ODDS’N’SODS — Old camp still sparkles

Several years ago, my wife and I had the unusual pleasure of visiting the Atlin district in the northwestern corner of British Columbia. We travelled by vehicle down a dusty country road along the shore of the lake and finally pitched our tent in a camping park near the shore.

On that first evening, we were oppressed by mosquitoes, but we had such a magnificent view of the mountains and glaciers to the west in the Coast Range that we were able to ignore the insects. Here in this local offshoot of the great gold rush of 1898, we intended to investigate the placer creeks and other historical sites of those pioneer days.

Our first visit was scheduled for the Pine Creek placer operations of Allan Mattson, an old friend. Allan and his brother, Turi, in concert with a group of adventurers, had developed a sizable placer lease at the western end of Surprise Lake.

We awoke early on that first morning, had breakfast and prepared our gear for a busy sojourn up the Pine Creek Valley. The historical centre of Discovery was included on the agenda for the day, as it lay astride our route to Mattson’s claims.

Soon we were travelling among the old placer “diggings” of bygone days and found ourselves in huge mounds of boulders which lay cast about on each side of the creek. All that remained of Discovery was the old graveyard with the worn, weathered crosses marking the resting places of hardy adventurers. After a brief stop, we continued on our journey and soon reached a dirt side-road where a meagre cardboard sign proclaimed “Pine Creek Placers.” We proceeded somewhat hesitantly down a deeply rutted dirt track among the old growth pine trees. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a well-constructed tent camp, surrounded by a motley team of barking dogs.

We stopped beside a large tent and decided to remain in the car until someone heard the turmoil and came to our rescue. “This is Mattson’s camp,” I informed my wife, “as only he would have a pack of dogs guarding his goods and treasures.”

Shortly, the tall, angular figure of Allan Mattson appeared from among the tents; he smiled and welcomed us to his placer domain. “We are in the midst of a `clean-up,’ so you have arrived at an opportune time,” he said. “Come in and have a cup of coffee while I make a few radio calls for supplies.” After a brief social visit, Allan rose and said, “Come with me and I’ll show you some placer gold. Take your camera as you will need it.” We drove in his old pickup truck over a well-travelled track to the site of his “workings.” His crew had recently completed excavation of a deep pit (down to bedrock), and a loader, shovel and bulldozer were parked at the site of the sluice box and cleanup activities.

Here was a sight to gladden the heart of any placer gold miner, and certainly one which satisfied our expectations. The water had been turned off and the sluice box and sluiceway cover plates had been removed, and glittering in the early-morning sunlight was a spectacle of raw placer gold to dazzle the eyes of the beholder.

Allan was all smiles as we urged him to kneel among the pans of raw gold and pose for our camera. We indulged in some rare photography amid nature’s treasures. Allan was especially pleased because gold had recently made a gigantic leap to more than US$800 per oz., and this cleanup would pay all the bills and provide funds for a winter stay in Dublin with his Irish-born wife of wartime years.

We did not tarry because we realized that the Mattson workers were eager to proceed with their chores. We congratulated and thanked the rugged placer pioneer and proceeded on our way.

We left with the feeling that not that much had changed since the “good old days,” and that the rewards and the spirit of enterprise have not diminished since that brilliant golden dawn of 1898.

— S.J. Hunter, a retired mining engineer and regular contributor, resides in Vancouver.