Rainy Days and Nasty Waves

I think people that have experienced a snow day can understand being trapped indoors, hanging by a fireplace and playing cards, but thinking about all the things they’d really like to do outside, but aren’t able to. That is kind of how it’s been at camp the last few days. It could be Mother Nature taking her revenge Nome or the Chaos Theory being applied to the most recent earthquake, but whatever the reason, the ocean is obliterating the beach. We’re essentially trapped between the Penny River and the Cripple River, a mile distance.

On the 4th of July we ATVed into town on a relatively smooth beach. Most of the annoying bumps were gone and the ride only had me jumping out of my seat 2 or 3 times. We filmed the 10 minute parade that primarily consisted of GPA members ATVing down the street throwing candy to all the kids intermixed with 2 school groups, a badly misplaced Santa Claus, and about all the fire trucks and police cars in the entire area. After the antagonizing slow string of off road vehicles completed the ¼ mile parade route, the street was turned into a bike racetrack. Ranging in age groups, kids would races 50-300 yards, full speed on their bikes across a finish line, mostly blocked my moronic viewers. I don’t know about you, but standing in the way of a 10-year-old intent on winning $5 is not too smart. The kid isn’t gonna play Chicken with you, he’ll run you over for the candy money without a second thought.

After filming this spectacle of stupidity, we had a relaxing lunch before heading back to camp, the first of the rain clouds hitting the coast. I have to say that I’m not a huge fan of racing along a rocky beach on an ATV at speeds of 40mph, but I’m especially not a fan of being pelted by icy raindrops at the same time. Those evil clouds ended up crying for 2 days, soaking anything in their path. There used to be about 150 feet distance between the ocean and the cliff face, but during the lovely rainstorm, the distance shrunk to 20 feet. All the hard work the GPA members spent digging in the sand to find pay layers were wiped out with the rough waves that filled in the holes with water and then sand.

I usually spend a vast amount of time in the Chow Hall sitting by the Wood Stove trying to keep warm, but since most people couldn’t prospect on the beach and many of them were too much of wimps to brave the weather and ATV to other camps, they all crowded into the Chow Hall, stealing my seat and chatting to everyone. My once semi-quiet, warm spot was being over run by most of the prospectors. People would come and stand right in front of me, blocking the heat and start up a conversation, regardless of my nose being buried in a book. I wanted to tell them to move, but sometimes they were dipping wet and I was dry from having not moved in several hours. It could have been considered rude.

The wind blew in and out of all the holes in the hooches, shaking buildings and rattling doors, it even blew the Hovel’s stovepipe off the roof – leaving the Boys without heat for 2 days. People were taking all the firewood faster then it was being cut, just throwing it in their wheel barrels as soon as it hit the ground. The waves rose higher and higher, turning an angry grey. They made great pictures, but essentially trapped everyone at camp. It wasn’t the best of a vacation for the recent arrivals to camp. They’d mostly come to beach mine and now they were stuck waiting out the storm.

Good thing that the majority of the people that come to Cripple River are interesting prospecting, but they’re also interesting in relaxing, meeting people, and just generally having a good time; making the best of any situation. Only a small percentage of the prospectors are diehards for gold. They spend 18-20 hours a day digging in the dirt and sluicing their concentrates. They don’t care to make friends, partake in any of the camp activities, or show up at meal times. They want to make back the money they spent on this trip and then some. So far I’ve only seen flower gold – minuscule dots of color that you have to constantly run through water to separate from the sand they’re mixed with. Not too promising and a hell of a lot of work to gather. I think they real spirit of the camp is in getting to know the volunteers and prospectors and the gold is just secondary. Maybe the diehards will realize this, maybe they won’t, but I guess, to each his/her own.

Today the rain has let up, but the beach is still very rough and the waves a tad angry. The trucks are able to make a relatively smooth ride to town, but it’s a bumpy and wet ride to town on the ATVs, you have to ride in and out of the waves, often over large stomps of driftwood. At least people are out of the Chow Hall and back to digging in the dirt or walking about searching for beach glass and enjoying the fresh air. No longer is it a “Snow Day”.