June 20, 2016, western Maine
I thought I was a little fool for sitting in the Annomoosuc River for hours tweezering out little flecks of gold but now realize I was a big fool. Twernt gold at all but gold-colored mica. Spent an hour yesterday with a real gold-panner, a friendly smart guy, IT professional (spends months of his working year in Oman and Kuwait) that owned the land on the far bank of the river meaning only he had prospecting rights on that side. He had an elaborate, time-consuming five step process (“Water and time are your friends.”) that had yielded him, in two days work, a minute amount of what was, unmistakably, gold. It’s like Ray Raley told me about the bald eagle, “When you see it you know you’ve seen it.” Prospector said his haul for the weekend was probably $100 worth as just gold but worth twice that as “specimen gold,” that is, gold specifically from that river which real collectors value as items for their collection along with Klondike gold and Sutter Mill gold, etc., this river being quite famous among collectors.
Today pushed over the Kangamagus Highway over the White Mountains. I’ve never suspected the Appalachians could be so formidable. I’ve always thought of them as respectably ancient but washed out hills. No, they are something to be reckoned with. Hauling a trailer over frost-heaved roads on steep 7% decline with a swarm of Harley riders on your tail can tire you out.
In Naples, Maine, private campground by Lake Sebago. Went into town and had a proper restaurant meal for the first time since leaving, a groovy Annapolis-like setting at a marina on the lake. Too much money, too much food—went to my head.
