Hey Mojo, Its Me, Ditchweezil
Having had several weeks to ponder my poor showing during the Friends of the Museum Hunt at PCS a few weeks ago, I place the blame solely on the shoulders of mojo and how I lost it. I have concluded that it wasn't through a lack of mexican feast, it was because of my tools. I learned on wikipedia that mojo can only reside in qualified items - aka, not fresh off the shelf. Last PCS trip, I used a new rake with stickers still on it. That's bad. UPC symbols ward off mojo. My gloves were also new last trip in - no blood, mud, sweat, decaying plant matter, or stuck on dirty band-aids. My long time collecting partner da fossz has strict rules governing these types of things. He never even washes his collecting socks!
The rain fell so hard last weekend in Aurora that the ramp was washed away and Sunday's collecting was cancelled. Then, mid week it rained again. Seldom does the pit see two rainfalls between collecting days. Many thanks to the dedicated PCS employees who worked to repair the ramp in time for the hunt!
T$ and I arrived at the parking lot and we could feel mojo in the air. Lots of people were sporting their keen BRFC T-shirts. As we talked in the parking lot, I was happy to finally meet fellow members who have been posting some great reports for a while. Everyone was excited because they knew how good this hunt could be. None of us remembered the last time conditions were so favorable.
Once in the pit, my inner collecting animal took over and I just followed the formation - Yorktown, that is. As I scaled the second hillside, I spied a beefy tip sticking out from under a chunk of limestone. I snapped a ground photo and surgically extracted the tooth, only to be disappointed by its mangled root. Just a few feet away I spied a big mako. The ground shot was spoiled by the avalance of dirt that fell as I hurried to nab it. I hunted on, every step into unhunted terrain. The rain had nearly washed away every footprint, and it was hours before I ran into places that other collectors had hunted. About 10, I crossed over the crest of a mound of Yorktown into a sort of valley between two small mounds of the pliocene formation. The water really flowed hard through this area. I saw where it pooled high and where it emptied out creating a massive washout. On the top side, I spied a massive hemipristis clinging to the dirt by the root. After a quick ground shot I dug it out and grinned as I saw its completeness. By da fossz's and t$'s definitions, I was now into good day territory. 30 minutes later I had only moved about 20 yards from where I found the hemipristis. The Yorktown was so good that I forced myself to move slowly. Then, I saw the root and enamel of what could only be a megalodon tooth. "Please be whole! Please be whole!" I begged as I took two ground shots, the second insurance photo insurance in event that the first one was blurry. I dug around the tooth and even though I wanted it to be whole, I expected at any minute to see the break or horrendous equipment scar. The tooth was free and the entire shape was there. Was there a tip? I carefully brushed away the dirt to reveal the single most important serration attached to the most awesome megalodon tooth I ever found at Lee Creek. Just 45 minutes later I witnessed Mrs. BSR0131 unearth a beautiful lower megalodon tooth. I always am delighted to witness the mega scores of others.
Assured that my peers would agree with my preliminary assessment of "rack" status, I moved into gravy mode. I allowed myself to be drawn into the sweet bounty of the Pungo. I picked up handfulls of puny teeth as I hoped for a cow, a bramble, or dare I wish it, a chub. My exhaustive search of a great mound rewarded me with not one, not two, but three double tipped carcharinus teeth!
At the end of the day I floated up the ramp, as if on a cloud of pure mojo. Either that or sulfur, wikipedia says they smell the same. I saw several other nice megalodon teeth, plus t$'s colossal 3+ inch mako! The ride home was a cinch. t$ and I traded tales of our hunts taking turns fondling the teeth. There was not a carcharocles free moment. Victory Bell never tasted so sweet. And afterwards, I didn't even need a breath mint. Apparently, mojo takes care of that too.