La Mina Santo Domingo
by Gordon W. Sharpe
Bill Pary and I left Vancouver on June 23rd, 1965 for Lima. We drove to Seattle in a rented car, stopped there overnight, drove or flew to San Francisco and stayed overnight there. Then we drove to Los Angeles with one overnight stop, before flying to Mexico City with Western Airlines. We stopped in Mexico City for two nights of partying accompanied by the four stewardesses from Western, and Ralph Mendoza from Hertz Car Rentals at the airport. Then we went on to Lima where we waited a couple of days for Keith Shanklin and Stan Hunter, our geologist from Vancouver. We stayed at the Gran Hotel Bolivar.
Keith was a stock promoter who hustled shares in Early Bird Mines Limited, with a view to listing the company on the Vancouver Stock Exchange. When Keith arrived, we met up with Clarence Lee Woods, the owner of the Santo Domingo Mine in Peru. Lee was an American who had lived in Peru for many years. The idea was the Early Bird Mines would buy the mine from Woods, but I don’t remember how the deal was structured. That was Keith’s department, not ours. We were along to clean up the mine site, get all of the buildings back into usable condition, and clean up the actual mine. Lee Woods had a heart condition, so he was unable to escort us to the mine, which was in the Andes Mountains quite close to the border with Bolivia. His son Clarence Woods was given that job, and fortunately, he spoke perfect English, as well as Spanish.
I don’t recall the exact travel arrangements, but seem to recall that we flew to Arequipa, then to Juliaca. From there we took a train to Tirapata, stopped overnight there, and then went by truck to Limbani. I remember passing through Macusani and Sandia, and have a very, very vague recollection of being in Quince Mil, however that may have been on a different trip. From Limbani it was a 40 kilometer walk through the Andes to the mine. We stayed overnight in Limbani, leaving the next day for Quitun, which was a coffee plantation about half way to the mine. The owner’s name was Luis Vidal, and he was a most engaging person. As Keith, Bill, Stan and I did not speak any Spanish, we sort of sat there at dinner nodding our heads at what seemed to us to be the most appropriate times.
From there, the next day, we passed through several very small pueblos, and the only names that I can recall are Pacapacuni and Oroya. I recall that we visited the old mine electricity generator not too far from the mine. It had a locked steel door embedded in rock to the right of the trail, which opened into a short tunnel leading to the generator. There was a vertical steel shaft that was, if I recall correctly, about 10 or 12 inches in diameter. The bottom of the rod had an impeller driven by a local river that had been diverted underground at this point through a feedstock pipe. The upper end drove the generator. It hadn’t worked for some 25 years. Shortly after that, we arrived in Oroya, which is a very small village on the Inambari River. We watched a couple of men panning for gold, and were told that they recovered enough to make it worth their while. There was a creek that fed down past the Santo Domingo Mine to this river, and the panning was done about 100 meters downstream from where that creek entered the river. We stopped there for lunch.
From Oroya to the minesite was quite a climb alongside the creek, and I remember hacking our way through some serious jungle tangles. There were monkeys way up high in the trees, wild turkeys in the bushes, and a few interesting snakes. We were accompanied by a couple of men from Oroya, who were sort of caretakers of the mine site for Lee Woods. When we arrived at the mine, we found that one of the offices was a former manager’s home. It was complete with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and large general office area. We decided to make that our home. I remember that there was a shotgun hanging on the wall, supported by two nails. Someone, reached up to take it down, and as they lifted it, it went off. The barrel was pointing towards the doorway that we had just walked through from outside, and as we had all just walked in, it was pure luck that no one was hit.
We spent several days getting to know the site and all of the buildings. There was a small hotel that belonged to the mining company, and on the main floor there was a billiard table. We’re talking a full-sized, slate-bed billiard table. I was told that the shaft for the power generator came in by helicopter, so ‘assume’ that the slate came in that way as well. Mind you, I don’t remember how many sheets of slate make up the bed, if each one was narrow enough, then I suppose that a mule could carry one. Some of the buildings were so decrepit that it was unsafe to even enter them. I recall one building, and I think it was some type of planning office, as it had many charts and maps, not only of the underground mine, but also of the mine site itself. It consisted of an office like structure that was about 8-10 feet above ground, and reachable only by stairs.
There was also a building that contained several large, sloping felt covered tables, where the gold was actually recovered. Another building that was mostly roof, and no walls, had an old piston-driven aircraft engine sitting on the floor. I did know the manufacturer, but have long since forgotten it (perhaps a Pratt and Whitney). There were a number of small houses for employees. Our water supply was from a pipe than ran from the house up the hill behind the house, to a concrete "tank." This tank was roughly 80 cubic feet in size, and had its water feed from a channel cut into the earth that ran further up the hill.
We spent one or two days clearing that channel of debris, and I cannot for the life of me remember where the water came from. It may have been from a creek further up the hill. Once it was cleared we had a clean supply to the tank, and from there by pipe to the house. As we were in a very hot climate there, we did not need a water heater. The sun heated the water to an extremely warm temperature, so we at least had hot showers.
A day or two after we arrived, we all headed down to go into the mine. I got about 100 feet or so into the tunnel, and decided that I’d wait outside for the others to return. I don’t like being in any situation where I am not in control, and being underground in an old mine tunnel is not my idea of being in control. I guess I had read too many stories about mines caving in. the support timbers in there were at least 40 years old, and some much older. There were tramcar rails that had been used for the ore cars, but I don’t remember where they went after they exited the adit. There was quite a substantial flow of water coming from the mine, between those rails. And, I do remember Lee Woods telling us that they had hit an underground creek or river, and it had flooded the mine to that level. I also remember that we all sat around discussing how to dewater the mine. I suggested that a tunnel be cut from much lower down in the valley walls, to intersect the mine and let gravity drain the water and provide an ongoing outlet for that water. I don’t recall much else on that subject.
Some days later, we hired workers to clean up the mine entrance, and do general camp cleanup. We also hired a cook named Daniel to handle all of the cooking and housekeeping. He was a likeable lad, but I understand that the following year, after I had left the company, he died of a ruptured appendix. With no doctor within 40 kms, he had to travel for two days by mule to Limbani, and I believe he died enroute.
Bill and I helped the workers on the adit cleanup, and I remember two things. We were moving a stack of railroad ties to one side, when a snake slithered out. Someone took their machete and beheaded it, and Daniel took it and cooked it for supper for us. Although we were apprehensive at first, we found it delicious, with a texture kind of ½ way between chicken and fish; sautéed in butter and herbs. The other thing I remember about that cleanup were very large, aggressive red ants. When I first grabbed one of the ties, a bunch of them ran over the back of my hand, and within seconds, there was blood everywhere. It was as if someone had taken a razor blade and made a lot of little nicks in my skin. I forget how we moved forward on that front, but I think that I let the employees continue with that cleanup, without me.
One morning we heard from one of the employees that his wife had opened the door of their house that morning, and there was a tiger sunning itself on the stoop. Her scream scared it off. I didn't see it, but several others reported that it was there. We kept chickens for eggs and food, and a couple of sheep for meat. Daniel said that he would handle the slaughtering and butchering for free, if he could have the heads. We had no problem with that, he got the heads. Behind the chicken pen there was quite a steep drop into the jungle. One day one of the chickens got under the wire mesh at the back, and fell. We heard it going down, clucking and squawking all the way. We looked, but couldn’t see where it was, and it was too steep to climb down after it. We figured that it would be a meal for some creature or another in the jungle. We were quite amazed several days later when it came strolling up the path to the chicken pen. It had found its own way out of the trees and such, and in a very roundabout way had returned. One of our mules did sort of the same thing. It broke free of its tether rope one day, and we figured it was history. We didn't see it for a week, and then one day it was back. None of the workers had seen it return, so we have no idea what had happened. It was an interesting place.
As we didn't speak Spanish, and none of the workers spoke English, so we had moments of frustration. But, we had our dictionaries, and asked many, many times each day, “como se llama eso?”. We also made it clear that when we said something incorrectly, they were to correct us. There was considerable hesitation at first, which we found was due to us being the bosses, and them being the workers. It just was not done. Finally got it across to them that it was okay, and gradually they started correcting us. This is how we learned our Spanish.
I don’t remember how long Keith and Stan stayed, but don’t think it was more than a few days. Nor do I recall if I went back out with them at the time, or if I went a little later. I do remember going back to Juliaca to pick up the payroll, and buy supplies. Both Bill and I smoked at the time, and I remember a very large number of soft packages of cigarettes on the back of one of the mules. Perhaps 100 packs for more, to cover an extended period. We used around 6-8 mules for each trip (we rented them, paying one rate going in when they carried a load, and a lower rate when they returned without a load) to bring in food and supplies. That trip also saw me carrying the payroll for our employees, but I have no recollection at all of how much money might have been involved. I seem to recall that we had around 10-12 employees, and they came into the office one by one to sign the pay book and receive their wages.
I just remembered something about our office. It had an immense roll top desk, with numerous pigeonholes for letters and so forth. It also had, we discovered, two hidden compartments, but again, where they were located is lost in the past.
There was also a small general store at the mine, from which we sold food and goods to the employees. I remember one dramatic moment at that store. The store's safe was about 2.5’ x 2.5’ x 3’ in size, with a combination lock; it hadn’t been opened since Lee was last there in the '40s. It was a great big beast encased in a solid concrete block. Lee told us what he thought was the combination, and that there would likely be a couple of rifles in it, as well as a small amount of cash. The combination he gave did not work (30-50-70), and we tried it L-R-L, R-L-R, and anything else we could think of.
I sat on a small orange crate in front of that door for hours for many days, trying to get it open. Nothing worked. Then one day I got the bright idea of reversing both the combination and the sequence of turns, and voilà, the handle turned. I had been at it for about an hour this time, and stood up to ease my aching back and shoulder muscles before opening the door. After stretching a bit, and walking back and forth a couple of times, I leaned down to pull the door open. I was standing to the hinge side of the door, and as I opened the door, a rifle that had been inside fell a little (it must have been propped against the door a bit when the door had been closed). It hit the bottom frame of the safe opening and fired. The bullet went out of the safe door opening, out of the store doorway and into the jungle on the other side of the valley.
If I hadn’t stood up to stretch, I would still have been sitting in my usual spot on that box in front of the door and just pulled it open. I obviously wouldn’t be writing this journal if that had happened. There was a 40-82 Winchester and a .357 Remington in the safe (Lee set the combination based on the 357 so that he would never forget it) along with ammunition and a small sum of Peruvian money from some 40 years earlier. I remember taking the rifle later that day or the next day, and sitting in the doorway. I took aim at a tree branch across the small valley; the branch looked to be about 4”-6” in diameter (it was hard to tell at that distance) and fired.
There was the expected loud report from the rifle, and then nothing. After about 30 seconds, the branch slowly broke loose and fell. I guess I didn't hit it directly, and it took a few moments for gravity to help. Concerning rifles, I also recall one day when a small police patrol passed through on their way from another mine site further up the trail. They had a prisoner with them and were taking him to Limbani, but he was carrying the rifle. We offered them lunch, during which time I asked the senior policeman about why the prisoner was carrying the rifle. He told me that it was heavy to carry, so he removed the bullets, and made the prisoner carry it. It seems logical to me.
At the request of Keith Shanklin, the promoter of this project, I spent a lot of time in Juliaca, Arequipa, and Lima. He wanted me to look into real estate investments for some reason. So, after the initial few months, most of my time was away from the mine, with Bill Pary running things there. After we had been in Peru for 90 days, we took a boat from Puno across Lake Titicaca to Guaqui, Bolivia, then by bus and train to La Paz, Bolivia. We had to renew our visas for another 90 days. While at the ticket office at the dock to buy our tickets, we found ourselves in a large hall, crammed with people. We spotted a sign that indicated where to buy our tickets. At that moment an arm was raised in the middle of the crowd, and in the hand was an American passport. A voice was heard crying out, “Does anyone here speak English?” I pointed Bill towards the ticket window while I negotiated my way to the American.
His name was (still is) Gene Mygatt from Everett, Washington, and he was a travel agent (Bon Voyage Travel) who was working on building a travel route to offer to clients. We more or less adopted him for the duration, and the three of us had a hilarious time. Once on board the boat, we encountered a number of Peace Corp workers, who revelled in teaching us swear words in Spanish. We ended up at a large booth style table, with (and I don’t remember any names or specific details about the others) a writer from New York, a couple from somewhere in the Mideast of the USA, and one or two others. I seem to recall that we numbered 8 or so in total. It was late, but none of us wanted to go to our staterooms. We asked the waiter for drinks, but were told that the bar was closed. We asked to speak to the captain, but were told that he had retired for the night. So, I wandered off to try to dig up something to drink, without success.
Bill and I had always had a running joke that when one of us couldn’t do something, we’d send the other to do it. When I returned, I told Bill, see if you can drum up some drinks for us. He headed down the aisle and disappeared for a time. After about 10 minutes he returned arm-in-arm with the captain, followed by three waiters carrying bottles of rum, rye and so on, a tray of various mixers, and a tray of ice. So, the captain joined us and we all got slightly drunk, more so the captain. His English was very, very minimal, and his favorite sentence seemed to be “I speak English good; yes?”. And the entire group at the table would collectively shout “NO!”. A good time was had by all. Eventually we all headed for our staterooms.
When I went to wash up, there was no hot water, just cold from both taps. I went below to the engine room, and did my best to make them understand that we had no hot water in the staterooms. They smiled, nodded their heads, and turned various valves. I returned to our stateroom, opened the hot water tap, and was greeted by a flow that was 90% steam. Bill and I decided to pay another visit to the engine room, and having had about 1½ drinks too many, also once there decided very spontaneously to ad lib something. We were watching connecting rods move up and down, and they were huge. Something like 6 or 8 feet long, connected to a crankshaft at the bottom end. We stood in front of one, with our heads moving up and down as the connecting rod moved up and down. We made innocent comments to each other as we kept pointing to the rod, and making gestures with our hands indicating that it was very slightly bent. After a minute of two the chief engineer walked over and stood beside us, watching the rod as well. We asked him, in our limited Spanish and using hand gestures, if he didn't think that the rod was slightly out of alignment. He said that he didn't think so, but continued to watch it as we were leaving. Upon returning to the boat a few days later to return to Puno, we were informed that there would be a couple of hours delay. When we asked why, the captain told us that the engineer was changing a connecting rod that was slightly bent. When Bill and I cracked up, the captain very seriously wanted to know why, but obviously, we couldn’t tell him.
I also remember that from Guaqui to La Paz, we were on a bus train, which was more or less a regular bus that was mounted on train wheels, and ran on the tracks. We had to stop a couple of times to add water to the radiator, which had a small leak. This was done by climbing down to a creek near the tracks, filing a bucket with water, and returning. During this journey of several hours, there was a man who sat near the back of the car; he had a gold tooth, vest, pocket watch, the works, and we were sure that he was a bandit. We found out later he worked as a security guard for the railway, and was making sure no one stole anything from our luggage. He greatly reminded us of Omar Sharif.
Once in La Paz we checked into a hotel, then headed out to do some sightseeing. Later in the hotel bar we met another American and we all headed out to party. I do remember that to get from the hotel to a restaurant that we wanted to visit, we had a military escort. At that time, the university students were on strike for some reason or another, and the city was under martial law. So, with our escort we headed out to the restaurant, which was about 3-4 blocks away. We got a little boisterous (being young and foolish), and were asked to keep it down, as the people at the next table were not amused. Turned out that it was the table of the US Ambassador to Bolivia. That explained why the American flag was flying outside our hotel.
We went t o the Peruvian consulate the next day, got our visas and headed back to Puno in Peru. Bill went back to the mine site in the Andes, and I headed for Arequipa, then Lima. I don’t remember much after that of when I was where, but drifted between Lima, Arequipa, Juliaca, and the Santo Domingo Mine. I returned to Vancouver a couple of days before Christmas, and never returned to the mine site. The closest I ever came was some years later, when I visited Juliaca.