EPISODE 87 MY LAST KICK AT THE CAN…MY LAST MINING EXPLORATON JOB SUMMER 1965
(Marjorie surprised us all…dare not say more)
alan skeoch’
August 2020
THE STRANGEST THING HAPPENED WITH THIS STORY. I WANTED A PICTURE OF
THE COMINCO OPEN PIT MINE SO PUNCHED UP MERRITT B.C. ON THE INTERNET AND THERE
IN BOLD PRINT WAS MY ORIGINAL STORY…SAME EVENTS AS BELOW BUT DIFFERENT. SO
YOU WILL GET TWO VERSIONS OF THE SAME STORY. HOW ACCURATE WAS MY MEMORY.
YOU BE THE JUDGE…VERSION #2 COMING NEXT EPISODE.
COMINCO MINE … picture taken several years later than our visit in 1965
…Now Called the Highland Creek Mine.
Open Pit mines use massive Euclid trucks to clear away the overburden to get at the ore.
This is the Cominco ‘holding pond” for mine tailings. It is now a new lake complete
with trout for fishermen and fisherwomen. Not all mines are disastrous to the
environment although that is hard to believe when the open pits are in operation.
VERSON #1: WRITTEN FROM MEMORY ON AUGUST 4, 2020
Yes, I am back. This terrible summer of 2020 has not been pleasant. There has been
a big gap in my plants deliver an episode each day the goddamn Covid 19
virus has forced so many of you into involuntary isolation. I have wanted
to put some of these stories in print for ages…actually for 60 years. While locked
up like a lunatic this spring and summer I have been typing and some of
you have taken the time to read and comment on the stories. Thanks. Your
comments are like a pint of Guinness to an Irish alcoholic.
Two comments before I begin Episode 87
1) The pain in my gall bladder was excruciating. My performance in the
emergency ward of Mississauga’s Trillium hospital a few days ago was
embarrassing. Having an anxiety attack while nearly nude really threw
me for a loop. (see last Episode for the particulars). I am fine now.
No gall bladder. the holes in my chest now match the holes
in my head. The death of Gabriela, one our daughters in law was
a double shock contributing to the panic attack no doubt.
2) This Episode 87 does not follow the chronological order of the Irish
stories. I will get back to them shortly. I must tell the of the story of the Summer of
1965 while I remember what happened. Cannot find my journal. Just memory. But
the events are true.
EPISODE 87 MY LAST KICK AT THE CAN…SUMMER 1965
We had been married for two years. A good marriage. Loved each
other with no second thoughts. at least none on my part. Maybe Marorie
had second thoughts after this adventure. Doubt it. Best Friends and lovers as they say. Everything was new
to the both of us. We started life as husband and wife with nothing. No
pile of money. No great rich parents to load us with the luxuries of life.
We were self supporting. Marjorie was a teacher at Emery Junior High School
and I had job teaching history and english at Parkdale Collegiate Institute.
We looked forward to a quiet summer
in our huge apartment at 120.5 Westiminster Avenue in west end Toronto.
I blame that fish and chip dinner we ate at a greasy spoon store on Roncesvales
Avenue. Ulcerated mouth … Trench Mouth. It began slowly with a
sore throat and progressed to a ghastly mouth that became one huge
ulcer. Eating food was like sticking my throat in a bonfire. And it
was ugly to look at…white rather than red. We reported the suspected
origin to the Board of Health where the nurse explained Trench Mouth
comes from eating off plates with cracks. “More often coffee cups with
cracks.” The inspector wondered how sure i was the infection came
from the fish and chip store. I was not sure. And regretted
sending inspectors to the small hole in he wall restaurant. “Happens
all the time, people make guesses and restaurant owners get hurt.”
I wished the inspector would leave. Wished I could lie down.
Wished the pain would go away. wished I could eat or drink without
incessant fire in my throat.
“The summer is terrible, Marjorie…On all those mining jobs we never got
sick in the bush. Cooked our food some of which was disgusting. Remember
that ‘campers special stew’. Dried. All it needed was boiling water.”
“Boiled over a fire late at night as we set up camp. Dark. The stew tasted
great.”
“Then in the morning light we noticed the pot was full of tiny dead worms.
The dried stew had been pre-digested by the worms. We at the worms.
Never got sick.”
“Worse than that was the sowbelly maggots…and weiners exuding a
white preservative that stuck to our hands like glue. Never got sick
in 9 summers of mining exploration.” (Not quire true)
“Then I got this nice safe teaching job and here I am flat on my back with Trench Mouth.”
“Might be a good idea to stop talking about it Alan.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Not easy…this summer seems dreadfull.”
The Trench Mouth ordeal was nearly over in the first week of August.
The phone rang.
“Alan, this is Norm Paterson. How is the teachig career going?”
“Very well,” (What would Dr. Paterson be calling me for?….certainly not
for small talk. Certainly not to hear me whine about Trench Mouth.
“How would you like a short job?”
“Great.” (Amazing how my blubbering about Trench Mouth ended so abruptly)
“We need a guy to do a seismic job in British Columbia.”
“The Portable Seismic…FS 2?”
“yes, same one you used in New Brunswick and again on the Niagara River job…you know it.”
“How long?”
“A week…maybe two weeks. You will be back in time for school.”
(Norm…i mean Doctor Paterson…knew I was a mining exploration addict.)
“When?”
“Leave tomorrow…Air Canada to Vancouver then local flight to Kamloops where
a car has been rented. Then south to Merritt.”
“Why the urgency?”
“Open pit mine with a big problem. One wall of the open pit seems
unstable. Could collapse into the mine. Wipe them out financially.”
“So how will our seismic machine,” (Funny how I began using
the term ‘our’) How will we help”
“The geologists and mine manager are hoping that somewhere along the
line of unstable rubble there will be a big hook of bed rock capable
of stopping the collapse. Millions of dollars involved. If we can help…
the cost will be negligible.”
(I do not remember ever asking Norm…I mean Dr. Paterson…how much
I would be paid. The chance to have an adventure trumped money anyhow.)
Trench mouth be damned…I was back in the saddle again as the song says.)
Some of you readers may have already made a snap judgment about me.
“Damn fool does not know he is now a married man…never consulted Marjorie..ready
to bugger of on an adolescent male holiday without thinking about Marjorie.”
Not true. The previous summer we took a job in the bush north of Sault Ste Marie
and I invited Marjorie to join us. She arrived on the ACR
(Algoma Central Railway) at our flag stop…i.e. we simply
waved to the engineer and he stopped the train. Marjorie got off
carrying two things. Both of which were quite useless. She brought
her sewing machine … electric…useless. And our cat, Presque Neige’….wolves
howled every night. Marjorie was not averse to adventure. While waiting for
me to fly out to Salt Ste. Marie she accepted an invite to practice takeoffs and
landings with a character just learning to fly. She only got out of that
adventure by pretending to throw up all over the windscreen as they dipped and dove
“Well,Alan, what did Dr. Paterson want?”
“We have a job in B..C. Flying out tomorrow.”
“Does Dr. Paerson know I will be coming as well.”
“Not exactly…no…he does not know.”
“Who pays for me?”
“I will pay…our holiday time.”
“But you will be working…no holiday.”
“Better than a holiday.”
So we flew to Vancouver the next day. I was a bit worried. How would the geologists
and mine manager react when I arrived with my wife. Not such a good idea.
Miners facing the loss of a whole multi-million dollar mine would not be
amused. Their thoughts could be…
“He brought his goddamned wife.”
(and then phone Norm…I mean Dr. Paterson…in Toronto.)
“We waned a seismic man out here…not an asshole with his wife.”
(That could spell trouble…but i had a plan. The plan turned out to
be bad.)
“Marjorie, could you stay in Vancouver overnight and then come
to my motel room in Merrit tomorrow. Take the bus. That would give me time to
prepare the big shots for your arrival..”
“Suppose I could….” (she was not ecstatic about the idea but
accepted the plan with reservations.)
So I few to Kamloops. Rented a big flashy red convertible and
drove to Merrrit with the radio belting out Gordon Lightfoot and
Peter, Paul and Mary. Life was good. Forgot about the Trench
Mouth.
Earth mover…like riding a dinosaur…cowboy drivers sat in that little cage in front. Bounced their way to the dump site.
I drive right down into the open pit…an immense hole in the land.Parked at the mine
managers shack, Some cowboy about my age came thundering out of the pit
driving an earth moving machine…bouncing along with a load of waste to dump in
the tailing dam. He saw me…saw the red convertible and decided to scare the
shit out of me for no good reason. He wanted see how close his earth mover
could get to the passenger door of the convertible. He misjudged and ripped
a slab of steel siding as if he was driving an immense can opener So much
for the red convertible. We got a less glorious replacement. next day/.
That little incident was a forewarning of things to come.
I thought Marjorie was safely tucked away in a modest
hotel in East Vancouver. East Vancouver? Never been there.
Not such a nice place so I am told often by Marjorie over
the past 60 years.
“Alan, the hotel was terrifying and the
streets outside were worse. Scared me.
So I left it behind. Caught an overnight bus at 10 p.m.
from Vancouver to Merrit. Found your motel…
signed in and went to bed. You were out on
the job”
This was true. I was out on the job with the big shots. Doing some practice
blasts on the edge of the immense open pit
Nice guys. Soon convinced I knew what I was
doing.
“Let;s go for a beer near your motel.?”
“Good idea.”
The men were startled to find a woman sleeping in my motel room.
I was just as startled to find Marjorie there. but immediately
introduced her to the geologists and the mine manager.
“This is my wife Marjorie.”
They winked! They grinned. They did not believe me…they were
convinced I had hired a hooker from Vancouver to ease the
tensions of the seismic job. No matter what i said they grinned.
“Marjorie, no matter what I say, those guys are
convinced you are a Vancouver prostitute.””
“Nothing much we can do about that…I will just
have to play the role…could be amusing.:’
:”How in hell;s half acre did you ever get to Merrit on
your own?”
“It was not easy but I sure was not going to spend
the night in that hotel.”
(Secretly I marvelled at Marjorie’s ability to take the bull
by the horns and adjust circumstances. Some of her
friends were shocked at our earthy adventures.
alan skeoch
August 2020
Post Script. “Nice guy sat beside me on the bus…all night.” Wow!
The job worked out OK. First full day the powder man fell off the edge of
the open pit carrying our box of Forciete and blasting caps. We hauled him
back to the mine crest. His fall was only about thirty or forty feet on a stable
slope. Forcite does not explode easily.
Later, when the big shots came to see a demonstration I set everything up…seismic
machine as base point and blasting stations with 50 or 100 for intervals. My job
was simple. Push the ‘fire’ button and read how many milliseconds it took for
the sound wave to reach the seismograph. What could go wrong.?
Lots. Dr. Paterson knew that so before takeoff from Toronto he gave me a small
package of computer boards. “Alan, if the machine fails, just slip out a computer
board or two and replace them with these new boards. I don’t expect that to happen
but you never know.”
Of course the first firing failed. The forcite exploded but the milliseconds
of the sound wave did not register. And all the mine officials were standing
beside me. Big time pressure. “Keep cool, Alan…cool.” My thoughts.
“Just a computer problem fellows. Will fix it in a minute.”
(opened up the seismic machine…slipped out one computer board and
slid in another from the stash provided by Norm.
“OK,fire again. All clear.” I pushed the button . The Forcite exploded and
the millisecond lights lit up. Perfect. Everyone was impressed including me.
I do not remember whether we found a bedrock hook to stop the mine
collapse. Not sure we did. What I do remember was looking down
…a long way down…to the bottom of the open pit. And watching the
detonations below. Huge explosions…massive walls of overburden just
folded into piles of rubble for the Euclids to receive from Excavators.
AMMONIUM NITRATE detonated in an open pit mine.
“Ammonium Nitrate by the ton…poured down blasting holes and then
sweetened with diesel oil. Detonated. Makes piles of rubble. End of the world
it seems at times.”
We finished the job. Had a couple of meals with the mine manager and others.
Marjorie was included…bubbly as ever. She played her new role to perfection.
They continued to wink. Actually they liked her. By the end of the job they may
have even considered she was really my wife.
“How will we get home, Alan?”
“Job is over. On all my jobs I tried to take the slow
way home. To enjoy the sights of a strange place.”
“Cut the guff, how are we going home?”
“By the train…the transcontinental…Dining car and
big bubble viewing car…and bunk beds.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“I cut the cost buy just ordering one bed…a lower….we will both be in
the same bed….might be a little tight.”
alan skeoch
August 2020
END VERSION #1 EPISODE 87