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Micro Nugget

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Micro Nugget last won the day on November 15

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About Micro Nugget

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    Platinum Member
  • Birthday 11/12/1942

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Southern California
  • Interests
    Finding gold, forensic crime scene metallic evidence, coins, relics & rocks.

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  1. Micro Nugget

    My Broken Heart Nugget

    A "Day After" nugget Frank -- to go along with my day after headache from celebrating my 76th trombone.
  2. Micro Nugget

    My Broken Heart Nugget

    Yesterday I scanned a very nice signal. ONE very nice signal. The hole kept getting deeper and deeper. Finally the target was out. But then, "What's this?" I'm getting two signals from the spread out dirt. It broke my heart in a way that only nugget fanciers can know so well when I realized that I broke my own nugget. She wasn't too big -- around a pennyweight -- but now she is two. Oh well...
  3. Micro Nugget

    Full time prospecting?

    By all means go for it if this is what you firmly believe you want to do -- until the day comes that your belief begins to wobble, looking for a balance between life's inner "want to" and "need to" gauges that all of us sooner or later become aware of. That's when you will be in a position to make a knowing choice. Good luck.
  4. Micro Nugget

    Halloween Patch Revisited

    I returned to my Halloween Patch for a partial day (late start due to honey does). Tons of trash wore out my back and knees, but this pointy-tipped chunkster (.52g) added some color to the haul. Coated in a thick blanket of caliche like the others.
  5. Micro Nugget

    Ugly Ground but Beautiful Gold

    Hey Andyy, what a great half-ounce day!! After you've had a chance to go back and scan the sides, scrape a little, get down into that hematite layer -- in short, clean it out, please share pics of your bounty.
  6. Micro Nugget

    Going Micro with the Falcon

    Yup, kicking away some dirt can be rewarding. I think of it as getting closer to "timeline gold", i.e., over the longer span of time a division can be discerned between the daily, weekly, monthly regular surface disturbances and the harder, more durable under-layer that does not often get affected by the usual wind and rain events. It is in the stuff beneath that timeline zone that one's odds of encountering the good stuff increase. Congrats on persevering and taking some gilded prisoners.
  7. Thanks Doc for highlighting an important message: "Do your homework!" The buck, unfortunately, stops with you at the end of the day. After residing in major metropolitan centers for most of my life I got accustomed to receiving fairly high quality treatments over the years. But after re-potting ourselves to Yucca Valley Jill & I discovered that we have to drive 40 minutes "down the hill" to the Palm Springs vicinity to hook up with specialists we are comfortable with. And even then we do a lot of our own research to stay on top of our various conditions. Generally what I look for when beginning a search for a specialist is (1) where and when did they obtain their medical degree? (2) where did they do their internship? (3) have they been in practice for at least 15 to 20 years? (4) What items, if any, are reported by the Medical Board? Certain older doctors in their 70s or 80s may be okay if they have been able to keep up with a constantly developing field, but my preference is for someone at the peak of their game mentally, academically and physically.
  8. All three came close together from same area in the high desert of Southern California. Two were treats (note hole in center of the 1.21g nugget). The .41g smaller nugget has a pretty sharp point. It was covered with caliche and only the tip of the pointy end could be discerned (after a quick spit wash). The large one was a trick, covered entirely in caliche until it emerged from a CLR bath this morning. Apparently the (rather robust) signal emanates from the tiny bit of ironstone encased inside the quartz. I plan to "candle" it tonight to make sure it's not hiding something yeller. All were recovered with a GPZ 7000 using the standard coil.
  9. Micro Nugget

    NO WORDS! From across the World........

    Mother Nature never ceases to surprise!
  10. Micro Nugget

    CAPSTONES OF A CHOKE POINT

    Now THAT's a nice clutch of golden eggs! Just goes to show that a little digging (mining) complements swinging (prospecting) so very well at times. Thanks for sharing (and inspiring!).
  11. Micro Nugget

    Stupid is As Stupid Does

    Thanks Doc for the kind compliment and the lobster story. It brings back a similar memory. While on an Assault Craft Unit 2 live fire night training exercise on Vieques Island, after landing a joint Marine and UDT (what S.E.A.L.s were called in the early 1960s) special forces team, our Chief Bos'n Mate had us tie off our LCU to a cocoanut palm to serve as the deadman while we awaited the return of the special forces team. Our skipper, the chief, went to his quarters for a nap along with the rest of us who had separate quarters and left the 2nd Class Bos'n Mate on watch. Well, long story short he fell asleep and the incoming tide and shifting current quietly spun us halfway around in the gentle swell. A scraping noise awakened him and he quietly came down to my bunk to sheepishly request that I dive beneath the hull to untangle our kedging anchor's 2" wire rope lead (before our skipper woke up). I was a little reluctant because the 2nd Class Bos'n had stirred the bottom up when first attempting to back off the shore which we were now diagonal to. But I took a waterproof battle lantern and felt my way along the 2" wire rope to a point beneath one of the aft rudder struts where it apparently was jammed around the vicinity of a stern tube. I could not see a thing. Not even my own fingers just an inch or two in front of the battle lantern. So I just shut it off and continued sliding my palm along the wire to see if I could disengage it somehow. Slimy sea grass and small eels and other unknown critters stirred beneath my belly as I squeezed my way forward. Well, I began running out of air even though I had taken several strong saturation breaths just before diving under. Just then a receding wave settled the entire stern of our 180 ton LCU down flat upon the bottom. Normally another wave comes along to gently raise everything back up -- but not if it was the 7th wave of a set. My wrist was pinned between the wire rope and a half-round space between the rudder post and where it was welded to the stern tube (a stern tube is an armored housing that protects the props of an assault craft from hitting rocks or coral). Unlike earlier LCU models, this one was not entirely flat bottom "square" at the stern -- it had a gentle slope that ran up from the stern tubes aft to a point maybe three feet below waterline at the stern bulkhead -- just enough space to squeeze my entire body beneath its cold steel hull that scraped along my backside. That half-round space was EXACTLY the shape and size of my wrist. I was, in short, handcuffed to a 180 unmovable tons with only scant oxygen remaining in my lungs. I knew I could not panic. So I just began slowly counting out the seconds: "thousand one, thousand two. etc" as a way of self hypnotizing and reducing oxygen burn. Just the way we were trained in boot camp a couple of years earlier while inside the teargas chamber and the decompression chamber. Right about "thousand 40" a new wave set arrived. When I surfaced our skipper was in the water and had a dreadful scowl on his face. His eyes flashed first at the Bos'n and then at me. I was certain he was going to bite his now soaked stogie in half (which he virtually always kept jammed inside his mouth regardless if it was lit or not) and then kill both me and the 2nd class Bos'n Mate for being so stupid. But he didn't and I lived to be stupid over and over again in more situations than I like to admit. But I did learn about the importance of controlling panic in an unplanned life or death situation.
  12. Micro Nugget

    Stupid is As Stupid Does

    The recent news about the rescued miner and the subsequent stories told about the dangers of vertical shaft entries made me think back upon the perils of entering a horizontal tunnel. I was getting some nice gold at the entrance to an old "coyote hole" as they are called: unreinforced diggins that the old-timers left behind after wiggling their way along a long ago pinched out desert pay layer. The old-timers had enough sense to leave sufficient caliche-cemented material to support the natural arches of their diggins. A 100 years later I happened upon this particular situs. After clearing away debris, I noticed a 6" thick cemented layer of river polished pebbles and cobbles down near the base of one of these remnant arches. The pay layer of shiny pebbles and cobbles ran through otherwise clay embedded sharp, angular stoney material both above and below. It wasn't long before my samplings proved up what I hammered out of that obvious pay layer. The temptation to enter the dark interiors beckoned to me before the day was finished but I resisted. After all, the tunnel space was only around 2 feet high and maybe 3 feet wide. More ominously the floor was impeded by numerous fairly large boulders that over time gravity had pulled out of the ceiling and accumulated on the floor. I'm 6'2" and clearly not shaped for squeezing my way over and around those tight spaces -- especially so because I was 60 years of age back then and my joints just refused to flex anymore as much as I would have liked. But the temptations continued to haunt as the flakes and small nuggets accumulated over the course of many subsequent weekends working the old-timers' discard piles by shoveling buckets of gravels through my dry washer. I found myself thinking about what might lie deeper inside the interior of the hillside. These thoughts obsessed. I would flash on fantastical images of golden riches at odd times -- while driving on freeways, while waiting to call my next witness during jury trials, while trying to pay attention to my wife's chatter, even durning dream states while asleep. One day the inevitable tipping point finally occurred. It was the day I opted to follow my fantasies instead of my common sense. Taking a deep breath I gathered together two 2-gallon plastic buckets, one inside the other with some small pry bars, chisels and a rock hammer inside. Then I brushed away the entryway cobwebs and began making difficult progress into the deeper bowels of my objective. A headlamp enabled me to make out the interior contents. I studied these carefully before figuring out the best way to grab my ankles to help bend my legs sufficiently to gain additional yardage. I finally had worked my way 40 feet or so when I came to a sharp lefthand 90 degree turn. You can imagine my utter surprise as I pulled forward across the now sandy flooring far enough to peer around the corner. I sucked in an involuntary gasp of air when my headlamp illuminated bright green foliage not more than six feet in front of my face. A moment of brain frozen confusion scrambled my thoughts -- after all, plant life requires sunlight for chlorophyll to work! How was it possible for all this lush green leafy material to exist down in this dank dungeon? Then a cold realization quickly descended. I had entered the den of a huge colony of pack rats or maybe kangaroo rats. The rats foraged during the night and dragged branches of freshly nibbled creosote brush back into their den. An even worse thought then arose. What kind of critter likes to eat rats? That's right Buckoo, the kind that doesn't have any legs. Then I panicked a little as I imagined my lungs already saturated with deadly pathogens such as plague or ebola. I waited for my pulse to reduce the pounding noise going on inside my ears. I had to make a choice. If I advanced further I might cross the invisible line that divides a rat colony's acceptable versus unacceptable invasion of personal space. The thought of triggering a creepy hundred-rat avalanche caused my common sense to regain the control mechanisms of my mind. I no longer obsessed on golden maybes. But I didn't want to waste this effort either. So I began scraping samples and filling one of the buckets. Now a new problem presented: How to turn around? It is one thing to slither snakelike all the while going forward. It hadn't really occurred to me that I might not be physically capable of actually turning bak around. Well, I simply had to do it. There was no way I could back all the way out, not being able to see what I was doing. So, once again I sucked in a breath and grunted my way into a tight turning shape. That's when I got stuck. Well, sir, stupid is as stupid does alright! My breath came with difficulty. The cramped space had folded my diaphragm nearly in half. I was beginning to see little electric dots of light dance around inside my head. So I grabbed my ankle one more time and gave it a mighty tug while simultaneously pushing off of a fallen boulder with my freer leg's knee. My shoulder pushed against another boulder that protruded from the earthen ceiling. If that bad boy decided to dislodge and let go its grip the rats might soon be nibbling on fresh prospector meat that evening. During the weeks after finally struggling my way back into the welcomed embrace of Mr. Sun I caught myself up in periodic bouts of self-recriminations. How could I have been so utterly blinded by farfetched dreams so as to leave common sense just dangling as an afterthought so far behind? I know, IT WAS STUPID. I WAS STUPID. But I still have these dreams...
  13. Micro Nugget

    Vlf power

    Down in Trinidad one time I witnessed a tall skinny guy actually limbo his skinny butt beneath a bar only 6" off the floor. UNBELIEVEABLE! But seeing is believing. Same goes for metal detecting. The "How low can you go" adventure belongs to the venerable VLF. Unbelievably tiny, itsy bitsy gold glitters can be teased out of the dirt when a VLF wand is waved to and fro by the skilled hand of a nugget magician. Seeing is believing. It is fun to watch and even more fun to do. Thanks for sharing those "How low can you go" speckers!
  14. Micro Nugget

    Be careful out there.

    Well, all said and done and the miner now finally safe and out of the hole I will risk lightening the conversation up a bit by quipping that I'm sure that the guy who coined the mantra, "Be sure to fill your dig holes," didn't quite have this bizarre scenario in mind.
  15. Micro Nugget

    Be careful out there.

    I wonder what kind of carabiniere he was using that would break durning mid-descent? Having to kill three rattlers and messing up an artificial knee sound like more than enough adventures to pack into just another day in the desert. But what about the gold? Did he find any???
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