It Walked in on Fresh Air.

With just 45 inches of annual rainfall, our farm tended to get quite dry during the hot summer months, and the grasses became brittle and crackling underfoot. Strangely, the dam furthest from our homestead never dried up. Somewhere, deep below the surface, water kept seeping in, although very slowly. There might well be other underground streams, and much bigger ones, we considered.

Old Giles.

Over the years I had dowsed for many an underground stream, water pipes, oil, gold nuggets and more, and if not in open terrain, on maps. That can, at times, be just as easy. What I would not trust was my dowsing on my own property, and an old farmer called Giles came to dowse our little farm. It being for the most covered with Eucalyptus trees, there was only about 45 acres he could check out, because the drill rig would hardly get into the forest part, and we wanted to clear none of our lovely trees.

Giles was walking around with his converted 15-cent metal coat hangers. I followed him with painted wooden pegs and a hammer. Suddenly I told him, “You’re close now, Giles.” Search me where that came from, but some 10 feet further along Giles found a stream at about 145 feet down, and running from west to east. Moments later he found one running from south to north, at 180 feet down, and we then marked the precise junction of the two streams. He questioned my sensing the strike just seconds prior, but I just laughed and I told him, “It walked in on fresh air.”

"That’s the Indicator!"

Just a few weeks later, the drill rig arrived. 180 feet in our kind of sandstone country would only take four hours, five hours at most. Two of the three-men crew independently checked out Giles’ dowsing, and confirmed it was marked “right on the button.” With the rig installed, drilling for some hours, and getting close to the 145 feet mark, the crew all fell silent, ears pricked for a change in sound from the drilling rig. Their boss kept his hand on the drill shaft, feeling for the vibrations. Suddenly he raised his arm, and said, “Got ye!” To me, however, it seemed he had hit a slab of tough granite.

The drill went round and round, and a pencil held against the shaft showed it was hardly making any headway. Suddenly the drill fell trough the hard crust, and the boss-man explained, “Every one of those underground streams has an iron-hard capping on the top. When you hit those crusts, you can be almost certain of there being running water right below it. The crust is the indicator.”

“When you hit water,” I told him in one breath, “you can be certain to have earlier found vitrified sandstone right above it. Lightning strikes! And it either runs north/south, or east/west, at depth. Further lightning strikes extend the channel right to the ocean, any distance, and there you have your underground stream taking up position below the vitrified soil, not above it, of course.”

The drill crew all looked at me in surprise. “Greatest theory I ever heard!” one of them remarked. “The only bloody theory we’ve ever heard in all our years!” the boss-man noted, but we all knew that glib answer of mine had “walked in on fresh air.” It had come much, much too fast to have been a carefully thought-out theory. It was an unexpected gift from the 1,111.

11:11 Angels