~ 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
