STAR SEARCH : A ROCK FROM OUT OF THIS WORLD.

Byline: Brett Pauly

``We're looking for a rock that predates the Earth, predates what we're driving on? You mean that's what we're looking for?'' queried Ted Elkins, my partner and guide on this spur-of-the-moment meteorite hunt.

Indeed, the object of our search was a nugget from the so-called ``Green Flash'' meteor that crashed in these parts Oct. 3. It was likely a chondrite, a meteoric stone older than the planets and rare enough that a UCLA scientist has offered a $5,000 reward for any fragment weighing at least 4 ounces.

``Look at the vastness of this country. How are you supposed to find it, even if it was 200 pounds?'' pondered Elkins, a mechanic with the local geothermal company, Cal Energy, who was unwittingly roped into the wild-goose chase at my urging.

``Let's go get rich,'' I encouraged him hours earlier when I drove into this blink-and-you'll-miss-it oasis on Highway 395 about 70 miles north of Mojave.

Elkins, 43, a proud, self-proclaimed Arkansas hillbilly, was enjoying a Sunday afternoon beer and a smoke on the porch of the Little Lake Lodge and wasn't particularly taken by my suggestion.

Welcome to Little Lake, population 1, unless you count Alice, the noisy calico cat, who shares with Elkins the burned-out former hotel that has a Confederate flag flying atop it and is still home to an operating post office. I guess when you're the sole resident of a barren desert outpost next to a naval weapons center, falling meteors aren't much consequence.

``It's no big deal,'' said Elkins, caretaker of the old building. ``It didn't change the orbit of the Earth did it? No need to worry then.''

He said he'd seen things flying through the sky over China Lake military base that I wouldn't believe but refused to elaborate.

The money wasn't much of a motivator, either. ``Splitting $5,000 ain't gonna get us rich, but it will just about pay off my credit card,'' he said.

I couldn't even offer him many specifics about what I was looking for, or where. The night before I had spoken with John Wasson, the geochemistry professor and meteorite researcher who had posted the bounty, and he gave me what information he had.

The meteorite would be roundish, with a fresh, black crust. Overall it was likely to be black or dark gray with a dull, matte texture, although it could be shiny or glassy. It had a slim shot at being green or brown and a 1 percent chance of being whitish gray.

It would be 20 pounds, plus or minus a factor of 10. In other words, it could weigh anywhere from 2 to 200 pounds and leave an indent in the ground ranging in size, accordingly, from a catcher's mitt to a 13-gallon washtub.

A metal detector wouldn't help much because the meteorite wasn't going to be buried and had only a 6 percent chance of being iron, meaning it had parted ways with another planet.

It was thought to have landed a mile and a half south of Little Lake atop a piped, underground segment of the Los Angeles Aqueduct. Smaller debris could have spread to the west-southwest.

Wasson's best advice: ``If it's a hot day, watch out for rattlesnakes.''

The meteorite explanation did little to convince Elkins, who pointed to the old hotel (which was built in 1923 and, he said, once was patronized by Humphrey Bogart) and noted that the meteorite could look like any of the pieces of granite, lava, obsidian and other rock that make up the exterior of the building, which suffered an electrical fire in 1992.

Of course, he was right. As a neighboring resident who had seen the falling meteor's bright streak but, for ``security reasons,'' wouldn't give her name, said, ``It would be like looking for a grain of sand at the beach. It's not going to be found.''

Wasson has already received several samples from treasure hunters hoping to claim the purse but all have panned out as ordinary rocks. Still, he wished me luck on my expedition and, expecting me to see a number of collectors, asked that I ``give everybody lots of encouragement.''

But not a single searcher was to be found in the area. In fact, Elkins said I was the first meteorite chaser he has met. Perhaps the reward wasn't enough, we speculated.

Earlier, he had heard a rumor there was a $100,000 reward. ``It spooked me because I figured there would be all sorts of loony tunes coming up here, but you're the only one,'' he said.

I didn't quite know how to take that, but, somehow, after much cajoling, I finally persuaded him. He started his four-wheel-drive truck for the first time in a month and I climbed in. The letters emblazoned on the windshield and mud flaps, DILLIGAS - ``Does it look like I give a s---?'' - stated his underlying sentiment for the journey as we sped off.

We were miles from nowhere on a dusty back road before he told me that the four-wheel drive wasn't working and that we'd probably have to keep the engine running since the battery's charge was in serious doubt. But someone once said an adventure only happens to the ill-prepared.

We scoured everywhere that scientist told me to look, well, everywhere there was a road, that is. Indian Wells Valley, the supposed impact zone south of Little Lake. Five Mile Canyon, where the ``strewn field,'' or smaller meteor debris, could have touched down. And all the passable dirt tracks that zigzagged the hills between the two landmarks.

I was armed with notepads and cameras to properly record the find. We scanned the basin and the southeast flank of the Sierra Nevada with binoculars.

There were a few exciting moments. A suspicious trail on an incline appeared to indicate where a meteorite had hit and rolled down but proved to be merely the remnants of rain runoff. I made the mistake on kneeling down on a prickly, low-lying Joshua tree. The battery in Elkins' portable phone went out, then he accidentally shut off the truck. Fortunately, that battery held out.

Occasionally I would ask Elkins if his eyes were still peeled for the meteorite. ``I don't know what I'm looking for, but, yeah, I'm looking,'' he responded.

Yet after four hours of exploring, we never found that meteorite and probably weren't even close. Still, we agreed to make it an annual pilgrimage if the reward was still available. As we bid each other farewell, we hoped the bounty would only increase.

Then the next day I read that three tiny martian meteorites are expected to fetch more than $1.5 million at a posh New York City auction slated later this month.

Aha, I deducted, no wonder that UCLA scientist was only offering $5,000!

CAPTION(S):

Map, Photo

Map: No Caption (Little Lake, Ca)

Photo: (color) Little Lake's sole resident, Ted Elkins, survey Indian Wells Valley, where the meteorite is thought to have landed.

Brett Pauly/Daily News