Gar and I enjoy traveling, even if it’s just

for day jaunts. I think Gar mostly likes vacations

to keep from eating my cooking. He

wouldn’t say that though because he knows

at some point, he has to come back to share a

bed with me, thus, he’s not completely clueless.

One spring day we strolled through South

Pass City, a fun old boomtown, developed in

the summer of 1867 in the midst of a gold

rush. This unique Wyoming ghost town, that

has been fabulously renovated and preserved,

is empty, save the few families who stay on

site as caretakers. In its heyday, South Pass

was a thriving hub of 3,000 people, with 300

homes and businesses. Now, there are just

over 20 buildings: a schoolhouse, livery stable,

hotels, butcher shop, family dwellings,

dry good stores and a few saloons. At one

point we passed by a sign that read, “During

the height of the South Pass gold rush, there

were few employment opportunities for

women.” I didn’t quite get the gist of what

the sign was trying to convey until I walked a

few steps further down the boardwalk. There

was a saloon, and beside it was a notice informing

everyone that at one time, it had also

been utilized as a brothel. The sign simply

said, “Prostitution always flourishes where

men and money coincide.” I became a little

indignant and told Gar in no uncertain terms

that there is always a way to make a living

without resorting to that. I was adamant

that I would never have done such a thing. I

spouted morals, values and decency and said

I’d have found another way, even if it had

been working in the mine. I stayed on that

high horse until about halfway through the

mine tour.

Listening to the tour guide tell us the highlights

(horrors) of gold mining, the first thing

that became immediately apparent was that

OSHA was not around in 1867. Cyanide was

mixed with water because it adheres to gold,

so naturally, there were four huge vats of it.

Exposure to cyanide causes the body to more

or less suffocate, as the tissues eventually are

unable to use oxygen. Super.

To make the gold let loose from ore, it had

to be put through zinc. To be clear, zinc in a

regulated pill is good for us. We need zinc to

live and it’s found naturally in foods and is

essential to our health. In large doses, in dust

form, it’s lethal.

There was also a tub where sand passed

through, full of mercury, which grabbed the

gold. To make it let loose, it was burned off.

We all know mercury is deadly, and do you

suppose it miraculously got healthier when it

was burned off and got into the lungs? I bet

not. Boy, what good times.

There were four diesel generators enclosed

with the miners and no ventilation because

the heat was needed to keep the water

from freezing. Who doesn’t just love diesel

exhaust?

The water was too acidic, so to keep it

from turning the liquid cyanide into a gas, it

had to be mixed with lime. Be still my beating

heart. Do we really need to discuss what

lime does, not to mention cyanide gas? Was

there protective equipment, clothing or eyewear?

Please.

If this wasn’t enough gratifying delight,

men had to climb a vertical ladder 45 stories

down at the beginning of every shift and 45

stories back up at the end. I wasn’t feeling so

uppity anymore.

Then there was the noise from the ball

mill, which was hundreds of spheres resembling

No. 12 cannon balls spinning inside a

steel globe, breaking down quartz to release

gold. Cloth was dipped in wax and cooled,

then poked into ears to keep from going deaf.

Such help, those ear protectors. If you weren’t

rendered incapacitated in the mine itself and

managed to live through dynamite and gun

powder blasts, there were picks, shovels and

the pushing of 100-ton ore wagons to make

a man out of you. But I saved the best for

last: In three weeks, these men may or may

not produce an 80-ounce gold bar worth $32

an ounce. Spread that between 20 miners, the

owners, overhead and business-related items.

It was about here in the tour that I turned to

Gar and said, “Perhaps I was hasty in my

judgment of the ladies of the evening and if

it’s not too late, I’d like to revisit that topic.”

Contact Trena Eiden at trenaid@hotmail.

com.