It’s full of rocks and puffins and volcanoes and ponies and geysers and more volcanoes and stuff. And it’s a geologist’s wet dream, although I don’t count sedimentologists as real geologists so you lot can stop nodding in agreement.
What right-minded nose comber can resist active volcanoes and recent lava flows still warm under foot? The Fagradalsfjall volcano, which has been erupting for a while now, haunts my erotic dreams at night – orange, fiery, sinuous rivers of lovely lava filmed in pornographic close-up slo-mo by kamakazi drones.
Social media is full of idiots. Doesn’t matter what topic you’re following -astronomy, koala bears, aliens or cross-dressing nuns – someone has a stupid fringe opinion that they’re going to try to ram down your throat.
I’m a intellectual, innit?
In a moment of rashness a few years back, I joined some Facebook geology groups. Learning Geology Community (53k members), Geology and Geologists (123k members), and Fossils Rocks & Minerals (27k members). I wanted to spread the word to all those lucky people about my blog (ha, ha, good plan), and maybe mentor a few newbie geologists. Thanks for the help Uncle Ralph!
It didn’t take long before I was filtering out posts from lazy students trying to get their homework done for free, and lots of “please tell me what is value?” posts with fuzzy photos of grubby little grey chunks they found in a field and think is a meteorite and not a grubby little grey chunk.
And I wasn’t the only one hoping to educate the masses. Pseudoscience posts soon started appearing in my feed; so-called geologists lurking on the dodgy fringes of our fair science, pushing an alternate version of geological reality. Flat-earthers, creationists, climate change deniers- it’s a long list- but one flavour pops up far too often for my liking.
This slightly sarcastic piece was massively improved by contributions from 4 colleagues: -Brent, Owen, Neil & Mike- all of whom I’ve been lucky enough to know for years. Thanks chaps. You’ll be able to spot where I’ve used your stuff.
Optimist. noun
a person who tends to be hopeful and confident about the future or the success of something. “only an eternal optimist could expect success”
Bananas
A bit like a 99-year-old man with heart failure buying green bananas, exploration geologists are optimists. We have to be. A bad case of pessimism would be a huge impediment to building a geological career that survives past the initial 5-minute interview with the VP Exploration.
A bunch of optimism
“Can I have a job please? I don’t think we’ll ever find anything, but I’ll give it a go if you pay me.”
“WTF? No. No. No. Who let you in? Piss off. I don’t need a depressed hat stand on my team. Please don’t slam the door.”
A wellness website I picked at random for its daft name, has this to say about optimism. “(it) is a mental attitude characterized by hope and confidence in success and a positive future. Optimists … expect good things to happen….. Optimistic attitudes are linked to a number of benefits, including better coping skills, lower stress levels, better physical health, and higher persistence when pursuing goals.” To which I’d add “poverty” if your optimism is directed at the junior mining sector, although strictly speaking that’s not really a benefit.
With the advent of instant social media -the breakneck world of twitter and bulletin boards where everything and everyone is dissected by impatient investors- I’ve noticed a disturbing trend; a tendency to throw the moniker “genius” at any geologist running a junior that cuts a decent hole into a new discovery. This vexes me.
The junior exploration world revolves around new discoveries. It’s what we live for. Everyone gets excited when someone finds something significant; shareholders, management and the bankers all make money and new mines get built. Hats off to the individuals and teams that have made new economic discoveries. Huzzah.
“Son, hang around long enough with me and you’ll be averagely intelligent too.” “Thanks Dad, can’t wait.“
I had the tingly pleasure of drilling a really hot hole once, but it was for a major company and I was a simple salaried geologist. The drill hole results didn’t make the news, but it was a belter. We cut 50m at 11g/t gold and couldn’t talk about it, which was shitty: it was completely immaterial to the big mining house.
If I’d drilled it for a junior company, the stock would’ve rocketed, and the next retail investment conference would be buzzing with people heading to our corporate booth to hear the inside scoop and tell us how amazing we were. I’d be writing this blog from my deck overlooking a warm, blue bay, plucking fresh mangoes from the tree and sipping fine, vintage rum. Alas, I’m in cold, rainy Vancouver, drinking lukewarm tea, squishing big, dopy ants waking up from the winter that think it’s fun to crawl up the inside of my back door. Such are the cards we’re dealt.
Names, dates, locations have been excised from this story to protect anyone who needs protecting -yes, even the guilty parties. People and companies have come and gone since it happened, but other than that, it’s a true tail of mineral malfeasance. This piece would have failed miserably without the crucial input from 2 good industry friends. They know who they are. A big thank you to both of you.
“When markets are hot, scoundrels come out of the woodwork.” Northern Miner, June 1996
For every major gold discovery, there are dozens of failed projects. The exploration business is actually very adept at not finding viable mineral deposits. Most projects fail for want of enough tons to make an economic mine. Some may be big, but they lack the metal grade needed to justify extraction. Others fail because of local politics or remoteness. But a few, a special few, fail because they were never real in the first place. They were simply fictions created by crooked management or a scoundrel out to make a quick buck.
Field geologists actively failing to find anything in Yemen, 1990s.
The history of mining is littered with scams. The ones that happened a hundred years ago have become mining lore, acquiring a patina of wild west romanticism with time. Back then, it was a world of snake oil salesmen – Mark Twain’s liar in a hole snaring unsuspecting patsies. Fast forward to the present day, and we rightly regard more recent deceptions as criminal and decidedly unromantic. It’s worse living in Vancouver, because we – or maybe someone we know- could well have a direct personal connection with the perpetrator(s); junior mining is a small world with few places to hide if you’re found out.
One key lesson that my glittering multi-decade career at the cutting edge of mineral exploration has taught me – which I touched on in an earlier post– is that much of your university ejumakashun in geology is a total waste of time. Mohr’s circle? Shite. Ternary phase diagrams? Unnecessary torture. Graptolite evolution? The biggest waste of intellectual effort since David Icke went nuts (look him up…)
But urbancrows is here to help with a shiny pearl of geo-wisdom. Undergraduate geologists who feel compelled to self-flagellate by joining the exploration business (foolhardy souls…) can safely cut out most of their studies and still guarantee themselves a successful career by focusing on one thing and one thing only. Red blobs. Learn how to spot, interpret and explore red blobs and you’ll be set for life with a management position just around your 20-something corner.
Every geologist owns (or should own) an A to Z of geological terms. Mine is a dog-eared Penguin paperback; a nerd-fest of geoscience words that was used over and over when I was still learning the trade. It cost me 50 pence new in Portsmouth in 1981. Now that I’m an experienced professional with …ah hem..30+ years under my belt, and in theory I know what I need to know for the job, it sits discarded in a tattered box along with my sedimentary geology and stratigraphy texts (good riddance to them…)
Yup, that’s the one.
I was reminded of the old A to Z recently by my good friend Mario, currently COVID-stuck in Colombia. He suggested I put together an Urbancrows alphabetical list of some favourite mining terms; my own personalized dictionary with some customized definitions. It’s taken longer than I’d hoped and I had a tough time picking one word for each letter, but here goes. Enjoy.
PS: there are 2 terms under “C” because I had to write about Cornwall and its influence on the development of modern mining but wanted to include something else as well.
This week, Urbancrows tackles one of the more fragrant subjects that other lesser blogs won’t touch. A few weeks back, some friends and I were discussing field dump stories. Actually, someone asked the question “What’s your worst toilet experience in field?” which triggered a prolonged discussion that went downhill fast. If you’re of a nervous disposition, stop reading now and check out my harmless posting on crows or classical music instead. If you’re made of sterner stuff, don’t forget to read the comments at the end of this piece. Thanks to everyone who’s sent me their own personal misadventure.
One day in early September 1981, my dad dropped me and my Berghouse backpack off at a scummy B&B at No. 14 Nightingale Road, Southsea, what was then the red-light district of Portsmouth.
Bye. He said, climbing back into our blue Chevette. See you at Christmas.
Righty ho. I replied stuffing the tenner he’d given me into my empty wallet.
And with that, I tumbled headfirst into a brave new world of post-secondary education, pubs, field schools, and student poverty.
Mrs. Smart
“Mrs. Smart’s B&B: No Vacancies” read the tired, unwelcoming sign in the window of the 3-story terrace house. Nicotine-stained lace curtains added a touch of brothel chic to the look.
What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever licked- something that you’re happy to talk about in polite company which isn’t a body part?
When I was very small, I licked a slug and some squashed caterpillars I’d collected in a bucket and then pulped with a potato masher (I think I relived that episode as a student on a particularly depraved University field trip but my memory is hazy.)
Then, in my twenties, when I really should’ve known better, I managed to get my tongue stuck on a deep-frozen door key in the middle of an Albertan winter. Sad to say, I was sober, so I can’t claim student inebriation as mitigation for that brainless chapter in The Life Of Ralph.
