Goldmining, Guns and A Total Lack of Gumption
Authored by: csimsy This is a "young and dumb" story, with emphasis on the dumb. The episode took place the summer after graduating from high school. I grew up about an hour's drive east of Sacramento in the foothills of the Sierra-Nevada mountain range. Roughly 150 years ago, the area was one of the epicenters of the California Gold Rush. Now, most people know it for the fast-food restaurants that line the interstate highway -- convenient pit stops on the way to Reno or Lake Tahoe.

In the fall I'd be leaving for Bowdoin College in Maine. In the mean time, I was spending days making money detailing cars for a car dealership; on nights and days off I was in search of anything that seemed even remotely adventuresome and new. All of us young people complained about the lack of "things to do." For several of my friends, it became almost a competition to think up interesting ways to kill time. On one such occasion, my friend Jed came up with what seemed like a brilliant plan: we'd backpack into the American River canyon and go gold mining.

A friend named Cody and myself immediately committed. The trip promised adventure, beauty and even possibly riches. Jed's dad had done some gold mining of his own back in the day. He had gear we could borrow and, most importantly, an alleged map that would take us to a discrete, and presumably undermined, area of the canyon. Our plan was to backpack in, setup camp in a remote spot, then swim, mine for gold, cook, drink some illicitly acquired Southern Comfort, and generally hang out.

The three of us threw our backpacks into Cody's small pickup and climbed into the two door cabin. Jed navigated and Cody drove. We followed the interstate higher into the mountains before leaving the highway and beginning our windy traverse towards the river canyon. In this portion of California, indications of civilization become increasingly sparse the further one gets from the interstate. Within minutes, the two-lane county road gave way to a single lane road. We pressed on, weaving deeper and deeper into the woods. Every so often we would see a driveway or a house, but the interval between sightings was getting increasingly longer. I began to wonder if we were on the right road. Jed seemed to have the directions memorized; where was his dad's map?

After about 20 minutes the road turned to dirt and dropped down a steep grade. Finally we were getting close to the river, we thought! We bounced around a sharp turn when suddenly Cody slammed on the brakes. We skidded to a stop a few feet short of a heavy metal gate. A "No Trespassing" sign was hung across its middle and a thick lock fastened it shut.

We all agreed that we must have made a wrong turn. Cody put the truck in reverse and tried to back up the hill. After a few feet the tires began to spin and the truck came to a stop. The slope was too steep and the road to bumpy for Cody's truck to make it out in reverse. But the road was also too narrow for us to turn around. On one side was a high embankment and on the other a steep dropoff. We were stuck.

We got out of the truck and examined our situation. After a few minutes deliberation we decided to try knocking the gate off its hinges. We had a heavy mallet in our bag; one of numerous mining tools. Our plan was to strike straight up on the gate near its hinges; our hope was to knock the pins up through the hinges, allowing the gate to swing free. We applied the first strike: "CLANG!" Did it move at all? Again: "CLANG!" Maybe a bit? "CLANG!" And again, "CLANG!"

Suddenly there was a rapid "pop-pop pop-pop-pop" that sounded like fire-crackers. We jumped back. We looked towards the sound: down the road about 100 yards there was a man walking up the road. He was shirtless, shoeless, and carrying a rifle at his hip.

As he walked towards us he yelled out, "who's shooting down here?!" We threw the mallet into the bed of the truck.

As the man got closer he surveyed our situation. We explained our intention to go gold mining and how we had gotten lost and stuck. As we talked he slowly paced around us. At times the tip of his rifle, hung on his hip, would point towards Jed, Cody or myself. Like trying to avoid smoke at a campfire, each of us kept rotating our position around the man.

I can't remember exactly we said, each of us was talking incredibly fast, but eventually the shirtless man was convinced that we couldn't get out unless he opened the gate. He told us to stay where we were until he got back. As he walked down the hill he fired off several shots into a tree: "pop-pop-pop."

About 15 minutes later he emerged again from down the hill. Cody remarked that he still hadn't put on a shirt or shoes. He also still carried his rifle. He unlocked the gate and instructed Cody to turn around about 20 yards down the hill where the road widened slightly. He warned him not go any further. Cody creeped his truck down the hill and, thankfully, made a successful eight-point turn. As he came to a stop for Jed and me. The shirtless man warned us, "If you can't get out don't bring a tow truck down here. And if you're blocking my road tomorrow I'll push you right off." We told him, "of course" and thanked him profusely.

Jed and I then climbed onto the truck's back bumper to add weight over the rear wheels. Cody gunned the engine and we bounced our way up the hill. As we hit the road's steepest grade the wheels began to slip, we jumped up and down on the bumper and the truck continued to edge forward, its engine revving furiously.

Finally the road started to flatten and the truck began to accelerate. After climbing our way back to the paved road Jed and I hopped in the cabin. I sat in the sideways facing back seat.

We raced furiously towards the interstate -- back towards gas stations, county roads, cars, restaurants, anything that seemed civilized. Just as we were nearing the frontage road we screeched around a corner and passed a Sheriff's car headed in the opposite direction. "Oh shit!" Cody said, as we were clearly over the speed limit. From my vantage point in the back seat I could see the Sheriff make a three point turn and activate his sirens. We knew we were caught; a speeding ticket seemed like a small burden given what we had just been through.

Cody pulled over and the Sheriff tailed us. We all told Cody we were sorry and that we would split his ticket. Sitting sideways I watched both officers get out of the car, only they didn't approach us; instead, the officer from the passenger seat drew his gun and stood behind his door as he took aim at the truck. "Holy shit," I said, "The cop has his gun out!"

"What?" both Cody and Jed asked.

Then, over a loudspeaker from the Sheriff's car we hear, "Will the driver get out of the car, put his hands on his heads, and walk backward from the vehicle." Cody followed the instructions as Jed and I watched. The officers frisked Cody vigorously and put him in the backseat of the car. Then, again over the loudspeaker, "Will the passenger get out of the car, put his hands on his head, and walk backward from the vehicle." Jed also followed the instructions, was frisked (including his hair), and put in the Sheriff's car.

Now it was my turn. I too walked backwards with my hands on my head, the officer's guns following me closely. As I reached the Sheriff's car, one of the officers grabbed me, split my legs apart with a swift swipe of his foot, and put me in a hold where I could be dropped on my face in an instant. He threw my hat on the ground and frisked me thoroughly. All the while the other officer kept his gun trained on me. He then yelled in my ear, "Is there anyone else in the truck?"

"No," I said, trembling.

"You better not be lying to me. This is a life and death situation!" he barked.

I again assured him that I was the last one. He kept me in his hold, with legs spread wide, and edged me towards the truck. It occurred to me that I was being used as a human shield in case an undisclosed attacker jumped out of the back of the truck. When the officer could see that the truck was empty he released me from his hold and told me to stay put. He then searched the car.

After several minutes he returned to me and asked, "Where are the guns?" I assured him that we had no guns. He asked if we had thrown them in the bushes? Again, I told him there were no guns. He told me they had received a call from someone reporting that "World War Three" was happening near their home. I explained to the officer about getting stuck, and the man with no shirt and a rifle. He told me to stay put and went to confer with the other officer. After a few minutes they opened the back of their car and let Jed and Cody out. All our stories had been the same and they believed us. They apologized profusely and let us go. They didn't even bust us for the Southern Comfort; I think they figured we'd had enough. They informed us they were going to go check out the guy with the gate and took off. Jed, Cody and I, trembling with relief, got back in the truck and headed to first gas station or fast food restaurant we could find. There are 2 comments