I lack the outstanding "word picture" skills of a Hemingway or any of the truly great writers, but, in light of recent events, I thought I would try my best to give the reader a firsthand view of a miner's perspective. Enjoy:

I am going to take you on a trip. This trip will be a place where few people have gone, 760 and 1120 feet below the earth's surface in Death Valley, California. Many mines run deeper, but the depth of the mine depends on the depth of the seam of minerals to be mined.

This mine is in a place so forbidding that to this day there is little permanent human habitation. The miners come from Pahrump, some 60 miles hence, Amargosa, some 45 miles hence, and a few make the trip from Beatty, which is even further away. You are driving from Pahrump, across the desert and into Death Valley along a desert road that will take you past a small herd of wild horses that roam the desert and through a mountain gateway of lava beds and canyons that are worthy of an Ansel Adams photograph. Occasionally you may stop at the unmanned "visitor's center" for a last minute bathroom break at the last "semi civilized" bathroom you will see until you return home at the end of your shift. You begin the descent into the valley, but turn off on Dante's View Road, which runs along the eastern edge of the valley and leads past the mine onto the appropriately named Dante's View which offers a breathtaking view of the entire valley. The mine shaft is the prominent feature of the landscape, and is a spectacular sight at night when its entire 200 foot height is speckled with lights.

You drive onto the mine site and walk to the dry room, where you lower your gear from a basket that hangs on a chain from the ceiling both to allow it to dry between shifts and to prevent it from becoming a dwelling place for the scorpions, wind scorpions and vinegaroons that are far more at home in this forbidding environment than you ever could be. Your gear consists of old clothing; tshirts are usually bought at thrift stores as they quickly deteriorate and are discarded when replaced rather than washed; a utility belt with your self rescuer attached and a strap for your headlamp battery pack and tools, such as the "rap wrench" you are issued with your gear; your helmet; and a pair of calf high boots to keep your feet dry in the water up at the mining face. You dress for your shift and walk out to put your light on your belt. You sit and listen to the foreman discuss safety concerns, the condition of the tunnels, and work that needs to be done. You walk towards the hoist, and on your way, grab salt pills and flip a tag that hangs on a board with your number. That tag is the most important part of going down; if there is a cave in, it is the only way rescuers will know you are down (flipping it back is also important so as not to work to resuce someone who's not down there). You get on the "cage" with the other men and bells are rung for your level. There is no talking as you descend, as there's a quiet but unspoken respect for the fact that every time you go down, you're cheating death. Headlamps are usually extinguished and, as you ride down, you watch the light from the top of the shaft slowly dissipate as darkness overcomes it. Eventually as you ride down in the darkness, you will see the light from the approaching level rise up from the bottom to greet you. You are at 760, the level where most of the active mining is occuring.

You proceed through large air sealed doors, and into the tunnels.You walk to the maintenance area, where a mancarrier waits to carry you to your assigned area. if you are in maintenance, this is where you will work much of your shift, and a few miners leave their lunch here. This area is well lit and well reinforced with steal girders and concrete. You see the large muckers (basically, a front end loader made low to the ground for low mining tunnels) and the dump trucks that dominate these  tunnels, and, in areas, look too large to pass (in some areas there is not room for two abreast and one driver or the other must back up to a crossing tunnel or a wider area so the other may pass). With time, you will know these main haulage ways well enough to walk them back in total darkness that someone who's spent their entire life on the surface cannot know.

The miners will be going to various assignments. Two or three will work at the "Alpine", a large machine that chews up the rock and spits it out, via a conveyor belt at the back at the rate of up to 20 feet per 8 hour shift, depending on the hardness of the rock. One "jacklegger" and two or three assistants (to man the water lines and watch for rockfall) will work the other faces being mined. The jacklegger is so named because of the tool he operates (a jackleg), which is also called a rock drill and is a pneumatic device mounted on a single leg and with a drill bit of several feet in length to drill through the rock, both for roof support, and to prepare a face for a blast. Often the jacklegger will arrive after the previous shift has blasted the face, and will need to support the roof of the exposed rock. This is done by drilling holes into the rock and inserting large "rock bolts" about 8 foot long, through chain link fencing, which keeps much of the smaller rock from shifting. The assistants man the water lines, which provide water to ease the drilling and to keep the drill bit cool. After the roof support is in place, the new face will be prepared for blasting. The jacklegger drills the holes in a pattern, and charges are placed in ever hole. Wires are run to a safe distance where the rock is blasted, often before lunch or the end of shift, as you can't be in the area for at least 1/2 hour following the blast to allow the mine gasses to escape. Because of the buildup of heat from the diesel engines running through the area and far from adequate ventilation, the heat can often reach nearly 160 degrees. combined with moisture from the water lines, this can be almost unbearable.

There are no breaks until the work is done besides lunch. At lunch, the mancarrier will take you to the lunchroom. Some miners head down to the maintenance area, but this is time that comes out of their lunch time, so it's usually only the truck drivers.

The muckers load the ore and the truck drivers take it to an area where it is dumped 360 feet down to the 1120 level. At the 1120 level, it is trucked to an area where it is loaded on a "skip" (a smaller, second hoist) that takes it to the surface.

The maintenance workers have to be jacks of all trades. They service the diesel engines, often with inadequate tools, fix brakes, change oil, and even change engines (and, in at least one case while I was there, move an ENTIRE TRUCK down the shaft from the 760 to the 1120 level). They sometimes have to work in the tunnels using only the light from their helmets.

AT the end of the day, there's one thing in common with all the workers. They are exhausted. As they load onto the hoist, they ride two minutes to the surface. This time, they talk. They have cheated death yet another time. As you approach the surface, if it was night when you went down, it is usually day. if it was day, it is usually night. And as you feel the draft from the first fresh air you've breathed in 8-12 hours (depending on your schedule), you feel an incomparable euphoria that feels remarkably similar to the tales of ancient mythology of Hercules coming back from the depths of Hades. There simply is no way to describe it. You walk into the dryhouse, flip your tag and change out of your gear to go home, sleep, and come back again.

There's a whole lot more I could tell, obviously, but I hope in these few words I've given you a tiny glimpse.