Mystery in Trib 2

by Douglas Anderson

  Climbing out of the hole I stretched to ease my aching back, then walked over to kill the noisy engine. The echoes receded and a blessed silence descended over the Trib 1 valley.

  “I’ll help with the cleanup and then we’ll stop for tea, okay?” I said. “We’re scraping bedrock again so we should soon be getting into some good stuff.”

  I joined my companion by the sluice. “Sure would make it easier if we had a backhoe. Even a small one.”

  “Forget it,” Hagen said gruffly, busy picking some of the larger cleaned rocks out of the sluice. “I was just thinking we’ve sunk enough money into this venture. Just about broken even now and I don’t think we’d get our money back if we invested more. Despite the rising price of gold. We just can’t spend enough time out here.”

  Gold had recently risen to $700 an ounce so it was making our efforts more worthwhile.

  “Yeah, you may be right.” I joined him in picking away some of the residual rocks and pebbles. “I was only commenting because my back is aching.”

  Hagen, jumping on the opportunity, cut a sideways look. “What already, you’ve only been at it for about three hours. Huh, guess they just don’t breed them as they used to for the last gold rush. Now if we had to do it like they did it you might have something to complain about. Anyway, if you like, I’ll dig for a while after we’ve had a break.”

  “We are doing it like they did it. It’s all by hand. Anyway, what do you mean? If you like. It’s your bloody turn,” I gave back. “You’ve been standing here washing rocks, nice and easy like, all morning. Even got your gloves on I notice.” We always used sturdy rubber gloves for handling the sluice because the water from the stream was icy cold.

  “Watch your tender fingers.” I tapped the heavy, four feet long riffle assembly from under its tapered retainers and lifted it upward a couple of inches. Hagen carefully rinsed the riffles with a little water scooped from a nearby bucket. In the past we had found the fine particles of gold adhered to the riffles. Satisfied now that we were not going to lose any of the hard-won precious metal, we lifted the assembly clear of the sluice box.

  “Way to go. Look at this beauty,” Hagen took off one glove and picked up a sizable nugget from where it had been snared by a riffle. “Now that’s a quarter ounce right there.”

  “Sure is. I wish we could find a lot more like that. Hey, some good-sized flakes here.”

  We found far more gold in the form of flakes and fines than nuggets but a jewelry-sized nugget was worth more, gram for gram.

  We had been sluicing continuously for three hours and the strip of coarse carpet in the bottom of the sluice box was clogged with magnetite—commonly called black sand—but gold flakes glittered where each of the upper five riffles had seated in the carpet. Too much black sand could clog the carpet, causing it to fail in its job of ensnaring the finer particles of flour gold. Some might be carried over the riffles and we didn’t want that to happen. Every grain, no matter how tiny, helped increase the poke.

  When the larger pebbles were removed, we carefully rolled up the piece of carpet and dunked it in a bucket of water. Later we would rinse it thoroughly and save the entire heavy concentrate. Hagen brought over a clean piece of carpet, set it carefully in place and we replaced the riffle assembly.

  “Right. All ready to go. Now Let’s see to that tea break.” He smiled genuinely and said, in a vain attempt to mimic my British accent, “A nice cup-a-char will fix your aching back, old chap.”

  We always enjoyed a few cups of hot sweet tea at midmorning. It tasted so uniquely delicious brewed with Trib 1 water. Several times we had commented how the water from different sources in the region produced tea of a distinctly different flavor.

  We were able to spend only two or three weeks each year out here on our gold claim so we always felt we had to make the most of our time. In truth, however, we were both getting a little disenchanted with placer mining and the grueling work it entailed.

  This had turned out to be quite a good little mine but, after five summers of it, we were feeling a need do something different with our free time. We had already started some tentative discussions with Tony and Carl, acquaintances in Tok, interested in buying our equipment and taking over the claim

  Once we did get working, however, we really put our backs to it and moved quite a lot of material. This was a placer mine, which meant the gold was in the form of dust, flakes and, if we were lucky, occasional nuggets of gold. It was all intermingled with a conglomeration of rocks, gravel, sand and muck. Gold was found not so much in the unconsolidated materials of the stream but rather in the residual material where the stream had coursed many years before. In fact, our excavation was on a bench above the present level of the stream.

  Gold, about seven times heavier than any of the other materials, invariably was entrapped at any point that formed an impermeable layer. This could be closely packed gravel, black sand, a layer of clay or actual bedrock. The claim had a generous overburden that had to be carefully washed and sluiced to separate any gold. There was, fortunately, an underlying ledge of bedrock that had proven to be the best pay zone. Gold could not percolate downward any further than the solid rock allowed.

  We worked with an excavation about two and a half feet deep. Material removed from the face was returned to the rear and the pit never appreciably changed size. Also the spillage from the sluice box was directed to a settling pond, preventing contamination of the tributary. We were quite proud of the fact that our four years of mining activity had caused negligible change outside the immediate workings.

  It had been, and still was, hard work removing the overburden. It too had to be processed through the sluice but typically yielded a lesser amount of gold. When we reached bedrock we found more gold and our efforts were better rewarded.

  It was three summers since we had struck bedrock but now we were constantly clearing away the overburden, passing it through our sluice box and then suction-dredging the fine materials from cracks and crevices in the surface of the rock. It was a procedure which worked quite well because we were able to maintain a more or less dry excavation until we were ready to suction dredge. Then we partially flooded the pit with water pumped from the tributary.

  With the excavation flooded we were able to use the suction dredge quite effectively. Our sluicing and dredging equipment consisted of a 2-inch pump driven by a five-horsepower gasoline engine. The pumping unit delivered water through a hose connected to the head of the sluice box or to the suction nozzle. We had rigged a neat ‘Y’ shaped valve so that switch over from sluicing to suction dredging could be as easy as moving a lever.

  Trib 1 gold claim was forty miles from the nearest highway and, though we had hiked in initially, we had quickly realized we needed a vehicle if we were use our time efficiently and have the required equipment with which to work. ‘Herman’, a sturdy and now extensively modified six-wheel all-terrain vehicle, had filled this role and made the journey in and out almost a pleasure.

  During the first year we had gotten carried away with the excitement of it all and hauled all sorts of gear to the claim.

  Some equipment however, such as a portable electric generator—which we decided was overkill—and a panning machine, had already been hauled out again. Now we brought only the bare minimum in consumables: gasoline and supplies necessary to sustain us for the time on the claim. Some of our equipment was stowed safely away for the winter months in a secret cave under a nearby rock ledge.

  The panning machine was a neat device which almost automatically separated gold from other heavy materials, black sand and the like. In the past years we’d used it daily to process the heavy concentrate from our sluice box. It was a problem, however, because it made for a noisy evening and it ate into our precious stock of gasoline.

  Last year, and again this year, we left the panning machine at home. We had decided to stockpile the heavy concentrate and carry out the separation process back at Hagen’s home in Wasilla. It made more effi
cient use of our limited time on the claim. Hagen had already converted the panning machine to electric motor drive.

  Several nylon-reinforced plastic bags, filled with heavy concentrate, were ready to be carted out in the ATV. Each day of work produced a little more than half a bucket of very heavy fines. The down side was that we would never truly know how much gold we had recovered until we completed the separation process. Sampling, by the old tried and true method of panning, gave us an idea of how well we were doing. Now and then visible flakes or a nugget or two in the sluice box kept the fire of “gold fever” burning in our souls.

  Each year we erected a substantial shelter on the eastern bank of the stream. It comprised a 10 x 10 foot frame tent with 30-inch high walls. An additional flysheet over the top gave improved protection. We had made a slatted board floor that helped keep our living space dry and clean. Two ex-military cots, two wooden lockers, a small folding table and a diminutive potbellied wood stove completed the furnishings. If we had a rainy miserable day—and we had a few—the rudimentary shelter made life much more bearable.

  Our food was stored in a bear-proof aluminum chest. The previous summer it had proved its worth when our camp was visited by a black bear while we were away fishing at the nearby Ladue River. Thanks to our forethought, nothing was irreparably damaged, although we always suspected our return had interrupted the bear’s activity. Perhaps if he had been left to his own devices long enough our camp would have been trashed.

  Actually we had been lucky when it came to bear incidents. We had expected to be besieged but in reality we had encountered only two blacks and those had not threatened us in any way. We had seen ample signs of grizzly bears in our travels around the area and were still apprehensive. We had spotted one grizzly at close quarters while hiking up near the high point. Just to be on the safe side we always had protection near at hand in the form of a pump-action shotgun or a 30-06 rifle.

  Relaxing in aluminum-framed chairs with a mug of steaming hot tea in hand we surveyed our claim. Each year we worked hard to set up a homey camp, only to dismantle it again two or three weeks later. Rain or shine, it filled our basic needs. Despite the hard work, we always returned to civilization feeling rejuvenated, lean and fit.

  A couple of weeks earlier than usual this year, we were enjoying nice warm weather. Patches of fireweed were brilliant on the opposite hillside and a profusion of small, colorful wild flowers adorned the banks of the stream. With the pump shut down, the silence broken only by the gentle babbling of the stream and the cawing of a distant raven, it was almost idyllic.

  “Hey! There’s Freddy. I told you he would still be around.”

  Freddy was a large rabbit. Black all over with shiny black button eyes. He had appeared, very timidly, the first day we were here. But he quickly seemed to accept our presence.

  Whenever we quit work and sat quietly he hopped from the bushes and nibbled at the foliage in the open. He–I say he but we weren’t sure of the gender—wouldn’t quite let us touch him but if we sat quietly he would come really close. Sometimes he hopped around under our chairs or sat chewing some tasty tidbit within a few feet of us. We had ample time to admire him and began to look upon him as our pet.

  One time Hagen had said, “Little does he know we are saving him for when we run out of canned food.” We both laughed heartily when Freddy immediately bolted upright and looked decidedly alarmed as if he understood what had been said. In truth, we probably would have stayed hungry rather than harm him.

  We sat quietly, relaxing, sipping our tea and enjoying the warmth of the sun. Nevertheless I sensed that something was troubling Hagen. He had been short with me earlier and now he was a bit too quiet.

  “You seem a bit troubled, Hagen. Something on your mind?” I asked.

  After a moment of pause, he sighed deeply, “Yes. I guess you could say that. I’ve been thinking a lot about what we are doing out here. You know how much I enjoy this—being out here in the wilds and all that.” He paused to ponder for a moment.

  “But, we’ve done it for five years now.” He drew a long breath. “Like I just said, we’ve about broken even. We will never make a lot of money this way. I think it’s about time to throw in the towel. Call it quits…” He paused to let his comment sink in, then continued.

  “You know I’ve been thinking about going back to the university to finish up my degree. I can’t take mechanical engineering in Anchorage, only in Fairbanks and I’ll be damned if I want to have to live through those long winters. I could go to the University of Hawaii though, and I’m really thinking of doing just that.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve mentioned finishing your degree. But Hawaii—boy that sure would be a dramatic change,” I exclaimed. “What’s it going to take, two or three years?”

  “Well, that’s something I still need to look into but I’m sure to get some credits from my biology degree. Rusty as I am, I guess it’ll take at least three years even with summer courses if I can get them.”

  “What about your job? What would you do with your house? Shoot, you put all that work into it. Will you sell it?”

  “You mean we put all that work into it.” I had helped him a lot to convert a small cottage into a large house.

  “The house will sell okay and anyway I’ll need the equity to tide me over. I can sell the jeep, put my other things in storage and then start over when I have the degree. As for the job, uh, I reckon you have to speculate to accumulate. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and I really think it’s now or never.

  “I know, you’ve mentioned all that before… but … well, it’s such a drastic step to take. Are you really sure about it?” I asked.

  I was genuinely concerned. This time my companion seemed to be really serious. Giving up a well-paying job like he held with the pipeline company was not to be taken lightly.

  “Oh, of course I’m worried about it. But, I reckon there’ll still be plenty of demand for someone with my experience and a fresh degree. It’s the opposite of what most people have to offer. You know how many people with a degree and no experience are trying to find work? Lots of them.”

  “But it’s still such a sacrifice. Three years or so, lost salary, plus whatever it costs to live over there and pay tuition fees. Wow, that’s a whole lot of bucks, and, don’t forget, you’ll need to get set up again when you return.”

  Hagen sat quietly for a few minutes without saying anything. Trib 1 babbled by therapeutically a few yards away. The raven cawed again. It sounded a little closer this time.

  “It is a lot. An awful lot, but I really think I made up my mind when we were resting up on the ridge the other day.” He paused to sip his tea,

  “We were talking about Germany and the wartime. How hard it was. I had such a difficult start in life, over in Germany. Huh! Lucky to have survived it at all I suppose.”

  Between sips of tea he continued, “Perhaps because of those beginnings I always felt I must make the most of myself. That’s why I emigrated, that’s why I took my first degree and that’s why I came to Alaska. In retrospect the biology degree I got in Wayne State was a poor choice but it was all part of the effort to make something of myself. Now I’ve spent the better part of my working life groveling around as a machinist or mechanic.” He turned his free hand palm upwards, “Working with these. It gnaws at me and I won’t be satisfied until have the engineering degree to back it up so I can do something different. Something more technical.”

  “That’s admirable but in Alaska you don’t need an engineering degree to make a decent salary. You’re living proof of that. You’re an excellent machinist and mechanic. You can take pride in that. Besides, you’re 43, maybe 44 by the time you start. Getting your crotchety old brain back on a learning curve after all these years won’t be easy.” On the other hand, you always have been a tenacious and stubborn sod, I guess if anyone can do it you can.”

  My uncharacteristic bluntness made Hagen glance at me aggrievedly but he r
ealized I was deadly serious this time.

  We sat quietly for a couple of minutes sipping our tea. Freddy, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, hopped a little closer.

  “Well,” I broke the silence, “I guess you have already made up your mind. When do you propose to launch yourself into this venture?”

  “Too late to do anything this year,” Hagen replied. “I suppose it will have to be fall semester next year. Might just give us chance for one more trip out here if we come a little earlier than usual. Anyway, I’m sure you could get someone else if you want to continue. Tony and Carl would probably come.”

  Tony, our friend in Tok, who had been such a great help to Hagen a few years ago when he made a winter trip by snow machine to the claim. We still stayed in touch and he and his buddy Carl, had expressed an interest in buying our claim and the equipment whenever we decided to sell.

  I didn’t answer immediately. We both sat quietly with our thoughts. The raven alighted on a treetop behind us. Caw, caw-caw. The sound echoed hauntingly around the valley. Freddy ignored it.

  Hagen stretched out his legs, closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

  * * * *

  He was thinking about Tony and Carl. Of course, though they might not admit it, they had already been out here to snoop around. They wouldn’t think of doing anything bad but curiosity would have gotten the better of them and they would have scouted it out.

  Most likely, they would have come in the early winter when things started to freeze. They were both expert with their snow machines and already had a winter trapline trail halfway along the Ladue. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge to them to go the extra miles.

  There wouldn’t be much to see however. Once the snow came everything was covered and disguised. They could only see the general lay of the land. From first hand experience he knew just how deep the snow lay in the valley.