Prospector Ross Toms, Part 1

“He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.

He asked me for a grubstake, and the same I gave to him.

He hinted of a hidden trove, and when I made so bold

To question his veracity, this is the tale he told.”

— from the poem “The Ballad of the Gum-Boot Men” by Robert Service

Ross Toms walked into my office one day in 1981, straight from the pages of a Service poem. He was a tall, wiry man with snow-white hair, sparkling eyes, a wrinkled trench coat, and a subtle extra bend in the knees as he walked, typical of those who have spent too much time on snowshoes.

“So you’re the geologist”, he remarked, in a voice that simultaneously revealed amusement and annoyance, as if to say “You have no idea how many guys like you I’ve had to deal with before; you all think you know everything, but none of you knows anything; and if you’ll just keep quiet long enough to hear me out, you’ll see that I might just be on to something.”

It was the beginning of a great relationship.

Ross was born in La Scie, Nfld., in 1910. His ancestral patriarch was evicted from Wales and exiled to “The Rock” for crimes related to unwanted advances of a sexual nature, and Toms was proud of this scandalous fact, as if it conferred upon him a special stature beyond that reserved to most Newfoundlanders.

The only childhood story I recall him telling relates to the plugging of the schoolhouse stove with some potatoes, with predictable results: smoky kids and an angry head mistress. Such events were by no means rare, though Ross assured me he was strictly innocent.

Ross left home at 16. His father had given him $50 and told him: “When you run out of money, you can always come back.” He never did.

Arriving in Toronto (the inevitable destination, even back then), he ended up in the underground tunnel being drifted out under Lake Ontario to provide drinking water to the city. Eventually, and with his underground experience in hand, he arrived at the Sigma gold mine in Val d’Or, Que., where he worked his way up from shaftsman to mine captain.

It was around that time that he met Marie, who was to become his wife — a fact he could never mention without adding that even though he was a Newfie and a non-practising Protestant, he had married a Frenchwoman, who was a Catholic to boot. Come to think of it, their wedding was the one and only time Ross would ever go to Church (alive, that is).

Marie was both his match and his foil. On the surface, they appeared to be opposites, but underneath, they were great soulmates. Their mutual love and respect were obvious to all who knew them.

They first met when Ross and a pal were skiing. Spying two pretty gals, they immediately remarked to each other that they were “too young.” At the same time, Marie and her friend had noticed the two guys and remarked to each other that they were “too old.” Well, someone must have changed his or her mind, because Ross and Marie were married soon afterwards.

— This is the first of a 3-part series on prospector Ross Toms. The author is a geologist with Toronto-based Odyssey Resources.