A very old, very used, and very worn Indian mortar and pestle. Not only is the mortar worn, but the Indians had badly worn teeth (not cavities) because the acorns flour that was ground in it, had rock grit in it. So everything they made from the flour, acorn bread, or mush also had rock grit in it. Try throwing a bit of sand in your Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich, you will get the idea.
I have had this for at least 40 years. My Father, family friends, and myself went pigeon hunting in Big Sur area on a private Ranch. A long drive into the hills on a dusty dirt road brought us to the hunting area. The pigeons weren't flying much that day, we could see the flocks in the trees at a lower elevation that we were. So being the youngest (and possibly the dumbest) I volunteered to hike down the ridge line to spook the pigeons into flying.
Off I went, my Winchester Model 12, a sweet pump shotgun if ever one was made, extra shells, water, trail mix, and my game vest. I am not sure how far I hiked down, but I know it was much further coming back up than it was going down. I finally reached the area where the pigeons were laughing at us, only to have them fly further down the canyon. Ahh, the best laid plans of mice and men.
There was a natural terrace here with a well marked game trail leading into the oaks and under brush into a blind canyon. I was certain there was water in there, not that I needed it, but was curious if I could find a spring, as that area was greener than the surrounding growth. I never made it that far, as just outside the tree line was this rock partially buried in the game trail, or perhaps uncovered would be a better description.
What gave it away as something out of the ordinary was the river rock appearance of it. I had hiked down through granite and some chalk rock, and lots of dry fine dust, but nothing like a river rock. So I dug with my knife, and came up with this treasure. For how soft the first inch or so of the soil was, the rest was like digging through rock! The pestle was still laying inside the mortar, but it is not the normal pestle, it is far too rough and short. Perhaps this mortar being worn so thin on the walls, it was used for something else beside acorn grinding.
Now I was hot, sweaty, dirt streaked, and tired, worn out like the mortar. Looking back up the way I had come, the light went off! How many times do we have to forget, that going down is much easier than going back up!! And here I was carrying about 25 pounds of mortar. Also found out a game vest is not really designed for carrying 25 pounds of rock. I ended up tying a make shift sling on my shotgun with some line I carried. I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and carried the mortar back up the ridge.
We never did get any pigeons that day. But what a glorious day it was, to spend with my Dad and friends. That is one valuable lesson he taught me about hunting, it is not about killing something, it is about being out, looking, listening, taking time to hear the quiet.
I always wanted to go back to that ridge, but never did. I am actually glad I did not. Not even sure I could find it now after all these years. But in my readings, I believe there was a village there on that terrace. Lots of oak trees for the acorns, great hunting area, and a close source of water. Sometime it might be found again, and excavated by professionals. Long gone are the days of relic collecting. Too much valuable information has been lost.
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