prairiepup
Jr. Member
- #1
Thread Owner
No joy. This is to warn any of you that dream of TH'n, all is not peaches, cream and glory.
Arrived near site about noon. Room was not ready. So I had lunch. Can you believe that a room in that flea-bitten town is $ 75/night? Oh, well! It gave me a reason to park my car close to the site.
105 deg and holding! Why do people hide gold on steep hills? It just ain't right! I arrived at the top of the hill with detector, shovel , rods and high hopes. I was sweating, light-headed and out-of-breath. I sat on a rock for about a half an hour, drank water and wondered why in the hell I was doing this. Then I remembered. So I looked at my map pictures, broke out my shovel, scraped off the thistles and sticker grass and introduced my shovel to the dirt.
What a shock! Now mind you this is no saturday afternoon dig up the daisies shovel. This is a four feet long-steel serious digging tool. I might as well hit the dirt with a rubber spatula. The dirt on that hill was closer to sandstone than regular turf. I barely made a dint. I sat down again. I said bad words and just looked at this latest setback. Thoughts of going home crossed my mind.
Then I remembered. I, in a glimpse of brilliance, had left my prospectors pick in my truck when I struck out for site. Spirits rose. Then I thought of the walk back to my truck and sat down again. Finally I bit the bullet and struck out for the pick. Sheeze! Remember the 105 deg. temp. At least, it was downhill most of the way. Went into my room and air conditioning and almost did not leave. But, being of sterner stuff, I went out to the truck and retrieved the trusty pick and set out for the site once more. Did I mention the 105 deg temperture?
By this time, my a-- was a dragging! I wheezed up the hill in stages. I stopped several times and coughed up stuff that is not supposed to be in your lungs. At the dig, I immediately sat down, watched my life flash by before my eyes and sucked up water like a 7 day camel. Oh yeh! Then, I remembered the yet to be dug hole and my newly acquired pick.
I kneeled down before the dig site so if I missed the ground, I would not fall so far. I reared up and wailed on that dirt. The pick went in a whole 1 and 1/2 inches. My respect for these oldtimer's brains went down a level and my respect for how tough and determined these idiots were went up several notches. On a good swing, I could loosen maybe a double hand full of dirt.
'Nother surprise! The hole appeared to be the very favorite place for quartz rocks. I hit a few with my handy-dandy steel pick and the sparks flew. Great, I thought, 105 degs and dry as a soda cracker. All I need is a spark to set the whole countryside on fire. If I survived, they'd hang me on the first tree they found that I did not burn down. Time to be careful where I pointed the pick.
It got to be late. I noticed because the mosquitos were starting to notice me. Fear of too much blood loss overcame my gold fever and I packed up. At least one brain cell fired. I thought "Why don't I hide this heavy-ass shovel and pick up here in the grass instead of hauling them back to my room?" Oh! I was proud of me for that thought. I got up, sat right back down 'cause the world got a bit unsteady. Not good! So I sat a bit and then started down again.
Mother Nature has a strange sense of humor. I almost got down to the bottom of the hill when a stomach cramp hit me. Barely got my britches down in time. After imitating a goose that ate a goodly amount a Ex-lax, I tried to stand. Whoo-ee! Tried to. I was so weak, I thought I was going to fall right back into that awful mess. So I gathered all my strength (not much) and instead of standing, I rolled over to the side. Mission accomplished. A good camper or treasure hunter always keeps a roll of toilet paper in his kit. So, I cleaned up, placed large wad of paper between my cheeks in case the sputter valve gave up the fight before I could prepare again and headed without any problems to the room. I took a shower and wondered "What next?"
What next, indeed! In the morning I went to the grill, ate breakfast and went back to the room to charge forth or at least fifth up the hill again. Did I mention the temperture? My trusty, expensive backpack bag for my detector sprung a rip. Well, it was only about a inch or so. No big deal. Ahh, big deal! Half way to the site it was six inches and by the time I got to that miserable hole, the whole bottom of the bag was ripped out. More bad words! I rested and sucked up more water. DIG TIME!
I wailed on that hole some more. I got down to 18 to 20 inches. No box of gold coins. I thought about dowsing, pendulums and that prospector and said more bad words. OK. Time to reaccess. Got the detector assembled and went over the hole and surrounding dirt. Got one hellacious beep. Joy of joys! God still likes me! Got my rods. They confirmed all was well. All I had to do was dig about 6 inches to the right. The prospector returned to Hero status.
You know what is coming, don't you?
I dug up the largest quartz hot rock on the hill. It was as big as a pie pan. I fell to my knees, crawled to my rock, tried to sit on it, too high. So I sat down in front of it. I was beaten. I just sat there looking at an 18 - 20 inch deep hole three feet in diameter clawed out of the dirt from hell and said "I'm going home. I am hot, tired, disappointed and I do not have another hole in me right now." I finally got up, filled the hole up and covered it in old grass so that the rancher would not see it in case I wanted to come back. I also did not want some unsuspecting cow to break her leg either.
I looked down the hill and above, in the sky, were 3 buzzards circling my "accident". They thought something had died. I took inventory to make sure it wasn't me, gathered up my tools and went back to my room. It was still 105 deg.
I got back, cleaned up and did a debriefing of the whole thing. I stayed another day, went back up the hill with my camera (Misery love memories.).
I might send them to forum just in case you might be able to advise "prairiepup, if you dig 2 inches deeper and over here, you will find it." Hope springs eternal with us TH'ers. I only dug one hole. I felt TH'n snake bit. I wanted to find the treasure but I did not have another hole in me at the end of that day.
Sorry! I really wanted to report success.
Arrived near site about noon. Room was not ready. So I had lunch. Can you believe that a room in that flea-bitten town is $ 75/night? Oh, well! It gave me a reason to park my car close to the site.
105 deg and holding! Why do people hide gold on steep hills? It just ain't right! I arrived at the top of the hill with detector, shovel , rods and high hopes. I was sweating, light-headed and out-of-breath. I sat on a rock for about a half an hour, drank water and wondered why in the hell I was doing this. Then I remembered. So I looked at my map pictures, broke out my shovel, scraped off the thistles and sticker grass and introduced my shovel to the dirt.
What a shock! Now mind you this is no saturday afternoon dig up the daisies shovel. This is a four feet long-steel serious digging tool. I might as well hit the dirt with a rubber spatula. The dirt on that hill was closer to sandstone than regular turf. I barely made a dint. I sat down again. I said bad words and just looked at this latest setback. Thoughts of going home crossed my mind.
Then I remembered. I, in a glimpse of brilliance, had left my prospectors pick in my truck when I struck out for site. Spirits rose. Then I thought of the walk back to my truck and sat down again. Finally I bit the bullet and struck out for the pick. Sheeze! Remember the 105 deg. temp. At least, it was downhill most of the way. Went into my room and air conditioning and almost did not leave. But, being of sterner stuff, I went out to the truck and retrieved the trusty pick and set out for the site once more. Did I mention the 105 deg temperture?
By this time, my a-- was a dragging! I wheezed up the hill in stages. I stopped several times and coughed up stuff that is not supposed to be in your lungs. At the dig, I immediately sat down, watched my life flash by before my eyes and sucked up water like a 7 day camel. Oh yeh! Then, I remembered the yet to be dug hole and my newly acquired pick.
I kneeled down before the dig site so if I missed the ground, I would not fall so far. I reared up and wailed on that dirt. The pick went in a whole 1 and 1/2 inches. My respect for these oldtimer's brains went down a level and my respect for how tough and determined these idiots were went up several notches. On a good swing, I could loosen maybe a double hand full of dirt.
'Nother surprise! The hole appeared to be the very favorite place for quartz rocks. I hit a few with my handy-dandy steel pick and the sparks flew. Great, I thought, 105 degs and dry as a soda cracker. All I need is a spark to set the whole countryside on fire. If I survived, they'd hang me on the first tree they found that I did not burn down. Time to be careful where I pointed the pick.
It got to be late. I noticed because the mosquitos were starting to notice me. Fear of too much blood loss overcame my gold fever and I packed up. At least one brain cell fired. I thought "Why don't I hide this heavy-ass shovel and pick up here in the grass instead of hauling them back to my room?" Oh! I was proud of me for that thought. I got up, sat right back down 'cause the world got a bit unsteady. Not good! So I sat a bit and then started down again.
Mother Nature has a strange sense of humor. I almost got down to the bottom of the hill when a stomach cramp hit me. Barely got my britches down in time. After imitating a goose that ate a goodly amount a Ex-lax, I tried to stand. Whoo-ee! Tried to. I was so weak, I thought I was going to fall right back into that awful mess. So I gathered all my strength (not much) and instead of standing, I rolled over to the side. Mission accomplished. A good camper or treasure hunter always keeps a roll of toilet paper in his kit. So, I cleaned up, placed large wad of paper between my cheeks in case the sputter valve gave up the fight before I could prepare again and headed without any problems to the room. I took a shower and wondered "What next?"
What next, indeed! In the morning I went to the grill, ate breakfast and went back to the room to charge forth or at least fifth up the hill again. Did I mention the temperture? My trusty, expensive backpack bag for my detector sprung a rip. Well, it was only about a inch or so. No big deal. Ahh, big deal! Half way to the site it was six inches and by the time I got to that miserable hole, the whole bottom of the bag was ripped out. More bad words! I rested and sucked up more water. DIG TIME!
I wailed on that hole some more. I got down to 18 to 20 inches. No box of gold coins. I thought about dowsing, pendulums and that prospector and said more bad words. OK. Time to reaccess. Got the detector assembled and went over the hole and surrounding dirt. Got one hellacious beep. Joy of joys! God still likes me! Got my rods. They confirmed all was well. All I had to do was dig about 6 inches to the right. The prospector returned to Hero status.
You know what is coming, don't you?
I dug up the largest quartz hot rock on the hill. It was as big as a pie pan. I fell to my knees, crawled to my rock, tried to sit on it, too high. So I sat down in front of it. I was beaten. I just sat there looking at an 18 - 20 inch deep hole three feet in diameter clawed out of the dirt from hell and said "I'm going home. I am hot, tired, disappointed and I do not have another hole in me right now." I finally got up, filled the hole up and covered it in old grass so that the rancher would not see it in case I wanted to come back. I also did not want some unsuspecting cow to break her leg either.
I looked down the hill and above, in the sky, were 3 buzzards circling my "accident". They thought something had died. I took inventory to make sure it wasn't me, gathered up my tools and went back to my room. It was still 105 deg.
I got back, cleaned up and did a debriefing of the whole thing. I stayed another day, went back up the hill with my camera (Misery love memories.).
I might send them to forum just in case you might be able to advise "prairiepup, if you dig 2 inches deeper and over here, you will find it." Hope springs eternal with us TH'ers. I only dug one hole. I felt TH'n snake bit. I wanted to find the treasure but I did not have another hole in me at the end of that day.
Sorry! I really wanted to report success.
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