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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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When I was off having my rocks "assayed", or - for better description, confirmed, Geo #1 brought out a beautiful sapphire specimen, probably 5 pounds, perfectly shaped. A gift from the ... "XYZ" of prospectors out here in the West Koots.
My nemesis, after a fashion, we've never met but he's perpetually proving my every theory in my absence.
And, all summer long, he's out doors, at elevation, digging up great shit.
This sapphire, I know the location, it's not a "gem" quality specimen, but perfect in shape and damn, I want one. Or two. I want a few. But the area's claimed up, and - not gonna be that guy. There are more, and better, out there.
Anyways, he's a guy you'd know about only if you were a prospector. He's not one of those celebrity prospectors that populate YouTube. He's the guy too busy finding shit to streamcast it to the world.
***
Those celebrity prospectors, in BC a couple come to mind. The first, charming, charismatic, a distinct signature "How-Do-You-Do" to his videos, his videos, more about exploring established claims and locations to find whatever it is that's already proven to be there. And his revenue, it's largely based upon the YouTube and Celebrity factor. He does pretty well I'm sure.
The other, they're "friends" in that YouTube/Influencer sort of way, less charismatic, more a "do the job" type of guy, also has a following, but not nearly as large. I like him better. More "Show" less "Tell".
But this guy, so far as I can tell, no following, I'd searched for him before, found a bit on him, not a lot, we've never met but...
He's my Nemesis.
And tonight, Facebook, my gem digging recommendations, and he's there, and so - fuck, why not, I know him, of him, 1 degree of separation, and I follow.
And, damn, for all my questing he's finding. Rubies, obvious, big, in matrix. Iolite, gem quality, perfect blue, chunks hundreds of carats large. Smoky Quartz. He's in the subalpine, I know where, a few hours from here, know where, not specifically, but general enough, and fuck he's finding it all. He's so ahead of the curve that most of his findings aren't even in the government databases yet.
He's my nemesis. And he's doing it right, the sub-alpine terrains, high altitudes, peaks, helicopter & pack-ins, all this is available at sea (or lake) level, but the rocks aren't exposed, and so it's a different game. But he's got game and he's finding the best shit. This year will have been his best ever, camped at 10, 000 feet, finding, finding, scintillating garnets in schist, foot-long smokey quartz crystals, iolites, rubies...
Damn.
Next year, I'll have the jeep, the budget, the means up the mountain, and I don't have to go far, I recognize all the rocks, they're here as well, I need only dig deeper, smarter, harder, faster...but damn, this guy's my nemesis, not nemesis, the arms to every thought I've ever had and it's time I became my own agent and begun digging in as intelligent a fashion...
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Finally, a couple of months later I make the call. Kevin, who'd tracked me down on Facebook, an old, old friend from back in the day.
40 years ago, to be precise. He'd contacted me, curious as to what's become of me.
And I'd - not avoided, but - well, being half sober that late at night is not my strong point.
Kevin, he was a fellow busboy when I was 17 in University, he moved on to bar, I just moved on to a different restaurant. Earl's, the first one ever, on the Calgary Trail in Edmonton.
We hung out, a little, like co-workers do. My memories of him, primarily the time when he tried to introduce me to smoking pot, only he went to meet his dealer and they were out of pot so he took a bunch of magic mushrooms instead.
I'd never tried these either, and so we sat up late into the night eating a bag of mushrooms. To what we thought was no effect, laughing, laughing louder at how were swindled out of our last 20$ for what were basically placebos, laughing, seeing him off, out the front door...
And for the next 3 days whenever I shut my eyes I'd be assailed by the muppets from hell, like that scene from "Labyrinth" wherein the muppets are waiting for the girl to complete the spell for the goblin king...
Then, another time, drunk and driving my old Ford Granada - purchased from "Rent a Wreck" and my mother would often joke "Bought a Wreck" which was funny because it was true, but being young I often acted under the bad advice of my father...
I knew nothing about cars. Apparently he didn't either, but that's another story.
So we somehow conceived the idea of visiting West Edmonton Mall, portions of which were still under construction, and poorly flagged, so we drove to the bottom of what would later be the lake - middle of the night, getting out to look around, Kevin taking a leak on what would become the underwater aquarium, and then getting busted by security, one of whom I knew from University, we shared a computing science class, "Mr. C" he called me for my false bravado walking into exams I wasn't even slightly prepared for...
And so we were given the tour and then urged politely to leave the property...
Light, considering, but that was the era, no need to police every little infraction and indiscretion of youth.
***
We catch up, an hour maybe on the phone, half-litre of Vodka, his life, mine, he seems to think I'm living the life.
I suppose, after a fashion, there's no reason I shouldn't be...
His own, filled with middle-aged regrets, nothing having worked out as planned, but - as often the case, there wasn't a plan, none, at least, that was explicitly stated and so all the fallen-throughs and disappointments, they're a bit crushing.
And his, well, I'm suspicious of this, my own death-bed dreams, are these people calling to catch up, say hello, goodbye, farewell, is it them that's leaving or me?
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Parasite. My review. Then the reality.
These are cars that you bought if you sold drugs or won the lottery. There was a regular for a while - the Merry Widow - middle aged, buried 2 husbands, Carl knew her because he sold her a car...on husband #....insurance $$....No one who worked for a living bought these cars. The expense was unjustifiable. These were not real-world cars.
he'll have his moment, it'll be when his girlfriend/wife suggests that he be on top... a short post to reddit or facebook, then he'll top himself...
effeminate, scented hands, the limp/stagger of the slenderman, beautiful women a prop, an accessory to his brand, aren't they flattered? And - his child, the product of a turkey-baster or brother, it's not polite to ask, who the fuck knows,
thumb drive full of nude little boys
Eric - he knows, but it's that quiet when someone realizes they got something for free, and in time, if you charged him, it would be a complaint...his child, the other Eric,
Food, ordered but untouched, scraped directly into the garbage...
Congratulations! You caught the golden Snitch!
I didn't post this out of respect that they might read this, but - i thought about it again. They clearly can't/don't read. So here goes.
The lie of the self made man - art of concealing your generally shady or family sponsors...
The Roadkill Cafe
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Owen, he's got it all and how I don't know.
A friend/acquaintance, who moved to Australia to pursue a doomed romance. I haven't had the heart to tell him. It doesn't matter, we all do what we gotta do and there's no talking (me at least) anyone out of a bad idea.
He's visiting a girlfriend.
But while he's there...
And he has the same interest in gems, minerals, prospecting, that I do, only wants the experience. And he's landed in Shepperton, North of Melbourne, maybe 30-40 miles from Ballarat.
And looking for advice.
So I go looking on maps and searching what's out there, this has been a dream of mine for quite some while.
He is the hand, I am the brain.
SO I get to googling and there's everything. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, zircons, topaz, gold....
I could go on. It's everywhere. All in the state of Victoria. All within an hours drive. And this is in Australia, where if you stub your toe on an oversized gold nugget you call the council to remove it.
So I spend a few hours sending him links, looking at maps, warning him of hazards (don't stub your toe on that giant nugget ....) and I'm thinking....well, fucking bloody hell you know what I'm thinking....
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And I hear from Mr. Tickles, who's been wintering in Ymir and whom I haven't heard of nor seen in the long wintry 6 months since we parted in October.
He's doing well, as well as can be expected, on his way back from Balfour to Ymir, his car, parked at the Superette all winter now driven across the highway to be fixed since last years accident, and we catch up.
He'd dropped by the restaurant to say hi, they offered him his job back, he could live in the basement, Sean's old apartment, no thanks. He hasn't got work. Ymir - well, he's refrained from meeting the locals, hasn't gotten work, although he got a few months more EI than I had available, largely due to the fact that he'd worked a couple of months at the local dive bar before being fired for being too white.
It happens. East Indians would prefer to work with East Indians, and our government only recognizes discrimination by white people, not against them.
Ymir, not even 250 people, 30 KM SE of Nelson, not much going on in Ymir. So a long winter for him. He's never left all winter. We reminisce about old times, about all the grief I used to give him and all his little trainees, the young 14, 15, 16 year old girls and boys who's first job happened to be that cesspool of a ...
He misses working with me and knowing that wherever he finds work next it's not going to be anywhere near as amusing...
We talk, about how the old restaurant, the new chef got cancer and quit within 2 weeks. A coincidence? I don't think so.
And about old servers and kitchen staff we knew, news, where available, and asking of a few of the more infamous locals, he has news on one, the crackhead who contacted me to borrow money last fall, set up a go-fund-me to get to Calgary, she's got an Only Fans, and I'm like...?? Her and a few others I know, apparently.
And he's met the new waiter, thought I'd be back there, looked for my puppets behind the bar, no puppets, no Rod, and he was perhaps as surprised I wasn't back as I am that he isn't going back.
We're both overdue for employ, but not at that price.
And we chat the other restaurant, the dive bar, run by a MAGA couple, "managed" you might say only there's nothing approaching management, just the village idiot and his wife calling the shots, him, from a pint of beer at the end of the bar (which entitles him to an equal share in the tips, because somehow he feels he's doing "equal work"), and his wife, who just installed a new camera/microphone/speaker system behind the bar, so she can "manage remotely" and I've heard from staff that her voice will appear out of nowhere, she's on her phone at the Wal-Mart or Dairy Queen checking the cameras, and you know that not only that this is creepy as fuck it's also a big sign that neither of them knows what the fuck they are doing.
Camera's, technology, surveillance, all this technology enables people, restaurants, that are bad at their job to be even worse at their jobs. Who ever heard of "remotely managing" a restaurant? Oh, and she's as well doing "equal work" and claiming her share of the tips, despite weeks going by without a single employee seeing her face. We're both Alumni of Unspeakable Trauma, and despite coming from one of the poorest run joints on the planet there's always competition by those who manage to do it worse.
So, this catches me up with Mr. Tickles, Cathy now is back from California and I'm due to catch up with her, soon, and I'll write about that when it happens...