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‘Here we go, off to work,’ Karl said.

He rolled up his sleeves, went into the tunnel, and studied the rocks. Then he swung the pickaxe against the stone wall, chipping off a few chunks. He piled them into the batea and headed for the river. He seated himself on a rock and dipped the batea into the water, holding the chunks of rock under water and crumbling them apart as well as he could. Then he moved the batea in slow, circular motions. Water poured off with each turn, carrying with it the sand and stones. He went on until the batea was almost empty. He stopped occasionally and tried to crumble the small chunks that remained in the batea and then resumed.

‘You see,’ he explained to me, ‘the gold is mixed with sand and rock. I’m trying to separate them. Gold is much heavier than water, sand, or rock. That’s why it stays in the batea, while the sand and rocks get washed away. You just have to make rhythmic, circular motions.’

Karl completed the process, and there really were two minute gold nuggets left in the bottom of the batea. Karl showed them to me.

‘They aren’t worth anything,’ he declared. ‘Too small. But we won’t give up. Come on, let’s give it another try.’

Karl’s remarks barely registered. I was aflame with gold fever.

‘We found gold! We found gold!’ I kept repeating to myself.

I took up the pickaxe and started slinging away