Читать книгу Growing Up in the Oil Patch - John Schmidt J. - Страница 9

Chapter 4

Over Lake Erie Ice to Leamington

The Americans, in strait-laced Leamington, were looked upon with askance for their hard drinking and ebullient ways, by everybody except the kids.

They were heroes to the kids around town, especially on the Fourth of July, when they would give them 50 cents to buy firecrackers — bigger ones than most kids had ever been able to buy before with their pennies.

While the use of alcoholic beverages may be defensible on social grounds, it is indefensible when its use interferes with public safety. Elmer Selkirk, a former town clerk of Leamington, recalls how mixing nitroglycerine with alcohol resulted in the deaths of two oilmen. It was on a day when he and a chum played hookey from school to go to the Ira Rymal farm, to watch the drillers “shoot” a well.

Because of the peculiarities of the rock strata in the Leamington field, it was necessary to shoot nearly every well. This was a spectacle well worth any young fellow’s time to stay off school, albeit it was a dangerous one.

When the drill had gone into the oil sand, (all kinds of rocks and soil strata were called “oil sand” by the drillers), it was frequently found the gas pressure was not enough to force the oil to flow through the pores in the rock, or that the rock was not sufficiently porous. In that case, a charge of nitro was sent down and exploded. This shattered the rock and almost invariably started the oil flowing.

The nitro was brought from the factory near town in square cans by teams and buckboards. On the side of the buckboards were two Ys, in which the cans were strapped. The reels for lowering and firing were carried behind. The buckboards were drawn over the rough roads at a fast pace, the drivers seemingly careless of the enormous power stored in the cans underneath them.

“The few car drivers of the time, used to give the well-known wagons a wide berth. They thought them dangerous,” said Selkirk. “When drivers saw one of them at a distance, they always seemed to think it convenient to go up the next concession, or to take the other side road.”

Delivered to the well site, the nitro was poured into long thin cartridges or shells which, as a rule, held 10 quarts. Three, five, six or ten of these cartridges — according to the judgment of the shooter — were filled. Then, hooked to the end of the wire lowering line, the shells were slowly let down the casing. They were allowed to descend one on top of the other, in such a way that one fitted into the other. When each shell came to rest, the hook disengaged and the line reeled up. The lowest shell was supported up to the proper height in the sand, by a small tin tube called an “anchor.”

The shooters had to be extremely careful in lowering the first shell; that it went to the proper place and had not stuck on some projection in the wall above where it was intended to be. It was necessary to use a measuring line to determine if the shell went down to the proper place.

There were several ways of exploding the nitroglycerine after it had been put into position in the well. The method in longest use was known as the “go-devil.”

For a go-devil shot, the top shell had in its upper part a small perforated tin tube containing three or four little anvils, one above the other, each carrying a waterproof percussion cap. The nitroglycerine, when the shell was full, flowed in around these caps through the perforations in the small tube. On the upper cap rested an iron rod, fastened to a flat plate above the shell. When this shell was in place and the lowering line reeled up, an iron casting called the “go-devil” was dropped into the well. This falling weight struck upon the iron plate and the stock set off the percussion caps, expolding the nitroglycerine.

If the go-devil did not set off the shot because either it did not fall with sufficient rapidity through the salt water, or mud had fallen on the plate, the shot had to be “squibbed.” The squib was a small shell, holding a quart or more of nitroglycerine. It was lowered until it rested on the shells in the well and was then fired, by letting a hollow weight run down on the wire line. Guided by the line, this weight struck a firing head similar to that used on larger shells and the explosion of the squib set off the larger bulk of nitroglycerine below.

When the charge was set off a dull thud was heard in the bowels of the earth. In a few moments, which seemed like hours, there was a resounding roar as the oil came rushing to the surface bringing with it water and whatever mud was in the hole. The resultant black spray often gushed high above the derrick.

The operation of filling the cartridges and devil-squib with nitro was always accompanied by a certain amount of risk, as this explosive is as easily ignited by friction as by percussion. For that reason, each cartridge was carefully washed off for fear that any liquid spilling over the sides and the cartridge rubbing against the side of the casing while being lowered into the well, could set it off prematurely.

It was by neglecting to do this, by a couple of devil-may-care American well shooters, who had a couple too many under the belt, that the hookey-playing adventure of Elmer Selkird and his pal, climaxed into one of horror.

“I guess they just didn’t give a damn,” he said. “All of a sudden there was a premature explosion and arms, legs and derrick timbers fell all around us as we stood and watched. I remembered that day all my life.”

Accidents happened only once in the life of a high-explosives handler. Once was the last time. Nitroglycerine was especially tricky to handle. Fumes from the empty cans were the most dangerous of all. The “shooters” had a real fear of the empties.

The stuff would freeze in winter and had to be thawed out in barrels of hot water. This was an eerie, if not downright dangerous, job. (Handling of nitro has been eliminated today, since the practice of sand fracturing and the use of acid has become standard practice.)

Although carrying full cans of the explosive was the safest of all for the handlers, there was always the possibility that a hard jolt would set it off and blow everything sky-high.

Ice boat on Lake Erie at Leamington, Ontario.