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Kevin And The Ostrich Of Death.

Full credit to Kevin Broomberg for writing this down, sending it to me, giving me permission to publish it, and putting up with my simplistic edits.

*When I grow up I want to be an ostrich.*

Here in the urbancrows e-rookery we get a lot of comments about the blog. Granted most are spam bots, or messages from lonely ladies in Russia offering me pictures of themselves au naturale if I just click on a link (which is very nice of them), but every now and then something I write attracts real comments from what I believe are real people. Strangely, I got the most comments after I published the “Field Dump” story, which either 1) tells us something about the human obsession with the act of coiling a rope, or 2) highlights a worryingly low level of maturity in geologists’ humour. Or perhaps both.

To date, I hadn’t received a comment that was compelling enough to make me want to publish it as a full post. They’re mostly short anecdotes, or nice feedback that might add texture to a story, but they lack sufficient detail to make the cut.

That changed the other day thanks to my new mate Kevin Broomberg in South Africa. Kevin’s note pushed all the right buttons for me. He spun me a tale about what happened to him and a few colleagues when they met a rather ornery 8ft tall death chicken. The ripping yarn included dangerous wildlife with nasty big claws, misplaced avian sexual desire, and a remote field camp -how could I not publish it? The only thing missing was zombies (which I wasn’t able to write in to the tale, try as I might.)

*Full Patch Death Chickens looking for trouble.*

So, with his permission, a few of his photos and a bit of editing, here’s his true story about a randy ostrich that made life very difficult for Kevin and his crew. Full credit to Kevin for this piece. I’ve done some editing but it’s 99% his work. Sadly, he tells me all the photos he had of this poultry incident (sorry) were fried in a shipping container which baked in the sun for 4 weeks during a move from Dar es Salaam to Johannesburg so we’re having to make do with whatever pictures we could find.

Polar Bears Are Nasty Buggers

Credit where credit is due. A huge thank you upfront to my friend and colleague Dave for a) suggesting this great story, which he first told me years back, and b) writing it all down coherently and engagingly so that I -with the minimum of work- could turn it into a blog post. Despite my natural tendency to add in some humour, this is a true story, even the swearing. At the time it was terrifying and gave him nightmares for years after. He tells me that this post is in lieu of therapy, which really means he’s too cheap to pay the hourly therapist rate but will never admit it. PS. Did I mention the swearing? Yes, there are bad words below.

We’re Lucky.

Field geologists – lucky souls hand chosen to do God’s work- contend with a lot of wildlife. We hike, bang rocks, hike some more, eat lunch, watch cute critters: all very National Geographic. But the reality is somewhat more sinister. There’s payback for being so perfect. God put bloody great targets on us; huge red letters etched into our skin that spell “Eat Me” to anything that flies, slithers or walks.

*A group of geologists & their camp manager.*

Most of the wildlife we come across may be small, but it’s blessed with an unnatural hunger for blood. Midges, blackflies, mosquitoes and horse flies are just a few of the myriad blood-crazed flying bastards that can and will torment you -stinging or ripping off chunks of flesh until foaming insanity takes hold. You don’t see them coming but you’ll hear them, whining away like a mini Luftwaffe, hunting that small piece of skin; the one that’ll swell up into a red, volcano-sized pustule, oozing fire and pain. Nothing protects you. You can shower in DEET, wear a stupid net over your head -geologists’ lingerie- and envelop yourself in burning gasoline but it won’t help.

Working in the Middle East, I got off lightly. Sure, there were bugs, but all the large animals that could do any serious harm were shot for fun or eaten years back. We did come across snakes, scary tortoises, nasty looking spiders and the odd tick that latched onto the dark, dangly places only medical specialists have any interest in. But honestly, the biggest threat came from the enormous Kangal dogs bred to protect sheep from wolves, which -luckily- were usually in the company of a nice, sensible shepherd.

The G-Word: Use and Misuse

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.

Please pass the salt.

They Thought They’d Get Away With It.

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.

Superstition & Mining

It all spells trouble.

Miners have more than their fair share of superstitions. The nasty, smelly bowels of the earth aren’t kind to those who choose to grub around down there, and the more you dig into the old lore, the more you realise how hard a job it was. Death was everywhere. Most miners were lucky to live past the ripe old age of 40. If rockfalls or dead air didn’t get them, silicosis was waiting in line, so it’s no surprise that they looked for signs to warn them away from danger and protect what scant longevity they had.

I’m a scientist at heart and not generally a believer in the supernatural. Even so, I do hold a few superstitions; ones that I like to think are grounded in common sense. For example, never stick your head in a honey wagon tank. It’s really unlucky and your friends will stop inviting you to the pub. Or, another one that’s seen me safely through to a ripe old middle age: don’t smoke huge cigars in fiery coal mines.

And A Big Thank You..

To everyone who’s ever read anything on the Urbancrows blog. Sometime last week, the blog sailed past 50,000 hits: not readers, hits -so some are return users (why, oh why, would you come back…?) but either way, I’m a happy camper.

What he said.

I can’t thank anyone who’s ever read a piece of mine enough for making urbancrows successful beyond anything I could have imagined when I started it. My main aim when I kicked off was to record a few career stories for my kids, post some dumb opinions, and give vent to my sarcastic Englishman side while improving my writing at the expense of my reader’s rapidly eroding patience.

I succeeded with 2 of these objectives: my kids are yet to read a single story but I’ve definitely posted some pretty dumb, sarcastic pieces. Ho hum.

Exploring For Red Blobs

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.

An A to Z of Mining Terms

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…)

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.

Things Geologists Do.

Answering The Call Of Nature

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.

*Let’s talk toilets. Or the lack of them*

Know Your News Releases

I’ll Take Disclosure for $500 Please.

Urbancrows’ adult education series continues today with a post focused on junior mining company news releases.

Writing a good mining/exploration news release takes patience, skill, persuasive rhetoric and apparently, for some companies, a shit ton of old fashioned chutzpah.

They come in many flavours, ranging from 100% plain-vanilla factual to 100% artificially-enhanced, bubblegum fiction.

Whether it’s regulatory or technical, these are some of the different types of releases that you can find on the wires on any given day. Many were suggested by my eclectic and awesomely intelligent group of mining buddies who’ve seen just about everything there is to see news-wise given their hundreds of collective years of experience. (Thanks, Whatsapp & Twitter crowds, you know who you are.)

I thought it would be fun to also throw in a quick question suggestion to put to the IR person if you’re motivated enough to call the company after reading their latest issuance.

Category: The Mining Biz

Kevin And The Ostrich Of Death.

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