Mine geologists –whatever their species, open pit or underground- will eventually end up supervising drill machines.
Open pit mine geologists rely heavily on sampling the cuttings produced by production blast hole rigs. The assay results help to map the average grade of the ore before it’s mined and sent to the metallurgical plant. They may also have core drills working in and around the pit testing for deeper, unexplored parts of the ore body.
With Christmas just around the corner, towns and cities around the UK -and Canada too for that matter- begin to sprout outdoor Christmas markets like mushrooms on a cowpat. They pop up anywhere there’s space; row upon row of bland little wooden huts looking like the bastard offspring of a beach hut that’s had a one-night stand with a camp site toilet. I saw at least 6 different-but-exactly-the-same markets in the UK last week, scattered morosely around London, York and Harrogate. My wife and I are divided on the attractions of the seasonal markets. She loves them; me, less so..
Warning. This blog post/rant contains black humour about various things including my dad who’s not very well. If that’s not your thing, look away now.
It’s time for another look at how Hys and Lows, the world’s greatest mining stock picking club, is doing now that winter’s arrived. The following is an edited version of my monthly note to the club members, individual’s names redacted.
Regular readers of my blog (why, oh why?) know how our uber-elite mining equity club works. We meet in late January to drink wine, pretend we understand the industry, and when we’re good and drunk we each pick a mining stock.
Months back I went on a bit of a rant about my contempt for the myriad metaphysical powers that some people ascribe to crystals. Kundalini tickling, energizing chakras, transporting you to alternate dimensions – apparently there’s nothing a nicely formed kyanite crystal can’t unlock. And according to some charlatans believers, the common ore-forming minerals – the ones I’ve spent my career exploring for, like galena and chalcopyrite – also possess amazing restorative powers which I wish I’d known more about in my first incarnation as a humble field geologist.
It’s all bollocks as far as I’m concerned, but each to their own.
Then an old colleague, Kirsten, forwarded me a wonderful link to a comedy sketch about, yes you guessed it, crystal power mumbo-jumbo. I won’t bore you by trying to describe it; just click on the link and enjoy. Suffice to say, I have renewed respect for rose quartz.
(Update: If you’re outside Canada & having trouble viewing the video, my friend Karen sent me a second link that works in the UK. I’ve posted it below.)
I’m currently enjoying some southern hospitality in the Big Easy. Last night’s adventures involved a rather nice plate of smoked beef short rib. Normal service will be resumed when I get back to Vancouver later this coming week sporting an extra pound or two in weight. Until then, enjoy this moody monochrome photo of a rather splendiferous building in the French Quarter.
Geologists aren’t born deviant. We usually start out as normal people. But prolonged isolation – weeks and weeks in the field without a break- can do strange things to otherwise normal people.
I used to work 6 weeks on, 2 weeks off. I did it for a couple of years. My longest shift stretched to 7 weeks which is a long time when you live somewhere nice, with a fiancée you miss. Three weeks in, with 3 more long weeks to go, it’s hard not to let the mind wander off to contemplate the finer things in life. A fine cup of coffee and a newspaper perhaps. A good British comedy on TV. Sex. A juicy steak paired with a robust glass of red. Sex. Did I mention sex? (Yes. get on with it. Ed.)
Most of us bury these things away in the back of our heads. It gives us something to look forward to when we get back to civilization; that special feeling when you can finally sit down in your favourite bar, with the paper and a glass of the local brew, or maybe with friends at a dinner party.
Continue reading “Geologists Gone Bad”The city of Quetta is a dump. It’s the provincial capital of Baluchistan, the western most province of Pakistan. It sticks out like a nasty looking spike, with Iran to the south and Afghanistan to the north. I was there in the late 1990s waiting for a government permit to head off road and up to the border region with Afghanistan to prospect for copper (see my earlier blog posts here and here) I waited about 3 weeks for the permit, which was finally granted after I hosted 15 or so officials from the ministry for lunch at a Chinese restaurant.
Fast forward to 2019 and now it’s not just a dump, it’s a bloody dangerous dump, rife with Islamic sectarian extremism. The Shia Hazara tribes have been targeted by Sunni militants leading to bombings, kidnappings and other nefarious goings on. To compound its problems, the region is also prone to major earthquakes. The last big one in 1935 killed an estimated 40,000 residents.
Continue reading “My Favourite Carpet”Greeting Stockpickers,
It’s time for another look at how Hys and Lows, the world’s greatest mining stock picking club, is faring as we drift soggily into Fall. The following is an edited version of my monthly note to the club members, individual’s names redacted.
First, the usual reminder of how our much envied club works. We meet in late January to quaff flagons of fine wine, mourn the state of the industry, and pick stocks. It’s not a club, just a casual once-a-year gathering of 25 or so knuckle-dragging hairy-palmed mining people at an overpriced steak restaurant in downtown Vancouver.
Everyone chooses 1 mining stock. It can’t be a company you work for, and it can’t be halted or pre-IPO. At the dinner, whoever chose the stock that went up the most over the year is declared the winner and they eat and drink for free. Everyone else has to bring a $100 bottle of wine and the loser gets to wear the toilet-seat-of-shame.
Continue reading “September Stock Picking Update”It’s that time of the year in BC. The weather’s gone all autumnal and rainy – the fine, misty, miserable drizzle that gets in through any zip or seam. The annoying damp spot on our kitchen ceiling, the one we can’t seem to fix, is back to doing its soggy thing. Yes, it’s Hallo Fall! Hallo mildew!
But to coin an over-used British phrase… “Mustn’t grumble, aye, could be worse.”
We had a very pleasant summer this year. A lovely warm forest-fire-free summer. A few years back it was a different story. Fire season was in full force and the valley north of Pemberton, where our cabin is, was shrouded in a thick pall of foggy smoke. A vigorous blaze was raging up along the banks of Anderson Lake towards the town of Lillooet, about 30km away from our modest shack.
Some people are accident prone. It’s a fact. They have a higher predisposition to kitchen injuries, car crashes and the like and it’s a bloody miracle that some of them make it through adolescence without limb loss.
I had a field assistant once who suffered more accidents in a short period of time than anyone I’ve ever met. His name is Nejav and he lives in a small village in north-central Iran. My western geo-colleagues nicknamed him Yes-Yes because that’s all the English he knew.
Yes-Yes was/is a funny man. Happy as a clam at high tide, he cheerfully carried my backpack and rock hammer as we tramped across thousands of square kilometres taking stream sediment samples and prospecting for mineral deposits. He was with me when I went through my tortoise-signing phase and later on, he trained as a drill offsider to work on the drill rigs as we poked the first holes into the Zarshuran gold project.
Continue reading “Accidents Will Happen”