Alaska Pipeline Story #1

~ Go Tell It On the Mountain ~

From the Chinook Journal/Pipeline Stories by S. Pam MaGee

I was working the projects group. This position was probably the best of the best of jobs. Let’s face it, the pipeline worker’s motto, “The Best of the Best”, was a sentiment that rattled up and down the entire 800-mile pipeline. We were good at what we did. Now this particular position, it meant a whole lot of freedom. It meant if the job was complete, a hightailing from places unknown to places known about became the priority. Fairbanks remained our rendezvous point and home away from home. Now Fairbanks never got over the hangover from pipeline construction days. So when work turned to play, it meant time for a few “yards” of beer. That was the advantage with this job over working a steady job out at one of the pumping stations. I had done that routine for just too many years. The only bad thing about the projects group, there was no set schedule. If manpower was needed for emergencies, we were on the way. It meant the possibility of postponing a trip home to Anchorage, even if one was cleaned up and boarding a plane south. This one particular day, that indeed happened. I had a crew of electrical and instrument guys who knew their stuff. We would go up and down the pipeline fixing things that were not part of the station equipment, like remote gate valves. These 48-inch valves are designed to control the head pressure of accumulated oil after it rushes down the pipeline through various mountain passes. If a valve fails when it is supposed to go closed, it can pop the pipeline out of the ground! Just like a big zit. It means oil spill time. Anyway, after we had just completed a job at Pump Station 10 in Isabel Pass, we were all cleaned up and waiting for the call to board a plane heading to Anchorage – for at least a weekend off. But the other call came in. So dedicated as we were, we abandoned our attempt to go home and went north instead. It was towards Anatuvik Pass we were headed. The remote gate valves in the area of the Brooks Range had been causing some nervousness, so in efforts to protect the pipeline, the company had stationed an around the clock caretaker operator. Remember, money is no object to the operation of this beast. It makes a whole lot of money. Now these valves are out in the middle of nowhere land. No hotels, no camps, nothing. And to make matters worse, off a road that doesn’t meet any definition of drivability, unless you are a seasoned semi-truck driver. A nut is a better description. These sites, being temporarily manned, consisted of an ATCO trailer with a generator and a mobile radio. As far as food, these guys were catered too by the security helicopter. Basically, they received the same food fare as the pump station crews – good stuff. Anyway, there had been a report that this one particular site we were directed to go was having a higher then normal use of diesel fuel to run the generator. Now the ATCO had a heater, lights and a small refrigerator. Not to forget the propane John. That is it. So we headed north to check to see if maybe the generator was malfunctioning. Hey, run out of fuel in the dead of wintertime, it may mean a dead worker! As we approached the valley that would take us into the pass, we could hear something that caught our attention. There is nothing out here except wildlife. And about the only living thing that makes noise, is that of the Raven. Anyway, it sounded like music. I slowed the truck down to a standstill. Sure enough, it was music, loud music at that. It sounded like an outdoor concert was playing out. But in Anatuvik Pass? No way. As we approached the exit off the road to the one-man camp, the music was getting louder and louder. In fact, it could be heard loud and clear, even with the truck’s windows closed. When we finally exited the main road, there on a makeshift porch of the ATCO one-man camp was a one-man concert. I think the decibel level was causing an early migration, as nearby caribou could be seen scrambling about. Well there stood this guy named Johnny, wailing away on a Fender Stratocaster. And to make his picking noticeable, giant speakers lined the entire side of the 40-foot trailer. This was major good, good, good, good vibrations! The tune was familiar, Jimi Hendrix’s Voodoo Child. Johnny was so into the after work rock out, he didn’t even notice our presence. We didn’t even have to get out of the truck to realize just why the fuel usage around here was questionable. In fact, every so often the lights would dim when the speakers hit overdrive. And these were not no rink dink Sears type generators. I think it was a Cummins! So what to do? I called my boss. Told him of the dilemma. At first he told us to shut it down. Then I told him who the guy was. That meant a completely different story. My boss was a good friend with this guy’s dad. They both served in Vietnam. So the next day, a flatbed truck with a larger fuel tank would be dispatched from Fairbanks. Hey, music was this operator’s only entertainment. And like I said before, who really cared about the money aspect. It was hard to find people who would be comfortable just sitting around all day watching a valve. So it was OK to give this guy a little extra special attention. We headed back to Fairbanks, had a few beers and caught the next plane south. Another job completed! It felt good to give this guy a break. But that was how business was handled on the pipeline. People cared!

CopyRight 2005/MSK Media