Lanny

Bugs, Blood and Gold: Tales from the North. (Warning--Prospecting humour based loosely on some true events) In the summertime, here in the northlands, hundreds of prospectors line up to donate blood. This is no donation at a clinic but a bizarre, annual event conducted in the boreal forests. To provide some background, if you’ve never been deep in a northern forest, I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time relating to the True Northern Prospector (known as the TNP from now on) that heads off each season to donate blood. To begin, try to imagine a place of incredible beauty and peace. A forested wonderland of massive pine, cedar, tamarack, and fir—a glorious spot with forest floor lush in undergrowth, a pristine site where crystal streams run unhindered, where lakes teem with trout, grayling, and arctic char. As well, picture the carpeted forest of mountain green that rolls on until it meets the cobalt blue horizon. This seemingly wondrous setting drastically changes once you exit the 4x4. A buzzing black cloud engulfs every warm-blooded being. (Yet, you might say, surely any prospector worth his salt has faced mosquitoes the size of humming birds, or horse flies big enough to ride?) Beyond the protection of the 4X4, the bug-cloud sets the TNP’s dim brain to defence mode. His arms flail at the attacking bugs, and this desperate action launches the detector he’s packing through the air—the price paid an inconvenient memory. Running back to the truck, he finds the vehicle locked, his partner gone with the keys. (Moreover, the partner has the bug dope in his coat’s front pocket, the spray he swears is ridiculous, citing some bull about real men never fearing such small, flying creatures. The partner follows up with sass that anyone needing bug spray is unworthy of the northern prospector’s stripe!) Raw panic soon widens into a chasm of terror. There is no place to hide! The bugs are everywhere. This seals the TNP’s fate, which begins the bizarre annual blood donation event. Engulfed by a buzzing, hissing mass of wings and teeth (vampires, by comparison, lag thousands of years in evolution), he accidentally kills an entire squadron, breathing them in while gasping in terror. Regardless of his small victory, a new attack begins, a covert one where the bugs climb inside your pant legs. The troops are the dark demons of the northern other-world: the dreaded blackfly—which Webster’s refers to as “any of various small dark-colored insects; esp: any of a family of bloodsucking dipteran flies”. Dipteran? A disturbingly calm word such hell-on-the-wing! (To add to the terror, each season, the blackflies get bigger. I saw a swarm the other day packing intravenous poles with blood bags to use on some wretch they’d caught trying to bathe in the river! I realize you think I’m exaggerating for effect. You’re right. The victim had only slipped, then fell in the water; he wasn’t trying to bathe at all.) Now, I’d hate to leave you wondering about the TNP caught without his bug dope. (Which reminds me—I’ve often pondered on the annoying name given to that spray. But, one day it came to me. The name “dope” refers to the idiot that has none with him!) As to the earlier attack of the blackflies, their assault goes unnoticed during the daylight hours. Using anesthetic as they feed, the bites will be discovered during a sleepless night, caused by unimaginable itching which only lasts about a million years. (And, you will hate being such a jack-wagon to scratch them in the first place, as it makes the itching much worse.) Thinking nothing could top the itching of your legs, you ear begins to itch, but not on the outside, no. Deep down in the ear canal a new torture begins. The rotten flies do not fight fair. As well as the ear canal, the cursed flies have the power to attack in unmentionable places—enough said. By way of flashback, remember the horse flies mentioned earlier? Well, the TNP has been known to use a rope as a strategy—not to swat or slash at them—but to lasso the smaller ones. (To elaborate, some prospectors brag of saddling those bugs, flying off on them to use in rodeos and races. But that’s a bald-faced lie; the mosquito’s wings can’t work while covered with a saddle.) And, to counter a different claim, some people swear you can shoot the mosquitoes up north with a shotgun. This is absolutely false! A shotgun won’t bring them down. However, a 20mm cannon has been known to blow off a wing or leg, now and then. But, what of the absent partner, the one with the bug dope. The TNP found his sorry hide at last, his partner wildly waving his detector over a patch of exposed, red-hot bedrock. Then, suddenly hearing a low moan, followed by a screeching sound and another low moan, the TNP frowned, thinking his partner might have found a nugget. Imagine the TNP’s surprise when he found the sound was coming from his partner as he fled the bedrock, while outpacing a flying blood-bank, only to have that cloud quickly cover him again. The TNP raced toward his partner, seeming ready to offer assistance with the flying demons. (To provide background on the bug cloud, it was so thick that the TNP used his Bowie knife to cut out a square plug, giving him a quick glimpse of his partner inside.) Yet, the TNP flashing the Bowie, appeared to lunge straight at his partner’s throat! However, at the last second, the TNP shredded his partner’s jacket pocket instead, removing the bug dope, then running off, bug-cloud in tow. Now, this story may seem inconsequential to most of you—perhaps even rather bland. But I assure you—it was a serious matter, with some truth added for effect. And what of the TNP’s partner you ask? Why, it’s rumoured he’s still holed up deep in an abandoned northern mine, where it’s dark and cold—far too cold for Bugs, but not too cold for dopes. All the best, Lanny

That sure is some beautiful gold! Congratulations, and all the best, Lanny

Amazing finds, congratulations! All the best, Lanny

This is a great little thread on the advantages/disadvantages of the varied types of detectors. I too have dug it all, but when I had the opportunity to follow large-scale placer miners around their bedrock workings (they removed 50-60 feet of overburden to get to the bedrock), workings that included uncountable bits of steel track and bucket or blade, it was no place for a detector without discrimination. Moreover, I'd have lost my mind trying to dig all of the audible targets. My little VLF's with their discrimination were outstanding! (A geologist joined me one day that had the Minelab SDC 2300, and he couldn't get out of the excavations fast enough! Hundreds of signals in every direction for him, but no advantage of discrimination.) I have also dug deep holes chasing non-gold signals from my PI's, and I'm hoping one day there will be a way for them to discriminate effectively at depth, but that seems as if it may never be. So, until the deep seeking metal detectors can conquer the seemingly impossible discrimination hurdle efficiently, I'l always pack the one-two punch of a deep seeker (for its strengths), and the light little VLF's with their amazing discrimination. All the best, Lanny

Merry Christmas, and all the best in the coming new year, Lanny

Great to hear from you, glad you enjoyed the thread. Covid and it's accompanying lockdowns, plus the bad forest fires has kept me from the diggin's, but hopefully next year brings some golden opportunities. All the best to you, and Merry Christmas

***Annual Christmas Prospecting Poetry*** Christmas Blizzard Gold A minin’ boom drew young and old To find the fabled yellow gold That Nature’d cached in hills up high So long ago, in days gone by. A town erected far below Was clogged with folks, their hopes aglow That soon they’d bag some treasured gold Before the winter got too cold. Well Jill and Jim were clever folk Who listened well when others spoke. They took down notes for finding gold, Birthed from that fabled Mother Lode. Those golden tips they cached away A-waiting for that special day When grub-staked Jim would ready be To glean the gold to set them free. To chase the gold, you’ll need the will,” (Was told to him by his gal Jill) “That drive to go and never quit No matter what to get to it.” “Then lookey here,” said Jim to Jill, “I think I’ll prospect yonder hill Where alders grow all mighty thick Along its steeply flowing crick.” So, Jill helped Jim into his pack. “Now hurry off and don’t come back Until you’ve found the nugget gold That Nature’s hid from times of old.” So Jim, he grabs his mining kit And then he goes out after it! He pans the stream and finds some specks So farther up that crick he treks. He scouts a spot with workings old Ones antler-dug, while chasing gold. Stout trees there grew up out from it, That long abandoned placer pit. “Well here’s a mystery, yes siree. I’ll dig around a bit to see Jest what those diggers dug for here.” (He digs a bit, then gives a cheer.) “Well I’ll be durned.” He says aloud “These nuggets here will do me proud!” I’ll rustle up some more of these To give my Jill a life of ease.” The work was tough, the days were cold, While Jim dug out that precious gold. The season turned, and winter rose, But Jim toiled on through frost and snows. He soldiered on through brutal days A diggin’ through the rocks and clays. At last he hit the bedrock true, That cradled clay all colored blue. He stood there dumb and gazed in awe At all the gold he surely saw. “This here’s bonanza gold for sure! Them nuggets bright look awful pure.” He worked the clay and freed the gold That slumbered there from times of old. He bagged it up, then started down On Christmas Eve to get to town. But on his way, a blizzard grew The drifts were huge, so Jim he knew His hopes of getting back to see His precious Jill might never be. Now Jill was home, and worried sick! Her Jim was in that blizzard thick. He’d promised her that home he’d be To help her trim the Christmas tree. Her snowshoes stout were resting there Beside their cabin’s only chair. “Before I go, I’ll write out quick, A prayerful note to Old Saint Nick”: “Now Nick”, said she, “I’m in a bind Yet filled with hope my Jim I’ll find. My wish is that I’ll git to him, Although the chance is mighty slim. But if you’ll let me find my beau, In all that whirlin’ winter snow, We’ll give what gold my Jim has found To help the needy folks around.” Well, Jill set out into the night In all that howling wintry fright In hopes Saint Nick would surely show Where Jim was lost in all that snow. She trudged and toiled for quite some time Before she heard a sleigh bell’s chime, When wind had lulled enough to know She’d heard that noise out in the snow. “A bell,” She said, “A way out here? Saint Nick’s sure sign my Jim is near!” And she was right. Her Jim she found By seeking out that wondrous sound. No bell was found on Jim or pack. His nose was froze, his toes were black, Yet Jim was safe on Christmas day So Jill gave all the gold away. . . . No needy folks could then be found In all the country there around. And Jill, well she was mighty quick To give her thanks to Old Saint Nick. ****************************** The seasons changed, the warmth came back And Jim put on his mining pack. He winked at Jill, and grabbed his kit. “I’d best be getting after it.” “And what is that,” said Jill to Jim, “That gets you out on such a whim?” “I marked a spot,” said Jim to Jill “With nuggets thick up on that hill.” Merry Christmas 2021, and all the best, Lanny

"Happy Days!" 4-5 gram chunk. Thanks for the entertainment. All the best, Lanny

Thanks for the post. All the best, Lanny

Thanks for the laugh Geof_Junk! All the best, Lanny

Always fun to find gold on the surface, better for a wow factor when you actually see it before the detector does, also lots of fun to find nuggets with the eyeball when you don't have a detector! I'm no expert on the sun-baker definition, but I really enjoyed Geof_Junk's definition, response, and photos, amazing finds! Interesting find GoldTree, keep swinging that coil. . . . All the best, Lanny

What a great post, and it's one that contains a lot of information on why VLF's are sometimes better at finding particular types of gold as well. As I too chase the gold on steep hillsides, I enjoyed your comments on detecting in those conditions. Moreover, I learned a few new ideas from your post on what to do a little differently with a VLF, always a welcome discovery. Thanks for putting together your post, and thanks also for the pictures. Nicely done, and all the best, Lanny

No problem buying it here, hope it goes up, would love to see that as I think it's been held low for a long time.

Wow!! Beautiful creations indeed. Nicely done, very thoughtful as well, all the best, Lanny

Wonderful finds, and thanks for posting the pictures as well. All the best, Lanny

Nice finds, and what a great year you've had! Thanks for the pictures, as well as the video, and all the best, Lanny

Lunk, you're the man! Nicely done, and all the best with the rest of your golden 2021, Lanny

That's a "cool" picture compared to the hot sun-bakers, nicely done! All the best, Lanny

I'm always amazed how gold never gets a sunburn from being exposed for all of that time on the surface.🤣

I found a prospecting entry today from the summer of 1997 that I’d like to post: “Most of the prospecting I get to do is in the summer (up here in Canada) because that's when things thaw enough to get out and root around. Well, one summer in the Omineca region of British Columbia, I was working with some miners who were stripping a large placer cut in an area that had historically produced coarse gold in quantity. They got down to bedrock and as they worked the excavation of the pit, the gold got better and better as they worked from the front (south) to the back (north) of the pit. When things got real interesting (that is when nice nuggets and coarse gold were turning up in the sluice) they hit a massive series of what the local miners called drift mines (they described drift mining as tunneling from a lower elevation in relation to the pay-layer to allow for drainage from seepage). Once the old-timers hit the pay-layer, they worked back and forth following the good pay. It could be done underground all winter long and the stockpiled material was then processed in the Spring. In fact, the entire back end of the pit had been roomed out (roomed is the term they used when the tunnels were so close together they went back and forth in a series of parallel tunnels literally taking all of the material from a pay layer, thus leaving a large underground pillared and lagged [wood that forms the roof of the room]. At any rate, the placer pit was now abandoned and scheduled to be refilled. They said I could poke around, but to stay out of the old drifts as they were dangerous. Well, that didn't take any convincing on my part. I have done a bunch of caving and rappelling but the tunnel works were there for well over a hundred years and the wet lumber had changed somehow and broke in chunks with the consistency of celery, nothing like wood at all. As I poked around, there was seepage everywhere, and the lagging on the ceiling of the tunnels was all cracked and caving. In addition, the pit was rapidly filling with water from the front to the back where I wanted to prospect, so I didn't have much time. The modern miners had displaced a bunch of the large upright pillars (large hand-hewn logs) with their machinery when they hit the drifts. I panned some of the material from the false bedrock and true bedrock they had scraped. There was a little gold, mostly small flakes. I reasoned that when the old-timers were putting in their pillars and posts they must have covered up some pay, even if it was a small amount. As well, I knew from all the work they had done (extremely difficult manual labor) that the pay had to have been excellent; the modern pit had proven that as well. So, I found a nice fat displaced pillar, levered it out of the socket with a large bar and carefully collected the material from around it and in the socket forming the bottom of the hole. I panned it out and man you should have seen the pickers! I scratched around the base of another pillar but I couldn't move it out of its place and yet I still found some more coarse gold. However, time was running out. The seepage was real bad and the upper bank material started to slough off from above, and let me tell you, when that starts to happen, it’s time to get out fast! All the gold in the world isn't worth a lick if you’re dead. Standing above the bank I watched as the wet material oozed down into the pit which then collapsed the bank, with a slurping sound, down into the cut. There would be no more getting the gold there anymore, it was kind of sad, but I had found out something truly valuable: anytime I come across old drift workings that are exposed by modern mining, if the conditions are safe, I'll happily gather the material from around those old pillars and pan it.” I found out more about the type of gold some of that false bedrock (I mentioned earlier) was holding on another day, but that’s a story for a later time. May you all find something golden to smile about, and all the best, Lanny

Gary my friend, great to hear from you as well, and I hope the digger of that sassy nugget finds many more! All the best, Lanny

That's a sweet find for sure, a real heart-stopper. All the best, Lanny

(Annual Christmas Poetry) Santa’s Fate One winter’s day, in ’82, Well, things were lookin’ mighty blue, Cause Santa’s sleigh was runnin’ late, And this produced an awful state. The kids was feelin’ mighty down. ‘Cause Santa might not get to town! An avalanche had closed the way To block their local Christmas sleigh. Now Santa’s name was Honest John, A muleskinner off and on, He cussed and chewed, he liked his booze And in a brawl, he was bad news. So, not your average Santa, no. But Christmas set John’s heart aglow That he could freight the gifts and toys To all those little girls and boys. His mules he’d garb in greens and reds, With antlers mounted on their heads, Then off they’d scoot to meet the train Down far below, out on the plain. So once again they did the same, But Fate had run a crooked game And choked the pass with tons of snow. So, Honest John was stuck below. A telegram he quickly sent, And this is how the message went: “Just meet me at the closest spot Where all that snow just ain’t quite got.” The folks was stumped just how to go Through all the piled up winter snow. Why, snowshoes might just do the trick To meet their hometown Old Saint Nick! The Sheriff rounded up a crew Of miners, ranchers, gamblers too With packs and bags they quickly went. This telegram to John they sent: “We’ll get to you just at that spot Where all that snow just ain’t quite got.” This news was something mighty big! So John, he danced a merry jig To know the good he done each year To fill that town with Christmas cheer Would once again get carried out, On Christmas Eve, without a doubt. Well, Honest John, he met that crew And filled their bags and packs up too. He turned his mules out far below Then snowshoed off across the snow. ******************************* On Christmas morn, the kids they found, With wondrous feelings quite profound, Their toys and goodies 'round the tree Just like the way things used to be. But Honest John was fast asleep. His promises that he did keep Had left him tuckered, plumb worn thin. Yet on his face, a peaceful grin. All the best, and a Merry Christmas to all, Lanny

Enjoyed the story of your adventure, as well as the picture of your captured gold. All the best, Lanny

Amazing finds, nicely done! Thanks for the pictures and the storyline as well. All the best, Lanny