Metal Detecting Paradise 2010

[AlphaWolf]

The Trail

The sharp, cold wind swept up and over the saddle that lay nested between the jagged ridges north and south. Emerging from the sheltered protection of the wooded trail that traversed the Western slope of this 3500 ft Cascade Range, I felt the painful sting of crystallized and drifting snow as it pelted my exposed face. The snow was deeper and windblown here. I slowed my pace as I tried to visualize the trail that was now awash with drifting snow. Looking up at the frozen rock face, I wondered how anyone had ever found a way up this rugged crag; it surely must have been during fair weather and when time was not of the essence.

Timber is my faithful friend of over 13 years; he is half Timber Wolf, half Malamute and rarely gets a great distance ahead without looking back to make sure that I am not far behind. My good friend knew the trail by instinct and bounded through the drifts toward the eastern slope of the broad ridge which we now crossed. He turned south and headed into the snow covered brush but not without quickly glancing back to check on my progress.

I followed along his path and sure enough, barely visible along the line of brush, among the Oregon grape, huckleberry bushes and small shrub, was an opening, an animal trail that headed south along the eastern slope of the jagged rocky ridge above. Although this was the windward slope, the stunted, sub alpine firs and pine afforded welcome cover as the trace of a trail switched back and fourth growing steeper as we rapidly gained altitude. As the trees eventually thinned out, bits of broken rock were strewn across the narrow trail making the assent even more treacherous. The snow held fast within the shallow hollows on the slope’s face but a steady and strong cutting breeze carried any loose snow up the eastern face and over the ridge.

Along the diminishing trail lie areas where thin bits of rock had broken free from the cliffs above. Years of exposure to the sun, the wind, and the perpetual rain and freezing broke the bits free. This rocky debris collected along the base of the shear rock faces above and spilled down the slope to form broad slides of scree. It held no regard for this which was barely a trail and completely obscured it in many places. As soon as some unsuspecting animal or foolhardy traveler might try to cross this river of rock it was triggered to cut loose, waiting to flow down the ever steeper terrain to the unknown abyss below.

Timber sensed the danger; perhaps he smelled death from those who were less wary. He waited for me to catch up and stood facing me as if to stop me from proceeding. The sun had long since set over the ridge above and although we had some daylight left, the thought of being stuck on this cold precipice for any length of time made me most uneasy. I scanned the terrain below and passage there was impossible. Our best chance of getting across this, one of nature’s deadly traps, would be to make our way up to the base of the sheer wall above in hopes that we could find safer passage there.

I lead the climb as Timber stood fast where I had left the trail. He knew this was risky and he didn’t like it. As if to voice his complaint, he whined in a high pitch as I scrambled up the short, steep grade. Soon I was at the base of the abrupt cliff wall. There was a narrow but relatively, level ledge here so I called for Timber to follow. He darted up the steepest segment with ease but slowed and took greater care as he ascended the steep loose gravel just below me. Timber stayed close as we proceeded across this ledge of earth and loose rock. We could each sense that one false move here would be our last. Timber did well and took his time to carefully step where I had stepped. We followed this treacherous high ground to a point well beyond the scree, a place where the low shrub afforded some stable ground beneath our feet. We descended back to the relative safety of the animal trail just below then proceeded on in hopes of soon finding a safe place to camp for the night.

Timber took the lead, once again, as I edged along the ever narrowing trail. My heavy pack and the nearly vertical slope below demanded every bit of concentration that I could muster as daylight waned and the biting cold rapidly began to set in. Overhanging icefalls, along the rock face above, stood as stark reminders of how everything eventually freezes here, down to its very core. Dusk was surely upon us now but as good fortune would have it the trail started to widen ahead. When I reached the widest stretch of trail here, I pulled off my gloves to retrieve the small, deerskin pouch from around my neck. Inside this soft leather bag, among other treasures, was a rather common looking item. It was an old, oxidized 30/30 round that my grandfather had given me many years before. I tugged to separate the bullet from the shell. Within this inconspicuous hiding place, carefully folded over and rolled up tight, was a piece of waxed cloth. It was old and somewhat dark and stained along its perimeter but still very legible and clearly a miniature map. The round had been sealed watertight with bee’s wax and appeared, when put together, to be a live 30/30 round.

Stillman McGee

My grandfather’s father was destined, it seems, to live a life of great adventure. Stillman McGee had a calling for the great outdoors. As a young man he often ventured into the hills and deep woods and became experienced and confident in traversing rough and varying terrain. He learned orienteering and studied the local plants and animals. His use of map and compass, he learned from his father in Scotland and he acquired many of his survival skills from the local Indians. His calling was an insatiable urge to live, to breathe, to survive and to die in the great outdoors. Stillman was truly becoming a great outdoorsman.

After years of college, Stillman settled down in northern Maine. He lived what most would consider a normal and honorable life teaching history as he continued on to study geology. He even worked two jobs for a period to make a fair living. He married and had one son. In those rare moments of spare time, Stillman could be found reading articles and accounts of mining techniques and tales of prospecting. Miners, it seems, were doing quite well up in Alaska and stories of great riches being found were commonplace in newspapers of the day. This great sense of adventure taunted Stillman but he enjoyed the life that he had worked so hard to achieve.

This was true, it seems, until word got out of nuggets of gold the size of a man’s fist being found in the Yukon Territory. Stillman’s desire to live a normal life was no match for this new and now epidemic call of the wild, this “fever” that he had contracted, “Gold Fever”. He left his home, his job and his studies. He left everything in order to venture north to find gold.

His long trip across the United States brought him to Seattle, Washington. Seattle was a large and booming city and a staging ground for prospectors heading to the gold fields, up north, to Alaska and now to the Yukon Territory in Canada. Here there was everything one could imagine to outfit the thousands of, would be, prospectors. Many of these frenzied and gold hungry soles had little or no knowledge of how to survive the harsh climate ahead let alone any idea of how to find or process gold once they got there. Stillman knew some of these dangers and had a great respect for the outdoors. He too was anxious to head out but wisely decided to practice and hone his skills as a prospector here in Washington, along the Cascade Range, before heading north to the unforgiving gold fields of the Yukon Territory.
Mining in Washington had nowhere near the hardships that were to be found in the Canadian Yukon, so it was a great place to test one’s know-how before heading to a place where one small mistake could cost you your life.

Stillman McGee prepared himself well for his journeys into the Cascades. He carefully researched all available maps of the area and learned what he could from local residents.
Stillman knew how to survive in the wild from his younger days in Maine but here the fauna and flora and geology was different from his native state. He purchased a packhorse and stocked up on provisions to last him several months. He acquired the tools he would need and bought a 30/30 rifle. He obtained proper clothing and boots to withstand the wet, cold seasons that lie ahead. With his packhorse loaded and supplies in order he headed south and east into the Cascade Range just south of Mt. Rainer. He was careful to observe that he was not being followed. He went out of his way to mislead anyone that might try to tag along. The last thing Stillman wanted was to find gold here and have it stolen from him.

His ventures took him high into the mountain valleys where he methodically sample panned along streams and rivers along the way and began to get a true feel for this new land. His studies in geology helped him tremendously. He could read the land and observe where lava flows and cataclysmic flooding had once altered the terrain. He looked for signs of quartz and black sand and followed ancient riverbeds where he could find them. He meticulously looked for places where traces of gold started and where they ran out along rivers and streams and carefully took samples from the hillsides above. By following an inverted “V” of samples up the hillside, he was often able to narrow in on the source and locate pockets of gold. He searched for quartz in streambeds and rocky outcroppings and looked for the presence of silver and copper ore and pyrite. He looked, as well, for associated mineral deposits of tellurides and other sulfides. One after the other, he worked the rivers, the streams, the steep hillsides and rocky outcroppings to find larger veins of quartz which held, in its clutches, ribbons of elusive gold. It was very hard work but Stillman had the great fortune of knowing the geology and in understanding how gold was formed in fissures and cracks at the earth’s crust.

Water found its way down through cracks and voids in the earth’s crust to the molten magma below. It mixed with sulfides and other minerals there to dissolve any gold present. This superheated mix then vaporized and pressurized. The high pressure steam and gases rose and were forced into the tight fissures and cracks above. Here, it slowly cooled in surrounding masses of lava and molten rock to form crystals and solid gold. In larger cracks, gold flake often formed as the mix cooled faster and crystals did not have time or conditions to form.

Over hundreds and thousands of years the sun and rain, snow and ice, wind and flowing water eroded away the surrounding soils and rock to free the veins, crystal and flake gold to the forces of gravity where it moved down hillsides and into the streams and rivers below. Here it works its way directly down to bedrock where it stays until a bigger flood removes the overburden and the gold is on the move again. Gravity and moving earth, ice and water flow move the gold downstream where it comes to rest again at the bottom, on bedrock or along inside bends in the rivers or streams. Here it sits until, that is, a prospector may chance upon it and place it in his poke before moving on.

Stillman was looking for the mother lode, not just traces and small pockets of gold; he had the “Fever” now and he had it bad. He spent following days, weeks and months unearthing any sign that might lead him to the ultimate lode. He found many small strikes but, of course, he wanted more.

It was late fall now and going on winter in the Cascade Range. Snow began showing up along the tops of nearby ridges, but Stillman searched on. He followed his instincts and made educated guesses to find more placer and more lode gold. He ventured, one day, onto the very trail that I was now on. He climbed the same west slope trail, crossed the same broad saddle and traversed the same animal trails that I had just followed. It was here, at this very spot, where the trail widened slightly as it approached the ridge and here along this eastern slope that Stillman’s packhorse slowed, turned right toward the rocky wall and then apparently vanished from sight. It was as if his packhorse had walked right into the solid cliff then disappeared. Stillman was not far behind the animal, he was but twenty paces back. He was truly stunned by this apparition. He thought that, surely, he must be imagining things. Perhaps he had been isolated too long, maybe he was experiencing hypothermia and hallucinating from exhaustion. It wasn’t until, upon closer examination as he approached the spot where I now stood, that he found the well camouflaged opening in the seemingly solid rock wall.
The unnoticeable opening was a slot straight into the cliff wall. It went back about six feet then made a sharp 90 degree turn to the left. From there, a dark and narrow trail sloped upward toward the light above.


The Cavern
Here I stood at that very wide spot in the trail. It was not until now that I noticed that Timber was no longer in front of me. The trail went straight ahead for quite some distance and up toward the ridge but he was nowhere in sight. I had a brief moment of panic, just as a parent might have when they suddenly realize that they just lost sight of their child in a crowd. I whistled and called out loud but could not see Timber anywhere along the trail ahead.

To my left and just down the slope stood an old, tattered and wind blown tree. It was weathered and leaned heavily into the steep hillside as if to hunker down, to shelter itself from the unforgiving cold of the wind approaching from the valley below. At the base of this tree was a knurled and well healed blaze. It was barely visible from the trail, especially as the light was fading, and had I not known to look for it, I would never have seen it. It was at that moment that Timber suddenly walked out from the hidden opening in the cliff to my right and not far off the trail. The illusion was breathtaking and I would have totally overlooked this junction in the trail had timber not found it for me.

This was the place! My heart skipped a beat and started to pound profusely. I carefully pulled the small, darkened cloth from its metal cocoon and slowly unrolled then unfolded the fragile map.
Here as the document indicated was a blaze on a weathered old tree and a mystic, hidden trail. I refolded the map, rolled it back up then carefully placed it back into the old and oxidized cartridge. I inserting the lead bullet and placed the round back into the deerskin pouch. I tightened the rawhide strap and put it, once again, around my neck for safekeeping. I followed Timber into the narrow passageway, turned left and gazed upon the steep, dark trail ahead that lead up between the cliff’s broken face and the huge slab of rock that had once split free from the main rock wall. The steep dark trail was less than three feet wide and nearly forty feet long. I could barely see light above and in the distance.

Timber easily climbed the narrow hidden path and I followed behind being careful not to lose my footing. As I approached the top, Timber sat patiently waiting for me on the ledge above. My heavy backpack scraped along the jagged rock wall as I wedged my way through the slim opening at the top. Once I emerged from the cramped fissure I could see that the broad ledge was nicely sheltered. Basalt dihedrals formed the main cliff wall with a wide overhang fifteen, or so, feet above. A portion of the huge slab which also formed the outer face of the fissure that I had just ascended rose above the ledge now protecting me from the elements and especially from the cold wind buffeting the eastern slope. The gap left between the cliff and the huge slab tapered down to but a narrow crack to the north and a large mound of earth and rock closed the cavern in to the south. Above the mound was an opening through which I could still see the crimson sunset sky.

I removed my pack and easily climbed the earthen mound to the opening above. There, just outside the cavern and not far below, grew an abundance of dwarfed and weathered hemlock trees. Within a few minutes I had gathered an ample supply of dried and broken branches. The last of the evening’s light faded fast, I could still make out the silhouettes of tree branches and the jagged rock above but little else. Soon only starlight would be visible since the moon had not yet made an appearance this night. It was cold and clear as I slid back down within the cavern’s shelter.

In the corner, where the earthen mound met the cold rock face of the cliff, was a depression that afforded a small but effective fireplace. The smoke would easily find its way up the corner to the opening above.

The small fire easily lit the magnificent shelter and provided radiant warmth to soothe our aching bones. Timber closed his eyes as I reflected on how, over one hundred years before, my great grandfather had once climbed this very ridge, followed the same animal trails and first found the hidden opening to this majestic shelter. I had no doubt that he gathered wood from the hemlock stand just outside the opening and sat, sheltered and warm on this very ledge to make the detailed cloth map that I now possessed. I drifted off to sleep as the shadows danced across the cold rock faces that surrounded us.

The Ridgeline

The morning light shed a warm glow across the width of the dihedral cliff wall, casting shadows as it filtered in from the opening above. The fire had long since gone out so I put on my parka and edged down into the long dark fissure that leads to the trail below. As I approached the lower opening I could see that it had snowed during the night. Timber’s paw prints led south up the trail and soon he emerged from the low brush along the uphill side of the trail, bouncing and playful.

Looking north and with the aid of this morning’s light I could now see the treacherous length of steep trail that led us up to this place high in the Cascades. As I looked, once again, at the icefalls above, I realized that the cutting winds from the night before were now calm and had been replaced with the warm rays of the morning sun. We took a short walk up the trail that led south toward the ridgeline. It was easy going with only an inch or two of white powdery snow.

As we approached the ridgeline the light dusting of snow there was thinner and the frozen earth and rock exposed in many areas. It was in one of these naturally cleared spots that I sat down to enjoy the scenery and munch on a breakfast bar. It was nice not having to cook up a breakfast since I was most anxious to get to work.

I studied the terrain along the ridgeline and could see that there was a sheer cliff standing proud to our north which appeared completely impassable. There was, however, barely noticeable a grove of windblown hemlock growing just above this prominence. To the south the ridgeline, although fairly broad at this point, was jagged and sharp rock beyond and steep both east and west. Just west of where we sat was a steep and foreboding drop-off that extended far to the north and the south. It was plain to see that we would not be venturing in this direction and I was glad that I hadn’t approached this way in the dark of night. To our east the steep hillside was scattered below with rocky outcroppings, scree slopes and some brush where the low shrub could get a foothold. Below that was a forest of sub alpine evergreen that carpeted the steep valleys below. I could see other ridges in the distance but none seemed as high as the one we were on.

We followed our trail back to the hidden cave. I gathered bits of firewood from along the trail and we climbed up to the sheltered ledge above. Timber had carried a pack along as well. The small saddlebags held his food and some water, so I gave him breakfast and organized my pack for the day’s trek. We then scrambled up the earthen mound within the cavern and emerged from the opening above. It was clear in the morning’s light that as I was gathering wood the night before I had come dangerously close to that sheer drop-off along the western side of the ridge. The mere thought of this made me shudder. The weathered stand of hemlock covered an area of nearly 1000 sq ft. This was larger than I had imagined it the night before so now, as I surveyed the potential for a route north and up the ridge from here, Timber was busy finding the way. He went over toward the eastern slope then scrambled up to a flat area above. I followed as he waited patiently for me to catch up. Once there I could see that the ridge flattened out for quite a distance and although not as wide, it was nearly the length of a football field. It appeared that this was the top of this mountain ridge as I could not see any higher terrain to the north. Timber scouted the area as I sat down on a nearby rock to take a look at the tiny map.

After orienting this little map with my compass, I could easily make out this ridgeline meadow which we were now on. It was outlined in black ink. The map indicated a trail leading north from the northwest corner of the meadow. My heart sank as I imagined even getting near the frightening, western edge. I didn’t want to leave the comfort of this wide and open field. The aging map showed that from that point and after a distance of perhaps 200 ft was a narrow passage leading east to a point nearly aligned with the center of the main ridge. Here, was a small clearly drawn pick & shovel. I put the map away and headed north across the grassy field. The dusting of last night’s snow had now melted or been blown away and it felt strange that I was walking along a groomed and grassy field on top of this mountain ridge. Timber joined me as we approached the northern boundary of the meadow. Along the northern edge was another drop-off, so clearly we’d have to find another way on. We walked east but then I remembered the sheer cliffs that we had passed on the way up. As we approached the exposed rock of these cliff tops, I looked over the edge and could see below the sheer cliff and icefalls below. I could also see the treacherous trail that we had followed to this place farther below.

It was with trepidation I headed toward the northwest corner of the meadow.
I was a bit surprised and pleased to be sure when we got there. There, just as the map had shown was a trail due north. It was a narrow ridge that sloped down to level nearly 60 ft. below. It was definitely steep off to the west and nearly as steep to the east but rather flat on top and a welcome sight after what I had imagined from my previous assessments.
I used my walking stick to steady my descent and Timber had no problem traversing the fairly step slope of the ridge. At the base of this little ridge was a long crevasse that had filled in to the west with rocky debris. The gravel and rock sloped down into the dark toward the center of the main ridge.
Before entering this dark slot, I pulled a flashlight from my pack looked down into the narrow passage. The walls were of solid rock and moist. I could hear water dripping below and I tossed a rock down and to the east but heard only rock on rock as it echoed into the abyss.

I carefully stepped onto the loose rock and it seemed to be quite stable. The fill material declined at a slope of nearly 40 degrees which made sense since that was near the angle of repose for this type of material. As I descended I shined the flashlight down and could see much better now. I told Timber to stay; I didn’t want him kicking loose rocks down on top of me. The crevasse was deeper than I had originally thought. The rocky fill was slick but held together well. The thought crossed my mind that this could well be my tomb, as I made my way down. I could see the bottom a short distance below. Water dripped from the sheer rock walls and I could now hear water flowing beneath my feet through the rocks below.

At the base of the climb, I reached into my pack and pulled out an old carbide lamp that had been in the family since I can remember. I lit it and as my eyes continued to adjust to the low light, I could now see more of my surroundings. As I turned around I could clearly see the rock walls now. As I shined the lamp on one rock face I could see veins of quartz averaging 3” wide and 10 ft high. On the opposing wall were the same veins that had once been married with the ones on the opposite wall. Sand and gravel covered the floor at this point and low along the eastern wall was the hint of an opening just above the sand.

In all my excitement I had forgotten about Timber. I looked up to the opening above and there he was sitting and watching me below. I took off my pack and pulled my metal detector from the pack. Now this was a tool that I have no doubt that my great grandfather surely would have enjoyed. I had outfitted it this morning with fresh batteries and a small coil. I turned it on and ground balanced it to the rock wall. I waved it over the quartz veins running through the wall and was able to reach most from where I stood. I didn’t detect any signals there so I looked over the rocky debris that I had just climbed down. There, a lone piece of quartz stood out among the rocks. I waved my detector over the quartz chip and sure enough, I got a good signal. Upon closer inspection I could see within this piece of quartz, a ribbon of gold, running it’s length. I then tried the sand and gravel under my feet and was delighted to get a steady buzz. It was louder near the quartz veins where they met the sand. I worked on pinpointing some areas in the sand but it seemed as though there must be hot rocks here. I was great difficulty balancing my detector to the sand. It was dark but by setting the lamp right down on the sand I could actually see some glimmer in the sand here. This could be silica but I reached for my plastic pan and scooped up a small amount. I used the water from my canteen to wet the mix and swirled the pan about. I brought the lamp closer and could see a wee bit of flour but no flake and no nuggets were there. I set aside the pan and waved the detector over the sand again. I got nothing but an obnoxious buzz and louder by the quartz veins. I began to doubt my detector and figured it must be acting up from all the moisture here. Once again I waved the detector over the sandy floor and as I approached one wall where the quartz met sand, it wailed. I set the detector down and got out my entrenching tool as my heart started pounding.

I laughed out loud as I now knew what “Gold Fever” must really felt like; I think I was stricken now. I took a shovelful from the sandy floor but the hole quickly slumped back in. The water table here was just below the surface. I kept digging along the eastern wall placing the sand that I removed behind me. It was a little crowded but the sandy floor was nearly 6 ft wide and 5 feet from front to back. As I dug, the sand kept slumping in to the hole but I was now making slow progress. I dug for nearly an hour before I realized that it had been that long. So far, I had a hole that was three feet deep and four feet across and along the eastern wall. With the high water table and depression in the sand I, at least, had a place to pan some ore.

I took my geologists hammer from my belt and by holding my lamp close was able to examine the quartz veins once more. I used the pick to dig down several inches along the wall to expose the quartz just below the level of the sandy floor. I could clearly see that some of the quartz had been chipped away here. There were marks there that only a rock pick could leave. If I hadn’t done this then surely it must have been Stillman.

The Discovery

Stillman camped that night on the sheltered ledge. Obviously, his packhorse could not climb up the narrow passage to the ledge above, but Stillman put some hay and oats deep within the cavern’s opening so his friend could make best use of the shelter and be away from the biting wind.

Stillman was an explorer. He liked to go places and find new routes where no man had gone before. It was this adventuresome spirit that led him through the opening at the top of the cavern and up to the meadow above. How else could he have found this place where surely no man had set foot before? Perhaps an Indian had climbed this ridge, he thought, but surely no white man had been here. When Stillman found the large meadow on the top of the ridge, he surely felt the wonder of this magical place. He walked along it boundaries to find the long sloped trail northward. He must have explored the crevasse out of curiosity, or perhaps he saw it as a wonderful opportunity to go into the earth’s crust and see what lies within. Either way, he got lucky. To climb down into this dark wet passage then find gold must have surely given him the “Fever”, the will to explore even deeper. It must have stirred him to dig deeper into this claustrophobic pit in the search of gold. The sand surely slumped back into the hole as he dug and the thought of being buried here must have crossed his mind.

Since Stillman knew his geology well, he had this great advantage. He knew how those veins of quartz were formed and how likely that veins of gold might be found within or among them. His wisdom led him to this mountain ridge. Somehow he knew the places to look. He studied maps and read the land. No map, however, told of this place so Stillman made one, the very map I hold today. He must have wanted to share this place. To take the time to chart it out, to leave signs to insure that the way is not lost.

As Stillman dug deeper he found that the water that flowed beneath his feet followed the stratum, a layer of rock below. He had removed enough sand to find that stratum and was tired and hungry now. As he climbed out of the crevasse and back up the steep sloped trail to the meadow above, Stillman realized that the water that flowed across that stratum must come out somewhere, somewhere below the point in the crevasse.

He ran over to the eastern cliff and looked over the edge. Sure enough, there was the icefall below. That is where the water is going and that is where the stratum lies. With great excitement, Stillman went back down the narrow ridge and down to the bottom of the crevasse once more. He inspected the quartz veins just below level of sand. He chipped away a piece with his geologist’s hammer and grinned as he held the bright piece of quartz in hand, it had a thin ribbon of gold running it’s length. Stillman tossed the rock onto the rocky debris and began the process of clearing away more sand to get a better look. Stillman dug sand for the rest of the night and into the next day. He had much of it removed for several feet from along the eastern wall and down to the layer of stratum. The water flowed more freely now and helped to wash the sand away. The water flow was perhaps 6 inched deep icy cold. Stillman took his rock pick in hand and struck the stratum running beneath the water. He braced the cold as he reached into the water to bring out the piece that he had chipped free. In the darkness, with only a miner’s lamp it was difficult to see detail but the chip looked to be quartz but its weight was that of gold. As he turned the chip over he could not believe his eyes. The sample was a layer of quartz on top with a thick vein of gold, nearly a quarter of an inch thick, running through it. He let out a holler and danced a jig standing in the cold water. He chipped another piece from the layer below and once again it was heavy and contained more gold than quartz. Stillman finally found his mother lode.

Stillman suddenly stopped and froze in terror. He bounded from the deep crevasse and up the steep ridge. He sprinted across the meadow and slid down to the hemlock stand. He climbed through the opening high in the cavern and quickly grabbed his rifle from the corner on the ledge. Stillman stopped and listened carefully. He turned about to be sure that no one was there. Slipping down through the fissure he was relived to see that his packhorse still there. Stillman inspected the trail to look for tracks of others and squinted his eyes to see as far up and down the trail he could see. He cut a branch from a nearby lone tree and carefully brushed it along the trail to erase his tracks. He thought of setting a trap at the entrance to the cavern but thought better of it when he realized it would more likely trap his packhorse than anyone else. Stillman didn’t build a fire that night for fear of attracting attention to his lair. He stood guard and was afraid to sleep.

The next day, as the sun barely rose over the eastern landscape, Stillman went back to the crevasse and buried the hole he had dug. He carefully filled it all in and was careful to erase all traces that he had been there. He packed up his tools and used the tree branch to sweep his tracks from the ridge trail and assessed the situation to be sure he hadn’t overlooked anything that would lead to his discovery.

The only thing that Stillman had forgotten was the chip of quartz that he had tossed onto the rocky fill.

The Map

That night, Stillman did build a fire. He knew that he needed to rest for the long trip down the mountain. The packhorse was fed and given extra oats this night. A hearty pot of bacon and beans took the edge off the bitter cold and afforded some needed energy for the long day ahead. Stillman pulled several items from his saddlebags. He had pen and ink and he tore a piece from his well worn linen shirt. He lit his pipe and sat on his saddle with his back to the fire. His saddlebags made a perfect desk as he set about drawing, with utmost accuracy and close detail, a map that told of this magical place. He was ever so careful to not let the ink bleed as he made sure the pen’s tip was nearly dry before placing each and every mark on the piece of cloth. The scale was very small but he made up for it with clarity and patience and skill.

Stillman still had the two quartz chips that he had retrieved from the stratum. They weighed in at nearly a pound apiece. These, along with the rest of the gold from the Cascades, could easily pay for his trip north to the Yukon Territory and if not, he could always return for more. He set these two fine specimens on the saddlebags and worked on the map well into the night.

In the morning, he carefully removed some beeswax from a jar of preserves that he had packed in. He melted it down over the remaining coals from the fire and then dipped the cloth map in the hot wax to seal it. Stillman pulled a 30/30 round from his belt and pulled the led bullet from the shell with his teeth. He saved the powder in his fire kit, it could be useful perhaps at a later time. Ever so carefully he folded the map and rolled it up tight and pushed it into the rifle shell. With the bullet pushed back in, he dipped it into the hot wax to seal it tight and wiped off the remaining wax. When placed back into his belt, the false round could not be distinguished from any other round there.

Stillman removed all traces of his visit here; he even washed down the rock face with some snow to remove any soot left by the fire. He buried the coals and swept the fire pit clean, he left the cavern just as he had found it. After loading the packhorse Stillman dusted the ground at the opening of the cavern so no tracks would be visible. His horse had left some sign so he scattered it in the brush along the trail.

Before leaving, Stillman cut a small blaze in the weathered tree just down the slope.
It would be difficult to see, he thought, unless you knew to look for it. As a final effort he tied the tree branch so it would drag behind them as they headed down the rocky animal trail to the broad saddle below.






... To be continued ...

Short Story by Dave Brownscombe
(all rights reserved)
_________________
Happy Huntin' Y'all,

AW

"Mustang", Land Ranger
"Tried and True", QDII
"Alpha Wizard", Modified Little Wizard II
Pick, Pan & Poke

[Dick from IA]

Excellent reading, Dave;
Waitin' on the next chapter
_________________
Dick from IA

The Best Things In Life Are Not Things!!

[AlphaWolf]

[tinkb]

Good reading Dave, will be watching for the next part.
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Minelab X70- 5x10DD coil
Whites Classic II
T2 Pinpointer
TinyTec Ultra
Understanding Wife

[elvis earnhardt]

You done goood!!
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Michael D. Fuson

[AlphaWolf]

Ok guys, I revised the first part and added some more adventure in the high Cascades. I hope you enjoy the tale. Can you tell I love this country and searching for gold?
I'll try to keep it exciting and keep y'all on the edges of your seats but don't worry, Timber always saves the day.

Dave
aw
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Happy Huntin' Y'all,

AW

"Mustang", Land Ranger
"Tried and True", QDII
"Alpha Wizard", Modified Little Wizard II
Pick, Pan & Poke

[AlphaWolf]

Hey All,

I haven't seen this since I wrote it quite some time ago.
Guess I'd better get to dreamin' up more tails of trails across the Cascade Range.
I copied this into my Open Office Word processor to inspire me to get back to work on it.
Good ol' Stillman McGee and my mighty wolfdog Timber.
Timber now has a wife and 7 kids that are all grown up, he's gettin' on to 11 years old now so he moves a bit slower ... but then again, so do I ... we're still the best of buds.

I'll try to conger up some more tails of treasure and adventure and of course I'll post it here hot off the press.

Dave
AW
_________________
Happy Huntin' Y'all,

AW

"Mustang", Land Ranger
"Tried and True", QDII
"Alpha Wizard", Modified Little Wizard II
Pick, Pan & Poke

[Ben]

This is nice! Thanks for bringing it back up to the top.
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Hi!