Chapter 5: Relocation

Reese pulled the rig into the broad overlook area at the summit, set the brake, and let the big engine idle for a few moments to circulate coolant and let the engine cool down. The temperature gauge barely touched the edge of the red overheat band but after the strain of the long, hard pull with a full load of passengers, luggage, and the 28-foot trailer, he’d made it a habit to be careful of allowing sufficient cool-down times.

“Get out, walk around, and stretch your legs, girls,” he called out. “Nita, keep an eye on the twins, would you? Don’t let them wander. Gran, I’ll take Bug with me. And ... everybody? There’s a “his and hers” toilet right over there, by the edge of the trees. It’s a campground-style outhouse, not a flush toilet, so if you’re unsure or uncomfortable, Gran will help you.”

He lifted Bug out of her car seat and hoisted her, furiously giggling, onto his shoulders to ride piggy-back straddling his neck. He held her small legs to his chest and gently jogged to the overlook fence and its array of displays showing features of the area and arrows pointing to the major mountain ranges visible in a half-circle around them.

“Over there,” he pointed, “are the White Cloud mountains. They’re called that because they’re so big and high and snowy they look like big white clouds on the horizon. And other there,” he pointed straight ahead, “are the Sawtooth mountain peaks. They look like the big, pointy teeth on a timber saw. And those,” he swung further around, “are the Salmon River mountains. The big wild river starts in a mountain meadow at the foot of those high peaks.”

Bug squirmed around on his shoulders, her tiny fingers locked in Reese’s hair. She giggled as he swung gently from side to side, rocking her back and forth.

“Have you ever seen such big mountains,” Reese asked.

“No, ‘cept sometimes way off in the distance but they weren’t snowy. It was mostly real hot when we got out of the car. Momma said we were in the desert, and I didn’t like that. All the bushes were prickly and hurt if we touched ‘em. And the hills were ugly, all brown, and they had mean stuff all over ‘em. Momma said it was a dangerous place and wouldn’t let us girls walk around. Is this a bad danger place, Mr. Reese?”

“No, honey, not really. But people need to know what to do to be safe, and to not wander off and get lost. Just learn to be smart and careful and I think this is the best place in the world to be,” he said.

“Really the best? Best in the whole wide world?” Bug asked.

“Yup. I grew up in those far mountains, right over there.” He pointed toward the Salmon River mountains. “In between those high peaks there are are rivers and valleys where animals and people can live and it’s the most wonderful amazing place you ever saw. It’s the best, Bug, the very very best in the whole wide world.”

“Are you taking us there, Mr. Reese?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m taking us all to the best place of all, right in the heart of it all.

The Yankee Girl Mine

The winding two-lane highway descended through sharp curves as it followed the white-water river through a narrow canyon, sometimes opening up into wide places where a side canyon dumped a tributary stream into the main flow. There might be a meadow and a cabin and a shop, home to the rugged few ‘off-grid’ souls who prized their isolated lifestyle.

After a time, Reese slowed and turned sharply away from the river to follow a wide gravel road emerging from a much larger side canyon. It was a good road, heavily traveled by tourists and local residents.

“Where are we?” Gran asked, gazing out at the many piles of boulders and rubble strewn across much of the valley floor. In their midst brilliant blue pools lay linked by a small river winding its way between and though them all. “None of those rock piles are natural are they? And there’s hundreds of them!”

“This was a gold dredge mining area, Gran. It’s considered quite a historical site now that the old dredge sits abandoned and rusting. They took millions of dollars in placer gold out of here, back in the war years when the nation needed it. Now it’s all just a huge scar on the land, a stark reminder of how reckless and greedy we were back in the early days.”

“Is there any gold mining now?” she asked.

“Well, that’s a secret subject mostly confined to our No-Tellum Creek district,” Reese chuckled. “But to answer your question, there are some private mining claims in this area. They’re all placer claims, and yes, there is gold being taken. But that’s a private affair among close-mouthed owners and their accountants and banks. Nobody walks into a saloon these days waving a leather poke of gold dust to set up drinks on the house. And as for environmental damage, there’s very little now. It wouldn’t be tolerated.”

“Placer mine ... that’s like, panning for gold in gravel deposits, right?” Gran asked.

“That’s right. The gold fragments have washed down from ore deposits in the mountains and over the eons of seasonal flooding have spread down through the river bed gravels. Early prospectors used gold pans to prospect the gravel bars. When they found a promising spot, they’d often build a flume with a catch-bottom arrangement to trap the gold bits from the gravel washing down its length. The ultimate gold-catching machine, though, was that massive dredge with internal gravel-washing screens. Most placer mining today is done with flumes and very careful management of the spoils.”

“Spoils?”

“The gravel and sand after its been through the flume, minus the gold. Hopefully, gold was found and gathered and the debris, the spoils, was returned to the stream banks.