Question: How does today's miner strike it rich? Answer: With his `gold card,' of course
WELCOME to Caribou (pop., 2). An early snow is falling here at 10,000 feet above sea level. A heavy white mist has rolled in on the Cross Gold Mine. Bounding across the gravel road, six matted and yelping dirty dogs of varying sizes besiege the rare visitor to this nearly forsaken place. Fortunately, they have been well fed. Tom Hendricks owns these dogs - and this mine.Skip to next paragraph
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``You made it,'' he says as he approaches, extending a well-muscled forearm. He looks every bit the miner, wearing coveralls, heavy boots, and the fiberglass miner's helmet with a battery-powered lamp that will light our way through the depths of the mine.
Like the adventuring gold miners of American history, Mr. Hendricks's story has its own, modern-day romance: In the tradition of striking out with a few coins and a dream, he used a MasterCard to charge a plane ticket to California 15 years ago - where, at age 23, he persuaded the owners of the Cross Mine to let him lease the old facility. Starting with just a pick and shovel, Hendricks reopened the mine by himself in 1973.
Today, Hendricks and his crew of five are on the verge of of what should be the most glorious era of gold production in the mine's history.
If Hendricks's success echoes the gold rush lore, the man himself - who speaks quietly about world economics, gold prices, and politics - bears little resemblance to the feverish, half-crazed miner in the Gabby Hayes image.
``I'm not obsessed with this thing,'' Hendricks says, holding a cup of coffee and a hint of a smile. ``I truly love the work and the challenge.''
He is happy just to have survived in this business, and to have turned a modest profit in the 15 years. But a certain fire in his eyes reveals a muted yearning all miners have for the fabled ``bonanza'' or ``mother lode'' - a superrich vein discovered once in a lifetime, and probably never. ``I'd be lying if I didn't say that a little part of what makes mining fun for me is the chance of hitting a bonanza.''
Hendricks's operation is one of only a handful of small gold mining companies in continuous operation left in the United States. Colorado, which had hundreds of such gold and silver mines as recently as the 1930s, now has only about five continuously operating small gold mines, according to the Colorado Mining Association. Hendricks represents a diminishing breed of young mine entrepreneurs, only a few of which have succeeded.
An early picture shows Hendricks shoving a one-ton ore cart up out of the mine. Today he uses small electric engines to travel into the mine and haul ore out. In the winter, howling winds of 60 to 80 miles an hour rocket through this valley, often piling up 14-foot-deep snowdrifts. Equipment tends to break down in the bitter, subzero cold, but work continues.
The truly remarkable thing about all this effort is that it's aimed at extracting a fraction of an ounce of gold hidden in every ton of rock. With gold priced at about $400 an ounce, Hendricks says a ton of gold-bearing ore will yield an $85-a-ton profit after expenses.
Better equipment and better technology have made the work a bit easier than it used to be when old-timers lay on their backs in the wet, cold semidarkness, hacking away at a rich vein with a hand-sledgehammer in one hand and a steel spike in the other. But it only takes a brief trip into a mine to discover that even with technology, there is still nothing easy about mining.
Stuffed into my own set of plastic coveralls and slicker, heavy rubber boots, helmet, and heavy belt with battery pack on it, I am almost ready to go. Hendricks hands me a plastic case about the size of a brick. ``This is a self-rescuer,'' he says. ``If you feel funny, or like you might faint, just pop the top off, bite on the rubber mouthpiece, and breathe.'' The self-rescuer turns carbon monoxide, a common mining hazard, into breathable air.
Hendricks directs me to sit cross-legged on a cart in front of a small electric mining engine. As the engine lurches ahead into the mine, a cool, moist draft exhales from the shaft. The tiny train emits a low electric whine, sliding forward into the mountain toward a distant light bulb. Wooden supports in the tunnel flit past and give way to bare, solid rock walls. Passing the first light, we round a bend and continue until the tunnel ends. Here, 160 feet down, and a football field horizontally inside the mountain, we stop.