The Nugget That (almost) Got Away
by
Linda Thompson

A story about Rus Rishell

In the small town of Perris, CA, my father discovered a goldmine that had been closed for many years. My father was always adventurous and uncovered many goldmine's in California. This one was different in many ways. The first obvious indication of this being a rich mine was that the old assayer's office, beautifully constructed of massive rocks, was in plain view of the mine opening.

My mother, father and I slowly rappelled down the incline with the makeshift rope my dad had rigged up. We, of course, had our flashlights shining around us. Gingerly walking through the coolness of the tunnel, we did not know what to expect. As our eyes adjusted to our meager lighting, we were in awe at how finely chiseled this mine had been worked. The channel was at least six feet high, eight feet wide and seventy five feet long.

At the end of the tunnel we found a hole in the floor that dropped another twenty five feet below us. Mother decided to stay at the top.

Father secured another rope for us to climb down. Descending the rope after my dad, I was a little apprehensive, but the adventurous side of me took over. It was dark and had that unmistakable smell of old air. I thought I would never reach the bottom. But once we alit, we found ourselves in a fourteen foot square chamber. Gleaming his light about, dad discovered an entrance through the south wall - a tunnel continued further back, but because of the lower ceiling we had to gradually crawl on our hands and knees.

Shining our lights all around, we spotted it. It stuck out like a sore thumb. My heart started to pound. After all, this is what we came for. Along the vein was the largest nugget of gold we had ever seen. I could feel the excitement as my father took out his pocket knife. At this point the low clearance of the crawl space forced us to lie on our stomachs. He put his hand under the piece and slowly worked the nugget loose from the crevice. The sound of the stainless steel blade gently chinking against the yellow ore harmonized with the echoes of slow dripping water in the far distance. The stillness was suddenly shattered by falling granite and quartz. It disappeared. It fell to the floor of the cave. We searched with our light beams. We worked feverishly to retrieve it by removing pieces of quartz and crystals that had fallen with it into the deep fissures. Nothing. Gone.

We looked at each other and started to laugh. My dad bellowed with laughter of disbelief. I joined in.

Soon, dad quieted and calmly stated, "That nugget would have easily brought over a thousand dollars."

"Yes", I agreed, solemnly nodding, "One thousand dollars gone."

"Do you think your mother will believe us?"

"Yes, she will."

That was the last time I went into a deep goldmine with my father. He has since died of cancer. But I often think about the large nugget that (almost) got away. Why do I say, 'almost got away'? Because that was one of the most precious times I spent with dad. Even though we did not get that nugget worth over one thousand dollars, the time spent with him was worth more than any nugget. So I still got my nugget - time with my dad.