was going on. Very well done for sure. Thanks......
Gold Nuggets

There's nothing I can add to Gold Nuggets post. He pretty well says it all!!!

Lanny, you once asked if there was anything I couldn't do. Well, you just found it.
I wouldn't even attempt to write a poem, for fear of being laughed right out of Tnet.

Perhaps you should author a book containing only miners poems.

Keep it up my friend!! Every little joy, Every little laugh, serves to extend our lives. Perhaps even
beyond all normal boundries.

Love and Respect,

Eagle

 

[Lanny in AB]

Your the master Lanny.


Hefty

Hefty,
Thanks so much for your generous compliment!

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

I usually don't read poetry Lanny, but once I started on
A Visit from Old Nick, I couldn't stop reading and smiling' til
the end. You have quite a talent for poetry and I could visualize
all that was going on. Very well done for sure. Thanks......
Gold Nuggets

Gold nuggets,

Thanks so much for taking the time to post your kind words--they are much appreciated.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

There's nothing I can add to Gold Nuggets post. He pretty well says it all!!!

Lanny, you once asked if there was anything I couldn't do. Well, you just found it.
I wouldn't even attempt to write a poem, for fear of being laughed right out of Tnet.

Perhaps you should author a book containing only miners poems.

Keep it up my friend!! Every little joy, Every little laugh, serves to extend our lives. Perhaps even
beyond all normal boundries.

Love and Respect,

Eagle

Eagle,

A compliment like that, coming from you is most impressive. By the way, I think you could probably write poetry too--you've certainly got the experience to back it up. But it does take much longer to write the poems than it does the stories, and the stories take a ton of time as it is. So, thanks my friend for your generosity and kindness. (You're right that it is a big risk to post poetry--it puts me quite a ways out of my comfort zone, and not everyone likes poetry. That's why I always post the warning!)

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Warning--Intentional Comedy in Prospecting Poetry Format!

Dancin’ Bill

In days of old, folks set to cuss
And kicked up such an awful fuss,
When Dancin’ Bill snuck in to town
To shut the dancin’ halls all down.

* * * * * * *

In dancin’ halls throughout the land
This feller always got a hand—
Right out the door—no matter what!
Of curses loud, he was the butt.

He was, as some might gently say
The kind you’d like to keep away.
His name was simply Dancin’ Bill,
The scent of him was like to kill—

His smell, well some described as skunk,
Or grizzly bear's repugnant funk.
Or, wolverine replete with sow,
Mixed carelessly with long dead cow.

Not quite as bad as pack-rat pew,
But still a very mighty brew
Of noxious odors longly cured
(But never long to be endured).

His reek was very like to stay
In floors, or walls, or potters clay
For days or weeks, but not for years
As some have claimed through streamin’ tears.

In those there halls where Bill would hop
(The dancin' girls would wilt, then drop)
Yer skin would melt. Then, chairs and stuff
Were launched at Bill, ‘till things got rough,

And words wuz said that scorched the bricks
And set afire the kindlin’ sticks!
And so, the halls was forced to close
Until the stench no longer rose.

It seems that Bill was rather shy
Of bathin’ water, soap, and lye
He spent six winters gettin’ ripe
And never seemed to mind the gripe

Of any miners in the camp,
Or any drifter, mule or tramp
That slept too close to Bill inside--
For in the mornin’—they’d all died . . .

He loved to dance, Old Bill, it’s true,
But fouling odors turns air blue
And folks found Bill quite re-pell-ent.
So, flyin' out Old Billy went.

But, Bill weren’t dumb, he’d use disguise
And dance there hid before yer eyes—
But then they’d melt, yer eyes that is,
‘Till folks got to their pitchin’ biz

Of throwin’ Bill right through the air,
(Or through a wall) without a care.
For Bill was deadly, plain as day
And life, it was the price you’d pay—

Inhaling air too long ‘round Bill.
Now, I admit, a sniff could kill,
But not a whiff or tiny snort.
To save your life you kept it short . . .

* * * * * * *

In days of old, folks set to cuss
And kicked up such an awful fuss,
When Dancin’ Bill snuck in to town
To shut the dancin’ halls all down.

All the best, and Merry Christmas,

Lanny

I snapped these pictures in an area where the Sourdoughs went to dance and party. The area was logged out last year, and now the whole site is gone. It's lucky I took the shots when I did--you really never do know what event is just around the corner . . .

 

[Lanny in AB]

Once again, for those of you that love gold huntin' stories, if you haven't visited Eagle's thread, you're missing a real treasure trove of extremely interesting tales and very useful information.

Here's the link:http://forum.treasurenet.com/index.php/topic,325842.500.html

Enjoy yourselves--it's well worth the time to hop over for a read.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

[youtube=425,350]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Yhar2op4RM&feature=related[/youtube]



I can't believe the size of these gold nuggets, nor can I believe what they're doing to them!! You have to see this to believe how uneducated they must be about the true value of large gold nuggets, or how desperate they must be to be doing what they're doing!

It would make me break down and cry to do something like that as well (one of the comments about the video).

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

Lanny... I just finished reading your poems to the wife. Words don't do justice to the depth and beauty of your material. Just wonderful... Many thanks ... we wish you a very Merry Christmas and all the best in the New Year ...

Jim & Joanne