Seventy-five survey days was the minimum period required for the mission, assuming that adverse weather conditions and holidays were not taken into account, yet even under the best circumstances, no one—no matter how resilient or accustomed to the elements—could work continuously without respite for such an extended period, especially in the unforgiving terrain of Alaska, where ice and snow dominated the landscape in every season of the year, and even the hardiest of young men, blessed with quick recovery, would find their endurance tested to its very limits.
By mid-August, the transformation of the season became unmistakable as autumn steadily encroached upon the fleeting summer, a summer that, in Alaska, was never more than a brief interlude before the inevitable return of cold. The weather, already unpredictable, grew even more capricious as fall approached, with rain appearing at any given time, sometimes in brief, misty drizzles that barely dampened the earth, but more often as relentless, day-long downpours that soaked everything in sight. On some days, heavy storms battered the region, only to be followed by a sudden break in the clouds, where golden shafts of sunlight spilled through, offering a temporary illusion of warmth before the chill reclaimed its dominion.
For Anderson Jr. Seely and T.B., the changing weather patterns made each working day significantly more difficult, as if nature itself was conspiring to test their resolve. When the rental-vehicle drivers bid farewell and returned to Anchorage, it became evident that William Smith had orchestrated their departure with meticulous intent, ensuring that the fewer people remained at the site, the lower the risk of information leaks. Anderson understood this well—Smith, ever the strategist, was fully aware that the moment news of a gold mine surfaced, rival companies and opportunistic investors would descend upon the area like, as an old Inupiat Eskimo proverb described, "a flock of arctic foxes around the corpse of a seal."
Even a young man like Anderson Jr. Seely, willing to risk his life for the Tagiunituk Lakes project, knew that competitors driven by sheer profit motives would not hesitate to seize the opportunity, leveraging their resources to outmaneuver Kivalina Resources. Furthermore, the bureaucratic nightmare that would follow—applying for a mining license through the Alaska State Government—would become exponentially more challenging if any premature disclosures occurred, making secrecy an absolute necessity.
To maintain discretion, employees stationed at higher positions in the Anchorage Representative Office, and even those in the prestigious New York Headquarters, remained under the impression that the supply trucks making their way to the remote site were carrying nothing more than routine shipments of resupply goods, as had been the case during the many fruitless survey attempts before.
Every morning, T.B. took the wheel of the Toyota Hilux, navigating the rugged paths that led Anderson Jr. Seely and two other surveyors as far up the mountain as the vehicle could reasonably travel before the ascent became impassable. From there, burdened with an arsenal of specialized equipment—including picks, shovels, TNT explosive sticks, detonator wires, a geophone sensor, lengthy cables, and a rugged laptop designed to withstand the elements—they continued on foot, pressing onward into the desolate wilderness.
Layla Smith, though part of the team, only occasionally joined them, preferring instead to remain at the camp, where she indulged in Netflix series on stormy days or took long, aimless walks when the weather was more agreeable. Under strict instructions, she was forbidden from posting any photographs of the camp on Instagram or Facebook, an unusual restriction she had begrudgingly accepted without further argument.
The survey team worked methodically, digging holes approximately one to two meters deep before carefully lowering a TNT explosive stick fitted with an electric detonator into the cavity. Once in place, they retreated to a safe distance, at which point Anderson Jr. Seely, gripping the generator's crank, took a deep breath before initiating the detonation sequence.
The resulting high-voltage current, operating on the same piezoelectric principle as a gas stove ignition, triggered the explosion, sending seismic waves rippling through the earth. These waves, in turn, were captured by the geophone sensor, which meticulously "listened" to their echoes, gathering invaluable data that, once fed into the computing software, would translate into intricate maps—maps that could ultimately determine the fate of their entire endeavor.
As the days turned into weeks, Layla Smith gradually came to terms with the harsh reality that the theoretical 0.1% probability of discovering an exploitable gold mine, which Anderson Jr. Seely had so casually mentioned at the rest stop, was proving to be an elusive dream, far more difficult to realize than she had ever anticipated. It was then that she finally understood why William Smith had dedicated nearly as many years to this pursuit as she had been alive.
Following the subtle trail left behind by Professor David's findings, the survey team painstakingly mapped their excavation sites, forming a trajectory that mirrored the shape of the letter "D"—a symbolic nod to the professor's name. Over the course of more than thirty days, each survey hole they dug contributed to gradually closing the curve of that letter, a pattern that seemed both methodical and strangely poetic in its execution.
They scoured the landscape, tracing the riverbank from the lake near their camp all the way to another lake further upstream, searching desperately for new traces of gold. Yet, despite their efforts, they found nothing beyond the single gold flake that had already been photographed and recorded in Professor David's existing documentation. The critical question loomed over them like an unspoken challenge: Which survey hole, if any, would yield the elusive figure of nine grams of gold per ton? The answer to that question would either confirm or shatter their hopes of uncovering a true gold mine—a discovery that had the potential to turn their wildest ambitions into reality.
At the end of each long, grueling day, after documenting their findings, Anderson and T.B. would begin the descent down the mountainside, their bodies weighed down not only by exhaustion but also by the burden of their heavy equipment. The Toyota Hilux, parked in the distance, awaited them like a beacon of relief, though reaching it was never an easy feat. In addition to their gear, they had to carry their North Face winter jackets—damp with sweat from the midday exertion, yet essential for the bitter cold that crept in during the mornings and evenings.
On days when they worked near the base of the mountain, they could afford to return to the camp before nightfall. But at higher, more remote locations, where the survey holes took them deep into the Sitka Spruce forests that covered nearly 30% of Alaska's vast territory, they had no choice but to carry provisions for multiple days, setting up temporary campsites in the wilderness. Here, amid the towering trees, beneath a canopy that barely allowed the moonlight to filter through, they spent nights in fragile tents, surrounded by the eerie, restless silence of the Alaskan wild, where the only certainty was the unknown, and where the promise of gold remained just that—a promise, tantalizing yet unfulfilled.