Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Conversation with a Gold Miner

 

June 21, 2012
Tuscarora, Nevada

     I went to the post office to see if Julie, the postmistress, needed  anything from town.  She said no, but there was a young miner who had gotten  a flat tire on the Midas road, about five miles west of the turn-off.  He walked into Tuscarora looking for a ride.

     I said the guy was in luck.  Stan, our neighbor, was taking his truck to Elko, and I was going along to pick up  an order at Sears.  We were leaving in half an hour. There would be room.  We would take him to his truck to get his tire, get him to Elko and back.

     A nice-looking young man in a clean white t-shirt and levis, Daniel, the young miner, talked all the way to Elko and most of the way back.  He seemed like someone suffering from  PTSD, not from serving in Iraq, but from working  at a Barrick gold mine near Golconda.

     These are the notes I took when I got home that evening:

     The kid seems exhausted.  He’s trying to get to Mountain Home, Idaho where he’s from.  There’s a big rodeo this weekend, the Snake River Stampede.  He told his buddies and a girl he knows that he’ll be there.  I have the impression he hasn’t had a day off in quite a while.  Someone  told him the Midas road is a short-cut.  It is, but notorious for causing flats.

     He works fifteen to seventeen-hour days.  Right now, he has a night shift, working for a drilling contractor at the mine.  He hasn’t slept for twenty-six hours, just wants to get to Mountain Home.
He tells us that mining is the fifth most dangerous occupation in the country, and that he sees accidents all the time.  “These guys are tough.  I mean tough.  Just last week a guy was unloading a piece of machinery  and dropped it on his foot.  He tried to walk it off.  Finally, I got him to take off his boot.  His toes were all smashed, the bones sticking out. “  Daniel leans forward from the back seat to emphasize his point, “He was trying to walk it off.”  He continues, “Another guy got his thumb split lengthwise…”

     I interrupt, asking about emergency medical treatment.

     “They  put them in a truck and head for the ER in Winnemucca.”

     I ask about their living situations. He says  most of the guys live in motels in Winnemucca, and  they get ninety-five dollars a day for food and lodging.  They have an hour and a half commute from Winnemucca to the mine.   Daniel says he lives in a fifth wheel in Golconda, which cuts  half an hour off his commute, and he saves on groceries.  Once a week he gets gas and groceries at the Super Wall-Mart  in Winnemucca.

     We talk about food.  He says that on some of the crews you don’t get a lunch break.  “You eat what you pull out of your pocket.”

     “That doesn’t sound too healthy,” I say.

     He says  just last week at a safety meeting one guy passed out, fell face forward, flat on the ground.  “Come to find out, he had pretty much been living on Red Bull and Twinkies.”

     Daniel, who is twenty-three, has been working at the mine for eight months.  He says he planned to work three years; now he’s hoping to make it two years.  He wants to buy pasture land adjacent to the  family farm in Mountain Home, put a nice trailer on it.  “There’s no work in Mountain Home; heck, no place in Idaho could I make the kind of money I’m making.”

     He clears about five thousand dollars a month and says there are bonuses all the time, as well as rapid advancement.  One of the crew chiefs he knows is only twenty-one.  Daniel anticipates my question.  He says, “Yeah.  Big turnover. Guys are coming and going all the time.”  He explains that it’s rough but you make a lot of money, and great benefits—80% medical and dental; 100% eye care.   Death benefits—survivors get three times the salary of the deceased for three years.

     “What about drug testing, “ I ask.

     “Strict drug testing.  Mostly all you can do is drink.”

     Daniel doesn’t drink.  He has religion.  He says, “The Lord is looking out for me.”

     He thanks us for the last time after unloading his tire and fetching his six-pack of Red Bull from the back seat.  “I’ll be home by midnight, “ he says with his Idaho-friendly grin.

     “Drive safe,” I say.