I hope that you all enjoy this little short story.The old man in the cornerMy partner and I had been planning for over a year to take a four-month long prospecting trip through Arizona, Nevada, parts of Oregon and Northern California. We planned to hit Northern California at the start of dredging season. As we double-checked our list of equipment we would need we loaded it into the truck in the order we felt we would be using it.The first three weeks had gone very well in Arizona. We found several small nugget patches and finished cleaning them up with our drywashers. Along the way, we met up with old friends and made some new ones. The last night there, we decided to move on into Nevada. We broke camp early on a Saturday morning figuring we would head toward Searchlight, Nevada. The weather was perfect and we made a few side stops down old dirt roads that headed toward hills or mountains. These little side trips cost us three extra days of travel time yet was well worth it. Between the two of us, we found 28 nuggets ranging in size from .2 grams to 4.4 grams. We reached Searchlight and met up with friends who owned two patented mining claims. They had asked us if we could give them a hand on figuring out what to do with their one claim. We agreed to give them a hand and in the process, they introduced us to some of the old-timers in the area.Now in its heyday Searchlight was quite a rip-roaring mining camp, but like all mining camps, it began to grow and settle down to a small community. After several years the mines started to shut down and the miners moved on to new strikes but the town survived and is still a small community with hopes and dreams of one day the mines will open back up. We went to dinner with our friends to an old Steak House off the main street and were introduced to four very old miners who had worked in the mines until they closed down. After that, they decided to stay in town. As most of the locals drifted away, one old gent by the name Marty sat down with use and started talking about old mining and new mining. We talked for about two hours and was getting ready to go when Marty told us about a very old prospector by the name of Dusty. He told us that Dusty hung out at a place called The Miners Den, which was down the street about 3 blocks. It was a sports bar but had a back room that was just for old-timers. We thanked Marty and decided to pay a visit to The Miners Den the next day.The next day we went to The Miners Den for lunch. We hoped to make contact with Dusty while we were there. The sports bar was busy and very loud. It was Sunday, all three LCD’s had football games on, and it was hard to find a place to sit. The man behind the bar looked like he had been baked in the desert for far too many years but we asked him about Dusty. He just laughed and said that Dusty was in the back room but warned us not expect too much from him. The bartender told us that Dusty lived off the side of back room and would come into the saloon and spent his days sipping beer and staring out the window at the mountains. He also told us that Dusty was somewhere around 105-110 years old and his mind tended to drift off course sometimes. We thanked him, bought a pitcher of beer, got three glasses, and went into the back room to visit with Dusty.The doors to the back room were large swinging doors that were showing their age. An attempt had been made to refinish them with some luck. Walking into the backroom was like going through a time warp back to the 19th century. It still had its original bar, had all its bottles line up and very old glasses hanging on the wall. The brass foot rail and the spittoons were tarnished in spots but were well kept up. As our eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, we noticed sitting in the far back corner by the window was this old man in a wheelchair. We walked up to him, introduced ourselves, asked if we could sit down and have a beer with him and talk about prospecting. He looked up at us and with a twinkle in his eye and said hell yes boys have a seat. We had no idea what we were in for but was ready for whatever came our way. He told us his name was Dusty; the people around town gave it to him many years ago because of the fact that all the gold he ever found was small flakes and dust. As Dusty told us stories about his days of hard rock mining and placering, we ordered up lunch and another pitcher of beer.Dusty started telling us a story about a vein he found one time just north of town. He said the gold was visible to the eye and there was plenty of it. Well he staked a claim on it but than proceeded to lose it in a poker game; said that was the last time he ever played cards. He told us how the locals, who have inherited their mines from their parents or grandparents, were constantly fighting with each other over apex rights and access rights to the mines. Dusty then pointed out the window toward the mountains and began telling us of placer areas in them. Dusty looked up at us and said, boys, head toward those mountains over there. There is still a lot of gold in the washes that the people around here could care less about going after.Well after about four hours of stories, and who knows how many pitchers of beer, we had a note pad full of notes. As we stood up to bid our farewell, Dusty says to us, you know there are not too many old-timers left to share their ideas and stories. Mining and prospecting has become big business now and there is not much left for the little person anymore. They do not want to go out and dig for it when all they have to do is go to the city and buy it. Prospecting for gold is too hard of a job to waste a weekend on and get very little to show for it. People do not understand that prospecting is a way of life. It is a dream that is buried deep in your soul, its being one with nature, the mountains, and the valleys. People think I am plain crazy, even my own son doesn’t understand. The truth is I have lived my dreams and found my fair share of the earth's bounty. The people out there in the other room are only daydreaming, they always seem to be in search of something yet not sure what. Oh how I wish I could chase after my dream still, but I’m just to old, got a bad heart, knees and my back does not want to go straight. To climb once again to the top of a hill just to see what was on the other side. It frees your mind and spirit from all the trash that the world tries to lay upon you. Remember boys that the beauty of prospecting comes from spending time in the mountains and valleys. That is when it will grab your heart and soul and will not let go until the day you die.As he released his grip on my arm, his eyes looked out toward the mountains and he was once again reliving his dream. You could see the reflection of yester-year in the shine of his old eyes. We left him with another pitcher of beer, paid the bill, and thanked the owner. The owner looked at us and said, “Not a problem gentlemen for you see that old-timer in the corner is my father and he enjoys the company.Copyrighted 2008 (revised) Written by:The 29 Prospector (aka) Robert Dunkin
Spur, I remember Bob's stories like it was yesterday, most of his stories were true stories that he lived, some others were whimsical, stories of old legends and folklore told to him by other miners and his father who was a miner, Bob started mining at a very early age of about 7 years old with his father.
Unfortunately Bob, A.K.A. Robert Dunkin, Ol 29er, The 29 Prospector , past away about 2 years ago, RIP Bob!
He had many stories some written down and some not, he was trying to put them all in writing up until his last days in hopes of writing a book, I will see if I can find some of them and copy and paste them here in his honor.
Comments
Thats a good story.
Spur, I remember Bob's stories like it was yesterday, most of his stories were true stories that he lived, some others were whimsical, stories of old legends and folklore told to him by other miners and his father who was a miner, Bob started mining at a very early age of about 7 years old with his father.
Seems like just the other day he was chating on nugget shooters .
Unfortunately Bob, A.K.A. Robert Dunkin, Ol 29er, The 29 Prospector , past away about 2 years ago, RIP Bob!
He had many stories some written down and some not, he was trying to put them all in writing up until his last days in hopes of writing a book, I will see if I can find some of them and copy and paste them here in his honor.
That is a great story and we would love to hear more...thanks for sharing it with us
Now that is a cool story. I could read those all day
Great Story one I think we can all see a Little of ourselves.
Heavy Pans,
faaus