Montana in the winter can be very cold. The plains are flat and the winds blow. A normal wind in winter across the northern plains can exceed 30 MPH. When it's 60 below 0 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind is blowing at 30 MPH the feel like temperature is in the Oh My God degrees and a person can freeze to death in the manner of moments.
While the Boy was still in High School he landed a job working for an oil and gas chemical supply company as a delivery truck driver. The company's name was Can Am Drilling Supply and was owned by the father of a friend of the Boy. He was paid an hourly wage plus 10 cents a mile, including overtime. Over a period of time the Boy became hard as a rock and could pick up 2 hundred pound bags of cement at a time. A feat that did not go unnoticed by the Football Coach. The Boy was the team's varsity center, his primary job was to protect the quarterback. A job he was very good at.
The Boy was the only high school student that carried an on call beeper around with him 24/7. If the beeper went off he followed the instructions that came through from the company dispatcher. Not often, but once in awhile he would be called out of school to drive a delivery to either an oil rig or gas well being drilled at any location throughout the state of Montana. Montana is a big place, he drove a bunch of miles.
The Boy was responsible for loading his own delivery truck, a 2 ton flatbed truck that had a raised bed and a dual shift gearing system. That is a shift stick that has a knob on it that shifts back and forth from high and low through 12 gears. The truck was a Chevy that was considered a 2 ton, but was regularly loaded with about 18,000 pounds of cement, barite, poly S, calcium carbonate, and other chemicals and mud that are necessary for the proper operation in the drilling process for oil and gas.
The Boy could hire any temporary employee he deemed necessary to help him deliver and unload the truck when they arrived at the rig. He usually hired the same friend. They could unload a truck in short order. The Boy also had an expense account. He could purchase food and drinks while on the job. All he needed to do was keep all receipts which he would give to the Owners wife, who was also the HR person and book keeper. The money would be included in his next paycheck. It was a good system. He would also purchase 12 packs of soda and other beverages to bribe the crew and hands on the rig to help in unloading the truck. If they assisted he would give them the drinks.
He was a good driver, and felt confident that he could drive anything on wheels. A family trait. The Old Man had taught him how to drive his Peterbilt a few years before and the Chevy delivery truck drove and felt very much like the Old Man's semi.
Texas Oil was one of the biggest oil drilling companies in The United States and a had foot hold in Montana.
The Football season was over, and the Wrestling season was in full swing. The Boy was going to practices everyday after school then he would report to work. He would clean the warehouse, put stock in order, and make deliveries when necessary, this was full time job his last year in school.
Right after lunch on a winter's day the beeper went off while the Boy was in English class. The instructions said to deliver an order to the one place that the Boy feared, especially in the dead of winter, the Missouri Breaks. The Breaks are an area in Montana that surrounds the Missouri river in North central Montana. It comprises about 375,000 square acers of public land that is some of the most remote and dismal land in the country. That was were he was driving. It was sunny outside, and 35 below zero at a quarter after 12 PM. He tried hiring his usual helper, but his friend said, "No!"
The Boy reported to the warehouse and loaded up his truck. It was really cold, really cold, but the truck had a good heater. He drove to the company gas pump and filled up both tanks of the tuck. The truck would hold about 200 gallons of fuel in two tanks that could be switched back and forth from with a valve switch under the driver seat of the truck. He grabbed a burger and fries for dinner with a coke, and bought a 12 pack of bubbly beverage for the rig crew, then headed south through the Bear Paws to the Breaks. So far so good.
The Boy was pretty good at tracking his locations with a map and compass. He knew about where the rig was supposed to be operating. He had it marked on his map. At about 4 in the afternoon he arrived at where the rig was supposed to be located. Nothing was found. He got on the radio and called up the rig. The Tool Pusher, the boss on site, answered and gave him the correct coordinates. The Boy found the rig, right over the horizon. He wasn't to far away.
The Boy backed his truck into a make shift loading doc and crawled out of the cab to find some help to unload. There was no one on site except the Tool Pusher. He actually helped the Boy unload. It took a few hours. They were alone and he had more on the truck than usual. When done, the Boy said his goodbyes and headed down the road. He didn't bother checking the outside temperature, his first mistake.
The sun had gone down, and the temp was in the extreme cold area. It was 60 below and the wind was kicking up. The heater in the truck was working, sort of. It was getting cold. About 35 minutes into the drive back the truck began sputtering. The Boy reached under the drivers seat and switched tanks, his second mistake.
The engine sputtered and stopped dead. The Boy tried switching tanks again, nothing. The only sound was the rrr of the starter trying to start the truck, nothing. After awhile the Boy gave up on the truck and made the decision to walk back to the rig. He got on the radio, no answer. He radioed his intention to walk back to who ever was listening, and started to walk. He did not have on the appropriate shoes, and his jacket was not quite right. The walk became a struggle. He was walking to live, that was his focus. He could not feel his feet anymore, and all he could hear was a very high pitch whistle in his ears. There was a glow just over the horizon, and the rig came into view. He kept walking.
Just as he was about to step across the out fence of the rig, a white pickup appeared and the door flew open. It was the Tool Pusher. That is the last the Boy could remember. The Boy woke once in a cot on the rig is a warm room. The Tool Pusher was talking to another rig hand who was nodding his head and saying yes sir. The Boy went back to sleep. He woke again in the back seat of the cab of a dually then went back to sleep.
The Boy woke again in a bed at the Northern Montana Hospital in Havre. He had all of his toes and fingers, and his noes was still in tacked. The Tool Pusher had saved his life. His boss walked in the door and told him, "The fuel lines of your truck were frozen solid. The tank switch had broken off and was not working. You are a lucky SOB." Can Am Drilling paid for all hospital bills, and gave the Boy a pretty good overtime check. The Boy decided this was not the best place to work... That is another story.
Peace and Balance,
John
No comments:
Post a Comment