There's a Race of Men that Don't Fit In

I returned to Stevens Trail today, to the North Fork American River, to continue working the crevice in the slate outcrop I had worked on New Years Day. I arrived at the trail head at 8:50 AM. Some six vehicles were already in the parking lot. I went downhill, past Slaughter Ravine and Robbers Ravine. A short distance beyond the adit to the abandoned mine, debris from a small landslide (about one cubic yard of slate rock and dirt) covered the trail. A man on the opposite side of the slide was removing the debris with a thick tree branch, the only tool available to him. The debris was a danger to hikers, for just beside the trail was a sheer drop of about fifteen feet, followed by a steep grade some four hundred feet to the river. The loose debris was at the angle of repose. The weight of a hiker crossing the debris could cause it to give way, sending the hiker over the edge. I took the Gerber folding shovel from my five gallon bucket and helped the man clear the debris. Ten minutes later the trail was ready for use.

I briefly spoke with the man. He was a prospector who lives by the river. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties. He was trim, with a full head of white hair combed back, and a white beard. He wore simple work clothing, something befitting a mechanic. He said he walks to Colfax once a month to buy used books at the library, and today was his trip into town. I would meet him on my return hike, so I'll write later what I learned from him.

It was a clear day, in the sixties as long as I was in sunlight, but in the canyon where the low winter sun doesn't shine it was in the upper thirties. I arrived at my panning spot at 10:30 AM. The wind chill brought the temperature by the river to below freezing. Patches of snow covered the river bank. I dug into the crevice and filled my five gallon bucket with classified gravel. The ice on the rocks made for slippery footing. I sat on a damp and cold boulder to pan the gravels. The river water was ice cold. Down river I could see daylight hitting the south facing canyon slopes. The temperature there was some 25 degrees warmer.

A man made his way down the slippery slate rocks from the trail. He struck up a conversation with me as I panned some gravel. He appeared to be about thirty years old. He had a long beard and carried a hiking staff. He said he pans for gold up and down the North Fork. He knew some of the prospectors who live along this section of river by name. He reads the blog of Russell Towle, and knew the circumstances of his death. I mentioned I had hiked with Russell on Canyon Creek Trail, and once met him by the bridge at Euchre Bar. The man had Ron Gould's book North Fork Trails. I have the same book. We talked about trails and gold and this and that, and then I mentioned I take videos of my gold panning. He said he posts his gold panning videos on YouTube, his name is Victor Marshall. I told him I had seen his videos. I said I posted my videos under Lo Que Vi. He said he's seen my videos. We talked some more, a good conversation. We shook hands, and Victor headed back to the trail. Hopefully, we'll meet again on the North Fork. (From his videos, he pulls some good gold out of the river.)

I finished my panning at 1:20 PM. One bucket was enough for today. I was cold and I wanted to get to that warm slope downstream. I got a small amount of flakes. As I gathered my gear, a group of hikers arrived at the trail above me. A man wanted to see the gold I found. He came down the slate rocks (carefully, they were slippery) and I showed him my small take.

On the return hike, past Robbers Ravine, I met the prospector from earlier in the day. He had purchased his used books from the Colfax library. We spoke for some five minutes. He gave me his name. He said he's lived along the North Fork prospecting for gold for three and one-half years. He didn't do much prospecting in December as much of the river was frozen. He's been working the area where I panned today, but that section of river has largely been worked out, and he's planning to move his camp upriver from Yankee Jims Bridge. He said he was familiar with the Euchre Bar area, where I do a lot of hiking. He's read Russell Towle's blog.

I learned from Victor Marshall that a maximum of 14 days of camping is allowed on Bureau of Land Management land. May the authorities leave these prospectors living on the river alone. They don't bother anyone and their camps are orderly. Let them live their lives.

Heading back to my truck, thinking of these prospectors, the words of a Robert Service poem from the Klondike Gold Rush came to mind:

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
  A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
  And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
  And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
  And they don't know how to rest.