ODDS’N’SODS — Close calls in Colombia

Thirty years ago, it was not uncommon for geologists and miners to engage in job-hopping. A new employer, however, was no guarantee of improvement.

From 1964 to 1969, I was in charge of a U.S Geological Survey project in the Colombian Andes. The five years I spent in Medellin, to quote then-president Lleras Restrepo, were “golden years.” They came just after the violencia, the civil war that took more than 100,000 lives (but before the lawlessness and killings spawned by the drug cartels).

In 1968, as my work in Colombia was drawing to a close, I was offered two high-paying jobs in the country. The first offer was for a mine geologist at the Segovia gold mine, a large underground operation in the state of Antioquia, 150 km northeast of Medellin. I turned down the offer, as I felt I could not endure long stretches of time underground.

The second offer was to become the geologist at the Chivor emerald mine, and I was sorely tempted by Chivor’s magnificent setting and fascinating geology.

(The paragenesis of Colombian emeralds remains a geological mystery.) My visit to Chivor, however, revealed dubious dealings in the local emerald business. Upon learning that the mine manager’s limp was the result of a gunshot wound he received while on “company business,” I decided to pass on the offer.

The two positions were subsequently filled by Americans. What I later learned of their experiences made me thank my lucky stars I had opted out.

Six months after I left Colombia, the gold mine at Segovia was seized by bandits. After pillaging the place, the bandits melted into the surrounding forest, taking with them a single hostage — the mine geologist. The hapless fellow was handcuffed and forced to trek along with his captors, with the army in hot pursuit. He managed to escape, but not before enduring eight months of unimaginable hardship.

The management at Chivor hired a young, ex-volunteer with the Peace Corps who had an undergraduate degree in geology. He, however, fared little better, and owes his life to prudence. Having been shot at on several occasions, the fellow had taken to stuffing his bed with gunny sacks and passing the night sleeping in other rooms. One morning, he found his assigned bed riddled with bullet holes, whereupon he wasted little time packing his belongings and leaving, never to return.

— The author, a geologist, resides in Vieux-Quebec, Que.