The Matter of the Missing Mountain

Heinz Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes” of the Sandersonville Police Department, was having an unusual day. He was flying. That is, he was participating in a fly-in. But it was not, in a literal sense, an act in which he was engaged. Again, that is, he was engaged in the fly-in, but he was on the ground, and the fly-in was with a drone. One of many. His drone was airborne but he was having a hard time keeping track of his particular aircraft because it looked so much like all the other drones. But that was the point of the exercise. The point being the North Carolina State Troopers were illustrating how law enforcement could legally infiltrate airspace and not be spotted by perpetrators who were committing nefarious deeds on the ground.

It, that is, the event, was all very educational but raised perplexing questions. While it was certainly true drones could ferret out illegal activity, what about privacy issues? While the drones could ‘see’ activities on private property, most of those activities were legal. Some may be unsavory but, on private property, they were not illegal. Illegal activities are defined by statute and every court system in America takes a dim view of arrests made on private property where the ‘witness’ is an ‘individual’ who did not have the right to be a ‘Peeping Tom,’ so to speak.

Noonan was fumbling with his control panel when he was approached by an elderly man in a uniform he recognized; the uniform, not the man. The uniform was that of the Alaska State Police. “You’re a long way from home,” Noonan said before the approaching officer opened his mouth.

“Got that one right,” the man said as he extended his right hand to shake Noonan’s hand. “Harrison Oberdon. Out of Nenana. I know you know where Nenana is. That’s why I’m here.”

Noonan kind of smiled. “You’re still a long way from home.”

Oberdon shook his head as he smiled. “I know. But you, the ‘Bearded Holmes’, are here because the mountain isn’t.”

* * *

After Noonan handed his drone controller to a Sandersonville officer young enough to be Noonan’s grandson – who was more than pleased to play Captain America from the ground – Noonan and Oberdon found a pair of chairs at a picnic table near the drone playground.

“A missing mountain,” Noonan mused. “That doesn’t happen that often.”

“Shouldn’t happen at all,” Oberdon said as he shook his head. “And I am not talking about a fata morgana. A fata morgana is an atmospheric anomaly where things in the distance, like a mountain range, can suddenly appear massive. Then, when the anomaly passes, the mountain range snaps back to its visual normal.”

“So,” Noonan said as he fumbled for a pen in his shirt pocket with one hand and reached for a napkin with the other, “the mountain just vanished?”

“On the computer, yes. This will take some explaining.”

“No kidding,” Noonan said with a smile as he slid the pen and napkin across the picnic table to Oberdon, “and as you are talking, write down your name, contact phone number, and email address.”

Writing on the napkin was not easy so it took Oberdon a number of tries to get the ink lines to be visible. When he finished, he looked up at Noonan. “You know quite a bit about Alaska, the reason I am here. And you are the ‘Bearded Holmes’ so I know what I am about to tell you will not take you by surprise. Fact of the matter, we have a missing mountain. So to speak, that is.”

“I haven’t heard something like that before,” Noonan said as he took the napkin from Oberdon, flipped it over and started taking notes. “Tell me more.”

The State Policeman sighed. “Starts as the same old Alaska story: legendary lost gold mine, lots of people looking, true? Who knows.”

Noonan chuckled and indicated Oberdon should continue.

“Supposedly a legendary lost mine. One of scores of them. On some unnamed mountain and in Alaska, well, you know, there are hundreds of those too.”

“And,” Noonan chuckled, “there are thousands of people looking for those lost mines.”

“Yup. But now comes the twist. We don’t know for certain who did it or how, but suddenly we have a missing mountain. At first, it was just a joke, but then it got serious.”

“How serious?”

“Well, we don’t know if there is any gold on that missing mountain, but we do know it has set off a small stampede. The problem isn’t the missing mountain, as in, the physical structure is gone. It’s the latitude and longitude delineations. Gold claims are filed on the basis of their on-the-ground locations which used to be identified by metes and bounds. Do you know what they are?”

Noonan nodded. “Metes and bounds are on-the-ground descriptions of land ownership. Like all land to the north of such-and-such creek to the big tree and then 45 feet to the such-and-such trail and then south to whatever.”

“Correct. That’s how it used to be. In the old days. Today, metes and bounds are linked to latitude and longitude. That can be done now with cell phones,” Oberdon said as he tapped his iPhone. “It’s all very scientific.”

“OK,” said Noonan softly. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Oberdon sighed, “is that someone got into the federal computer system and caused the mountain where the claims were being made to be moved to another mountain. So the claims that had been filed were recorded on one mountain but appear in the database on another.”

Noonan shook his head. “But if the old claims are recorded, then the mountain existed. So why wouldn’t a new claim be listed as well? I mean, latitude and longitude still exist.”

“True, but when sometime tries to file a new claim – which has been happening too frequently – the claim is electronically filed on the next mountain over. So the claim exists but on another mountain. Not the old mountain, a new one.”

“But the old mountain is still there. I mean, mountains do not disappear.”

“This one did. As far as the United States Department of the Interior’s surface estate electronic catalog is concerned. So the claims that were originally filed are there, but no new ones can be filed on that mountain. And if they are, they are recorded on the new mountain.”

“So, on paper, or, rather, on computer, the mountain has vanished.”

“Even more important,” Obedon said sadly, “we’ve got a rush to the old mountain where new claims cannot be filed, and that, as I am sure you know from Alaska history, means there is violence on the way. Which is why I am here now.”

* * *

Noonan had to admit – to himself, not to Obedon – that a missing mountain was, well, something he had never considered as a possibility. Moveable things can vanish because they are moveable, but the immobile have a tendency to remain in place until the Resurrection. Perhaps even afterwards. Obedon went back to the drone activity leaving Noonan free to head for his office to do some Google research.

Noonan did not expect to find much on Google.

He was in error; there wasn’t anything on missing mountains. There were quite a few articles – some of them accurate – about fata morganas but nothing that would help him solve the matter of the missing mountain.

Overall, he felt he had several intertwined problems. First, assuming he understood what Oberdon had told him was accurate, the first group of stampeders up the mountain had filed their claims with the Department of the Interior accurately. This was logical. The problem came with the next stampeders. The first group didn’t want the competition so somehow they figured a way for the claims filed by the incoming group to be shifted to another mountain. That way, legally, the newcomers had no claim on the mountainside that had the gold. If there was any gold there.

This was logical but not reasonable. First, the claims by both groups would be made using longitude and latitude so, from the point of view of the Department of the Interior, both groups had filed accurately. But if the claims filed by the newcomers were accurate when filed, then the longitude and latitude had to have been adjusted on the computer system to the next mountain. Noonan found it hard to believe it had been done by the computer system. More likely it was the work of AI.

But AI does work with a human hand involved.

And, if a human hand had set up the land swindle, a human hand could make it right.

That was logical and rational.

But that was not the way the federal bureaucracy works.

Finding the correct person at the Department of the Interior was easy. What was not easy was dealing with the land subcontractor that handled land claims. It was a megacorporation with scads of contracts, the logging of mineral claims by individuals a flyspeck of their duties. When Noonan finally found the person responsible for the actual logging of the mineral claims, that person was less than forthcoming with any solution.

Harriet, the subcontractor contact in the Philippines, was pleasant but had no reason to be receptive to any resolution of the problem. “We don’t see any problem here, Captain. It is Captain, correct?”

“It’ll do. What do you mean, you don’t see any problem?”

“It’s a paperwork problem, Captain, not a computer problem. We only handle computer input problems.”

“This is a computer input problem. People filing claims on one mountain are given the deed to the claim on another mountain.”

“Not true, Captain. When people file a claim, they use our form. They put the accurate information on that form, our form, and we load it into the system. They have the original paperwork which is the legal paperwork. What we put online is informational, not legal. They still have the claim; we’re working on the electronic problem. It’s only been brought to our attention recently, so it will take a bit of time.”

“How long is a ‘bit of time?’”

“As long as it takes, Captain. But, right now, there is no problem. The claims are legal because the filer has the paperwork.”

That, as they say, was that.

* * *

Noonan had zip.

But Oberdon still had his problem.

The two met in Noonan’s office the next morning to see if they could come up with an end-around run. It did not look positive.

“Now,” Noonan asked as he fiddled with a pen over a blank notebook page, “let me tell you what I think is happening and you tell me when I go wrong.”

“Works for me.”

Noonan started writing, “A collection of individuals believe they have found a lost gold mine on Mountain One. When the word leaked, there was a rush to Mountain One. When the latecomers registered their claims on Mountain One, the electronic system filed their claims on Mountain Two. So, in reality, the newcomers have two claims, both questionable in any court of law.”

“That’s about it. But it is going to get more complicated than that rather quickly. As soon as any gold is found there is going to be a need to get equipment in. The road into the area is just a trail now. If any of the claims prove to be productive, that trail will grow in breadth to allow equipment to be transported in. That expansion of the roadbed is going to be on someone’s claim, and that someone is going to be very unhappy. You cannot, legally speaking, stop people on a trail even if it crosses your property. Then, with a road, it means a widening of the trail and a lot of people moving in. It means buildings going up, possibly some structures for the federal government. The land for that road expansion and the buildings is going to be taken from other someones and then there are going to be a lot more unhappy people. If the claims are productive, there is going to be claim jumping. It will not be a pretty picture.”

“This all happened pretty quickly. What kicked off the rush?”

“Gold rushes come and go, Captain. If you mean, did someone find gold and that set off the rush, no. Just a rumor. The way it always is. The lost Harrison Mine in the area is like the Lost Dutchman Mine in Arizona. It’s assumed to be true but there is no solid proof it ever existed.”

“Well, someone’s making money,” Noonan said to Oberdon. “The big money in the mining business is the sale of things to get the gold out of the ground. Is there a company selling gold rush items, like pans, picks, shovels?”

Oberdon rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Jeremy Jones Harrison III. Claims to be the grandson of the man who lost the mine in the first place.”:

“A mine that probably does not exist.”

“Yup.”

“Is he local? I mean, does he live in the area where the gold mine was supposedly lost?”

“No. He’s from the Lower 48. That’s …”

Noonan chuckled. “I know what the Lower 48 is. So, this Jeremy Jones Harrison III arrives in Alaska, announces his grandfather’s gold mine has been located, and that started the rush?”

“That’s it in a nutshell. He laid a claim and put up a tent. Kind of sort of started looking and, when the word got out, his claim became a store.”

“Let me guess,” Noonan shook his head sadly, “no one asked for proof there was a mine that had been lost in the first place.”

“Correct. Searching for gold is free. You just file a claim, dump earth in a pan and wash the pan in the creek. If you find enough gold to be profitable, you stay.”

“Has it been profitable?”

“For a man with a pan, yes. But there’s gold everywhere in Alaska. Most of the time it’s just enough for a man to buy beans but not much more. Everyone wants to make it big; not that many men walk away with the big bucks.”

Noonan tapped his forehead with his pen. “But how did the rumor of gold get started? I’m assuming this Jeremy Johnson Harrison II started it.”

“Stampeders always have their ears to the ground. I’m, we’re, guessing he began buying gold extraction equipment and then allowed people in the mining equipment stores in Anchorage and Fairbanks to believe he was the grandson and on his way to fame and fortune.”

“Is he the grandson?”

“There’s no solid proof there ever was a Harrison or a Lost Harrison Mine.”

A dull chime echoed in the deepest recesses of Noonan’s cerebral cortex.

“So …,” Noonan stretched out his question, “no one is sure there ever was a mine there.”

“Correct.”

“And what your department wants is for the electronic claims information to be accurate.”

“We’re not looking for gold. We don’t want trouble on the mountain.”

“Now, as far as the claims are concerned, on both mountains, do the newcomers know their claims have been filed on the second mountain?”

“Oh, yeah! We get an earful every day. They are not happy campers.”

“What do you do to keep them informed that you are working on the problem? I mean, other than reassuring them you are working on the problem.”

“Not much we can legally do. We do electronic posts that we are working on the problem, but I doubt too many people believe us.”

The clang in Noonan’s cranial cavity was now overbearing.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harriet, the Sandersville Police Department’s Office Manager and Common-Sense guru, sauntered into Noonan’s office with a small package and a sheet of paper. She didn’t say anything as she waggled the sheet of paper and settled into the chair beside his desk. Noonan gave her the ‘and what joy are you bringing me this day?’ look.

Harriet sighed and then looked at Noonan and asked, “Why couldn’t the gold prospector get a drink in the saloon?”

“Good question. Why are we talking about gold prospectors and saloons?”

“The joke will tell all! Now, why couldn’t the gold prospector get a drink in the saloon?”

“I’ll bite.”

“Because he was a miner.”

Noonan chuckled. “Rich.”

Harriet wasn’t finished. “Now, do you know why gold miners are always depressed?”

“OK, why are most gold miners depressed?”

“Because they cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Rich, again,” said Noonan flatly. “Now, why the gold jokes?”

“Because,” Harriet said as he reached into the small package she had placed on his desk, “this came in this morning.” Then she plucked out a small porcelain gold miner with a pan. “You did not tell Momma about the gold on the mountain loo loo call. She is unhappy.”

Noonan chuckled. “Slipped my mind.”

Harriet shook her head in faux anger. “Not chance, buckaroo. The note,” she said as she quoted from the letter, “says ‘it worked like a charm. All claim filings are back to normal.’ What, exactly, did you suggest to this guy in, in, Nenana?”

“Nothing much. Just some basic advice. Nothing earth-shattering.”

“R-i-g-h-t. Now, tell Momma all. Start with the problem.”

Noonan smiled. “Started tough, ended easily. There was a small gold rush in Alaska. The first people on the mountain wanted everyone else to be excluded. So they pulled a fast one. They figured a way to have the claims of the second wave of stampeders placed on another mountain.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Not a problem. It’s hard when you don’t dig for gold. When there is a rush, you want to make sure you are digging for gold on land that is yours. So you file a claim with the state and federal government. I’m not sure what the process is, but the way you file that claim is with longitude and latitude. That’s what the second wave of stampeders did. But, and I do not know how it was done, someone diddled with the computer program. So the claims that were filed by the second stampeders were placed on the next mountain over.”

Harriet nodded. “I get it. A trick as old as the hills. Probably older. You diddle with the paperwork. Even if the paperwork is electronic.”

“Right. For the moment, at least, the moment I was told of the jiggling of the electronics, there was no problem. But, if any gold had been found, well, there would have been real problems.”

“I can see that happening. And what magical potion did you pull out of the witch’s cauldron?”

“Nothing new, sorry. I just used their sleazy electronics in reverse. All of the stampeders kept up with the claims problem by reading the posting on the weekly land electronic newsletter. So I went subtle. I suggested the land office announce that a new gold assay office was going to be opening in Anchorage in a month.”

“Aaah! So the greedy stampeders on whatever mountain they were on would think that there was a lot of gold on the other mountain.”

“That was my hope. Apparently,” Noonan pointed to the porcelain figure, “it worked. But then again, who knows, gold prospectors are very good at mining their own business.”