Bruce was a relatively small man, 5' 8" and had a small frame, but every inch of his body was pure muscle. Hard Rock Mining meant exactly what it said: it was hard work; it was dealing with rocks that were hard granite with pockets of quartz, and the mining was not the kind where there is water and sluice boxes. The face of the tunnel wall-where he would be picking, shoveling, and carrying rocks out of the tunnel to a slag pile where we would keep the rock that wasn't ore (98% of it)-was sheer rock and gave up no secrets as to which way he should next plant his pick. It was an act of faith, but when we found good-looking quartz (one that showed some color) we smashed it up and sent it to an assayer to do a spectographic analysis. Usually we would find a few grains of gold which pointed us in the next direction to dig. We often found silver in the assay and a lot of aluminum, copper, and other, baser, elements. Lots of times, the assay would come back negative and then at least we knew where not to dig.
Bruce's tools were mining picks, crowbars, sledge hammers, and during the last five years a hand-held electric sledge hammer that he used to bust the rocks off of the face of the tunnel wall. He eventually built an ingenious contraption that would move the busted-up ore from the floor of the mine into a waiting mining cart where it was then pushed down the track to the outside and pushed over to the slag pile.
The mine was an incredibly interesting place. Bruce had built the walls and the ceiling as he went along with huge beams and running boards. Finally some railroad track was given to him and he ran the track from the face of the tunnel all the way out of the tunnel, and around a corner to the slag pile where he would dump out all of the ore from the very old (1863) mining cart, then haul the mining cart on the railroad track back inside the tunnel to the face of the dig to be filled up again. We had a generator at the tunnel and an electric line ran from the outside of the tunnel all the way to the face of the rock he was working on. The tunnel was very damp and warmer inside than out. It was filled with a number of amphibians/reptiles such as salamanders, frogs, horned toads, and the occasional snake.
The mine was endlessly fascinating to the general public of men and every week-end we would be deluged with those hardy souls who wanted nothing more than to have a hand at digging in the tunnel. It was like the story of Tom Sawyer and the whitewashing of his aunt's fence. Bruce just supervised and he had all of these strong men who really wanted to work in a real mining tunnel. Bruce joyfully and gratefully let them. After working in the mine for the day, we would put on a big barbecue to feed all of the workers; that was my job, and who could complain, the visitors had all brought meat and fixings to feed everybody.
Then there were the other visitors; the unwelcome ones. They would come during the weekdays with their BLM maps showing what claims were open and which were not. None of them wanted to do the work of setting up a mining claim and putting up monuments, they wanted to find an already set-up mine whose paperwork was out of date, and claim that. It made no difference to them that our papers were all in order, they would just throw our paperwork out of the jar and put their paperwork in and think that made them minors. Bruce said otherwise, at the point of a gun. Two examples will suffice. One day Bruce saw men taking our monuments apart as he was driving back from the mine one morning. He stalked up to them with his guns drawn and demanded that they replace our papers back into the jars of the monuments. The claim jumpers pulled their weapons, but Bruce just shot at their feet. They jumped back and cursed him soundly, but they put their weapons away and said they were going to the sheriff and swear out a complaint-which they did. The sheriff told them they had no business up in the mountains with active mining going on and to just go away and stay away.
Once Bruce caught some claim jumpers who also pulled their guns on him. Bruce just shot over their heads until they jumped in their cars and drove rapidly off of the mountain. Bruce chased after them in his truck all the time firing over their heads. He chased them to the highway. They also went to the sheriff but were met there with warnings to go away and not come back.
Bruce was a legend in Julian. He was the last gunman in San Diego County who wore three guns on his person at all times, even when shopping in town. He wore them on a holster around his waist and another one strapped to his engineer boots. He even slept with one gun on him and his holster laying at the foot of the bed with two other guns in it. It was more than creepy for me. I actually feared Bruce and he was a very controlling man.
Tomorrow we have a blood-feud in the canyon and one man is marked for death by Bruce.
Bruce's tools were mining picks, crowbars, sledge hammers, and during the last five years a hand-held electric sledge hammer that he used to bust the rocks off of the face of the tunnel wall. He eventually built an ingenious contraption that would move the busted-up ore from the floor of the mine into a waiting mining cart where it was then pushed down the track to the outside and pushed over to the slag pile.
The mine was an incredibly interesting place. Bruce had built the walls and the ceiling as he went along with huge beams and running boards. Finally some railroad track was given to him and he ran the track from the face of the tunnel all the way out of the tunnel, and around a corner to the slag pile where he would dump out all of the ore from the very old (1863) mining cart, then haul the mining cart on the railroad track back inside the tunnel to the face of the dig to be filled up again. We had a generator at the tunnel and an electric line ran from the outside of the tunnel all the way to the face of the rock he was working on. The tunnel was very damp and warmer inside than out. It was filled with a number of amphibians/reptiles such as salamanders, frogs, horned toads, and the occasional snake.
The mine was endlessly fascinating to the general public of men and every week-end we would be deluged with those hardy souls who wanted nothing more than to have a hand at digging in the tunnel. It was like the story of Tom Sawyer and the whitewashing of his aunt's fence. Bruce just supervised and he had all of these strong men who really wanted to work in a real mining tunnel. Bruce joyfully and gratefully let them. After working in the mine for the day, we would put on a big barbecue to feed all of the workers; that was my job, and who could complain, the visitors had all brought meat and fixings to feed everybody.
Then there were the other visitors; the unwelcome ones. They would come during the weekdays with their BLM maps showing what claims were open and which were not. None of them wanted to do the work of setting up a mining claim and putting up monuments, they wanted to find an already set-up mine whose paperwork was out of date, and claim that. It made no difference to them that our papers were all in order, they would just throw our paperwork out of the jar and put their paperwork in and think that made them minors. Bruce said otherwise, at the point of a gun. Two examples will suffice. One day Bruce saw men taking our monuments apart as he was driving back from the mine one morning. He stalked up to them with his guns drawn and demanded that they replace our papers back into the jars of the monuments. The claim jumpers pulled their weapons, but Bruce just shot at their feet. They jumped back and cursed him soundly, but they put their weapons away and said they were going to the sheriff and swear out a complaint-which they did. The sheriff told them they had no business up in the mountains with active mining going on and to just go away and stay away.
Once Bruce caught some claim jumpers who also pulled their guns on him. Bruce just shot over their heads until they jumped in their cars and drove rapidly off of the mountain. Bruce chased after them in his truck all the time firing over their heads. He chased them to the highway. They also went to the sheriff but were met there with warnings to go away and not come back.
Bruce was a legend in Julian. He was the last gunman in San Diego County who wore three guns on his person at all times, even when shopping in town. He wore them on a holster around his waist and another one strapped to his engineer boots. He even slept with one gun on him and his holster laying at the foot of the bed with two other guns in it. It was more than creepy for me. I actually feared Bruce and he was a very controlling man.
Tomorrow we have a blood-feud in the canyon and one man is marked for death by Bruce.
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