Trev From New Zealand

[Trev (NZ)]

Hi Folks

I have posted a few messages on here. And it is one of my favorite forums to visit.

So allow me to introduce myself. My name is Trevor Alty and I live on the West Coast off the South Island of New Zealand.

My county is called " Buller". And yes it is a gold bearing region. But we are covered with very green lush forest, As we have a very high rainfall.

I am 66 years old. But have kinda done gold since I was five. Did the learning curve, Pans first, then sluices, then got into underwater dredging. And also ran a beach claim, Its called black sanding down here. Really micro fine gold, smaller than a fly poo. But I learn't how to catch it.

Some of you may know of the " Gold Cube" well my old mate Mike Pung and Red didn't invent it.. And neither did I. But when I decided to put a claim on a beach where I lived right by. I needed to find a method of catching that fly poo. So I used what the black-sanders were using over a hundred years ago. Down here we call that the boil box system. Believe it or not it was developed by people from the Shetland Islands, up Britain way. They came down here in the early gold-rush days and somehow worked that system out. Its basically a column of water that rises up, and the sorts out the relative gravity of the different minerals. Now days its got a flasher name.

Anyway it worked for me. I love taking the old guys idea's and using them. After all they were the masters. Siphons, Perfect water races with just the right amount of fall, and many run for miles. Damn they were smart. An engineer those days was indeed an engineer.

Anyway Mike Pung had some trouble catching fine gold up at I think it was Lake Mitchagin. He ended up on a forum I run, that had a lot about how to catch real fine gold.. He followed my instructions, built a wooden one, went back and yep it worked. So then he did a lot a research and development. And at the end of it all, "The Cube was Born" and now they are shipped all over the world.

And very popular they are indeed. Why even Lip CA has one. And believe it or not his son Arlie came down to NZ stayed with me

for most of our summer, a few years back and we did very well dredging on my claim. Eh Harry.

And yes I have been to the great ole US of A. Washington State. But wait there is more. And yep to Alaska. A mate of mine Bruce Strandburg, that was one my forum came down to NZ. I took him out and yep he panned some nice gold.. He got the bug and wanted to get a claim in Alaska. In the Circle/Central district. He flew me up to help him look. Great State, but to much glacial muck and overburden in that area. Hey Steve, yep " Fast Eddies" is a great place, Good tucker my man. And yep its in Tok. Damm we should have turned off there and went inland to the Chicken Place. After scouting out Central and Circle we headed back to Fairbanks. Then went up the oil line road, to the hidden valley. Think it was the Elliot Highway. Ended up staying on the runway at Les Cobbs place, and had our evening meals with him. He was a great man, didn't suffer fools, bit like me there I guess. We got on like a house on fire. Why he had even been down to NZ on a hunting trip. So sad to hear he fell out of a tree when setting a bear bait drum and got paralyzed, then died not long after. He was a man amongst men. I must get his wife's book one day.

Sadly didn't get to Anchorage, bugga. But damm I sure loved Alaska. (In the Summer) fire weed, blue berry's and its remoteness.

Anyway I am rambling a bit here, but it sure is fun. Cause this kinda feels like home.

My latest project is resurrecting the hydraulic elevator. And I am sure it will resurface in the near future. Once again old technology but it works, and it efficiency is 100 per cent. Down here in NZ they had ones lifting 12 inch rocks eighty feet. Straight up. Now beat that. Our suction nozzles and power jets utilize the same principle . But sadly are only at 50 to 60 per cent off effiency . I am developing two at the moment, one for sucking rocks, sand and gravel, and one purely for sand. I will add a pic of a bit of the sand one. Doesn't look much as it needs the throat attached. Now as we all know there are no free lunches when it comes to suction and lift. The higher you lift, the less suction you get. But so far I have had very favorable results. And I continue my research and development, The main denominator is Jet size to throat size. But I do know the ratio's. Thats what R and D is all about.. Maybe you will see the sand one at Nome in a year or two. Hopefully sooner..

Cheers Trev From Down Under

[deathray]

Hi Trev,

fun read buddy. New Zealand and Australia are tops on my list to visit someday with my daughter.

[snakejim]

Howdy Trev!

It's been a long time since I've heard from you.

Loved your story about the machine chasing you down the beach and catching fire. What a hoot.

I hope all is well with you.

Are you still beach mining?

Best wishes to you and yours.

Rattlesnake Jim

[Steve Herschbach]

Hello Trev,

Isn't prospecting grand, all the adventures it will lead us on in life? Some are successful, and some not, but oddly enough the less successful ones are sometimes the ones we remember most. Good to have you here, thanks for posting!

[Trev (NZ)]

Here you go Snakejim.  Took me a while to find it.  Maybe a few more will have a few laughts and a hoot or two.

 

Time for a laugh.

Quite a few years back when I first started chasing that fine sea beach gold I saw in a book a Vibrating shaker table design. It looked quite good and me and my mate, thought right lets build one. Basically the design was like a highbanker mounted on four steel legs, the steel 
legs were single leaf springs off a car. A motor was mounted underneath and this drove via a belt an eccentric cam which rested against one of the steel spring legs.

The idea was that the cam would force the spring leg back and forward etc, thus creating a back and forward movement of the entire rig, the rejects would vibrate off the grizzly and the gold would vibrate to the bottom of the riffles. Well it looked good on paper, so we thought
right lets build one. Took a couple of days, but cost nothing, as most of the stuff we had.

Came the big day and we took it down to the beach we wanted to work. This beach was gravelly in nature and that is why we needed to screen
down. We knew the motor would go as we had tested it. It was an old 3hp Briggs and Stratton. It didn't have a kill switch. To stop it, it had a lever you pushed down on the top of the spark plug to short circuit the plug. This motor also didn't like starting unless the throttle was turned full on.

We got everything set up, Rig on flat ground, water pump going to supply water via grizzly, throttle full on, fuel on. Pull the Starter rope, ahah first problem, nothing ever works first time. As there was no clutch we were virtually trying to make it vibrate by hand. The cam was designed to be in constant contact with the spring leg. No problems, a bit of Kiwi ingenuity and we wedged the leg back with a piece of wood. Idea being start motor, then knock wedge out.

Right second attempt, pull starter cord and my gawd it roars into action, throttle back to just above idle and with eager anticipation, knock wedge out. Bruummph motor stalls, not enough power to drive cam against leg.

Oh well third time lucky. Pull cord, motor roars, leave at full power. With much anticipation I lean forward and knock pin out. It works, it works I cry, as the rig starts to vibrate, faster and faster and faster. Shaking and vibrating just as the design said it would. But it keeps getting faster and the springs really start doing their work. Back and forward they go faster than the eye can see. And then the grease melts off he cam and she starts to smoke. Turn it of, turn it off I cry. But before we can do that it starts to jump up and down whilst still vibrating. Higher and higher it jumps in its own cloud of smoke. How do we turn this monster off I cry to my mate, its out of control. He says bugger that you do it.

By this time there are bits of steel flying off and other assorted debris. And then it plays its last trick on us, it starts to move, slowly at first but as it gather momentum it gets faster and faster. Bolt for it I cry, its after us. And sure enough like some prehistoric dragon, bellowing fire and smoke it starts to jump in our direction and we bolt for it. By this time the grease on the cam had completely gone and the smoke had turned into flames. Clack clack clack went the cam in an earsplitting crescendo as the rig built up more momentum.

By this time its getting along the beach at a good clip with us in hot pursuit, but keeping a safe distance. What if it gets on the road I cry, it will run someone over and we will get the blame. Lets just bugger off and leave it, says my mate. We will find it when it runs out of fuel. Yeh I say but it could be miles away by then. What if there is a family having a picnic further down the beach and it attacks them. The headlines flash through my head. Woman attacked by Vibrator on beach. This monster we have created has to be stopped before it kills. Lets push it over says my mate, bugger you I says, it'll chop your arm off. Well get a pole then. So off he runs back down the beach where there was a bit of drift wood.

Arriving back with a lengthy pole, I say lets try and turn it off first. But alas every time we approached it seemed to sense our presence and
would burst into renewed vigour, hopping away out of reach. Well we had built it well, I'll give you that. It just didn't want to die. Oh well push it over I said, it will probably ruin the motor but we have to do it in, its either it or us. So sneaking up with the pole I give it a mighty shove. Got ya I cry as it topples over onto its side. Now die you evil thing we created. But alas all is not over, like some form of giant land crab it adopts another series of movements and now scuttles more than jumps. Will this nightmare ever end. Oh hell fuel is leaking out of the tank, run for it, she's going to self destruct. Never thought of that when I pushed it over, silly me. Red hot metal, petrol.

Small Column. Westport News August 1986:

The Charleston Fire Brigade were called to the Nine Mile Beach at 3.00pm yesterday. A local farmer reported hearing a small explosion and seeing a plume of smoke coming from the beach area. On arrival the Brigade found the twisted remains of some mechanical device. There
was no-one present. The Chief Officer said that it appeared to be some form of fishing device that launched the line similar to a cannon. The
barrel was missing and it is assumed that the owner had overloaded it and it had blown apart The device had a motor attached to the bottom part with a belt and it was believed that this was for retrieving the long line after it had been in the sea a while. As no bodies or body parts were found, it appears the culprits ran off before the arrival of the Brigade and local Police.

A True Story. Believe it or not.

[goldbrick]

LMAO!

[Jim Hemmingway]

Great tale Trev (NZ)... laughed out loud while reading along, an ingenious bit of craftsmanship mon ami... welcome to the forum. 

 

Jim.

[snakejim]

Thanks Trev!

It made me laugh again.

Rattlesnake Jim

[Trev (NZ)]

A  story, from my younger days. Yep its true.  But old mine shafts and pit pony's kinda go together.

 

Was watching Country Calender tonite about the Kaimanawa Wild Horses. Bought back a few memories when I was a young fella in Reefton. (About 8 years old) we used to love going up to the old Globe mine up Soldiers Road, (The road to Big River). We were on a mission, to capture one of the wild old globe mine pit horses. When the mine closed they just let the pit ponys go, so there was quite a herd of the buggars in the 50's. Naughty horses had been breeding. We would bike up the Soldiers road, till we came to our favourite paddock, and in that paddock was our transport, no. not an old Indian Motorcycle but a bloody old draft horse. He liked his apples that old bugga did. But I guess he liked us too.

We always carried some bailing twine, so on went our makeshift halter. Didn't worry him a bit. And then four of us would climb aboard and off the road we would go. I think his mummy must have done a few hauls up the Globe Road. As soon as we got to the old Globe road, which was then just a track, but a good one. He would turn off without any prompting from us four young whippersnappers perched on his back. And all he ever did was plod. So up to the Globe Mine he would take us. We would tether him up to a handy tree. And then devise our plan to catch a real horse, we wanted a bloody racehorse, a Globe Race Horse. So we would scout around until we caught sight of the herd. About 20 of the furry things.

Then we would sneak away and find a place to stampede them to. We always had a coil of our horse catching rope with us. So we would rig our horse catching noose between two tree's. And then sneak back, get behind them. Then all jump out waving our arms and screaming. Off the Globies would go, straight towards our trap. We only got one shot each visit. Damm those horses were cunning, we never caught a one. And just as well, had we snared one we would have probably have broken its neck. And if it happened to survive, it probably would have kicked us all to death. We never quite figured out what we were going to do if we did get one.

So horse catching over it was off to the mine shaft, it was open then, just a great hole in the ground. We threw everything we could find down that hole, rocks, old cast iron stoves, you name it, down the hole it went. Ya could hear it bouncing off the walls as it descended. The guys at Oceana must have chuckled when they open casted and got to the bottom of the shaft. But phew none of our rotting bones.

So it was back to our trusty old stead, mount up and head home. But he was happy there were then wild apple trees up the globe hill, and we picked him a bellyfull and he loved them. Back down the track, and back to his paddock he trustfully took us. We never did know who owned him, but I bet they knew we took him on little adventures, and didn't mind at all.

We did many trips with our old mate and I am sure he enjoyed them as much as we did. Ride on ole fella, wherever you are.

Cheers Trev aka " The Hatter"

[Trev (NZ)]

Another little Tale of Mine.

 

Barry Crump is a bit of a legend in New Zealand.  He was a deer culler, and many other things. Dead now.  Was a very popular NZ author, writing about his exploits. ast Night I had a dream.

I was over nighting in the Kellys hut high on Kellys range before dropping into the Taipo Valley the next day. Darkness had fallen, and snow flurries were falling. I became a little alarmed as in the hut was a pack and sleeping bag and on the table was a half pack of 303 rounds. Taking what small amount of firewood that was left in the hut, I climbed to the top of the peak, my carbide lamp was but a feeble beacon. I soon had a robust fire going. Like a signal fire in days gone by. Just as my meager supply of wood was about to depart. I heard a shout in the distance, "Hold the Light" . On went the last few scraps of wood. Out of the darkness he came, snow covered, a 303 fully wooded rifle slung over his shoulder. A sugar bag pack on his back. Damm he said, "Thanks for the Light" even if I can't light a smoke in these hellish conditions. I over judged my wanderings just a tad. And I was surely in for a cold night. Guess we are gunna be in for one in the hut as you just burnt all the firewood. Frig I thought, I save his life and now he's moaning about the lack of firewood. Who is this guy.

So back to the hut we go, alas the stove has just about gone out. Never fear my visitor says, I have a stash close by. The Forest Service and I have a little agreement, one load of wood for the hut and one for me. And soon he returns with ample wood and holly bloody hell, some coal,
Coal on Kellys Range, frig me unbelievable, he must have a really good deal going with the Forest Service, me thinks.

Get a brew on young fella he says. I'm dying for a good cup of tea, and then has this big chuckle. And then he takes off his swanni, his sugar bag, leans his 303 against the table, and says two sugars thanks. My god I save his life and now he wants his tea with two bloody sugars. Just who is this guy. Soon the billy is boiling, so I plonk his much awaited cup of tea down in front of him, with his two bloody sugars. My very small sugar ration has just diminished somewhat.

Right he says, time to swap names, I'm Barry. And Im Trev I reply. Are we gunna do surnames, he asks. Well I guess we had better I reply as we may be snowed in for a few days. I'm Trevor Alty, bit of a queer name he says, but a bit like mine I'm Crump.

Oh frig, holly bloody hell I cry, " Your Dead". "There was a rumour going around about that he replies. But here I ductions are am alive and well. And enjoying your cuppa, but you didn't quite get the sugar quite right. You don't happen to have any grog up here do you. No bloody way Barry, where at 4500 feet, I don't lug grog that high, neither do I he says, so we have a dry hut. Yep I tnink only because you have a secret stash of coal and wood.

Well Crumpet I say, what brings you here, smack, he had that 303 in his hands in seconds, and gives me a hearty smack on the side of the head with the butt. " I don't like being called " Crumpet" grasshopper he says. Oh well that was lesson number one. No more crumpets for me, I guess. Shit I said that hurt, Mr Crump, he replied, " It hurt me more than it did you. There is a lesson there.
head
Ok I thought one last try. Ok Crumbles, want another cuppa. Wham, down I go again. Yep two sugars and get it right this time. Frig and double frig. I just gotta start getting this right. So one last try, ok Mr Crump what brings you here, wham wack down I go again. Those ole 303 butts are made of hardwood, I can testify to that.

Sometimes introductions are a tad hard but this is the worst one I have ever had to endure. Not one but three fully wooded head butts.
Ok Barry, Im Trev. Bout time he said, reached into his sugar bag and fetched out two lovely hind back steaks. Guess you are the cook tonight. I wasn't arguing at that, Im not about to receive number four.

So on went a venison stew, spuds, and carrots. Wish I had have taken up red peppers and green peppers and crushed pepper corns. Lucky me that would have been blow four. But at last we are getting on like good ole mates, and I am awaiting with baited breath for Barry to call me " A Good Keen Man".

After our hearty meal we sit back. Barry lets a mighty burp go and then this tremendous fart. Damm I was impressed. Shit those were beauty's Barry. Yep he said, that's how I call in the stags in the roar. Damm I am impressed. So give him another helping of stew and one for myself so I can learn the technique.

So now its hut time. Another brew. By this time Barry has got me breaking the tea bags, oh these new fangled things are beyond me he reckons.

Okay have you read my books, he asks. Yep every bloody one I reply. Which ones did you like the best, Well Barry a few were crap, but I really liked " A Good Keen Man" and "Gold and Greenstone". Why do you say Crap, well Barry when you write from your heart and take people into your world, those are good books. When your publisher wants you to write more. Then you have to make things up. Thats why a " A Good Keen Man" was your best ever book. It was real it was you.

Why are you here Barry. " I want you to write a book. I don't want to. You have too. Don't want too. Why. I'm scared. What of. Failure I guess. And the time it will take. I did "A Good Keen Man" in a month. Frig it will take me about 12. Hows your head, bloody sore Barry, thanks to you. Whats that thing in the corner. Why Barry thats a Minelab SD2300 Military specifications. Frig Trev whats the blast radius. Na Barry its a gold Detector, it finds gold. Bloody hell Trev, how does it do that. To complicated for you Barry. I agree. When you drop down into the Taipo, go here. Give me a pencil and a bit of dunny paper. As you used the last of the paper here to light your big bonfire on the peak which I didn't really need, but was sure glad to see.

Right lets get some shut eye, I get the bottom bunk, you the top. And no farting. We dont want any stags hanging around. Goodnight Alltea and no sugar, ok Crumpet. I'll let you off with that one alltea, see ya in the morning. And when we get back to the Otira Pub its your shout. OK.

I awoke in the morning. He was gone. Not a sign. Oh well travelling another ridge, I thought. One of these days his Forest Service supplied 303 ammo is gunna run out. But knowing him he reloads, somehow.

I trudged back down the track, the next day. And then the few miles to Otira, where I was getting the Vulcan Railcar back to Greymouth.
But I had a two hour wait until the ChCh to Greymouth Railcar arrived. So off to the Pub I went.

Gidday said the Publican, what will you have. Two 12 ounce beers please, I replied. Two he said, but there is only you. One for my mate and one for me, I replied. But there is only you he said. Rest assured I said my mate will turn up. Bang down went my first one, never touched the sides.
And then started looking at the old photo's on the wall. Turned around and frig me (my first frig me of the day) the other glass was empty.
Fill them up again sir, it seems I have company. The publican just kinda looked at me as if I was a bit strange. Well Barry and I got through six 12 oz beers before I left for the railway station. But on his last, while I was in the dunny, I came back. An empty glass. But there on the bar counter next to my glass, was a 303 shell case with a bit of paper sticking out of it. And not dunny paper. It read. " Write the Book Grasshopper" and yep you are "A Good Keen Man"

A Tribute to Barry Crump.

Thanks Metal Kiwi. And I think Barry thanks you too.

Cheers Trev aka " The Hatter"