TALES FROM THE FIELD I loaded the samples and hopped in for the drive back to Battle
Mountain. Only the vehicle didn’t start. I probably had left the lights on and there was minimal charge left in the battery. With no sat phone or portable charger and no other company personnel in the area I was S.O.L. The only thing to do was to start walking.
I hiked across country back to the cut-off (State Road 106). I
figured I would catch a ride with someone from the mine head- ing back to Battle Mountain. I could have walked a few miles to Crescent Valley and hitched on that hard top (Rte. 306) up to I-80 but I felt sure of a ride. I walked onto the road and headed NW toward Mount Lewis. Unfortunately, it was Labor Day and the mine was either closed or partially shut down. There was no traffic at all.
Besides not having a contact in town, not turning off my car
lights, and not heading toward the operating mine, another mistake was taking off walking through the desert with only a bottle of lemonade. The grade was moderate and uphill the entire way. By the time I reached the top of the shoulder of Mount Lewis it was dusk. The air cooled fast once the sun set. I kept walking along the road down into the small canyon that led to the Battle Mountain Basin. At least I was now heading downhill.
It was soon dark. Points of stars glittered above, framed by the
canyon walls. Over the next few hours I walked zigging and zagging with the road. I started expecting to see the cleft around every corner, which would lead me out of the canyon. The expectation made the walk seem that much longer and I was parched having run out of lemonade. I could only keep walking.
Finally, as I rounded another corner, I saw the bright lights of
Battle Mountain twinkling in the distance through the cleft in the horst wall. But I was focused on the cotton that was full in my mouth. I had never been so thirsty. Driving in and out all summer there was always a wet patch on the side of the road at the canyon entrance. A spring was nearby that kept a small area moist during the summer. As I walked out of the canyon I made a bee-line for it. I got down on my hands and knees and with no shame, pride, or concern for giardia, slurped water out of the puddle in the road thanking God for every bit of grit I spit out after drinking it.
Feeling a little better, I could see the ranch house light a mile or
so from where I stood at the canyon entrance. I headed along the road in that direction. Eventually, I turned off the main road leaving the dusty dry air as I walked into the irrigated ranchland. Tall grass
rustled in the night breeze and I felt the moisture and greenness in the air as I walked across a small bridge over an irrigation ditch. Walking into the yard all I could think of was “no dog, please God, please no dog”. And right on cue the barking began. Around the corner of the house a small shepherd looking mutt careened into the light. I froze by instinct. The dog kept barking but it backed away with some growling as I walked toward the porch. Finally, some luck.
I knocked on the door and was yelled in. A young man wearing a
black cowboy hat was sitting on the couch watching the Simpsons on a small TV. He offered me a beer but I begged off and stood by the sink drinking glass after glass of water. I explained my situation and offered him ten bucks to take me to town which he did with no hesitation.
The next day, sore and cramped from dehydration, I found a tow
truck to drive out to the Ford I had left in the hills. He jumped the vehicle and I drove back to town. I had let the Reno office know what had happened. They were not impressed and they were right not to be.
I had been working in an environment which called for at least some emergency preparation. The area was actively being worked but it was still desert. I had no safety plan, contact in town, or the sense to pack more water. All because it had gone so smoothly on all the preceding days. But it was a memorable experience. I had never hiked the desert at night. The bit of thirst I suffered was the price paid for what turned out to be an 18 mile after work walk through the Nevada desert on a cool and starry evening.
The other lesson was more philosophical. Looking for work is thankfully much easier today with the internet. I doubt I would have driven across country to knock on doors in Reno just to face massive rejection and the chance of going broke if I could have searched for jobs on-line and e-mailed resumes from my home in Maine. The conditions forced me into action. This action led to meeting interesting people, developing friendships, making colorful memories, and doing mineral exploration geology work all over the world. It has been financially tenuous at times with the occasional bout of homesickness but it’s been worth it.
And the moral of this story? Is to get yourself out there and not
be afraid of taking a chance. Talk to people. And always, always, always carry extra water.
Advocacy in Arizona
Excerpted from Message from the Arizona Section's President (James Adu), May 2024 Newsletter
As we look forward to the upcoming annual meeting in Durango,
CO, I encourage each of you to mark your calendars and attend. This event, conveniently located right next door, is a fantastic opportu- nity to experience a national gathering. If you’ve never attended before or haven’t in a long time, now’s your chance to connect, network, and be inspired.
In advocacy news, our section has been actively engaged in supporting the continuation of the Arizona Board of Technical Registration (AZBOTR) before the state senate and governor. The shifting regulatory landscape around professional licensure is a reminder that we need our younger members to step up and carry the torch of advocacy. I urge you to participate in organizations like AIPG to ensure we continue to have a strong voice in shaping the future of our profession.
8 TPG •
Jul.Aug.Sep 2024
www.aipg.org
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