At six in the evening, we completed our final cleanup for the day and carried the heavy pail of concentrate to the camp and started the panning process. Then we started our other chores and only occasionally paused to ladle in a quantity of new material.
It was our usual practice to clean up first and then prepare dinner. We got into a routine and things usually didn’t take too long. Normally, we had everything done around eight o’clock and we quietly relaxed by the fire.
For evening entertainment we had a transistor radio powered from the ATV battery. We picked up amazingly far away stations at night. We often pulled in European stations and obtained a different slant on the news. Unfortunately, there were news items, occasionally, which set Hagen off, especially if it involved politics. Thank goodness there were music and comedy too.
Our cabin was equipped with a few comforts. For one thing we had military cots and sleeping bags. We debated whether we would have been warmer on the ground, but at least we were off the dampness. We also had a couple of foot lockers for clothes, and of course, the small potbellied wood stove. The stove pipe went up a little way and then passed through a fireproof panel on the back wall of the tent. The stove was small but it took the chill from cold nights and helped keep our clothes dry.
To keep the cabin cleaner, we constructed a partial floor made of a series of wooden slats, with half inch spaces. It was easy to brush off occasionally. We even had electric lights, powered by the generator, but we hardly used them. In fact, we decided to take the generator out with us at the end of this trip and not bother with it again. Mostly, if we needed additional light, we used a couple of small lights strung from batteries of the ATV. We were careful not to discharge the ATV batteries too far.
Outside, to the left of the tent entrance, sheltered by the fly sheet which extended beyond the front of the tent, was our cooking table, and on the right side, a strong aluminum chest which held most of our food. This chest was specifically purchased because it was considered bear proof with strong clamps holding the lid closed.
It was beginning to get cold at night. Down in the valley the sunshine faded early because of the ridge to the west. The change in temperature was immediately apparent. By the time our chores were finished, and we could relax, it was cool enough to put on our jackets and huddle closer by the fire for warmth. When it was cool, there were no mosquitoes. Sometimes it was just more comfortable to stoke up the little stove and roll up in our sleeping bags, even if we didn’t go to sleep right away.
Tonight we settled at ten. The air was very cool and there was a definite feeling of autumn. Trib 1 soothed us to sleep with soft babbling. A half-moon cast a silvery light over our camp. Unseen and unheard by us, our neighborhood blackie inspected the claim to see how much progress we made during the day.
Chapter 21
Day of Relaxation
One day a week was designated as a rest day—well deserved. We never planned because it always depended on the weather. This rest day started cool but promised to be sunny. We decided to go fishing on the Ladue. It was, probably our last chance before closing down the operation for the year.
After a leisurely breakfast, we packed food and drink, rifles, rubber boots, fishing gear, toiletry, and towels onto the ATV. Then we spent a few minutes tidying up the camp and making sure all of our food was locked securely in the chest. We closed the front of the tent as a deterrent to our camp bear, knowing that it could very easily force an entry if it wanted. It seemed to us there was little inside to attract a bear. But, who can tell about bears.
Our frequent trips to Ladue left a clear trail, easy to spot from the air. It couldn’t be helped. By this time we were certain a few people knew, by one means or another, of our mining activity in the Trib 1 Valley. Once last year, and again this year, a small aircraft buzzed the area and we felt sure the occupants were scouting to see what we were doing. We never had visitors, not that we knew of, but we were surprised that no one else had prospected and staked a claim nearby. We thought perhaps it was only the logistics of getting there that had deterred them. Perhaps they realized we had the prime spot covered. Not much we could do about it except to be sure we had our claim correctly registered. Anyway, as far as making tracks was concerned, we couldn’t stay penned up on the claim four weeks just for the sake of secrecy.
We followed our usual trail south to the junction of Trib 1 and the Ladue River. The place was where Hagen, his snowmachine, and sled, fell through the ice eighteen months earlier. Here the clear water of our stream remained separate for a short distance before blending with the tea colored water of the Ladue. It was our favorite place for grayling fishing and I believe we caught some fish several times. Most of the time we returned them gently to the river, only occasionally keeping one to supplement our camp food. We used very light tackle and barbless hooks, challenging to us, yet the fish were virtually unharmed.
The serpentine Ladue was fringed for most of its length by tamarack and spruce trees. Some of them were large, especially close by the river where the soil was better drained. Generally speaking however, the rest of the wide valley was without growth; just too boggy.
As usual, we parked the camouflaged ATV under the trees. It would be less obvious to anyone flying over the area. By now, the middle of the morning, the temperature was creeping higher and it was beginning to feel pleasant.
We decided to get our lines wet right away and were soon both thrashing water, as I liked to call it. Hagen was challenging himself with forty foot casts to the furthest side where the water ran dark and deep under an eroded bank. I waded into the livelier water where the clear stream and dark river water melded together. I was just downstream of the gravel bar formed by the junction.
Hagen caught the first grayling, a beauty, about fourteen inches long. It was definitely a keeper but we had an unwritten rule not to keep a fish so early in the day. By chance, Hagen caught two more before my first nibble. We had a good laugh when my first catch turned out to be only about six inches long.
Hagen joked, “You’re holding your mouth wrong.”
“Oh,” I bantered. “You’re giving me advice now when just a day or so back, you didn’t want to try fishing. What’s wrong with this picture? I got you hooked on fishing, remember?”
“Doug, I had to take lessons to undo those things you taught me. I keep thinking you taught me wrong on purpose. Do you deny it?”
To take the pressure off I pointed out the gaggle of geese, perhaps a hundred or more, flying overhead. We could hear them calling to each other as they flew in three distinct V formations.
“Winter is coming, Hagen.” I said.
Over the next few days we saw many more formations heading south for the winter. We tired of fishing after an hour and a half and built a small fire on the open gravel and prepared lunch. Back to canned beef stew, the last one from our food store.
It was quiet and very peaceful here by the Ladue. Only the gentlest of breezes stirred tops of trees. The sun shone warmly on our picnic place from its highest point of the day. As we consumed our meal, a few late season mosquitoes wafted around, but the urge seemed to have left them, and they didn’t pester us much. After lunch, it wasn’t too long before we both dozed, lying on a soft bed of springy grass growing on the yielding peat moss of the river bank.
We woke at two o’clock to the sound of an aircraft engine. The plane, a blue and white Piper Super Cub, flew unwavering in a westerly direction. Some-one heading toward Tok or Tanacross.
Awake now. Time to try our hand at fishing again. This time I guess I held my mouth correctly because I caught my supper within just a few minutes. Hagen was not far behind with, what I thought, was the same big fish that he caught and released earlier.
“Nice fish, but a slow learner.” I mumbled. “Otherwise, you would never have caught it a second time.”
Hagen just snorted. From then on it was just for practice and fun. We continued to tease the grayling with our casts. We explored using a v
ariety of flies for the next hour or so.
We quit fishing while the fishing was still good and decided to take our customary medicinal bath in the peat stained Ladue water. Even on the hottest days the Ladue was cold and this late in the season the water was a test for both of us. Well, by now we were supposed to be tough and hardy frontiersmen weren’t we? We had goose bumps on top of goose bumps to prove it.
This trial by cold water called for more hot coffee and when we were dry and dressed, we stirred up the fire and boiled water. The sun was still shining so we lounged away a couple more hours before returning to camp. We collected our two fish secured in the cool stream water and headed off.
We traveled the first mile and I noticed a movement at the base of the hill to the right. It was a large bull moose, loping along through the shrubs and trees. I nudged Hagen and pointed, so he throttled back and we watched the moose skirt around the lower flank of the hill, out of sight around the southern tip of the ridge.
“He’s right where we made our first airdrop.” I said. “I can’t believe it’s been two years.” We really hadn’t seen much wildlife so it was a relief to know we didn’t drive it all away with our presence in the valley.
With the ATV, it only took twenty minutes to get back to camp; even with the detours, necessary because of thickets and clumps of trees. We entered the camp from the south side.
We had a visitor. The cooking table was upset, the naphtha stove lay on the ground and some of our cooking utensils were scattered around. The canvas front of the cabin was sagging at a crazy angle. It had been pulled from the upper corner support and it looked like the aluminum chest had been pushed from its place.
There was no doubt in our minds of the culprit. Judging by the foot prints all around our camp, the neighborhood black bear was the trickster. It finally got up the courage to come into camp. We probably drove it crazy with the smell of our cooking and it had finally experienced the bear equivalent of a Big Mac Attack. Fortunately, it hadn’t broken into the cabin or the aluminum chest so there was no real harm done. Who knows? Maybe we returned with our noisy approach in the nick of time and scared it away.
There were bear paw prints everywhere around the camp and in the mud down by the sluice box. We couldn’t tell which way it arrived or departed. We could imagine it lurking in the undergrowth waiting for a second chance. By now we weren’t scared of being attacked. We just didn’t want it tearing up the camp every time we turned our backs.
We made plenty of noise tidying up and then cooked a delicious smelly meal of boiled potatoes and fish. It must have had the bear drooling something terrible out there in the woods. We almost wished it would show itself so that we could at least take a photo, but it never did.
Chapter 22
Last Few Days
Hagen and I spent the next two days working hard to make the very most of our time. Whether it was luck or perseverance I don’t know, but we found the most productive zone and extracted the most gold we had done in a two-day period. We also found the largest nugget to date snuggled up against a crevice in the bedrock. It was a beauty, a tear drop shape, and at least a quarter of an ounce in weight.
We were two very tired guys who finally decided it was time to shut down the sluice, carry out the last cleanup for this season, and begin dismantling the camp.
There was a lot to be done, so we had a good night sleep and started about nine the next morning. The sluice was the first to be tackled. We had constructed it from individual modules which unbolted and slipped apart easily. This done, we washed the individual components and set them aside to dry. All of the water hoses were carefully drained, neatly coiled, then tied.
The panning machine was lightweight and we wanted to overhaul the motor and pump during the winter. We’d take it with us.
The cabin would have to come down, so we’d sleep under the stars for the last night. If we didn’t take the cabin down, the weight of snow would demolish it. It took us three hours to remove our gear and reduce the cabin to a pile of spars, rolled tarps, and coils of rope.
Some items could be stashed by the rock and inside the enlarged cave. They would survive the winter. Other items would be loaded on the ATV and would be transported out. After lunch we began to move articles to the cache and arrange them neatly as we had the winter before. The smaller, more sensitive items, were shoved to the rear of the cave, while the sturdier items were stacked in front, a barrier to the weather. We were careful not to let the cabin poles or sluice box components rest directly on the ground or they would retain water and go rotten. The items against the cave entrance were covered by a dirty old tarp well staked down around the edges.
A few strategically placed branches and rocks ensured the cache would be overlooked by all but a determined searcher. Once snow arrived the cache would be completely disguised and should be safe.
There was now a large pile of goods stacked by the ATV and we wondered if it would all fit in. We would take our food locker, two footlockers, water pump, panning machine, chain-saw, electric generator, sleeping bags, fishing tackle, weaponry, and many smaller items. There were also six Jerry cans which had held our gasoline supply, now almost exhausted since we topped off the twin tanks of the ATV. Last, but not least, there was a bag containing all of our crushed tin cans, plastic, and other trash. We, unlike some, left nothing of our refuse behind.
We set about loading gear which we would not need for the last night of camping and finished when the light began to fade. We stood back. The camp was no more. One hard working day and it was gone.
We made a small fire and cooked an evening meal from the remaining food supply. We had planned well and would have just a few items for the trail and very little left over.
Dinner completed, we stoked up the fire and lounged around a while reminiscing about the last few weeks. No patio chairs now. We had mixed feelings about leaving the claim which had been our home for almost four weeks. The excitement of gold mining tended to wear thin after a while and it became almost a chore to dig, sluice, dig, sluice, day after day. There was, on the other hand, the wilderness with its own brand of beauty. We enjoyed days of relaxation now and then. We had the satisfaction of knowing we could survive with only a few civilized comforts. In some ways however, we would be glad to get back to civilization, bank the rewards of our labors and settle down to the normal work routine.
Winter was not far away with downhill and cross country skiing. Yes, there was an interesting variety to our bachelor life in Alaska and we were fortunate enough to experience many facets. There were times when it seemed there were just not enough free days to do all of the things we liked.
At ten, we bedded down by the side of the ATV. Especially, it seemed, for our last night there was a bright three-quarter moon and a frosty nip in the air. We chatted for a while enjoying the warmth of our sleeping bags, and our last night of soothing babble of the little stream which yielded up so much of its wealth. What would happen if the bear returned? No answer and soon we were both snoring.
Chapter 23
Back to Civilization
Morning arrived. A light frost rested on the tips of tree branches around the claim and a delicate feathering of ice was on the edges of puddles near the stream. Getting up and dressing was chilly and was accomplished quickly. It surely convinced us we were getting out just in time to avoid the weather change.
In the early light, the claim looked bleak. We made it look lived in for the past four weeks, but now, with everything disassembled and packed away, it was as though there had never been a camp at all. Of course, signs remained of our activity. It was hard to disguise the big excavation in the gravel, the settling pond surrounded by gravel berms, the bridge, our various pathways trampled in the earth. Most of these would, however, be softened by the coming winter.
Sitting around a small cooking fire, we had a breakfast, made for the most part, of leftovers. Then, when it came time to pack away the last of the gear, Hagen recovered the metal box
of gold from the secret hideaway. With exaggerated Scrooge-like chuckles, he tucked it safely between the seats of the ATV. It was very rewarding to note how heavy it was and we looked forward to the excitement of carefully sorting and weighing the gold before taking it to a place in Anchorage where they purchased raw gold at spot prices.
Hagen started the engine and drove through the stream to the level ground and left the engine running to warm up while we took a last look around the claim. We wanted to make sure we hadn’t left anything lying around.
Satisfied, we mounted the vehicle and drove toward the trail. Hagen paused a moment, stood as high as he could on the ATV and said, “okay Blackie. Take care of it. Its all yours, until next summer.”
The ATV was a sturdy machine The ATV was a sturdy machine. It really had no problem with the trail up to the top of the ridge. We made it easier yet, by choosing a long zigzag route which avoided the steeper slopes. It was still quite a climb, however, and we were always careful not to over tax the engine or transmission. A breakdown at this geographical point would be nothing short of a catastrophe.
Loaded as it was, it took the machine more than an hour to reach the top. As usual, we were extremely careful for the last few yards leading onto the main trail. Hagen drove carefully and avoided maneuvers that would disturb the shale surface or flatten any shrubs. No need advertising our trail entrance. At this place, the surface was firm and didn’t readily show tire tracks. The trail to Trib 1 was not visible from the main trail, so if the entrance could remain secret, so could the rest of the trail. Of course, it could be seen from the air but we couldn’t help that.
After the long haul up the slope, we gave the ATV a rest at idle and let it cool down. We checked the trail entrance and straightened the few bent over shrubs. This was about as much as we could do to protect our trail from passersby.
Eager to get home now we had started, we didn’t dally any longer. We had thirty-five miles to go to the end of the trail, and, barring any abnormal difficulties, it would take us six or seven hours. The ATV was capable of twenty miles per hour but on this terrain we could only average six. Some of the steep sections required extreme care, and coming in fully loaded, we had even used the winch in a couple of places. The outgoing load was not too heavy so we expected to have an easy journey.
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