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Saul R W

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Everything posted by Saul R W

  1. I do believe, with about 99.82% certainty, that your second item is a dental float -- for horse teeth, not people teeth. It's shorter than many old floats I've seen, but that might make sense in a kit made for portability. Maybe some horse had his teeth floated and tires changed on the same day. Fine print: I've been wrong before.
  2. Also, the straw-for-bellows can itself be dangerous. A single hiccough and the accompanying intake of breath (and super hot air) has done in more than a couple of glassblowers over the years.
  3. Yep. A lot of fellows have become very ill from welding galvanized steel with insufficient ventillation.
  4. Yes, Azdigger, heal quickly and be careful out there. I'm glad you made it home. I'm looking for a partner, also, preferably some young guy who's half pack mule, and who's happy digging holes to China and rolling boulders uphill when not carrying heavy loads up and down canyons.
  5. Absolutely, Mike. Several generations of hatmakers and folks in the closely related feltmaking trade suffered horrible neurological and psychological symptoms (and many died) from the use of mercurous nitrate in their crafts. I'm goofy enough without adding heavy metal poisoning to the mix. Still, I really do want to know if my find is amalgam. If I construct a retort, it'll be done right, and no cooking in the kitchen. Besides a little loose mercury I found a few times in a creek in AK in the 90s, when I was about 8, I found a trickle of it running down Schemmer Drive in Prescott, collected it and played with it for a few days before my mother discovered it and took it away. I had found it just after a strong thunderstorm, in which two transformers up the street from our house were struck. In retrospect, I suppose that mercury came from a switch in one of the blown transformers. Just a guess.
  6. Agreed. There aren't that many people on this planet I'd want to spend all day yapping with, anyway. A drive to the field just about wipes out my socialization abilities for the day.
  7. The past 10 days have been the first time I've sought gold since 2004, so I consider this a fresh start (with fresh technology, too). The coolest non-gold item I've yet found this time around is this little bottle that was wedged into a rootball along a creek. It was well below high water line, so the bottle must have survived a ton of floods since it was placed there. When I dug and cut it out of the roots, it was so heavy my first thought was that it was filled with gold, but when I upturned the bottle to dump the contents into my palm, out splooshed mercury. Of course, it could very well be gold amalgam -- now I should build a retort and find out what that 58 grams of quicksilver is hiding, if anything (or I could be smart and just measure the S.G., but that's not as much fun as designing a new contraption). This was found near ground formerly claimed by a great uncle, and I walked past the spot probably hundreds of times back when my feet and schnoz were much smaller. If I'd had a detector back then ...
  8. What a great old piece of machinery. I love the steering system, including the front wheel direction indicator.
  9. My youngest brother (17 years my junior) worked for me through his teen years, including one job where I built a 30-acre frontier village sort of tourist trap just north of Anchorage. It was raining on the particular day I'm remembering. I was up on the roof of a faux blacksmith shop, while he was working the dumb end of things, mostly handing me lumber. At one point, the generator started stumbling, so I yelled down for him to tweak the choke knob a bit, specifically, "Turn the choke knob," followed by "Hurry up and turn the damned knob!" Between the rain, wind, generator noise and general dumbarsedness, he couldn't understand. I watched as his hand drifted around between the throttle, the choke, and the spark plug on that old generator. He grabbed the spark plug. It didn't help, I'm sure, that he and the generator were sharing a puddle. In keeping with your post, my nickname for him is Ahabal, very close in meaning to dumbarse. To my knowledge, he's the only member of our family over the past 4,000 or so years to have spent time in prison for a crime other than having a long schnoz and a trimmed shmok. Maybe more frequent episodes of electroshock therapy as a youngster would have been good medicine.
  10. Also not great for AM radio clarity.
  11. If I'm not mistaken, in many if not most insect species that drink blood, the males are innocent vegetarian pollenators, while the females require blood proteins to manufacture eggs. It's almost certainly true of the skeeter clan. I read once that male mosquitoes are responsible for pollenating more food crops and wild food plants worldwide than are bees. In Alaska, while the females of the state's 35 mosquito species are driving herds of caribou to commit suicide by drowning while attempting to escape exsanguination, the males are pollenating tundra plants that will feed more caribou (and Native peoples). Like politicians, most of Earth's species are adept at both playing and rigging their own games (and the gentle mods will kindly forgive the mention of politics).
  12. A couple of guys have creviced for gold in the gutters of NYC's diamond district with good success. One of the best-kept secrets of history is that people drop stuff. For the OP, don't do it. I hear all the gold's been found already. Also, there are a lot of ticks and chiggers out there.
  13. Easy. All miners should marry bankers' daughters -- one at a time, of course -- while simultaneously maintaining mistresses in the environmental review sections at both USFS and BLM. I wear 11.5 E.
  14. Didn't you guys try to change the river's course (in court briefings) in the early decades of the last century? And lose the argument with your bigger, better-lawyered neighbor?
  15. Thanks for the welcome back, Bob. Yes, the sun is up here, too, and I should go out and pretend to be productive, just in case anyone's watching.
  16. The specific gravitometer reading asks (and answers) many questions.
  17. Yes, I'm just a ray of gilded sunshine, Bob. I blind myself sometimes. As for tar pits, I rode my old Honda 90 into one in Southern California in 1981 while escaping from a CHP officer who was attempting to out-cross-country me on his Goldwing sporting a 455 Olds big block, or whatever cow of a street bike he was riding. My bike and I came through well oiled and shackle free. I learned a valuable lesson that day, which I'll sell at the right price. And no, I haven't eaten cat, cured or otherwise (nor was I aware that there was a cure). Cat with hechsher is a rarity, and too expensive for my budget. Should I be wary of the meat in your world-famous chili?
  18. Well, at least I know I don't have toxoplasmosis. As for ticks and chiggers, I know they are here, but they're sure less populous than in wetter climates. This week I've taken three lengthy walks in the desert, and not a single critter latched onto the dog or me. In Misery, a repellant-free man was an exsanguinated man unless there was snow on the ground.
  19. Years ago I had a Honda 90 that ate plug wires, so until I stopped driving and riding vehicles with spark plugs, I always kept a spare plug wire(s) in the kit. It seems like it would be lot of trouble (but probably not impossible) to manufacture plug wires in the field from baling wire.
  20. A good cautionary tale well told, Micro. Don't you just hate that feeling of being stuck in a tight space? It's hard to believe that we adults can do such stupid things, but we do sometimes (except me, of course). The important thing is learning from the mistakes before we get killed in the process. My brothers and I used to wander into mines around Prescott when we were kids. It was fun at the time, and we caught a few bats for pets, but looking back it's almost certain Someone was looking out for us. Subsurface mining, even in the best of circumstances and with the best technology, is still dangerous work, and claims dozens of lives a year in the U.S. (I don't think the statistics include incidental wanderers, but only true commercial operations), and many thousands every year worldwide. Maybe as we get older and our mortality slaps us in the face more frequently, we grow more cautious, and are less apt to try to hurry the process along.
  21. You can't see it very well in the photos, but there's chicken poop all over the windshield and top of the cab from an escaped hen. Also my size 13 bootprints on the hood from trying to catch the escapee, and probably my size 14 schnozprint on the windshield from when I slipped in chicken poop on the hood. That old gal almost ended up in the soup pot. The sheet metal in these newer trucks just isn't built for walking on, not like the IH trucks I used to drive. My little brother once ricocheted a .243 off the front fender of my '67 IH C1300 (it barely left a crease, but he saw stars and maybe even meteorites afterward), and I had a '59 Scout that had factory bumpers stout enough to serve as emergency anvils. This so-called Super Duty Ford's fenders are as thin as old Pabst cans, and the front bumper isn't much better.
  22. Maybe the chicken and duck poop coop goop drooling off the truck bed will be enough to get me to DFW and back without getting pulled over. Also the aroma. This morning I discovered that some of it was slopping through an unused bolt hole and pooling on top of an under-bed toolbox. I'd rather be playing in Arizona mud. Meteorites.
  23. Thong singular was intentional. I'm not dumb enough to tie a dog to both feet at once, at least not a second time. The first time, I hit my head so hard I saw meteorites (still on topic), and they looked similar to the gunk in the OP. I wouldn't be caught dead or alive in the other thong, at least not on camera. I am stalling and stalling today. I spent all day yesterday loading chickens and ducks on my truck for a trip to Texas. My youngest moved out last month when she learned I was pulling the carpet out from under her and selling this place, and she left her birds behind. Because they're all named, I'm not allowed to pay them a shechita visit, so I'm donating them to my eldest, who already has so many animals she won't notice a few more. I hate driving to Texas. Every time I enter the Lone Star state I get a ticket for something. This time I've checked every light, made sure my native on native soil license plates are freshly minted and gone over the windshield with a loupe to make certain there are no micro dings or micro cracks in the glass, and I still know one of those dratted ten-gallon hat rhinestone cowboys is going to flash his lights before my tires finish crossing the state line. Maybe I should print an Alamo bumper sticker before I leave this afternoon? Or drool a bunch of tobacco goop all over the driver side door so I can pass for a Texas native?
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