A man of about 6 foot 2 inches stands before you with grey hair extending below his ears and a beard to his chest. His hands are grey with rock dust a streak of brown runs through the middle of his beard, presumably years of dip spit and coffee spills, one single streak of grey dust runs the length of his face from cheek to ear where sweat was wiped away in haste. He smells of rock and dirt with an essence of cognac. You notice he walks with a limp as he travels to the bar to purchase another round. "Sandhog," you think to yourself, "this guy has been out to the edge and made his money where most dare not fly."