Blood is currently trickling down my leg, liberated from me through the efforts of one of the many horse flies that are circling around. I'm unable to do much about them, as I'm nearly knee deep in a small burn, swilling around a couple of pounds of river gravel. This is one of the few rivers in Scotland where gold panning is freely permitted, so we are giving it a go.
The scottish gold rush was over almost as soon as it started, and by all accounts, the only person that made any real money out of it was the shop keeper who sold prospectors all the equipment they needed. Had the stream been more lucrative, then men would not have given up gold prospecting to return to fishing during the herring season.
It's backbreaking work, and we are just scratching the surface. It's a pleasant day, the water isn't too cold, and the midges are mostly being kept at bay, although the cleggs are deadly. Try this in a traditional Scottish "summer" and life would be miserable.
At the end of the day, we have seen possibly one tiny flake of gold, a bit of garnet, and plenty of mica. And we can go back to a house, not just a tent.
If you want a comparison to how the other half lives, give thanks that you don't have to work in Serra Pelada. (Google for Sebastiao Salgado's pictures from the mine)
Sounds good! My brother has a regular gold-panning hobby... He has had a bit of success, but it's uncomfy work! I'd rather be under a parasol, on a beach, sipping a cool mojito!
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