Gold Prospecting: For Better or Worse
As I laid in my Jeep and tried to get some rest, I began to realize how tired I was. I felt like a little kid who walked around Disneyland for 12 hours with his parents.
My right rib cage took the brunt of the blow from the fall, which left me feeling partially paralyzed and in immense pain.
My next strategy was to walk anywhere and everywhere that I had been inside this home and garage. I looked on the floor, in the bathroom, I checked the bathroom trash can, and I even pulled the shower curtain back and looked in the bathtub.
Saturday came and it looked to have the makings of a dreary, misty day. Undaunted, I loaded my truck with my sluice, buckets and gear, and headed for the claim.
The temptation to enter the dark interiors beckoned to me before the day was finished but I resisted.
I have a slight mental disorder. It causes frequent lapses in common sense, good judgment and bouts of high fever—gold fever.
With one outstretched hand grasping the bottle and the other waving at air, I moved forward feeling for the tent. No tent. No tree.
We all love to see that first glimmer of gold when it peeks out from under the black sand in our pan, or feel the weight of a nugget in our scoop when we dig a good target. But sometimes things don’t go quite so smoothly.