Into The Heart of Darkness
The man behind the trip was John Miller, the operator of five of the largest gold mines in Colombia. Dissatisfied with what he considered to be the restrictive conditions of doing business in America. Miller came to South America shortly after World War II in search of a sense of freedom and new opportunities. In the ensuing forty years, he established a reputation as someone who could deal with everyone from government bureaucrats to remote bands of mountain guerrillas and almost anyone in between.
Quick to spot an opportunity, Miller had spent the last few years watching the volatility that gave Colombia a lethal reputation in the 1980s gradually recede. Slowly but surely, the government crackdown on the cocaine cartels fostered a growing sense of public outrage at organized crime and a drop in the populist support for the criminals. By 1992, the resulting lack of fighting in the emerald region led to an increase in the flow of stones to market and a new vitality in the emerald trade in Bogota.
As Miller's interest in emeralds grew, he began to make the rounds of the leading dealers to gather information on the possibility of developing a new mine. We met on one of his jaunts to the office of Pacho Andrade, an experienced dealer and miner, and had a long conversation about the potential new finds and the new attitude of support from the government. Once we got around to discussing who the world's top emerald geologists were, Miller became more direct. "Let's bring them here," he said with a smile.
Several months later, I found myself standing in front of a small convey of four-wheel drive vehicles with four of the top authorities on Colombian emerald mineralization. Joining the expedition were Terry Ottoway from the Royal Museum of Toronto, Canada, who did her thesis on the mineralization of emeralds at Muzo; Dr. Tony Mariano, a consulting exploration geologist from Massachusetts; Hector Vargas Cuervo, a geologist from the National University of Colombia; and Denny Kossow, an American miner. As Miller's staff loaded equipment into the trucks, he lined us up to take our pictures. Everyone smiled as we posed in small groups, but I quickly realized that Miller was not being sentimental; he was taking photos which would prove useful in the event of kidnapping, accidents, or other problems which might occur. He was an extremely practical man.
We left Bogota at noon, rolling along in a steady drizzle towards a site in the Andes where Miller had been making some preliminary excavations. The next eight hours were spent climbing to an altitude 12,000 feet where the biting cold and treeless land- scape seemed peacefully eerie. All that could be seen through the windows of the truck were the tops of the clouds which shrouded the semitropical valleys below.
Bumping along the rough road, Ottoway and I discussed the complexities of her theory about the origin of emeralds. As I lis- tened to her outline the role that evaporites and salt domes play as they combine with organic sediments to form beryllium, I was struck by the sensation that she could be no more comfortable if she was describing the back of her hand.
According to Ottoway, the formation of emerald can be traced back, atom by atom, to the organic material in sedimentary rock whose chemicals are later released in hot reaction zomes. During my earlier visits to the mines of Coscuez, I had seen smoking rocks near the excavation area and noticed that they produced an acidic, sulphuric smell. I now realized that the burning sulphur was simply a byproduct of the chemical reactions that create the hydrothermal pulses which yield emerald. Although this sulphur can sponta- neously ignite, it generally smokes slowly, lingering above the fore- boding valleys of the region. As we began our descent into the jun- gles of Muzo at dusk, I was struck by the feeling that we were descending into the "heart of darkness.
Exploring for Emeralds
The last five miles of the approach to the mining camp at Muzo were impossibly steep and our trucks crept along through the mists. Upon arrival, the seven or eight camp workers who lived there helped us unload our gear and made arrangements for the bunks that we would be sleeping in. As we were offered coffee and something to eat on a rough wooden outdoor table near the kitchen, I paused to take in the surroundings.
The camp consisted of three structures: a kitchen, a primitive bathroom facility, and a large bunk and storage building covered with tin. Set on a steep slope, the area had been carved out of a hillside by two of Miller's bulldozers just above a rough road which led down to the excavations in the black carbonaceous shale. The whole mountain was shale covered with vegetation, and the bottom of it was invisible in the darkness of that night. We wouldn't be able to see down to the mine workings until the fog cleared in the morning, but standing there less than a rifle shot from the fabled Muzo mine, the richest source of emeralds the world has seen in the last five centuries, filled us with excitement. The mere proximity of emeralds gave us a feeling of treasure yet to be uncovered. Despite the fact that we were bugeyed from the trip, we peppered the workers with questions about what has been found recently in the area.
"No emeralds yet," one replied. "But we have just started to uncover some white calcite veins in the shale." As he spoke, another offered a multicolored mineral specimen for inspection which drew some interest. It took the experts around me at least five minutes to agree that it was ferriginous dolomite. But as interesting as it looked, it was clear to everyone that it was emeralds we were after and the fatigue of the trip began to set in. Once the generator was turned off there was no light, no power, and absolutely nothing to do; by 10 p.m. everyone had rolled into their bunks and fell asleep to the steady tattoo of a dense tropical rain on the corrugated steel roof.
The next morning we all got up very early, got ready, and headed for the wooden table near the kitchen. Shrouded by fog, we were served rice, potatoes, and eggs; the same menu with meat added was put into containers for lunch so the workers would not have to walk all the way back up the steep incline from the mine workings.
By the time breakfast was finished at the jungle encampment, the sun had burned through the fog, and we all walked down to the exploitation zone The two bulldozers went to work. As I walked among the geologists with their rock picks and sample bags, I realized that we were not only looking for emeralds, but for indicator minerals as well. Initially, we were encouraged to see that there were plenty of black carbonaceous shale and calcite veins&emdashthe first two requirements for finding emeralds. But Ottoway was also looking for reaction zones of 'cenicero' and Mariano was searching for albite. As an exploration geologist and the most experienced in field work, he was adamant about the value of its presence. "Albite," he said, 'is an important indicator for emerald."
Later on that day, Miller arrived in a helicopter with Pach Andrade. As eager as he was to see indications of emeralds, the only news he received was that no fluorite, parisite, or albite had been found. Unfortunately, the detailed geographic explanation as to why these minerals were not found didn't seem to satisfy him and he seemed exasperated until Denny Kossow spoke up. What Kossow lacked in formal geologic training, he made up for in per- sonal feel for the rocks and elements around him. I always seemed to find myself picking up the rocks and samples he would manage to find and then discard. I would keep them and carry them home because they were all better than anything I could find. "The best indicator for emerald is emerald and when we find that, we know we're on to something," Kossow said after the geologists had spoken up.
In the heat of the late afternoon, Kossow, Mariano, and I climbed up a nearly vertical jungle path to investigate a shale out- crop on the mountain. We squatted around, hanging on to vines and branches, looking at the shale which hardly even had calcite on it, much less anything else. Mariano pointed out that the shale had been cut into by a local farmer or hunter. "As much as we can do as geologists," he said with a sense of quiet admiration, "nothing can take the place of locals going around and picking at the rocks looking for emeralds."
The Market at Muzo
After several days, we had descended and reclimbed several thousand vertical feet in search of emeralds and had nothing to show for it. Even though we were close to Muzo, we had become certain that there were no emeralds here. "Denny, I didn't come all this way to look at ferriginous dolomite," I said to Kossow. "Let's go see some emeralds." I knew that two of the four body- guards that traveled with us from Bogota were from the small town of Muzo one hour away. They were going to visit relatives that afternoon in one of our trucks and spend the night there; the other vehicle would transport the geologists who still had prospecting to do in the area.
I was certain that there would be emerald in Muzo. The rains and resulting increased flow in the Itoco River would allow the guaqueros ("diggers for treasure") to find more emeralds washed down from the tailings of the official mine. The Muzo mine, like the Coscuez or the Chivor, has a secured perimeter, heavy equip- ment, and paid workers. The mine proper is controlled by a group of Colombian investors who pay a concession to the government to work it. But by mutual agreement, the government and the mine operators allow thousands of local guaqueros to work the tailings in the river. This yields a second 'unofficial' production which provides employment and keeps peace in the region. Those who find emeralds have the opportunity to sell them either at the river s edge, in the town of Muzo, in the town of Chiquinquira several hours away, or in Bogota. Some stones change hands in all four places.
The next morning, brimming with anticipation, Kossow and I breakfasted on oatmeal and were in the town square by 7:15 a.m. It was a typical plaza of the region with cement benches, a foun- tain, tall trees, and a gazebo. The square was lined with old shops, cafes, two pool halls, and the ubiquitous cathedral. Seven a.m. is when Colombians typically start dealing emeralds, but all we had to contemplate was an empty plaza and a couple of dogs sleeping in the haze.
Over an hour later, I was wondering what to tell Kossow when two older men arrived with some tiny emeralds in a cloudy plastic bag. I declined, but asked if more people were going to show up. One of the old men came back with another small pack- et of emerald rough that l bought, not because I needed it, but just to send out the message that there was a buyer. That was all it took. By 9 a.m. there was a steady stream of locals offering us emeralds and I entered into a calculated mode of buying, efficiently viewing and considering each piece or parcel that was offered.
I began to make purchases ranging from $30 to $1500 dollars. The locals who were offering us the emeralds fell generally into one of three types of personality, all very colorful. First there was Senor Suarez, the type that perceives every buyer as a rube to be taken for as much money as possible. People like Suarez would inflate their asking price to 10 or 20 times the value to see if I would make the mistake of offering one half or one third. Another type was Antonio, only 18 years old and already burdened by an alcohol problem. He made thinly veiled allusions to the fact that the goods were stolen or somehow illegal and that I could get a great deal if I just offered him the money he was asking. He made a big show out of the whole conspiracy.
Then, the third type of person, was Martinez. He had a respectful approach with just a bit of humility and humor. He had too much natural simplicity to sustain any devious complications. And while it would be nice to only deal with people like Martinez, they don't always have the best emeralds. So as the morning wore on, I did my best to adapt to these different personalities.
By 10 a.m. we had moved into the shade to escape the sun as it punched through the clouds. As we did business, one of Miller's men pulled up in the truck with his brother and sauntered up to the crowd. Extremely conscious that we were foreigners, and perhaps more aware than I of the inherent dangers of the locals at Muzo, he gave his brother a gun and positioned him at my side for the remainder of the morning. No one saw this, but it didn't matter; they all had guns too. By noon I had spent over nine million pesos (about $13,000), all cash, and purchased three 'gangas'& calcite and shale rocks with emerald crystals growing on them, and one half kilo of rough emeralds tied up in a white handkerchief. It felt satisfying, but I had run out of money and was forced to let a few 'good ones' get away. Unlike Bogota, where I am well known and can write a check or just give my word to acquire an emerald, all transactions in the mountains are cash. Still, it wasn't bad for a morning's work.
BACK TO BOGOTA
While the grologists were to spend the next five days collecting field samples from the major mining areas of the region, Kossow and I decided to return directly to Bogota with my purchases. Our route back was a new one that our driver promised would cut at least an hour off the trip. It was quite a narrow road in places and crossed the paramo - a high treeless foggy pass through the Andes - at over 12,000 feet. Against the protest of our driver I insisted that we stop for lunch, only to discover that our hunger may have saved us from trouble. As we ate fresh homeade cheese - a specialty in the mountains of Boyaca - an army officer told us that a Jeep ahead of us was stopped by bandits and the occupants robbed less than an hour before. Against his advice we went on our way. Nothing was said as we sped over the paramo, but we drove with guns drawn and emeralds stashed under the dashboard. From the back seat, Kossow, a Vietnam veteran, cracked a tight smile. Each bend in the road brought a new sense of tension over what we might encounter, then, at the highest point, the worst curve, there was a truck stopped diagonally in the road with three men near it. Miraculously, the truck was positioned wrong and with a grimace and a squeeze our driver got by without even slowing down. It all happened so fast we hardly could react: we went from danger to safety in an instant and passed downhill through cloudy curves. In a few minutes we sighed with relief as we entered the jungle below.
As we descended into the semitropical jungle and then forest that led to Bogota, the impressions from the trip were already sorting themselves out and I found myself thinking about the conniseurship of emeralds, Suarez, Antonio, Martinez, and the other 30 or so men that I dealt with in Muzo were no doubt a rough, uneducated group. Yet every one of them had an appreciation for emeralds that exactly fits the definition of a connisseur: They understood the very nature of beauty. They know that beauty is what sells the stones. But if there was no surface beauty, theye were quick to position the stone in the light, cover the part that will be cut away, and point to the glory that lies within it. As salesmen, they were eager to ensnare me in the dream of the future profit that the stone held, often displaying unusual powers ofsubjective observation and expression. Yet at the same time, they were totally ensnared in the dream themselves. Their connoisseurship developed in the only way that it can develop- by seeing and appreciating emeralds on a daily basis.
I had always thought of a connoisseur as an erudite, educated, refined individual- the type who might wear an understated emerald pin. But in the mountains of Muzo, I learned that the lonely beauty of an emerald can be understood even if the stone is rough and even if the connoisseur is of a different type; that its beauty can be known by connoisseurs with muddy shoes and guns.