The ancient art of dowsing is quite remarkable. It is accomplished through an intuitive search process leading the dowser to find water or precious minerals. In our case, we were looking for gold.
Throughout history, there have also been numerous documented occasions where dowsers have located water, minerals, missing objects or missing persons. Dowsing has been referenced in history since 1518. Martin Luther mentions its use through out Europe and condemned the practice.
Often a dowsing rod, or a bent metal wand is used to facilitate the discovery process.
During the Victorian era dowsers and their abilities were sometimes considered to be practitioners of witchcraft or magic, the wand or rod they used was called a “divining rod " or “witching wand.” The wand was crafted from wood of witch hazel, willow or apple trees. Modern day wands are often formed from metal. Brass, copper or stainless steel rods, or in come cases, wire coat hangers have been used.
The process is quite simple. When the dowser walks with the device in his or her hands, they feel a vibrating tingle, tug, pull or other sensation when the item they are seeking is nearby. In a search for gold, once the dowser has a response from the rods, he will approach the location from differenct angles to isolate the area from which he is receiving a "signal". I found this similar to the approach that is used in metal detecting.
A crystal pendant or a weighted pendulum can also be employed in a somewhat different manner such as positioning it over a map, to bring about the same result of discovery. I have some old treasure maps I would like an accomplished dowser to review. I have had the privilege of meeting several dowsers. Some, like Jimmy, were very accurate. Over the years I have developed a faith and belief in dowsing. Prospecting for gold is hard work! I will take all the help I can get. Spent an enjoyable and informative time at the claims this weekend. Jimmy B, a mining friend from Idaho came over and dowsed a few spots. Jimmy B is relatively new to dowsing, however he has been studying deligently and seems to have a real gift.
In this great state of Montana
We have the finest in the West,
And above all the other things,
I like Huckleberries best.
They make the very choicest jam
And most delicious pies,
They have stored up lots of flavor,
Beneath Montana’s sunny skies.
Most every year you can find some,
‘Though you may have to search awhile,
But if you like them as well as I do,
You will walk many a mile.
But there was one year I can remember,
When it rained, and snowed, and hailed,
Then froze, to cap the climax,
That year the huckleberries failed.
We searched high and low, far and wide,
But couldn’t find a single berry,
In all those patches, where in other years
We could pick all we could carry.
There were many long, sad faces,
There were tears in many eyes.
For everyone had been looking forward,
To those luscious, juicy pies.
There was mourning in every cabin
And all business was curtailed.
For no one had the heart to work,
The year the huckleberries failed.
Some had a quart or two,
Left from the year before.
They guarded them with a shotgun,
And put padlocks on every door.
They valued them above gold nuggets,
Wouldn’t have traded for the ‘crown jewels’,
For turning down some offers,
They were called thickheaded fools.
One man traded a quart of berries
For a brand new “Cadillac”,
Then after he thought it over,
Tried his best to trade back.
Some folks who made their living,
Picking berries for to sell,
Came back from their searching
With their nerves all shot to hell.
All the wild birds and beasts,
That dine on huckleberries,
Came down from the mountains
And ate all the chokecherries.
That also was an election year
And the ones who won the race,
Promised to bring the berries back,
The rest were in disgrace.
But sad to say, the winners
Fell down upon the job,
At making good their promises,
They sure did play hob.
Mothers tried to quiet their babies,
But it wasn’t any use.
For they one and all demanded,
Good old huckleberry juice.
It was sad to see the little tykes.
They were so wan and weak.
When one feed of huckleberries,
Would have put a dimple in each cheek.
It’s been many, many years now,
Since Montana was assailed
By all the worst elements of nature,
The year the huckleberries failed.
The preachers in all the churches,
Prayed to the “Almighty One” on high,
But they couldn’t get an answer
And they couldn’t tell us why.
The Indians held big powwows,
They called on their “Great Spirit” in the sky.
Their medicine man whooped and chanted.
They sure did make a try.
There was wailing in all the lodges
In every teepee and every shack,
But I guess the ‘medicine’ wasn’t working,
For it didn’t bring the berries back.
There is a moral to this story,
Gained from all those bitter tears.
When there is a big crop of berries,
Pick enough for several years.
If I live to be a hundred,
I’ll remember the hardships that prevailed
For everyone in Montana,
The year the huckleberries failed.




Platinum
is one of the most precious metals known to man. More precious than
silver, rarer than gold, platinum's preciousness and relative rarity
compelled King Louis XV of 18th century France to declare it the only
metal fit for a king. Hundreds of years later, platinum is still
considered to be the most exclusive of all jewelry metals.