Chapter 4

It was pouring down rain. The water in the streets was gutter to gutter. One thing for certain; we weren’t going prospecting. We probably weren’t going shopping either.

I lied. A truly grey day. I got bored.

The wire-wheeled ancient 1934 Ford Ute managed to splash across running boards deep streets and navigate intersections filled with floating debris and stranded cars and safely arrive at Dan Murphy’s. If I was still in the states, Murphy’s would be called “Murphy’s Beer Buffet Bonanza.” Best selection of beer since Milwaukee.

For a change, I bought a carton of half liter cans, navigated my way home and went next door to Jim’s. I know where he keeps his locked out key. After all ... he knows where I keep mine.

“Get up, Get up. Ya lazy bastard.”

“I’m in the den. I come looking for you. Abbie said yer ute was gone.”

“Went to Murphy’s,” I said as I fetched in the carton. I tossed him a can, took one for myself, popped the top, drew off a long one and sighed.

“I do love a hoppy porter.” I said. “What’s up?”

I was looking at a blue bowl with a bundt cake looking hole and tower in the middle of it set on top of a clean 20 liter white drywall mud bucket ... that unit was resting in a black heavy duty plastic basin that looked like it might hold 38 or 40 liters. The basin was empty when the lesson started.

“I’m gonna show you how to save the fine gold and the dust.” He hooked up a standard garden hose to the side of the bowl ... the hose led outside to his rainwater barrel.

He showed me a familiar green bucket with quite a lot of dried mud in it.

“These are the concentrates from several of our explorations. I’ve been drying them for weeks. You remember how I panned the recovery from the high banker into a big bucket?”

“Yeah ... you said there was more to finding gold than the gold in the pan. Panning the concentrated small gravels and dirt didn’t collect all the gold.”