Alan Skeoch

EPISODE 86     EMBARASSING BEHAVIOUR….ANXIETY ATTACK

alan skeoch’
July 2020

If you can stand to read this then do so.  If you are queasy at the knees as I can be…then DO NOT READ THIS EPISODE 86

TODAY is Sunday july 26, 2020.  I was released  from hospital an hour ago…thankfully.

“What the hell are you doing in the hospital, Alan?”
“Give  me a  few  minutes and I will tell you.  the
events are not flattering…make me looks deranged.:

START.

Marjorie and I returned to the city  after a delightful meal at the farm
practicing social isolation and distancing with masks. All the goddamn
things we had been doing for the past four months.

“Marjorie  what do you have for an upset stomach”?
“Something  you ate?”
“Don’t know but hurts bad…like a ballon in my gut.”
“Book says ginger is good…I’ll make  ginger tea…”

Cut to the qjuick here.  After the  usual panacea, water…We tried everything including apple vinegar
and honey.   Next comes mint leaves, the BRAT DIET (banana, rice, applesauce,  toast), then Iturned

to the internet…lime, lemon juice, baking soda ,
  even considered  Yarrow leaves from the garden.

My gut hurt really bad…bloated.

I remembered  uncle Norman said  the vets used a big knife for bloated cattle because the choice

was a terrible  choice.  And I remembered him hauling out a dead bloated steer with the help of

the man from the dead wagon.

“Christ, Marjorie  this hurts but the internet says the worst thing
to do is lie down.  So you go to bed and I will pace the floor until
this stuff works its way out my ass or my mouth.”

1.00 a.m.  “Marjorie, wake  up…we  have to go the hospital fast.  I think
it’s the gallstones again.  Pain bad…really bad.  Get up.  Wake  up.:”

  We moved with speed of  summer lightning…Mississauga Trillium Hospital…guards out front.

1.30 a.m.  “Just park anywhere …let me out.  Ignore the guys in
uniform.”
“Hold on sir.”
“Let him go…he’s having an attack.”
“Then you can go no farther. lady.”
(I slipped by…in my pajamas with a spare shirt and my I phone.
Emergency room was empty…no one there.  At other times there were dozens
but no one tonight ( July 25, 1.30 a.m.)  Then a nurse appeared…got all the  data needed
as I fumbled through my wallet.  “I  am in pain…bad”  “how bad on scale 1 to 10?”
It was10…might be 8 now…”
“Here slip on this  wrist band”
“Follow the arrows back there…someone will help ou.”
Alone, I walked,  then heard tapping at a window and there
was Marjorie…thumbs  up…I returned the gesture even
though my pajama bottoms wanted to fall down.  The trail
led me to an assessment centre…
“Room 5,sir”
(Why 5…most distant room….hardly a room …tiny but large enough for terror to unfold)
“Let me take some blood, sir”
“What is your first name.”
“Caister”  (may have  got it wrong)
“There, got the blood, now get ready to give  me  a sample.  I will
be back in a minute.”
(A minute was just to damn long.  I snapped.  Did not expect

to do so but anxiety attacks are almost spontaneous.  They explode.

And this is when things turned UGLY. real Ugly for
everyone concerned.  

“ I started to scream…I can’t breathe!  I CAN’T BREATHE!  help me SOMEONE…FOR
CHRIST’S SAKE, I CAN’T BREATHE!   I SCREAMED AND SCREAMED.

People came running.  From where I do not know.

“HELP ME…HELP ME…NO BREATHE…GOING TO FAINT.”

They tried.  Many people…maybe 6,  maybe 10 all crowded  into
this overgrown telephone booth.  All yelling  as well.  “Give him air.
Calm down, sir.  Sit Down   Stand up.  Stope yelling.  breathe through
you nose not you mouth.”

“CAN NO ONE HELP ME.  I CANNOT BREATHE.”

But you are  breathing.   “NOT ENOUGH AIR.  LET ME OUT OF HERE.
SOMEONE  HELP ME.:’

“QUICK, RUN AND GET THE ECG…FAST…”

“SIT DOWN, SIR.”
“I CAN’T SIT DOWN…CANNOT BREATHE.”
(I Tore off the hospital gown.)
“GOT TO STAND  UP…DYING.”
“SWEATING LIKE A STUCK PIG…WATER POURING OFF.”
(The GUY WITH MY GOWN IS TRYING TO WAVE  IT TO CalM ME DOWN.
BIG GUY, .  HE CLEARS A TINY SPACE
FOR ME TO STAND UP…FANNING ME…I AM NEAR NUDE …SCREAMING LIKE
A MAD MAN.

(…6 to 10 of us…then the
ECG arrive on a trolley…wedged into the room…tottering.)

“I CAN’T BREATHE…HELP ME…SOMEONE HELP ME.”

“Here slap  these patches on his body…anywhere…then we’ll
hook him to the ECG.   Patches and then a forest of wires attached
while I am jumping around  screaming…”I CAN’T BREATHE.  I NEED
AIR..OXYGEN.  AN AIR TANK FOR GOD’S SAKE”

Then the ECG  starts to chatter while showing zig zags of my heart on a screen.  Danger?
 zigs and zags all looks the same.  Cards piling up like an accordion.  No strait line thankfully.

   I glanced  and remembered  hospital shows on TV.  Straight line on an ECG spells death.

“I CAN’T BREATHE.  NEED  AIR.”
“SIT DOWN SIR,”
“CAN’T SIT DOWN”
Some hands pushing me  down,  others helping me up.  Too many hands.
Everybody yelling and the ECG chattering.  Spewing out the last few moments
of  my life.
“I CAN’T BREATHE FOR CHRIST’S SAKE…HELP  ME…I NEED AIR..NEED AIR.”
Then someone wraps a plastic  air pipe around  my neck and  is  fumbling with
the pipe…air tank now in room as well.

Trying to reach my nose…jumping around

“CAN’T BREATHE.   DRY MOUTH…DRY MOUTH…DRY MOUTH”
A hand jams a  capsule in my mouth and something sticks to the inside front
tooth.  “DRY MOUTH…HELP ME…SOMEONE…CAN’T BREATHE.

“BUT YOU ARE BREATHING, SIR.”
“NOT ENOUGH.  ONLY HALF BREATHES…NEED AIR…NEED AIR.”

(ECG machine has paper as long as the room by now.  Someone takes
a look. I must be dying…but machine keeps chattering…no deadline…I am
alive but  ‘I CAN’T BREATHE”

“CALM DOWN, SIR…TRY YOUR NOSE NOT YOUR MOUTH…YOU WILL
GET OVER IT…CLASSIC ANXIETY  ATTACK…HE WILL GET OVER IT.”

THE guy with my gown now  has a little more room.  He starts  to wipe me
down  with the gown…meanwhile I am still yelling  “I CAN’T BREATHE…DRY MOUTH…
WILL SOMEONE HELP ME.”  

Little sticky patches allover my body…multi coloured wires..  “SIR , TRY TO RELAX.”

  Eventually I 

wound down  … slowly …still yelling but without the short staccato yells …I am getting
more oxygen…someone holding the tank behind me…I am breathing…not well…not even

 but I am breathing.

It was pandemonium.   And I was the in the centre.   But I really could not
breathe.   Even though I was gulping air like a goldfish in a tank. Someone switched
off the ECG.   I sat down.  Then  Caistor helped me onto a gurney. Wrapped me
in a new gown…must have been a new gown…my original was soaked.

  INTERJECTION:  TODAY I WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE SIX TO TEN  PEOPLE

THAT CROWDED IN THE ROOM TRYING TO HELP.  GOOD PEOPLE.  PART OF

THE HERO FORCE WE MAY NEED AGAIN.  I WONDER HOW THEY WILL REMEMBER

ME?  UNSTABLE?  MAYBE ANXIETY ATTACKS ARE COMMON.  PLEASE TAKE NOTE THAT ALL

THESE PEOPLE WERE TAKING  RISKS TRYING TO HELP ME.  I AM PARTICULARLY

“Taking you down for a CatScan, sir.”

 “Drink these two  tumblers…no rush but drink it all.”

The technicians fiddled around with my hands for a while and
once I was calm enough they fed me into the big donut like you
feed a frozen makerel to a whale.

“Try not of move sir…absolutely still”

I was worn out anyway.  And I was breathing.  The person who got
the  air tank handed to the CatScan technician and disappeared.

What I am trying to describe to you is a classic example of aN Anxiety Attack.

  It happened suddenly without warning.  The source was stress and fear.  I am

  81 years  old.   My 50 year old daughter in law died  last week. Tragic. Everyone in turmoil.

My memory kept  drawing

  up a memory from the even deeper past.  A moment of sheer terror in France.

The reason for my Panic Attack was clear to me as I tried to
explain to others.  Several years ago I had trouble coming
out of an anesthetic at a nice hospital in the south of France.
I had fallen off a cliff while trying to get a better angle picture
of a beautiful lavender field.  Bashed myself up badly and broke
my wrist.  The operation was a success.  Unfortunately I had trouble
coming out of the anesthetic.  I  opened my eyes, saw  Marjorie
across the room…but I could not breathe.  My lungs would not work
correctly as they must have been tuned to some kind of lung
machine.  It took a couple of minutes for me to adjust.  Terrifying
minutes that made  me fear anisthesia.

    So this  anxiety attack was not funny.

It was not funny at the time.  Sounds funny now.  But I know it was
not funny.  I really thought I was going to die…to smother to death 
right there and then.  with 6 to 10 people watching and an ECG machine
chattering and Caistor with my gown fanning me.

  A few weeks earlier I had arrived here in emergency with

 a gall stone lodged in the neck of my gall bladder.  Pain that

I had no wish to ever meet again.  pain that lasted 5 days…no sleep

…three of those days in a hospital bed. Then the moment the surgeon

was about to cut, the pain ended.  The stone slipped off.  No pain.

I told the  surgeon in plain terms “If  it ain;t busted, don’tfix it.”

Get me out of here.  I was released.   What a relief.  a  bunch

of men were out in the lot building an emergency hospital for

the expected rush of Covid 19 patients.  I did not want to be around for that.

The surgeon knew an  operation was the best choice but he also knew

what was coming  with the Pandemic.  “I will get it removed in a couple

of weeks when the pandemic dies down.  That idea was wrong. We  are

now nearly at the end of July.  The Pandemic is still here

No delay…no smart ass comment like “If it  ain;t busted, don’t fix it.”

So I kept my mouth shut while Dr.  Zilbert pushed on my stomach.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Right there, Dr.”

He seemed to already know about my case.   Maybe the fuss down in  the 

Emergency room had reached his ears.  Maybe the CatSkan was clear.  

Bottom  line I was admitted and wheeled into a ward passing through

long empty hallways with no one visible.  The Mississauga Trillim hospital
like hospitals across Canada was half empty as the nation waited
to see what Covid19 was going to do..I was in the middle of noman’s, nowoman’s lamd.

I was in the midst of the care workers I had been reading about

just a day earlier…nurses, doctors, orderlies, sweepers, cooks,…many people.

And I was afraid.

Fear.  Pure and simple. Fear. That is one reason for panic attacks
like  mine.  There can be other  reasons but for me it was the fear

I would wake up and not be able to breathe.

An orderly took over the gurney  from the CatsSkan operator
and landed me in Room 213 at the Mississauga Trillium Hospital.’

“Would you like the window, sir?”
“Sure would.  Last time I was here  Got a window.”
“When was that ?”
“First week of March…same time you were emptying the hospital expectng
Covid19 infested patients by the hundreds.:
“Why were you admitted?”
“Terrible pain….Gall stone lodged in my Gall Bladder….stomach
blown up like a dead pig in a farm field.  Scale of 10 over 10
for pain.  Did not sleep for 5 days…three of those days here
in Trillium.”
“How did we  reduce the pain?”
“Morphine and lots of it.   Have you ever had a morphine trip?
“I had three days and nights on Morphine…right outside my window
I had morphine trips that  were great.  One  night a circus  arrived
with a big brown  bear up a telephone tree that slowly turned into
an oak or maple tree  as the bear looked at me in friendly way. Not
a hungry bear  There was a little white Jack Russel dog that tipped
me off that a trip was about to happen.  Cute little dog. Then some

big sailing ships flooded by with people aboard…silent people.

And on the  shore a bunch of men were trying to pull down

a big tree by hand. My room moved closer….a young woman

sitting cross legged idly plucking rose petals from a huge silver

bowl.  Others standing on high poles as a building was

lowered from the sky for the  men and women to bolt in place..”

“No morphine on the orders today.”
“No, the pain has eased…down to a 5…tolerable…If it skyrocketed
you will turn to morphine.”
“Let’s hope that does not happen.”

Dr.Zilbert  and  others arrived at my bedside and did a little probing
and said the magic word…”Surgery soon”  And away  they went.

 A bubbly Filipino nurse  arrived with a  tub of soapy water. Big smile.

“Would you like  a bath, sir?”

 “Bath?”

“Here you wash your face, I will do the rest of you.”

And she did…swiftly…even the underparts.  She was fast and

cheerflull but no debate invited.  She had two little toddlers of her own…so

risky situation for her.

I had two  nurses…my day nurse  was Agnes, my night 

nurse  was Maria.  Two people who took charge  of people

like me every two or three days.  They just took charge

of my every movement. They checked my  heart and  temperature

every two hours.  Agnes jabbed me  with needles that sucked

my blood and another needle  to prevent blood clotting.They put me

to bed  and got me up.  They were always just a buzzer away.

“Agnes, can you get a message to Dr. Zilbert?”

“I can try…he is a busy man.” 

AGNES…MY DAY SHIFT NURSE

Agnes and Maria and others seemed  to like collecting my blood.  I was beyond caring by  then.

“I am terrified of the  anisthetic. I fear a 

repeat of an experience  in France where

my breathing was compromised.   Tell him

I am scared.

“When  is the operation planned.?”

“We never know.  First we must get you ready.

No  food today.  just cups of tiny ice cubes that

you can eat one at time.”

MY WASHER, BATHER, BED MAKER….DRESSER (NEW GOWNS)  BENEATH THAT MASK  IS A BIG SMILE.  AS  YOU CAN SEE.

MARIA….MY NIGHT SHIFT NURSE

And Maria, my night nurse followed the same routines.

  MARIA would like everyone to appreciate FRONT LINERS like her and so many others.  That is  one reason I am writing this  story

“When will they operate, MARIA?”

“We never know…operations go on here night and day.”

“Today?”

“Best you just suck on ice cubes and sleep.”

On that I fell asleep… only to be gently awakened

at 1 a.m. IN the morning.  The night was dark and hot..

THE SURGERY

“Wake up, Alam/“

“Not more blood…have I any remaining””

“Getting you ready for surgery.”

“At 1 a.m….middle  of the night?”

“Surgery goes 24/7.”

So I rolled myself  onto another gurney and was wheeled through the dark and

“There you are, sir.”

The orderly slid my gurney into a dark corner where I could see no one at first and then

Some  time later Agnes awoke me…around  6.30 a.m. 

And a whole bunch  of  people began to assess me.   Heart.  Temperature.  Blood, of course.

EPISODE 86   I FOUND A  LEOPARD FROG AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS…JULY 2020

alan skeoch’

Sent from my iPhone

MINING CAGES

THIS mining cage in England…Cornwall…was a luxury when compared to the shaky ladders

of Knockmahon.   Even so, this mining cage was dangerous…if the cable  broke, the men were

doomed.  

The  term ‘cage’ will occur  again and again in the next few Episodes.   Mining cages delivered miners

quickly to the ore faces.   At Bunmahon, in Ireland, we discovered

shafts but there never were any cages.  Meaning that the miners had to climb down

800 to 900 metres  on a series of wooden ladders.  And they did so in the dark.

Can.Met.  was a modern mine.  it had all the benefits of  electricity, modern machinery like bull dozers and Scoop

trucks,  power drills, lots of  dynamite…and some union protection.  

  On May 14, 1960,” waiting for us was a ‘Scoop”…sort of  a spliced dump truck and bulldozer. We piled into

“She’s the last vehicle below,” greeted Harry MacGinnis who would be our escort through the

darkness.   Most mechanical aspects of the mine had already been withdrawn including

the electric light system.  The mine was not a  pretty sight below ground as the walls

were dirty and  sticky…black from the dust of blasting and sticky from the black smoke

of vehicles like our Scoop Mobile.

We  did 293 determinations today using the Ronka.  When  our miners lights are turned off

the  darkness is  absolute.  A  blackness that only a miner would understand.   Ventillation 

is a problem as is radiation which stands at 292 when  the normal human toleration is 100.

 We would  only be here a  few  days though.  Regular miners spent years here.

Geologist John Hogan is down  here represents Dennison Mines.  Wh am  I down  here?  Hard

to know.  My job is to get as much information using the Ronka as  possible.  This  information

has  no possible use for the mine can never  be reopened as  the pillars were

pulled when the stopes  were abandoned.   Pillars were made by cutting around natural

rock… pillars then sculpted  Pillars contained.

of high grade ore so were recovered as the last part of a stope.  Occasionally we would  hear a great dull ‘whump’

where part of the mine ceiling collapsed.  No pillars left to hold up the roof.

  At the same  time the roof was collapsing, Can Met mine  was filling with

water.  Sometimes we had  to wade  through low points.  Eventually the whole mine wll be

flooded but right now it is explorable…barely.  So why am I down here?  I have no idea.

For the past 60 years I have wondered why we did this job in an abandoned

and collapsing Uranium mine.  I have no answer.  Were  we  testing the Ronka.

  Or were we testing the instrument man before he went to Ireland.  Not likely the

Harry loved to tell stories about mining in general and Can. Met. in particular.  Amusing  barely

believable stories perhaps with a kernel of truth or perhaps fully factual.  I remember

his stories to this day.  My journal confirmed my memory.

If I might make  light of the job, I could say we were down there just so Harry MacGinnis

would have  an opportunity to entertain us…otherwise he would be all alone.   The last man out,

as  it were.   Here are some of his  stories…outlandish…maybe true…maybe partly true…maybe

invented through hearsay.  All of them a  bit unsettling.

1) “A lot of dead  men down here…some still  under the rock falls.  We call the big blocks

that fell “Portuguesers” because  some of the men under those boulders were Portuguese

immigrants”   Between  1955 and  1996 when the last mine closed at Elliot Lake more than 130 men were

fatally injured.  As to the truth of Harry’s stories I  am not sure.   He had lots  of stories.

2)  “You know how you can tell that a mine is good…about to open up and hire miners?”

“No idea.”

“Hookers arrive.   If the hookers  arrive then the mine is good for sure.”

3) “To get a job as a waitress with Crawley and McCraken, the girls did  double duty as hookers.”

4)  “That radiation count was  a worry.  The more time underground here, the more radiation

exposure.   What’s the count today…292…almost three times acceptable level.”

  NOTE:

“The conditions in Elliot Lake are not the best conditions to work in to survive a normal life span. If anybody does not like to go to the hospital with lung cancer, he should have a very close look at the Elliot Lake situation before he signs on as an employee of either one of the companies. We believe that the companies should not have the right to expose people to conditions that will cause bodily harm. There has to be a clean-up programme before we can definitely advise people to seek employment in Elliot Lake.” (Paul Falkowski, United Steel Workers of America, Environmental Representative – June 1976)

MINERE JOE ZULJIN:  “I could be healthy, still workin. Now I have dust plus cancer. And the family is all upside down.  Dad’s gonna die maybe today, maybe tomorrow, we don’t know.” His voice broke once again. “And that’s the way it looks like. It’s bad. It’s very bad for a family. Family’s more hurt than me. Cryin’, you know. Disaster.”  (Joe Zuljin, Elliot Lake miner, died 1975, cancer, CBC documentary)

5)  “No one checking roof bolts anymore.  Some are popping loose.  The  pillars were  pulled

when  the stopes were  abandoned.  Damned dangerous for all of us. Knew a shift boss who

got telescoped by chunk from the mine ceiling…”

“Did you say telescoped?

“He was suddenly a much shorter man if you know what I mean.”

6) “Poor old Can Met is filling with water…deeper every day.”

7) “A lot of million dollar machines are not worth taking to the surface.  Emerge like ghosts

in our lamplight beams.”

8) “Stealing  becomes a way of life.”

9) “Men are just walking away from those houses they mortgaged…hoped the bank would let them.”

10) “What the fuck are you doing  down  here anyway?”

ASIDE:  Harry’s use of the F—— word made me do a lot of thinking in 1960.  Thinking that has

popped  into my mind now and then over the last 60 years.   What the fuck was I doing down at

the bottom of an abandoned uranium mine?  Second week of May,1960.   Just a week earlier

I was writing U. of T. exams in Russian History, the philosophy of Emmanuel Kant and  other 

non-engineering courses.  That ended on May 7.   By May  14, I  was cursing and swearing in

the darkness of  Can. Met where low  grade uranium had been extracted, then enriched in some 

way to make Uranium 235  so unstable that a tiny bit of that element could be detonated

producing enough energy to kill  thousands of people and devastate whole  cities like Toronto.

I had the presence of mind to slip a shard of that uranium ore  into my pocket.  The uranium, about 1%

of the shard, is nestled somewhere in the rather pretty pebbly conglomerate.  Every once in a while

I open my desk drawer and there the shard rests.

Somewhere inside this  shard  of Elliot Lake uranium ore there are tiny flecks of  uranium I imagine.   This  is  my only reminder

of  the Elliott Lake adventure.

“How the fuck did I ever find myself 2000 feet deep  in the bowels of the earth?”  Pure chance…good  luck really.  A few years earlier when

I was a student at Humberside Collegiate in West Toronto I wondered what I would do  with my life.  What could  I do?  I was a  middle of the pack

kind of person…not  the top, not the bottom.  Comfortable in the middle.  Homework was always avoided.  So on one spring day I wondered what

I could  make of my life.  What was  I good at?  Dancing, chasing girls, football, camping, hitch hiking, talking, Rover Scouts?   No jobs there.  But there was an answer.  The 

school had  given us barrages of  IQ tests over the years.  Multipole choice things which I took seriously.   Some of  my friends treated those

tests as  jokes  and just marked the little boxes  without reading the questions.  Finished fast. Must have got IQ of rabbits.  I took my time.  Maybe there was  an answer there.

This  is  a  picture  of our 38th Scout Rover Crew.  We had  just got our kilts.  In the 1950’s and 1960’s Scouting was  popular.   My first job in mining

exploration happened  because the mining boss, Gus  Schlitt, felt Boy Scouts were ideal  employees.  He asked mom and suddenly

 my brother and I were deep in the Canadian wilderness.  I travelled alone to Chibougamau, northern Quebec. Spoke high 

It was a  tough job in the

bush of Northern Quebec.

(continued):

What was  I good  at?  I dropped in on the guidance counsellor.  Nobody there.   The filing cabinets were not locked so I pulled out the “S”  drawer and

found my name.  There was  one  big Bar Graph that shocked me.  I  had  a great long line under which  it said  ‘abstract reasoning’.  What the

hell is abstract thinking?   I had  no idea.  Most disconcerting was  my low level of mechanical ability when compared to abstract thinking.

Shocked me.  Up to that point I wanted to be some kind of an engineer.  My forest ranger fantasy had ended years earlier.  Low mechanical

ability?  That must mean I  would not be a  good engineer.  Or so I thought.  I must keep  that secret since every summer I did engineering

type work and loved it.  Yet I was not supposed to ge good at it.   The shock made me more diligent believe it or not.  As it turns out all human

beings  use both kinds of reasoning…abstract and concrete.   The engineering door was not closed. I just thought

(Human beings are both concrete reasoners and  abstract reasoners.  But one or the other dominates apparently.  How  would you

know which  you are?  Really I have no idea.  A concrete thinker follows  a recipe while making soup.  An Abstract reasoner says ‘To hell

with the recipe, I can make my  own  soup’ and proceeds to pile in whatever seems available.  Maybe  even an old rubber boot.  Get the

idea?   I wish I had  not looked at that bar graph.)

I only saw that one bar graph.  The guidance teacher arrived back from lunch.   She was  incensed. 

 “Just what are you doing here?”

“Trying to find out my future’”

“Well that is secret information…none of  your business…now get out of here.”

Strange.   A guidance counsellor who had secret files on every student.  But kept them hidden forever.  No matter.   It took some time to get over the shock of

that bar graph.  Changed my life.   I wish abstract thinking had been explained to me.  Then perhaps I would have become some

kind  of engineer.  I  do like to figure things out for myself rather than follow step by  step instructions.   I did manage to puzzle out 

how to use a slice rule when I had to do  so.   I did read  manuals but when necessary..   Concrete thinkers like step by step

instructions.  Abstract thinkers like to figure things out for themselves. That would make me a bad cook.

7 signs you may be an abstract thinker

1. You spend a lot of time thinking about big questions such as ‘what is the meaning of life?’ or ‘what is the nature of consciousness?’
2. You are constantly wondering and asking why. As a child, you probably drove others a little crazy with your endless questions.
3. You don’t like doing things unless you can see a good reason for doing them: ‘just because’ won’t cut it.
4. You hate to follow step-by-step instructions and would much rather work things out for yourself.
5. You don’t like routines and get easily bored if you have to do the same task over and over again.
6. When thinking about something new, you often link it to something you already know, even if they seem to be unrelated ideas.
7. You are great at coming up with metaphors and analogies and linking ideas together in new ways.

WHAT ARE WE  DOING  2,000 FEET DOWN AN ABANDONED URANIUM MINE”

Let’s get back to Harry’s question.  “What the fuck are you doing down here…2000 feet down in the Can Met mine?”

I have  wondered about that question for a long time.  

SUNDAY  MAY 15, 1960

We used a  machine like this to explore the abandoned

passageways  of Can  Met.  All of us in the bucket except

the driver.  

We are living  in the Senior Staff  House, a kind of  hotel reserved for Can.  Met big shots.   A beautiful ranch house  structure  that has

never been fully used and is now vacant at a cost of $100,000.   Lots  of  other vacant buildings such as the single men’s

bunk house and 22 houses  built for families along with the huge mill and related machinery on top of the two shafts

that descend 2000 feet below surface.

We went underground at 8 a.m.   My crew consisted of Bob  McConnell,  Allan Pegler, Joe  Weber and  Harry MacGinnis…all

employees of Can. Met.  A  motorized  ‘Scoop” was waiting for us and  then we travelled through the main passageway to the eastern border

of the mine. This  Scoop would  be The last vehicle in the mine except for wrecked vehicles.

WERE WE SAFE?

“That’s fresh ‘loose’ you hear falling,” announced  Harry.  ‘Loose’ refers to pieces of  rock falling from

the mine ceiling where roof  bolts  have loosened.   Not a nice thought.

“This is  the spot where our shift bosses  ‘telescoped’ by falling ‘loose”.

“Are there many such accidents?”

“A Cat driver over in the Panel Mine drove right into the grizzly and was mashed to a pulp.”

 “What is a ‘grizzly’?”

“Why is that Danger Sign pulled aside?”

“Special treatment for us … we can go  anywhere we want… likely safe enough.”

“These stopes have been sealed  off as dangerous.”

“Then what are we doing  here?”

“We  do what we are told.”

Then  we set up the Ronka in a  pattern that looked logical. Difficult

to arrange a grid with right angles but no alternative.  Then we  Sat for lunch

on what Harry called a  ‘Potugueser’ and  had lunch.  The lump of rock

was as big as a half ton truck.   When it fell there was a man underneath.

“He is still there…never saw the rock  moved.”

Many  new  Canadian  immigrants  find work as miners.  In  the 1960’s  many

Portugue immigrated to Canada.  According to Harry the body was never

removed.  True or false?  No idea.

MONDAY MY 16,  1960

A new  motor was scheduled to arrive in Sprague this morning.  We spent time plotting what data

we had.  Harry  kept  us entertained with his library of mining fiascos.  

“Can Met invested $36,000 in an air conditioning system that never worked.”

“There are Jumbo vehicles down here that cost $50,000 but never worked.”

“The haulage ways and stopes are filled with abandoned  equipment…it’s like

travelling through a graveyard.”

He actually never spoke these words.  To speak  like Harry try adding

This  huge machine could drive roof  bolts into the ceiling of Can Met.

The bolts combined with heavy metal  netting helped prevent mine collapse.

They needed constant attention.

Meanwhile, we  set up the motor generator and  laid out our spread  wire through this part

of the mine.  In some places we had to crawl through ceiling rubble.

Joe Weber, an  ex-Nazi,  said he ‘was released  from his war crimes in 1953.’  Joe had

no kind words for Csn. Met. which he said  was  a company founded  on greed.

Uranium mining is not the best kind of  mining because the market is saturated

quickly.  Rush to market can cause safety problems.  Joe was an unhappy man.

Harry MacGinis kept referring to ‘the whorehouse’. a metaphor  which confused  me a bit.

“What whorehouse, Harry?”

“The Company warehouse…each time we go there we get fucked.”

Then Joe piped in.

“Can Met lost $1,500 worth of gas each month…stolen.”

“There was  $50,000 worth of spare parts ordered  for a  nonexistent truck.”

My crew loved telling these stories.  Sounded  true but who really knows. Theft

is common among miners. (*Remember the Yukon story?)  High  graders in the gold

mines are quite famous in Timmins, Ontario.  Books are written about them.  Where

TUESDAY  MAY 17, 1960

How did  machines as big as this  ever get 2,000 feet down the shafts at Can  Met?   The ‘Cage’ had to be large even  if the

machines  were taken down in pieces.   This was  brought back up when the mine was abandoned.  many others  were just abandoned

in the stopes and passageways far below.  These wrecks startled me as they suddenly appeared in our cones of light from our helmet lamps.

Today Harry MacGinnis came into the cook house reeling drunk after spending the

night at what he calls the Legion which is ‘just a shack  built in the woods by

the boys’   Seems drinking binges are common…at least according to Harry.

 By 8.30 a.m. we were down in the mine finishing up our resistivity

work and then began hauling in our base line cable.   Just walking alone in

the dark with a cone of light from my mining helmet was an experience…combination

of mystery, fear ad curiosity.   Often large objects  would suddenly burst upon

the cone of  light…startling.   Silence and  blackness.  Back at the Scoop

I took a picture of the boys but my flash bulb exploded . The  Sound was like a cannon

as it echoed down the dark passageway.

Today  Harry decided to take the Pope apart then shifted back to is

favourite target…his mother in law.  “She is  harder than a whore’s heart.”

Job complete.  Contrast between my two worlds…the sophistication of the

University of Toronto and the earthiness at the bottom of  Can Met uranium mine.

Which do you find more interesting?

WENESDAY  MAY  18, 1960   

Train heading home.  Phoned Marjorie as soon as I reached Sudbury from Elliot Lake.  So 

nice to hear her voice.   I wonder how she would have liked the mine experience. Then on 

to Toronto where Eric met me at West Toronto Station.   Drove Eric to his post

as lifeguard on Toronto’s notorious Cherry beach then on to the company HQ.on O’Connor Drive.

Flooyd Faulkner is getting married on Saturday.  Floyd has been a real leader

of men with a tricky sense of humour.   He calls me  ‘Fucking Al’ for instance  and

has done that ever since the terrible Groundhog River job back in 1957.  We lived

together in the  wilderness for nearly three months…only contact was an occasional

food drop and the emergency  evacuation of  poor Walter Helstein who had fallen on

an alder picket and pierced his hand with subsequent screaming infection.  That job

was  a test of endurance and  privation.   So I accepted the nickname with good humour.

Roughest job I ever had.  How rough?  We had to cut the blowfly larva off our sides of  bacon for instance.

Floyd had been  a cage operator in Kirkland Lake until  his other shift operator was

mushed  into jelly when the cage cable broke.  Floyd quit that job…resolved to

only work on the surface thereafter.

The day after his marriage he  will fly to Hudson’s Bay for three months on a geophysical job.

This business can be hard on family life.   

  I picked up my passport and health 

certificate today.   Shortly I will fly to New York…then Glasgow….then Dublin.

Our equipment should arrive  by ship  about the time I land.

Gord  Brand said  “Short job for you in Kinmount for two  days…can

you get your car…pay 9 cents  a  mile?”  “Sure”

Dad is mad…hates to lose the car as trip from West Toronto to Whitby

plant is a  nightmare by street car and bus.  The only redeeming factor in that

cross Toronto trip is that the Racetrack is at the mid point.   Whether going 

to work or coming home he could stop to lay a bet or two.  Harder by streetcar.

THURSDAY MAY  19, 1960

The Kinmount site…a known anomaly where E.M. machines  could be tested.   That’s our family 1953 Meteor.  What cannot be

seen  are the clouds  of black flies and mosquitoes…dense clouds  of them sucked blood in May each  year.

The Arizona crew testing their equipment.   Initially I was slated to join this crew but suddenly the Irish  job  materialized.

Left for Kinmount at 6 a.m. travelling north east on largely empty roads.  Saw

two cow  moose that ran beside me for a short distance just east of  Kinmount.

Our test site was  on  a  barely visible grassed ever bush road  where I

met Gord Brand and Paul Head  who  had set up the large new Induced Polarization

unit.  Operatonal .    Lunch consisted of a case of IPA…Ale.   Then I spent the

afternoon laying spread wires through the bush.  Came upon one shack

containing many dead  porcupines.  A mystery.  Porcupines are rare and

supposed to be protected.

Drove to Peterborough in the evening.  Staying at Rock Haven Motel.

Two big turtles on the side of the road…a Snapping Turtle and a Painted Turtle.

Paul Head told stories about the Arizona job where I was supposed to

go until Ireland came along.  The Irish  job  seems to be a bit of a

mystery.

 In Arizona near the Mexican border

 Apparently one of our guys got tangled up in a fast marriage

down there and had to be rescued by the company.  The story was more

earthy than I describe which made me wonder about the truth of the 

matter  As with all stories told.

FRIDAY MAY 20, 1960

After  a great breakfast we drove back to the job site…from triple lane highway to

double lane to single lane  to gravel road to turf road…to the job site  again.

The month of May is the worst month for blood sucking insects…clouds of

black flies trying to bite lumps of  flesh and burrowing their way along tight brltlines 

or squirrelling into ears…then mosquitoes by the thousands.  The females want

and need human blood…or any other kind of blood.   We managed to only get

1.5 miles of readings done.  This instrument can be dangerous …shock value of 500 volts.

So we were careful.   

SATURDAY MAY 21,  1960

We got a good early start today.  Working fast,  pushed to do so by the clouds

of bloody insects.   We finished the job by 6.30 p.m. and I took off immediately

for Toronto arriving home at 9.30…covered 250 miles in three hours.

Dad spent part of the evening killing black flies that were still trapped

in the car….and  cursing me in his usual hilarious way.  Dad  knew the

Kinmount job site because  I took the family there a year ago.  When

we arrived at the grassed  over end point, I asked:

“Well, Dad,  what do  you think of it?”

“Get me out of this goddamned bastardly bush this goddamn minute.”

Mom, Eric and I often laugh when we think of that comment by Dad.

This is my Dad, Red Skeoch, who made cursing sound like pop music.

SUNDAY MAY 22,1960

Drove to farm with mom and dad.  Rain and fog but we got a few plants in the

ground then drove up to visit Frank and Lucinda (mom’s brother on the next farm north of ours) ..

 returning to Cherry Beach to pick up Eric from his lifeguard job.  Eric has a lot of great stories

about lifeguarding.   Like the time he held  his binoculars to his  eyes  and announced…”Screwing

match over there!”  “Where?  Where?”  And Eric opened his hand.  “Right here” showing a Screw and

a  match in his hand.   I thought that was hilarious.  He had other stories best not put in  print.

It had been a  grand  day.

Our dog Peter had a great day prancing around in the mud.  Not so good

for the  car though.

MONDAY MAY 23, 1960

Bought some 35 mm film at Honest Ed’s on the way to Cherry Beach  with Eric.

Then  Dad  and  I went to the horse races at Old Woodbine.   Dad  was in

his element.

“We’ll get into the club house unless you bugger things up.”

“What must I do.”

“Nothing.  Just look straight ahead with no expression.  Do not

look at the ticket booth. Act like you own the place.  Follow me.”

Dad knew the guys in the ticket booth.  No problem.  I lost a couple

of dollars but Dad seemed to make a few.   Later we picked up Eric

and  had supper at Bassil’s Restaurant before returning home

TUESDAY MAY  24, 1960

Barry Nichols gave me my flight.tickets along with $300  expense money.

Gord Brand and Paul Head left by Land Rover for the Arizona  job.

I handed  in my expense  account for our car…$49.31…covered 480 miles

in three days.

Dan Bereskin arrived from Saskatoon as  a seismic  assistant and was

immediately shipped off to the gas pipeline job  near Niagara Falls.

WEDNESDAY MAY 25, 1960

Back at office.   Everyone seems a little envious  that I got the Irish job.

All is ready.

WEDNESDAY  MAY  25, 1960

Today  I took several uranium samples to the Rover Scout crew.

Rested.

THURSDAY MAY 26, 1960

I did nothing today except look up my friends checked my bag.

FRIDAY  MAY 29, 1960

Final briefing day.   Dr. Norman Paterson asked me to demonstrate

how the AFMag  worked.   Sort of strange because I thought he knew

everything.  Maybe he was just checking me out…not the AFMag.

Then we had one of the secretaries  type up my  report on the

AFMag.   That was a strange experience for sure because she

called  me ‘Dr. Skeoch’   Seemed strange.  

Then Barrie Nichols took me aside.

“Alan, you must pretend to be a permanent employee with

vast experience running the Turam  E. M. unit.  Can you

do that?”

“Sure…no one else seems to know the machine.”

I picked up the volt meters and  went home.

SATURDAY MAY 28, 160

Shopping day…technical books, rainwear, self-timer, filter for camera,

map case.   Talked  with Marjorie. We get along so well.

Thirty tomato plants for the farm then back to the racetrack

with Dad.   In evening Mom and I  went to see The Man from Havana

with Alex  Guinness.  

SUNDAY MAY 29, 1960

Uncle Art, Uncle Norman and Cousin ‘Long’ John  arrived

at the farm to have a beer with Dad…his brothers and nephew.  I went over to Red Stevenson’s place

for coffee in the evening…always welcome there…nice feeling.

MONDAY MAY 30, 1960

Mrs. Stewart next door wondered if I  would drop in on her Mom

in Glasgow since I had a  bit of a layover.  Promised to do  so.  Mr.

Cook drove me to the airport where Doug and  Harry had  arrived

to wave me off.   TCA stewardess nice.  The airport in New York is

immense.  KLM, Royal Dutch  Airlines had a man sent to meet me

and escort me to the right terminal.  Boarded at 6.25 after a  long rush.

Nine hour flying time.  Dutch are very friendly.

TUESDAY  MAY 31, 1960

Landed Prestwick airport south of  Glasgow.  Had  been  a landing 

point for World War II bombers … at least the planes that survived

the long flight across  the Atlantic Ocean.   Rather depressing place.

Spent much of the day in Glasgow.  Long lines of heavy stone tenements

turned black  from coal  fires.   Visited Mrs. Stewart’s Mom who had prepared

a  special  steak  with a fired  egg on top.  Because  of the blackened tenement building

I expected the residents to be unhappy.  The reverse was true … cheerful place.  I was

introduced to other tenants and taken on  a  tour of Glasgow.   Then back to

Prestwick for the fight to Dublin.

WEDNESDAY JUNE 1, 1960

AT last I arrived in  Dublin, Ireland.  Ready for the job.

But equipment had not arrived  at Arbuckle, Smith and

Company.  No Turam.  I will have to wait in Dublin.  Who knows

how long.  Fell asleep three times today.  Very tired.  Being alone

in a new city is not all that pleasant.

Kevin Behan …wife  and daughters …made my days in Dublin enjoyable.  They did not have to do that.   Irish hospitality.

I phoned Mrs. Behan who some friends had suggested as  a Dublin

contact.  She was full of joy.  “My husband  Kevin will be arriving from Italy shortly,

we want you to come out to the house immediately.”   And

so began my  days  in Dublin’s fair city…”

END EPISODE 85

(THIS EPISODE LINKS BACK  TO THE FIRST IRISH EPISODE)

alan skeoch

July 2020

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Re: EPISODE 84 WHAT WERE WE DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF AN ABANDONED URANIUM MINE AT ELLIOTT LAKE (MAY 1960)?

Date: July 22, 2020 at 11:41:45 AM EDT

To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

EPISODE 84    WHAT WERE WE DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF AN ABANDONED  URANIUM MINE AT ELLIOT LAKE (MAY, 1960)?

alan skeoch

July 2020

Note:  For those of you who read  my Episodes dealing with Bunmahon and mining experiences in Southern Ireland you

might find the days prior to my arrival in Ireland  interesting.  Underground at an abandoned  uranium mine near Elliot Lake

I JUST found this picture taken by Barney Dwan as we crawled through the old adits of the Knockmahon

copper mine on the south coast of Ireland.   The picture is not relevant to the story below but should be included

in the Bunmahon  stories.   The contrast between Knockmahon mine (1840 – 1875) and the Can  Met mine

in Elliot Lake (1955 –  1960, below) will be apparent.  In  Elliot Lake the passageways  were big enough to drive large mine

trucks.  In Ireland, the miners had to squeeze through tight places.

MY JOURNAL

MONDAY  MAY 9, 1960

University exams  over on Friday  May 7.  Job started on Monday  May 9.  Each summer  I

hoped  to be re-employed by  Hunting Technical and Explorations Servies  because the jobs

were so exciting even he work was  always exhausting and living conditions far from luxurious  since

most jobs were in some god forsake corner of the world like last summer on the barren lands

of western Alaska about 100 miles inland from the Bering Sea.  From  some points on that treeless

Arctic and sub Arctic shore.  Desolate and infested with every blood sucking fly imaginable.

So remote  that we were armed  with 30 – 06 rifles lest a Kodiak bear felt we were choice bits 

of flesh.   That never happened.  Kodiak bears had lots and dead and dying  salmon to gorge 

upon and, anyway, I was told the bears thought we smelled bad which was believable since

bathing was  not high on our agenda.

Barrie Nichols met me at the office door on 1450 (?) Oconnor Road in East Toronto.

“Alan, you will be going to Arizona on a job near the Mexican border…leaving this week.”

“Snakes in Arizona?”

“I suppose  so…check  out what to do if bitten if you wish.”

“Right…says here that should a rattle snake bite you or a fellow crew member to make

sure the wound is bleeding then suck out the blood  and the venom…spit it out. Do not swallow.”

“What if  I am alone and the snake bites my leg?”

“Could be  tough problem.”

“Might be best to hire Plastic Man (a comic book superhero  in 1960) for the job, Mr. Nichols.”

“Very funny.”

Phoned home at lunch

“Hi Mom, I will be going to Arizona this week…need bush clothes for hot weather.”

“There are snakes in Arizona, Alan…bad snakes.”

“Already prepared for that mom.”   (Did  not mention… blood, snake venom and sucking as a first

aid solution.)

“They have hospitals down  there.”  

Then Barrie Nicholls called me to his office in the afternoon.

“Change  of plans, Alan, you are not going to Arizona…sending  Hilkar and Faulkner.”

“Where am I going then?”

“Southern Ireland.”

“There are no snakes in Ireland…some religious guy drove them out…”

“Very funny, Alan…but your are correct.”

“No need practice blood sucking.”

“What did you say…sorry I was not listening.

“Noting important … When do I leave?”

“Not sure yet…it will take a while to fill out the documents and crate

up the equipment.”

“What instrument will I be using?”

“The Turam with a back up Ronka.”

“Turam…same one we used  in Alaska?”

“Same one.”

“Why me?  Bill Morrison was the Turam expert.”

“We don’t know where he is.”

“And Don Van Every, Ian Rutherford, Mike Chinnery…all the Alaska crew.”

“None of them around…just you.  Do your remember how to use the Turam?”

“Sure.”  (said with a  slight pause)

“Dr. Paterson and  I are counting on  you Alan.  It would be a good  idea

not to mention to our contractor that you are a University student.  Act like

a permanent employee.”

(Under my breath…”In other words be confident”…my interpretation.)

“No worries.”

“Dr. John Stam will be  working with you…Phd. in Geophysics.  Dutchman. He will

do the interpretation.  All  you have to do  is get the raw material…the data…

to him.”

“Do I read you correctly Mr. Nichols…I will be in charge of the instruments

and the field work.”  (Wow, what a responsibility)

“Right.”

“Who will be working with me?”

“Nobody…you will hire and train an Irish crew at Bunmahon…a village

on the south coast of Ireland..  We are counting on you , Alan.”

“I know that…won’t let you down…do not worry.”   (spoken with a  confidence 

I did not really feel.)

“Now start carting up the gear…looks like 11 crates of equipment…get the crates made

somewhere…good strong crates  for the ocean voyage.”

“Do  you mean I am going to Ireland by ship.?”

“No you will fly…but the crates will travel by sea.”

Later in the Afternoon of June 9, 1960

“Hello Mom,  I will not be going to Arizona.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Why?”

“Because, Alan, there are no snakes in Ireland”

Spent  the rest of the afternoon signing documents

and arranging  for my passport.

TUESDAY MAY  10, 1960

By chance I was sent on the Alaska job in 1959. My partner Bill Morrison was an expert who showed  me how to set up the Turam  E. M. unit.  

I never expected to be the sole operator in 1960.  Bill had gone on to other things.  Lucky I made notes.  Suddenly…those notes were crucial.

The Turam method is one of the oldest geophysical electro-magnetic methods used for mineral exploration, devised by Erik Helmer Lars Hedstrom in 1937.^[1] Its name is derived from Swedish “TU” (two) and “RAM” (frame), referring to the two receiving coils.

Method[edit]

An insulated cable a few hundred meters to several kilometers long is laid parallel to the geological strike direction. The cable is either grounded at both ends or laid out in a large loop, and energized at low frequencies (less than 1 kHz). Two receiving coils are moved on lines outside of and perpendicular to the long side of the loop or grounded cable and two components of the resultant field are measured. The primary field generated by the large loop or cable interacts with the soil and subsoil and with a conductive body if present which could be a mineral and creates a resultant electromagnetic field. The electromagnetic field is measured according to two values: the Field Strength Ratio and the Phase Difference occurring between the two receiving coils . It is a fixed source horizontal loop method. Separation of the two moving coils is usually from 10 to 30 metres. Using an AC bridge (also called compensator bridge), Field Strength Ratio is measured in percent and Phase Difference in degrees. In-phase (Real) and quadrature (Imaginary) values can be calculated from these data. Observed field strength ratio readings are used to calculate reduced ratios using a formula determined by the loop size and shape or the grounded wire length and the position of the receiving coils relative to the loop or grounded wire. The Turam method is a frequency domain method and in a way is the precursor of the time domain fixed loop methods. It is claimed to have detected large flat lying conductors to a depth of 400 metres.

I will be expected to operate and  set up both the Turam E.M. (electro magnetic) unit

and the Ronka Electricial  resistivity units.   All  the equipment must be ready for shipment

by boat to Ireland tomorrow….must with, measure, label, itemize everything and  pack

in 8 crates.  Crates no good though…need to get new crates built.

Eric (brother) and  I went to a movie in evening after getting Rev. Currie to authenticate

my passport application.

I find  it hard to believe that I will be going to Ireland.  Others in the company

must be more qualified.   Why me?  Only explanation is that I am  the only person

left who knows how to operate the Turam system.

IRELAND…not so many flies to chew at our flesh…but there were lots of  other difficulties.

All the same my job in Ireland in1960 was unforgettable…lots of  good memories

WEDNESDAY MAY 11, 1960

Picked up the Turam from Charley Houston and and new crates made.

Two problems  solved.  

Then Dr. Paterson called  me over.

“Alan, you will leave tomorrow for Blind River then on to Elliot Lake.”

“Tomorrow?”

“yes, a job at the bottom  of a recently abandoned uranium mine called

Can Met.”

“Abandoned?  Uranium”

“Are you are thinking of Atom Bombs,”

“Yes.”

“I  suppose that is the end use of  the uranium”

“End use?”

“Sounds sinister, “

“Rather.”

“Have you ever been deep in a mine before?”

“No.”

“Well,  put this job  down as a first.”

Later I phoned Marjorie in North Bay.  What a great girl.  Then packed my

bag for Elliot Lake after typing out list for Irish customs.   Events are moving

very fast. 

(So on May  12, 1960, the same year I was sent to Ireland I was sent on a short job  at Elliot Lake.

The uranium mined  at Can Met was enriched  and inserted in metal casings

to become the atomic bombs that terrified so  many of us during the long Cold

War between the Soviet Union and the Western World.    By 1960, however,

the need to stockpile atomic nuclear weapons had come to an end.   There were

enough nuclear bombs on both sides by 1960,  enough to destroy human and

animal life on the whole planet.)

A great adventure was unfolding … with the speed  of summer lightning.  In a few weeks I would find  myself  underground crawling on my

stomach through an ancient adit on the south coast of Ireland.  What a  contrast between the two mines.  Elliot Lake Uraniium mine

was big  enough for huge  machines to drive down  the passageways.   Knockmahon was so small that sometimes the hole was

barely big enough to squeeze through.  Was  I scared?   Strangely, I never gave that much thought except when I asked  Barney Dwan

to take my picture (above) at Knockmahon later in the summer of 1960.

THURSDAY MAY  12, 1960

I nailed the last crate closed today and then began reading the Ronka manual.    Must know what I am doing when we

get to Ireland and  best place to do  that is the Manual…if I can understand it all.   Sass Casper left for a survey job 

at Niagara.  Eric  and dad drove  me today. This is the third day that I have had no time for lunch or even a  coffee…and I

have  only been working for three  days.

In the evening I went to Scouts and Scouter presented  me with my Ramblers Badge.   The guys in the Rover Crew

presented me with a  rosary for protection in Ireland then mom and  dad  drove me down to Union Staton

to catch the train to Blind River.

FRIDAY MAY 13, 1960

Passed  a wonderful night in my birth on the train just looking out the window watching the world by.  Really exciting…always

an adventure.  Awakened at 8 a.m. for a sumptuous breakfast in the dining car.  In other words bacon, eggs, toast, marmalade

and coffee.   Stopped for a few minutes in Sudbury…city looks depressing.  Just bare stretches rock wiht little vegetation.  Could be 

the face of the moon.  Continued  to read the Ronka manual.  Then we  arrived at Spragge where I got off the train and took

a bus to Elliot Lake.   

Uranium mining has fallen on tough times.  I guess the American have made enough atomic bombs now which means

our uranium market has collapsed.  Very depressing city.   Once it was a  boom town of 10,000 people…the place to be…the place  where

jobs were easy to find  and the money good.  Housing was so hard to get that some miners slept in their cars.   Most were single

men, many of them recent immigrants.  Others were  familiar with the nomadic  life of miners.  At least one man lived

in a tent with his wife and five kids.   Boom town in 1958.  Bust town in 1960. On  May 13,1960, all I could see was abandoned trailer camps,  cars stripped

of anything valuable like tires, and fields here and  there of repossessed vehicles.   Strange how modern buildings with glass

and aluminum fittings looks  so depressing when empty.

Proceeded  with geologist John  Hogan to Can. Met. Uranium mine three miles outside Elliot Lake.   Originally Can Met

employed 1,000 men but today it just has a skeleton staff of 70 to keep the place open.   Maybe even those men are

just here until we complete our underground  survey.   We have our meals  in  a  huge mess hall …big enough for

the huge work force that once ate here with meals cooked and served by Crawley and  McKraken food services as

the sign said..  Not anymore   

Tested  the Ronka and did some map  work.

SATURDAY MAY 14, 1960

This rant  style  lodge  was  built for Can  Met executives  but rarely used.  We lived there for our time at Can Met.  See interior below

CAN. MET. uranium mine cost 25 million dollars to open in the late 1950’s and it closed in 1960

having never made a profit.  Investors in mining stocks are often led  by flattering prospects of great

wealth that never ‘pans out’  …a gold mine expression.   In other words greed has a lot to do with

financing  mines.

The mine was shut down when we arrived.   Silent.  Even the huge lumbering ‘cage’  which would

drop us down the shaft for our 8 to 12 hours shifts.  Sad…a bit frightening.

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Bees

Date: July 3, 2020 at 9:48:16 PM EDT

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

BEES AND  BEEKEEPING…AND THOSE  CLOUDS

alan skeoch

“What a  great day for dreaming…;puts 

me in mind that snippet from John Lennon’s

CLOUDS NEVER GET IN MY WAY

Do you want something to do?

  Take a load  off your feet and  see what you can

alan skeoch

July 4, 2020

Sent from my iPhone