Overcast and a little cooler but this was the day. The day to prove our worth as diamond diggers. Though an old hand at it,(previous trip to the mine in 1952) I did practice a bit out in the gravel driveway near our campsite. Carefully turning over each rock and sifting through the ruble. Knowing that such training is so valuable, it quickly proved its value as I quickly uncovered two cigaratte butts and a beer can tab. Now that my skills were honed to a razors edge, we headed for the mine about an hour south of our camp.

As usual, the road was winding with ups and downs about every 100 feet. We've also made a discovery...driving the speed limit, especially now that it was raining, just doesn't get it. It seems just about every 70's vintage rusty Ford pickup found my rearbumper coaxing me to push the limits of my driving talent. I pulled over to let them pass so many times they probably thought I was delivering the mail.







As we pulled into the Crater of Diamonds State Park I expected a flood of memories to overcome me to but I guess 50+ years dulls things a little. The dirt looked the same anyway. After coughing up a few bucks for admission, we moved to the next stop to rent/buy the proper mining equipment. Though I wanted a Bobcat they said the shiny new garden shovel would be more appropriate for my age group. So after I purchased the $4.00 green shovel, a matching minature rake and a rented $15 dollar sifting box, the intrepid fortune hunters, along with high hopes, ventured out on the field of dreams.

To describe this 30+ acre treasure trove is easy. It's sort of like the WWI 'no mans land', with trenches, craters, and no living vegatation. The only thing missing was the clouds of mustard gas. Which, now that I think of it, may have been a blessing.

Whatever glorious ideas Sharon may have had about what it takes to hit paydirt vanished after the first shovel full. This is hard, back-breaking work. Rocky, heavy soil that, even after it been re-plowed about a month ago, was hard and crusty from throngs of wana-a-be diamond finders. Walk carefully or you'll be in a plaster cast with one appendage or another twisted apart. Mini craters pockmark almost every foot of the grounds. After careful inspections we also noticed just the tops of some diggers heads. They must figure the deeper the better. There was also a contingent of locals who have elaborate equipment set up to sift out the gems. What they do is dirty and tough work. I was told that several do this for a living. Apprently this is not unique as one digger, years ago, was at the mine almost dailey for 32 years.

Anyway....with our pot o' gold only one little shovelfull away, we pressed on for hours.
Sharon wandered off on her own...up by a lone tree stranded in this field of dirt. She had a hunch, womens intuition, call it what you want, that the next Hope diamond was buried there. I continued on working the heavy soil only to find a remnant of a plastic bottle and twp pieces of jasper. A colorful, smooth surface rock of little value but all mine. As I began to gingerly get up from my dig site, Sharon came walking up with a little smile on her face.



It's getting late so I'll finsh this later.