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The Prospector
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 2160
Young, long hair, the same rocks as me but even more enthusiasm, if you can believe it...
He's got a couple of claims down south, Ymir, Castlegar way, and has collected a pile of specimens. He's trying to sell them off, I don't need more rocks, not these at least, the same as I have, but he's showing me and talking and all excited that he's got a customer - I spotted his sign on a street corner, "Nelson Rocks", curiosity compelled me, nice to meet a kindred spirit...
He's got the loose specimens, and then some jewelry that he's made, pictures below:
Samples of "Sugar Quartz" - deposited on the mine walls since closing (left), ore samples on right.
Jewelry he'd made, quartz crystals in crudely carved wood settings, sample boards of his minerals.
I buy a couple of pieces of jewelry, I need none of this, but it's nice to meet someone arguably more successful on the same path as me. I ask if he's any other cherished specimens, a great specimen, he runs inside and comes out dragging a 20 gallon pail filled with 60 lbs of rocks, ore, I look through them, bad samples of tourmaline, ore, bad crystals, but, hey, it's the same stuff I got and clearly he values it as much...
Robson Market
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Other
- Hits: 1805
I made the drive today, long, nothing of merit. Robson, a few KM North of Castlegar.
A very few vendors, costume jewelry, she's checking the hallmarks..."Pewter...copper...or brass". It's all shit.
Used tools, a few possibly interesting prospecting chisels, but - today, no.
Reasonably priced pie by the slice, otherwise, my curiosity is slaked, there's nothing here, abandon, move on...
...fucking bat-shit crazy...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1471
I'm out with the death-doula, couple of glasses of wine on the East Shore, Crawford Bay. An empty pub, the bartender sets up the Karaoke and begins to sing for us...
We move outside.
We talk, a lot of similar beliefs, although we express them differently. Different life histories, different stories, and then the conversation turns. The New World Order, her experiences with UFO's, her experiences with ghosts, with her ex-husbands, international assassins, she doesn't drink - really, or do drugs, but clearly she doesn't need them, the staring blue eyes, lucid on the surface, presentable for sure, but she's completely fucking bat-shit crazy...
Snowshoes
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Lost
- Hits: 1967
And, an early garage sale, advertised on the "I love Nelson" website. Most of it is just shit, randomly priced, far above what you'd get the same thing for at the dollar store, just random, stupid pricing.
But she has these:
Perfect condition, Antique snowshoes. Perfect for a hunting lodge, cabin, restaurant, I could give to the boy, for his mother, companion pieces to the Antique Skis I gave him (which they displayed to good effect).
But she won't give a price, wants to look it up online first. I do it for her, max, $200, I'm only offering - max - $50 - but I can't offer, don't want to rip her off, let her test the waters first. I'll swing by tomorrow, see if she's done her research, if they're still there then maybe I'll pounce...
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