“Bering Sea Gold,” premiering on Discovery Friday night, doesn’t seem at first like it has crossed any new frontier, relying on elements and structure familiar to the form. Enticingly (to the network), it combines the ocean and the gold and the cold and the reactive testosterone among bad-tempered desperados.
To which I am surprised to cry: Eureka, they’ve found it! “Bering Sea Gold” is my favorite new unscripted show. I’ve forgotten quite a bit of mediocre reality TV over the past few years, but I am betting on “Bering Sea Gold,” which turns out to be a testament to how thoroughly absorbing the genre can still be, when it’s done right.
Reality mastermind Thom Beers, whose list of producer credits is long (“Deadliest Catch,” “Storage Wars,”
“Monster Garage” and more), takes us to Nome in summer, where residents of the remote town (population 3,600) comb the bay on jury-rigged pontoons and trawler boats, churning up the ocean floor with rapacious urgency.
Glaciers have slowly deposited fine bits of gold all over the coastline floor. In frigid (but diveable) waters about 20 feet deep, a skilled crew can Hoover up several ounces of gold per day among the muck and rocks. “Bering Sea Gold” will do the math for you: In one early episode, a crew brings in more than 40 ounces in one day, assaying at more than $150,000 at the current price.
But don’t hitch your old motorboat to your F-150 quite yet. “Bering Sea Gold,” like its Discovery forebears, does a great job of conveying the angst, financial risk, suffering and physical demands of this annual dredge. The gold-hunting season, which is short already, can be curtailed by bad weather and rising swells. And, as with the network’s “Gold Rush Alaska,” “Bering Sea Gold” features a maddening litany of mechanical breakdowns and human ineptitude.
On a converted, ramshackle catamaran called the Wild Ranger, a bellicose captain-for-hire named Scott Meisterheim positions himself as the show’s alpha male, until reality (or some edited form of it) intervenes. The more he rages at the broken-down boat and his gleefully contrarian shipmates, the less gold his crew finds. It’s almost comically satisfying to watch them return to harbor each day with barely enough gold to dust Wolfgang Puck’s latest a la mode. Meisterheim keeps reminding the camera that he has to strike it rich or else he’ll go to jail for not paying his child support. And whose fault is that, sir? It’s not like the ocean owes you its nuggets.
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