Chapter 2: Encounter and Requiem

"Sonny?"

I opened my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision.

"You better get a cup of coffee and a cigarette. This will take more time. I'll call when we're ready," said the driller.

Yeah? Why didn't you say so? Like an hour and a half ago? All I heard was, "We'll be ready in ten minutes."

It wasn't his fault. Sometimes, when something went wrong, it was followed by a flood of other problems. There's nothing you can do about that but deal with it. It just took time and effort, but when you've been on your feet for 30-something hours, even a minute delay seems like an hour. They had been busy with the high-pressure lines and the pumps for the last two hours. The pipes kept freezing or leaking. Then, one of the pumps broke a piston. We had a standby pump, but if something happened with that, we would be caught with our pants down. Not a good thing in the middle of a critical operation. By the time both pumps were checked and operational, the lines had frozen again. In the meantime, I had been standing in the cold, expecting to get on with the operation in the next ten minutes. I could have gotten at least a catnap. But, that's the way things went.

You never know when Murphy would come for a visit!

I chuckled at the thought. The strange sense of humor that was prevalent among the drilling bunch had grown on me from the first day I had stepped on a rig floor as a visiting student. And, I never lost it, even through my anger. I didn't feel like a chuckle let alone laugh--I was just too tired--but I could still appreciate the humor. Without that I wouldn't have lasted here this long. You can't run on empty or on anger only. I was dead tired. I just wanted to find a warm bed and crawl inside. Every joint was stiff from not moving and I was cold to my bones. It wasn't that cold, perhaps -8 C, but the lack of sleep, and the tiredness took its toll. I didn't think a cup of coffee or a cigarette would help. I've been going on that for the last seven hours, taking ten minute breaks every two hours or so. I just needed the sleep.

Instead of answering, I nodded, and tried to loosen my muscles. That done, I took a couple of tentative steps to test my legs. I had been leaning back against a wooden panel with my knees locked stiff and trying to sleep on my feet. Well, you wouldn't call it a sleep. I was resting my eyes, and had been following the progress with my ears; listening to the banging of hammers, and yelling and shouting. I walked down the stairs, and headed to the kitchen. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from the fridge and a jar of honey. I needed some sugar. Filling up a large mug with coffee, I added five large spoonfuls of honey, stirring the mix. That was a trick I learned from the German driller. I used to dump 10-15 lumps of sugar to my coffee. I was young enough not to feel the effects of too much sugar, but it wasn't a healthy thing to do--young or old. Honey was a much better replacement. However, that was my only concession. Chocolate bars were non-negotiable, when I didn't have something to eat. If I hadn't forgotten to arrange some egg sandwiches and soup with the cook for the late night operation, I wouldn't have to settle for chocolate bars.

Back at my office cabin, I ate the bars, chasing them with the coffee, and lit a cigarette, keeping an eye on the rig floor from the open door. A few minutes later, I was feeling much better. The chair looked inviting, but if I sat, I wasn't sure I would be able to get back on my feet--not even with the assistance of a forklift--so, I kept pacing the small space. By the time I finished my coffee and half way through my second cigarette, there was a sharp whistle. When I looked at the rig floor, I saw the driller signing me, "We're ready!" Putting out my cigarette, I left the cabin, and headed for the rig floor at a brisk pace.

Here we go. Come on, Murphy! Why don't you take a fucking hike and let us get on with it?

Two and half hours later, I was sitting in my office. The casings were in place and cemented, and the crew was busy making the preparations for drilling the next hole section. There was some more work to do, such as changing the blow out preventers, and slipping and cutting the drilling line, and preparing the new mud, while waiting on cement to set. All I had to do was type in my report and fax it to the office. Easier said than done. I could hardly see the characters on the little five inch orange screen of the IBM portable. With a sigh, I put on my glasses and started to peck at the keyboard. Half hour later the information was saved and printed out. I checked my watch and was surprised to find it was already 5:30. Just then, the driller walked in.

"Shit son, why do you keep your door open? It's cold in here," he said.

I always kept the door open and the heater off when we had a night operation going on. Otherwise, I had to take off my jacket and the thermal coveralls every time I stepped inside--pain in the neck. What's more, it was easy to catch cold if you moved between cold and warm frequently. Besides, cold kept me awake when I was tired.

"Trying to stay awake, chief," I said tiredly.

"Report ready?"

"Yep."

"You look like hell, son. Catch some shut eye," he said taking the printout.

That was a nice idea, but not practical. In two hours time I would be on the phone, talking to the Operations guy back in town, going over the morning report. I was starting to feel perky again. That's what usually happened when I reached a threshold with all that coffee, sugar and nicotine. However, in a few hours time, I would be down--and I mean, really down. But, that was OK. I could catch 4-5 hours sleep, do the handover to my counterpart who will be arriving around lunch time, and then hit the road. I had a flight back home late in the afternoon. There was nothing special going on until late evening, when they would start drilling again, so my counterpart would have no trouble picking up where I left off.

"Later, chief. I just need some coffee, and a smoke. I can sleep after the report."

He gave me a disapproving look. "You're going to run yourself into the ground, kid, if you keep that up."

"Well, I know somebody who can scrape me off the floor," I quipped with a grin.

"Where is the fun in that? I'd rather wait until the rig move, and drink you under the table," he retorted.

That had been couple of months ago, when we were both off-duty during a rig move. It had been good. No, it had been better than what happened a year ago, when we had had our first encounter. After that little episode, things improved, and we had developed a certain rapport. I still kept to myself most of the time, and we weren't close, but there was a rapport. A few months ago, during another rig move, we didn't have to parry, and just went straight for the bottle. It had been fun, both of us letting off some steam, and trying to relax, taking some time off from the demands of the work, and other responsibilities. In the end, I had to concede defeat, before I lost my mobility to make my way back to the bed on my own. Back in the cabin, I had taken a few aspirins and chased them with four big glasses of water, so that next morning I wouldn't feel like a dish-rag. It had helped, but not much. I had to wear my shades all day long to keep the blaring sun away, and he would snicker every time he saw me rubbing my temples.

"Shit, pops! You know how to hurt a guy."

Despite my response, I was looking for a repeat of the drinking bout. It had been a nice diversion.

"Well, if you get your head out of your ass, and keep to your lessons, you wouldn't give me the opportunity, would you?"

"Ouch!"

"Come on, let's get a cup. It's freezing in here."

"I'll be right behind you, chief. I want to get rid off the thermals," I replied, standing up.

His office was usually very warm. After he left, I changed into jeans and a shirt, and checked the thermostat in the bedroom to make sure it wasn't too cold or hot. I wanted to have a decent four hours sleep at the minimum. I set the heater in the office as well, and closing the door, I went to his office. While he was busy with his paperwork, I quickly updated my handover notes for my counterpart, and then we faxed our respective reports to our offices.

"When is your flight?" he asked, as he took a sip from his cup, relaxing in his chair.

"Late in the afternoon."

"Going to your parents?"

"Yeah, for a few days, and then I'll pick up my car and hit the road."

"Somewhere nice?"

"I don't know. Somewhere along the coast I guess," I said, my thoughts going to that beach.

I might drop by there for a few days. It will be empty, with only a few year-round residents. I want to see it again. I want to know if it's still there for me.

I realized--and not the first time--I had mixed feelings when I thought about that beach, my beach. I had always believed that it would be there for me, but sometimes, there was an uncertainty associated with that belief, making me uneasy, however much I tried to ignore it. I had too many good memories in that place, and at times, when uncertainty crept in, I was scared I would lose one of my anchors--perhaps my only anchor. It was time to put the theory to test, and know for sure if that beach was still my beach. I also wanted to check out a few towns along the coast, where they had good bars, and perhaps, some chicks getting away from the big cities for the weekend or some tourists. In some of those places, there were always tourists, summer or winter, and it wasn't winter yet, just mid-October. Here in this place, it was getting below zero at night, but day-time it was a comfortable mid to upper 20s. It would be slightly milder in the west coast, where my beach was located.

If it's too cold for my taste I can always drive down to somewhere along the south coast. It's always warm there.

"When are you heading to town?"

"Around two. Depends on when the other guy arrives. I need to go over a few things with him."

"You ain't sitting in the office until your flight, are you?"

Heh! You know me well, pops!

"Nope. I want to get a haircut, and get this wild growth on my face trimmed. Then, some shopping for Sis; a nice silver necklace."

He nodded in agreement. "They have some good stuff in the town. I bought a pair of gold earrings for my daughter." After a slight hesitation, he asked, "Any reason silver?"

"She likes antique looking stuff, plus when she tans, she really has a tan, so the silver looks much better."

"Strange girl. Most women would go for gold."

I laughed. "Yeah, I know. But, she already has enough of that, and doesn't wear it much. We went shopping the last time I was back home, and I saw her look at silver necklaces. They weren't as good as what they have here, handcrafted, so I stopped her from buying it."

"She's also patient enough to wait," he quipped.

"Well... It's not the same thing if she buys it herself, or receives a gift from her brother, is it?" I retorted.

"You have a point there," he chuckled. "So, she knows you'll be bringing a gift."

"She's not really expecting something, but you know how women are. I think she sensed what I was planning."

He let out a groan. "Tell me about it! It gets worse when you're married. In a few years, they get to know everything."

We carefully avoided my parents as a subject matter. It wasn't because it was a sore point. He just knew I didn't like to talk about them, and he had seen the change--the telephone calls--it had gotten better. I had gone back home at the first opportunity last year. They had tried, but when I didn't respond, and refused to be drawn into any discussion, they eased up. After a few days of subtle prodding, they stopped all together. It hadn't been easy; for any of us. But, I guess they sensed the distance that was growing between us, and realized they were running the risk of pushing me away. I should have done that long ago, but I had too much respect for them, and didn't want to hurt their feelings at the time. This time, I just gave them the cold shoulder when they got insistent. It was better than a full confrontation, and that was the end of it. Over time, the uneasy peace turned into comfortable coexistence. I guess they had seen the subtle changes in me. At least, they could see that I wasn't so sullen, or my anger and hurt wasn't as obvious as before, and I kept visiting them more often despite my frequent travels to various places. I did a lot of sight seeing, and told them about the places I had been to, and they probably realized I was starting to enjoy life to a degree. They still worried about what might happen, here, but there wasn't much any of us could do about that. To have some peace at the home front helped a lot; I didn't have to be preoccupied with what was going on there all the time.

By the time our conversation came to an end, the sky was lighting up. I stepped out for half an hour to watch the horizon change color. That was one of the rare things I enjoyed. How the dim stars slowly disappeared from view, as the dark mass took on a lighter hue, the distant end looking like somebody lit a slow burning fire. First a pinkish tint, that slowly turned red, and the few clouds changing from orange to a translucent silver color, to eventually white, before the sun showed its face. The ground was still hard. It would take several hours before it would heat up and soften. I could almost hear the soft groan--the sky finally waking up from its deep sleep. I just let the feelings wash over me, as if floating somewhere beyond the horizon, getting warmed up, even though it was below zero as I stood in front of the cabin, without a jacket. I didn't stay long though. Once the sun was up, my sleepy eyes would start to hurt, and I knew I would hardly be able to keep them open.

When I stepped in the cabin, it was time for the morning report. The telephone wasn't working. Damn! We had to use the radio. At least, we had the reports faxed before the telephone quit on us. Sometimes that happened. Either the relay stations had problems, or our microwave antenna failed. When that happened, it was a pain in the neck to dictate the report over the radio, and then we still had to go through the details.

"You better go first, son. You need to get some sleep," he said.

"Thanks, chief," I said. Then, I saw the opportunity to get back at him, and with a wicked smile, I asked, "You sure you don't mind sloppy seconds?"

He let out a long, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. "The coffee must have helped more than I thought. You've been hanging with us too long, son. Save that energy for your vacation and the chicks, will you?"

The drilling bunch was a bawdy group. There were rarely any women around, so the jokes were always off-color, if not downright dirty. I guess it was no different than any other industry where women were a rarity.

"Whatever you say, pops. I'll be good," I retorted.

"I don't doubt that; just don't do anything I wouldn't do," he replied with a knowing grin.

He had once told me a story about one of the guys he had in his crew. An electrician, about 20-21, and recently married, working a schedule of four weeks on and four weeks off. After two tours of duty, the electrician requested his tour to be shifted a week--before or after his current schedule. When he was asked the reason, the guy couldn't give a satisfactory answer, so Pops had refused the request. After another tour, the electrician had made the same request. After a lot of prodding and pushing, the electrician explained his little problem--with a lot of embarrassment. Every time he got back home, his wife was having her--well, I don't have to spell it out, do I? You get the idea--It was funny as hell, but Pops understood the situation, and granted the request, making the young man a very happy man. When he had told the story, I was on the floor, laughing my ass off. With a chuckle, he gently admonished me; "Yeah, son. It sounds funny as hell, but not when you're on the receiving end of it... or not receiving, as the case might be... so, keep that in mind."

Yep! It's an interesting mix of people and stories. There's always something, and that's what I like about this work and the people.

Before I could call the office, we heard the Ops guy calling us on the radio, so I took the mike, and replied. After covering the major points, he started to ask questions about the delays. After I explained the problems, he kept on it, mostly about the length of downtime. I got the feeling he was trying to blame the drilling contractor, and that was starting to piss me off.

What part of frozen lines, broken piston don't you get? You've been on the rigs, waiting for repairs, because something is broken or something is frozen. It takes time to fix it. This isn't a lab where everybody works in lab coats, where everything is clean, and you have heating and air conditioning. I had to wait in the fucking cold, so don't tell me it's a long delay, sitting at your comfortable chair.

The last was a result of resentment rather than envy. I would have been the first to accuse the drilling contractor if I thought they were screwing around, since I was at the receiving end of the delays. He had no idea. In a way that was normal. The Ops guys--I was ostensibly an Ops guy, but had started to think and act more like a drilling guy--didn't really get involved with the tiny details about how a rig runs. They--well... we--were responsible for the technical side, the engineering calculations, and looking at the overall picture, and making decisions on the problems, and going over the operational steps, discussing them with the drilling contractor. The driller then went over the operational steps, and took care of the micro-details of each operational step. Ops guys were not involved in micromanagement such as ordering oil for the engines. That was the responsibility of the drilling contractor.

The point is I had gotten involved in the hands-on side of it more than I was supposed to be. About eight months ago, there had been a labor dispute. The crews went on a slow down. Each shift was missing a few guys--sick. Sometimes there were only one or two guys showing up for their shift. All the other personnel--the foreigners--that were assigned to the rig (like mechanics, electricians, etc) took on additional workload. I, on the other hand, didn't have much to do. First, because I wasn't qualified for doing anything on the rig floor, and the only help I could lend was dumping sacks of chemicals while preparing the drilling mud, measuring the pipes, and other simple manual labor. Another major problem was my contract. It didn't cover the other work and that meant I didn't have any insurance coverage in case I had an accident. I was covered in case some accident happened, but my insurance would be void if I did something like operating equipment, or working with the equipment on the rig floor for which I wasn't qualified. I was willing to learn and do the work on the rig floor. However I wasn't going to risk it. Rig floor work looks simple; just heavy labor, but it's potentially dangerous, especially for a rank beginner. I knew that.

It was obvious that they could use an extra hand, so I had a quick discussion with my boss, and suggested they make an addendum to my contract for additional work (for which I retained the sole right to refuse anytime I chose to do so) with specific insurance and disability coverage. I wasn't going to let the Company use those additional work clauses to take advantage of me at a later date... especially if I ever had to take a position against the company for one reason or another. Later, I heard that some people didn't like that clause--me retaining the sole right to refuse the particular work added to my contract. Heh! Tough shit! I didn't have to offer the help I was offering. Instead of saying "Thank you," they were whining. It was probably the few assholes in the management--I had stepped on some toes several times--and the Legal Department. Pricks! A couple months after the labor dispute was resolved, I had gotten an extra check and a "Thank you," and I think the drilling contractor, and my boss might have had a hand in that. But, my offer had been attractive. I didn't demand extra pay or anything else; I just wanted to have proper coverage for any unfortunate eventuality. A few phone calls and faxes between the office and the family lawyer, and everything was settled. I worked on the rig floor, I worked on the pumps, I helped the rig mechanic and the electrician. Basically, I did a lot of the manual work that the crews did, getting my hands dirty, and I enjoyed it. Thus, I had a different view of things, and developed an appreciation of what was really going on. I didn't know everything, but I was very much interested in learning. I would never break speed records for changing gaskets, or driving a forklift, or handling other equipment, but I had done all those things, and more.

I was almost tempted to give the Ops guy a snappy reply, before I realized we were on the radio. Just then, the driller tapped me on my arm. I shook my head indicating that I wasn't going to do anything rash, and he nodded his understanding. In my tired state, my patience was wearing thin, and he had noticed that.

You're a good man, pops. Every other rig in the vicinity that tuned into the frequency for their morning report are listening in! It would have been rather tacky to let the whole world hear the exchange. If we were on the phone... well, that would have been something else.

Taking a deep breath, I told him I would be in town in the afternoon, and suggested we go over the questions then. I followed it with a remark about not wanting to tie up the radio traffic discussing a non-critical item. Basically, I was telling him to quit nitpicking and move onto something important, like getting the reports from other rigs--in a polite manner. He got the hint, and since we had covered everything else, he signed off, and called up another rig.

"Sorry, chief. I almost blew my top," I said.

"It happens. I don't think it would have been that bad, just embarrassing for him. You don't go out of your way to embarrass people in public. You're tired, but still managed to remember that you were on the radio."

"Yeah, but thanks anyway. And I'll be patient with him when I go over the stuff."

"You do that, sonny. Maybe next time they'll be more appreciative, and won't start nit-picking."

"I hope so. Some of them think they aren't doing their job if they don't ask questions or try to make a point. It gets worse on the radio. Once, I had a real prima-donna on the radio."

He nodded with a tired but knowing grin. He had had his share of the same people. "I know what you mean. You give it a try in private and see if he gets it. Some do, and some don't. When you're working in the office, don't forget the field people and this experience."

"I don't want to work in the office. But, if I did end up there, do you think I would forget?"

"It's a matter of time and keeping in touch with the field hands. I doubt you'll forget it, after all you've seen and done, but it happens to the best of them."

Yep. More often than not, that was what happened. People forgot how it used to be in the field, once they moved to the office. The good ones kept visiting the field, and tried not to lose touch.

He was busy switching to another frequency to call his office to give his report.

"Well, I'm outta here. I'll grab a bite and then it's nap time. See you 'round lunch," I said, before leaving the cabin.

The first business of the day was to grab a quick shower. Next, the dining room. When I walked in, the cook was busy in the kitchen making some eggs and pancakes.

After the usual pleasantries, he asked, "Pancakes with honey?"

God, no! I don't want any more sugar.

"Nope, just scrambled eggs and sausages. You don't have soup by any chance, do you?"

"So, you were the one who raided the fridge, last night?" he asked. Every time I raided his kitchen at night, the next morning I asked the same question, "Do you have any soup?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I had forgotten to ask for sandwiches and soup last night."

"Why didn't you check the dinner cabin? There was some cake, and rice pudding in the small fridge. Better than those chocolate bars."

Damn! I didn't think of that. Rice pudding. That would have been great.

"What's for lunch?" I asked, as if I didn't know, receiving an annoyed look. It usually was steak with potatoes and some vegetables. There wasn't much variation. Sometimes he made an Irish stew or hot curry, but it was always meat. Well, that was to be expected, with a drilling crew. The night shift personnel usually had their dinner in the morning, so it was steak, fries and fried onions. I had that several times, too, when I had to work night and the following day, but it's not something I was used to. When you start working late at night and have to continue during the day, it was normal to have dinner instead of a light breakfast in the morning. I rushed through my breakfast and 20 minutes later, I was having a cup of tea. I didn't eat much, but that little bit of food eased my hunger, and I was getting sleepy.

Time to hit the sack.

When the alarm clock went off, I barely managed to get myself out of bed. A cold shower did help, but I was still groggy. The short sleep wasn't enough, I could have gone on for an additional ten hours.

Well, tonight, I could and would sleep better.

For the first three years, I was constantly fighting the memories and dreams, especially when I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. Sometimes, I would stay up much of the night, reading or doing some paper work or studying. Night operations helped. I could catch on my sleep with short naps during the day. The last year, it was better. Most of the time I could sleep, but it was uneasy, mostly due to the fact that I would be listening to the heartbeat of the rig.

A lot of the drilling people suffer from that. Your brain recognizes a distinct pattern of sound that defines the activities that are taking place outside your cabin. After a while, these patterns are filed and catalogued, so you know what each means in your subconscious. If the pattern changed, it usually indicated a problem. When you're sleeping, your brain is still aware of what's going on, and notices the changes in the sounds, and wakes you up. Most often than not, a few minutes later, you'll hear the knock on the door. Problem! That also acts as a positive feedback loop, firming up the conditioning. The most distinct pattern is when everything suddenly goes quiet when you expect the regular squeak of the brake while drilling. Those are the times every driller and engineer hates. If you wake up to that, you better get your ass out of the bed, and start getting dressed. Mr. Murphy and a bunch of his relatives are probably paying an unscheduled visit that will turn your night into something of a major hell. No need to wait for somebody to knock on the door. The whole experience was Pavlovian, and unfortunately, it made for a restless sleep. I guess the only time I had a good sleep on the rig-site was when I was tired and dead to the world.

After the shower, I packed my suitcase, and stored my rig related paraphernalia (boots, coverall, thermals, etc) in the closet. I caught my counterpart at lunch, and gave him a quick summary of what had been done, and what was coming next while we ate. Back in the office, I gave him the handover notes, and answered his questions. Then we went over the well program and the progress made until now. There wasn't much. He just had to read the reports of the past few days, and he had plenty of time to go over them before they commenced drilling later in the night. The next few days they would be drilling, so basically he was ready, and I was ready to go to town to catch my flight.

After putting my suitcase in the car, I did my rounds to say goodbye to the people, and hit the road to the accompaniment of Chris Rea on the stereo. As he was singing Looking for the Summer my mind was busy with my vacation plans, which route to take, what towns to check out and so on. I was planning to spend most of my time in the south coast, after listening to the weather forecast, with a short visit to the west coast to visit my beach. As I had expected there was quite a bit of temperature difference between the two coasts.

It will be a welcome difference to drive along the coast. On one side the Mediterranean, and on the other side the mountains, the air filled with the smell of pine trees. After the dust and sandy roads here, and the desolate scenery, finally I will see something nice.

Back in town, I went to the town center, and checked out the jewelry stores. In one shop, I finally found what I was looking for. Instead of silver, I ended up buying a platinum plated necklace, handcrafted with a very delicate design. It looked great, and I hoped my sis would like it as well. My next stop was the barber shop. I got my hair cut, and my beard and mustache trimmed. When I looked at the mirror, I had the shock of my life. Around my temples there was a distinct grey and white strip. With the long hair I hadn't noticed it, but when the hair was cut short...