Fwd: EPISODE 87 MY LAST KICK AT THE CAN…LAST MINING EXPLORATON JOB SUMMER 1965

Begin forwarded message:

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

Subject: EPISODE 87 MY LAST KICK AT THE CAN…LAST MINING EXPLORATON JOB SUMMER 1965

Date: August 5, 2020 at 9:01:06 AM EDT

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>

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