Chapter 9: Can Am Drilling And The Missouri Breaks

 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 

Chapter 6: Snake Hunter

The Old Man had a special gun that he used to hunt rattle snakes with.  He made it from an old single shot 12 gauge shot gun that he sawed the butt off of and carved a curved hand grip from. Then he sawed the barrel off, down to about 10 or 12 inches.  He filed the end of the barrel to round the edges off, and attached the handle with wood screws and glue.  After everything dried he put it all together and sanded it all round and varnished and finished the wood.  It was really pretty.  Then he soaked the barrel in bluing for a good 72 hours.  After polishing the pieces he put the gun together.  You can legitimately say the Old Man had a hand cannon.  A very effective snake killing machine. 

Montana has a fairly large rattle snake population.  It's legal to hunt rattlers year round.  The thing about hunting rattlers, they tend not to get intimidated by anything, and have some pretty serious attitude.  

Montana has an indigenous Prairie Rattler population.  They are in the Pit Viper family being related to Cobras and Asps from Egypt.  Prairie Rattlers, like their cousins the Cobra live in cavernous holes and pits underground.  They also share a mark that creates a divot between their eyes and nostrils that makes them look mean as hell.  

These were the main prey of the Old Man and his Snake Killer.  That was the chosen name of his home made hand cannon, "Snake Killer."  

Hunting Prairie Rattlers is a fairly dangerous affair and training a snake hunter is just as dangerous.  Early on a Saturday morning the Old Man wakes the Young Man early and tells him, "You and I are going on an adventure."   On the way out the door Grandma put a beaded necklace around the Young Man's neck.  It was red and blue with a coiled snake in it's center and seven directions pointed out from it's middle.  Grandma said it was a snake charm to protect the Young Man from being bitten. 

The Old Man and the Young Man walked to a high nole on the back side of the property.  The top of the nole was a sand hill that the Old Man said was a snake den. They each had on a pair of high leather boots, chaps, gloves, and a full length leather jacket with long sleeves.  This was the armor of the snake hunter.  

To get to the top of the nole the two had to cross a stream.  The Young Man crossed first with the Old Man behind him.  When he got to the other side of the steam he started taking his first step up to get to the top.  As he was taking that step the Young Man suddenly found himself dangling 3 feet in the air staring down at a coiled up snake ready to strike and rattling up a loud buzz that he seemed to miss.  The Old Man had the Young Man by the collar of the jacket, holding him up with his left arm.  The Young Man heard what sounded like hell being unleashed as the hand cannon, "Snake Killer" was fired once.  The head of the snake disappeared and the rattling stopped.  The Old Man just said softly, "Why don't you let me lead."  Then he put the Young Man down, and stepped around beside him to the front.  The hunt had begun.

Peace and Balance,

John

Chapter 2: Fresno, Rattlesnakes, and Northern Pike.

 

Fresno lake is a man made reservoir about 14 miles north and west of Havre Montana.  It is the main water supply for Hill County, a county in the Northern Badlands about a third the size of the entire state of New Hampshire.  Things get bigger the further west you travel. 

The old man had a 1968 Chevy Impala SS convertible complete with a hemi fuel injected 4 barrel carb that sat on top of a formula 409 engine.  It was a pretty car that had balls.  The old man would chuckle at the Montana Highway patrol.  

In early summer the old man took his children, a preteen boy and a toddling girl fishing along a beach front at the foot of a bluff three quarters around Fresno Lake.  This was a pre-chosen fishing hole that only he and the boy knew about. It was their secret.   

Two coolers where taken on the trip.  One filled with bait, ice, and drinks, the other packs of hot dogs, buns, the proper condiments, and snacks for the toddling girl.  She didn't mind what she ate so much as it tasted good.  There was a traveling hibachi in the trunk sitting next to the most important items, the fishing poles and tackle boxes.  

The rangy crew piled out of the car and the boy could hear the old man grumbling something under his breath.  He glanced up at the old man who looked down at him with eyes that know.  There seemed to be an exchange of an idea being passed between the two.  The boy started smiling and the old man began laughing a big belly laugh, and they both opened the food cooler at the same time.  The boy grabbed a package of hot dogs, handed them to the old man and said, "Yes!"  

The Old Man, the Boy, and the Toddling Girl all began throwing whole hot dogs and parts of hot dogs out into the waters of the lake, the toddler had one in each hand and one being chewed.  It must be time for lunch.  The girl walked back to the cooler and let out a blood curdling scream. She was back pedaling as fast as her little legs could move.  The old man moved like lightening and was at the cooler before the boy could react.  This is when above the screaming could be heard the rattling.  Found under the cooler was a large and startled Diamond Back Rattlesnake.  It must have crawled under the cooler when no one was watching to keep cool.  The old man checked the girl over, she was fine then produced a hand gun magically from some hidden area of his jacket and shot the snake dead.  The girl was holding her ears and the boy stood, mouth gapping open, with the look of astonishment on his face.  

The old man skinned and cleaned the snake and broke out the hibachi.  Snake was now on the menu as it seems the hot dogs became fish food.  It was time to eat.  The toddler was happy and eating cut carrots, cookies, and the remaining cold dogs.  The old man and the boy munched on snake and looked at each other for a brief moment, "Chicken" was the comment the old man came up with followed by a giggling from the boy.  The girl just smiled and stared at the two.  After all she was only 2 years old, and would eventually grow to question the sanity of both.

Time to fish.  The wager was on.  The winner pays for dinner.  The old man was always the winner of such bets, and the boy was just learning the secrets of landing a big one.  Casting as far as he could the boy heard that satisfying clunk of the reel locking in place.   The old man's cast was twice and far, but the boy ignored his taunts and just smiled and began slowly reeling in the line.  The line came in, nothing.  The toddler walked up to the boy and handed him a spoon lure, "Grampa said you wanted this." 

The old man had already landed 2 fish, a sun fish, and a Northern Pike about 7 inches long.  Northern's look like a cross between a dinosaur and a barracuda, all bones and teeth, don't get your fingers stuck in the mouth. 

The sun started laying low on the horizon and it was time to crack open the bait.  In the drink cooler were a few Pepsi's and a container of nightcrawlers and another of little fishes.  A mix of the two was in order.  The girl grabbed a Pepsi and handed it to the boy to open with a toothy smile that showed one missing in the lower middle.  

The boy baited the hook with the old man watching, and again they cast their lines out as far as they could, and began reeling slowly into shore.  Almost instantly they both had a hit and began battling the unseen foe on the end of the line.  The old man reeled fast, then waked back further on shore and drug the fish inland.  The boy followed suit, they both had a pretty big Northern attached to the opposite end. Again and again they pulled in the lines.  Each time a fish was caught.  Then it was time to stop fishing and clean the catch.

The old man took a flat board out of the trunk of the car and began showing the boy how to clean a Northern Pike.  First to make a cut from the bottom to just below the gills to clean out the intestines and and stomach.  There was a hesitation, disbelief, and the boy showed the old man his fish.  The old man showed the boy his fish.  In the stomachs of each of their fish was found whole and parts of whole hot dogs.  It looked like the pike had just inhaled the dogs without chewing.  There they were in front of the two fisherman,  "Incredible"   

"Chicken" was all the Old Man would say as they packed up to go home with the boy and the toddling girl laughing.  He was paying for dinner. 

Peace and Balance,

John