Gold at Dawn

Fog shrouds the beach at dawn. Low tide exposes pools of sea stars and mussels. I walk down a steeply angled face of sand (face is actually a scientific term describing a section of the beach) with the ocean to my left.

I traverse the fog with cheap coffee. My mind is both loose and taut. A few gulls feast on crab. I brought along a banana.

In the distance, I see a man on his knees digging in the wet sand with some kind of long-handled bucket contraption. He’s certainly not clamming in that position. What…?

It hits meā€”gold mining. I move to investigate because I am fascinated by all things gold mining on the beach. The non-industrial kind that is.

The sun begins to rise over the Coast Range, shooting beams of light into the fog. The man adjusts his position and turns away from me. I see half his ass lit up by a beam. Gold miner’s crack at dawn. I laugh a little.

I pass within 20 yards of the man but he never stops mining. He’s almost frenetic in his process. I keep moving across the face. I walk for a couple of miles, shore up a couple forts, and hunt for beaverwood.

Time to turn around. I walk toward the gold miner. He’s still at it, but standing upright, now in the surf up to his shins. His pants are pulled up fine.

I sit down on a log and sip my coffee and watch the man work.

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