The hunt for gold almost seems farcical in an era where value has morphed from the tangible to computer solicited bitcoin mines. But some folk still believe in blocks of rock over blockchain technology and on the edge of the Earth, they’ve found glitter.

It’s dusk on the far western side of Vancouver Island. Leo or Jody as his mother refers to him, is reclining in an awkward plastic lawn chair as we fumble around with a shaky  facetime connection. He shows me the satellite on his roof and says it’s no bother to go into town where the reception will be better. His steady North Carolinian timbre is indicative of his relaxed demeanour and perpetually unhurried nature. Sitting in front of an untamed scene; an inlet shrouded in Sitka pine where cosy mountains hug the horizon, he appears in visible symbiosis with the omnipresent wild. His hair is akin to a lions mane, with a tan to match his brown sweater.

Leo tells me he loves his daily yoga routine, that it keeps him nimble and is an antidote to hauling 70-pound boxes of core samples around all day. A task he has done all summer (Northern hemisphere) with a small crew as they continue their escapade for the chemical element Au. There are roughly fifty thousand tonnes of this finite material left in the wild and on the cusp of Earth, they found some.

‘We’ve found lots, It’s been a good summer. We hit one (vein) that was off the charts, anything over 10 grams of gold is worth mining and we found one that’s 1400 grams per tonne.’ He said.

After downing a black coffee at dawn, Leo heads to his worksite which is somewhere in the forest near Zeballos. He doesn’t eat breakfast, in fact, he follows the OMAD (one meal a day) lifestyle, ‘it’s the best I’ve ever felt now I’m running off my own bodies energy and there are no temptations here, fuck dad bods.’ He chuckles. For the last seventy days, he has worked in a seemingly haunted mill, a relic from the last gold rush in the area. Here he processes core samples from the {redacted} valley for most of the day with meticulous observation and pace to keep up with the drill team. ‘It’s weird but I like being by myself,’he states. The solitude suits him but sometimes the expanse of the warehouse plays tricks on him with unidentifiable sounds. Lex Fridman podcasts and 175 bpm animate this laborious, hyper fixating task and dampen the occasionally spooky vibe.

‘I can do this for fourteen hours no worries. My motivation is so high. I could do this for another ten years, hopefully, if my back holds out.’ He says rubbing his back, lamenting that he may have a bulging disc. 

This is Leo’s third season surveying cylindrical extracts as a geotechnical logger, a synchronistic shift out of the hospitality industry which is suffering due to the pandemic. He spent the better part of the last two decades tossing pans and hopes he won’t have to plate up three hundred meals a night anymore. He graduated with a geology degree in NC but got swept up cheffing in sleepless resorts that likely endured as it allows him his greatest passion, skiing big mountains. The industry has wrung him out over the years and I recall the days at Ric’s Grill when Leo would sometimes refuse to cook unless one of us servers gave him a tequila. He captained many sweaty nights on the (cooking) line and his coworker Corey refers to him as a witty observant yank ‘as an Irishman in North America, I say things a little differently such as ‘Ah for a’s and Leo realised this and jokingly corrected me. I haven’t been able to spell my last name out loud since’. He states fondly.

The monochrome dreamland of deep powder, where his beard resembles a myriad of cascading diamonds is what moves Leo and marks his  winter days in Whistler. From first to last (chair) or until work beckons he is capturing vert on one of his enormous pairs of skis. Each year he and his friends erect a snow cave ‘just out of the ski resort boundary to the side of a peak,’ he tells me. The impressive igloo effigy is inevitably located and blown up by ski patrol every year, although he assures me they are on good terms, but not before a few sleepouts 2400m in the sky where he says the sunrises are out of this world. His mind drifts to mountain hijinks and his favourite run, Million-dollar ridge where one wrong turn has you cliffed out or hiking out hours out to the road, ‘Not my favourite day skiing,’ he muses.

Encompassing a social side and an inner lone wolf, he says he’s likely headed to the Thousand Islands now to hole up in his parent’s cottage where he can enjoy cherished family time and wait it out til the ski season, although he’s over lift lines and thinks they’re due for a bad season. Being a dual citizen has its perks, allowing him to sneak back and forth to see a casual thing he has going in Vermont. He has to avoid Michigan though, where there is a warrant for his arrest, something about gummy bears that were the wrong flavour.

A crow cry interrupts our conversation and Leo motions at them, his other hand cradling a pinot noir, ‘these birds fucking run this town.’ I ask him about gold hunting in an era of Crypto,’Doesn’t make any sense to me. Gold is incredibly valuable, one of the most useful minerals there is. Period.’ He states, ‘I could talk about minerals all day.’ Leo’s eyes glean through the speckled connection as he speculates over future treasure missions, delighted he has traded fry pans for panning streams.