Liquid Evil!

The word of the day is:

Abstinence…

We’re running out of Advil.

Garbage Day...Everyday!

I have been getting feedback that this job must really suck. Perhaps it is because I only write about the shitty things, why else would anybody be interested? Now I think it is time to spew on about something that I really enjoy about my job…and the Arctic.

Garbage!

I am the garbage man and I love my trips to the transfer station. I am the master of the ultimate “Arctic Recycling” program. For those unfamiliar with the program I can sum it up thusly: I take what was given from the earth and return it to the sky.

Not exactly the most environmentally responsible act performed up here, but it is definitely one of the most dangerous. While geologists go on that the ultimate goal of their career is to be responsible for a great big hole in the ground. I am not too sure that I feel quite the same about my contribution to the ever expanding hole in the Ozone layer. You see, good garbage disposal involves liberal application of fossil fuels and their by-products. If you are a little offended by the concept of the preferred method of garbage disposal, I could refer one and all to the section in our land use agreement that states specifically that all food waste must be incinerated on site and that any thing that can be burned shall be burned. I paraphrase of course but the gist of it is that I have full territorial authority to create big-ass fires. And if you are still not convinced come up here and visit the landfill of one of the local communities and then have fly over of my camp. We may not get ISO approval. But we will win the gold medal for “cleanliness”

So today I offer up the following: a how to reference guide in the art of camp waste disposal as there are a select few out there that need the guidance…you know who you are. Contact me directly if you want the PDF.

The Essentials

1: Garbage.

Kitchens are a great place for this, unfortunately our cook is real good at using leftovers in other meals and as a result she provides me with by far the least amount of food waste ever. While on the one hand this is a good thing the other says “Damn! Fewer fires.”

The Ingredients

2: The appropriate incinerating device.

There are specific propane powered units available for this specific purpose but our land use agreement states that we may use empty 45 gallon drums. Fortunately we have no shortage of these. Cut the top off and poke it with a few holes, but the real key is to make a big ass hole near about 3” from the bottom of the can roughly about a half a square foot.

3: The wick

Cardboard boxes packed with more flattened and folded cardboard boxes. We seem to have no shortage of cardboard here, there may not be any trees out here but I am positive that if I look hard enough I will find a cardboard farm out here somewhere. Find a box that will fit with in the can but not take up all of the available space. Fill the box as tightly as possible with more cardboard. Bonus points for tidiness. Place in the bottom of the can.

4: Liquid fire



The aforementioned fossil fuels. We have no shortage of flammable liquids here. Take your pick. While I would love to just grab a full one I am finding more than enough “waste” fuels to do the trick. The main one is P50 (diesel), but there is also an abundance of JetB from the helicopter. The P50 is kerosene based whereas the Jet is naphtha based. I am no Poindexter but the ultimate difference being the flash point and the boom associated with. The jet has a much lower flash point so lights much easier. The P50 being higher and burns longer though consequently a bit dirtier. In short the jet fuel makes a hell of a big boom in a very short time if you let it soak too long and the diesel is less explosive but leaves one hell of a big black cloud. Gasoline is just plain crazy and don’t get me going about avgas. Also available to us is used motor oil and hydraulic oil.


Soak Liberaly

Procedure: With caution

Face the big ass hole on the empty “incinerator” into the wind. Insert cardboard box and soak liberally with liquid fire. Insert refuse, if in bags tear open and add more liquid fire. Be sure to not fill can over the rim as fluid available or in-use and the bang associated with it may leave the area with a mess quite unlike one was intending. Light carefully…then walk away briskly. Enjoy the fruits of your labour. For extra dramatic effect toss more fluid on, again very the amounts and distance tossed according to the flashpoint of the desired fluid. In the case of gasoline I have had the flames from the “incinerator” leap at near light speed back about 5+ feet to the bucket from which I tossed it. As mentioned gasoline is somewhat scary.


Fill to the rim

Dangers: Many

Batteries, aerosol cans, hidden pockets of low flash point fuel and being eaten by some creature that gets a whiff of the sweet aroma. Oh! There is also the possibility of burning to a crisp or suffocating if a boom is big enough.

Satans Workshop

Summary:

Garbage burning is one of the few instances in which the dreaded wind is appreciated as there is nothing like force feeding the incinerator more oxygen with which to make one hell of an inferno. My ultimate goal during waste disposal operations is to make a fire so hot, so big and so brown that sensors in NASA’s Earth Observation System will go absolutely ape shit. Mind you if that does happen I fear that a pink slip would soon follow the explosion. A boy can dream…


One hour later.

Thus far I can think of few objects able to withstand the holiday in hell. Among them are pipe wrench jaws, brocolli, and cantelope rinds. In fact I believe that brocolli and cantelope could be the most fire resistant items on earth and should they have adequate insulating properties could be the ultimate in home building materials. All natural and good for you as well.

Unlike my favorite occupation.

The Winds Of Change

Fire 
According to the calendar June 21st marks the first day of summer. Solstice, the longest day of the year and the beginning of sun n’ fun. There was certainly no end to the fun on Tuesday night, but the sun has failed to make any significant appearance and I am under the distinct impression that after I woke up from the latest alcohol induce slumber, that summer had made a brief appearance when I wasn’t looking and I was confronted with Autumn upon my return to consciousness

If there is one aspect of the eastern Arctic that I think that I could do without, it would have to be the endless gale force winds. The only redeeming factor of the constant gusts is that with it’s constant presence we can be assured that the emenint insect problems will not be much of an issue. But factoring in the fact that I can count the number of windless days that I have encountered in the last 28 days with only my thumbs, the prospect of a day surrounded by millions of winged pests couldn’t be more appealing.
If it is any consolation Environment Canada assures the region in its latest forecast that the winds will change…direction at least


I could go on and on forever about the wind…in fact I might. Ever seen a bonfire that burned horizontally for hours and hours yet went nowhere? Never has something been fed so much fuel, core boxes, and never leapt higher than a foot and a half. Damned if it wasn’t hot though. With my back to that horrific wind I still couldn’t stand closer than 5’ to the bastard. Something about being force fed oxygen that makes stuff burn real good.

I am tired of bitching about the wind.

Wind’s boring.

Now I got nothing left to bitch about.

Hell of a party, free booze, sushi, frivolity and then followed by a pseudo-day off. Save for the dreaded sewage responsibility. Hell of a hangover cure though.

Ah… summer. Once I get out of this place I might actually get to experience it…Somewhere.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Arctic?

Watermelon head

If this doesn't work...

Nothing like the feeling of a waking up with the feeling of a dehydration headache and stifling heat. 40oz, five people and one dead soldier, you do the math. The first true arctic FABAMAS. As predicted Advil was to be in order but unfortunately someone has yet to place that order, in fact I believe that is part of my job description.

Hunh…

What an inopportune time to have shirked my responsibilities. The day continued to spiral out of control when there were threats that I may have to strap on the hoop again. Thankfully something of the utmost importance came up and I managed to successfully avoid that hardship. Alas it was while I was sitting on the crapper that the trouble began.

She no flushy!


Try this.

Nothing is likely to sober you up faster than having to grasp a handful of last night’s dinner first thing in the morning. So once the sewage was dealt with I got to spend the next hour on my hands and knees with my head in the “bowl” examining the toilet. The Pacto is a complex machine I have discovered. Many gears and pulleys working in unison to make the most unpleasant of human necessities that much more pleasurable. But when the shit hits that fan, or in this case the feed wheel, she is an evil beast in need of hands on comforting and attention.

Anyway, with my head all cleared up and knew found knowledge of the inner workings of the loo I was free to get on with the rest of my day unencumbered with the baggage of a nasty hangover.

You should try it sometimes, I think it could be the ultimate hangover remedy.

Thankfully the last few days have been without much in the way of drama. Even my return to the scene of the grime, the not so dry, to finish up the plumbing went smoothly. We had a couple of conservation officers over to give us a little chat about the wildlife, specifically bears and what to do in case we happen to cross paths with them. The gist of it was: The brown ones and the white ones are carnivores. If you play dead they will think you are and eat you. Nothing could finer than enjoying a nice warm meal without having to work for it. In case of attack we were told to go for the most sensitive areas: the nose or the toes. Unfortunately they are in close proximity to those real dangerous things like the arms and the mouth. We were assured that being a bit of a distance from the coast we were not likely to encounter and polar bears and even less likely to see any grizzlies. Apparently the most dangerous things up here are the rabid foxes.

With the animal lecture all over, the officers and the film crew that they brought with them were ready to head for town. That’s when the real fun began. The plane came in with its new pilot and promptly over shot the runway at highway speeds and nearly flipped over when its landing gear hit a ditch. The only thing preventing it from ending up on its back was the wing that bounced off- dug into is likely more appropriate- the tundra 3 times. Stay tuned for the pic’s, the ruts it left behind are pretty cool, I walked the strip yesterday and was picking up paint chips all over. Unfortunately I didn’t have a camera with me.


Arctic SUV's, as they are intended to operate.

The Conservation officers and film crew got to see it live, while the rest of the us got to see the whole thing on video as the plane limped back to town with nobody but the flight crew on board and one would suspect some serious airframe damage. So our dinner guests got to stay the night and fly to town the next day on the replacement plane flown up from Uranium City. Since then we have scouted out another strip for those ever changing wind directions. At almost 200 metres this one is just a tad longer than the 170m first one. Think about that the next time you hop on an airplane

I like helicopters they don’t need a lot of space and can stop real fast and now that the pilot and I are on speaking terms the one in camp is actually a pleasure to be around.

Isn’t camp life exciting?

Need I say more

Have mercy on my soul... 

As my fingers tap out the words with anything but precision, both of my tent-mates are sawing logs like there was no tomorrow.

I envision a night of insomnia and a morning of Advil.

I couldn't be happier...

High and Dry...Wishful thinking.

It started out well enough 

Best day of the field season so far, we might have actually hit double digits today and no wind to boot. Things are looking rosy. That is until the various insect larvae begin their rapid climb to the surface of our many thawing lakes. It wasn’t looking so good last night though. Turned out to be a bit on the noisy side; one pair of very amorous Sandhill Cranes was getting it on into the wee hours and the dreaded night screams made an appearance. Save for the heat in the tent being utterly unbearable I slept rather soundly and arose to the singing of the birds and bright yellow light streaming through the white walls of my little tundra abode.

So how did I celebrate such a wondrous day? I got good and wet. Should I not be able to achieve my objective as a helicopter pilot, I managed to at least eliminate another possible trade as an alternative career choice. Plumber can now be stricken from the list, along with roofer. Just when things seem to pick up around camp and my mood improves I somehow find the most effective way of bring myself back down to earth. Today’s chore was to reroute/reconnect the dry plumbing.


But then fate stepped in 

The “dry” is a bit of a misnomer, it is truthfully the wettest building in camp as it is where the washing, showering and “drying” of wet dirty work clothes occur. Our particular dry is special. It has two sink basins, three showers, and a pair of washers and dryers. Each one of these fixtures has its own drain of course. But none of them are tied together in anyway; they all just go under the floor and out the back of the building. Or that was the intent when the building was initially constructed. What we actually have is six individual drains, seven if one includes the kitchen, spewing their fluids in many different places most notably right under the dry. Today I began the arduous task of trying to tie them all together and ensure that the grey water actually ejects itself a suitable distance from the back of the building. Three and a half hours wallowing like a pig in shit. Fortunately the shit as previously mentioned is self contained in another building but almost two months worth of shower and laundry water wasn’t all too pleasant. And I have only completed half of the project.


And kicked me in the ass! 

I could go on and on about how the dry and kitchen should have been plumbed: Like raising all of the showers one foot and connecting all of the plumbing inside of the building, ensuring a couple of things, especially in winter. One: you will be warm and dry when connecting all of the various sections of pipe and two: all of the connections will be solid and free from the hazard of freezing because the last thing you want is broken plumbing inside the dry. Well none of it happened and guess what? The plumbing froze and broke and I went for a swim before any of the lakes completely thawed. But I won’t go on and on about how it should have been done. As it is, it looks as if a deranged group of gibbons bodged together my fix.

There was good news today. I may just get that gin.

Pinch me!

Wanted: Poorly Motivated Individual, Must Have Own Rifle

Whiskey...Camp Mascot.

FABAMAS

Friday
Arctic
Bitching
And
Martini
Abstinence
Society

I need a Gin!

Never have I craved the hard bar so much. While a nice fat Zin would be delightful and tall cool pint of IPA would be quite fine right about now. 4.5oz of Plymouth or Sapphire and a twist and I would be in heaven. I guess a Trad in a dirty glass will have to suffice.

You all look wonderful. Are those new shoes?

Speaking of booze, looks as if we have lost ourselves a potential bear watcher.

So we happen to be located reasonably close to Hudson’s Bay and the ice out there is a melting fast. Big white Yogis are now roaming the coastline in search of food. Should there be no food on the coast they have to make there way inland until they find some tasty morsels to munch on. Recently the barren land grizzly has also begun to show up in the eastern arctic and they get the munchies too and this is where the bear watcher comes in handy.

The whole project revolves-quite literally –around the drill and it is a big noisy bastard. Within that drill are a couple drillers keeping themselves busy doing driller things. Most notably smoking and bitching during a run of 10ft then adding another rod and the process begins anew…for 12 hours. And did I mention it’s noisy! The job involves frequent lubrication of coarse threads on the ends of the drill rods. The grease used is supplied in five gallon buckets of a fine light brown matrix with the remarkable likeness of honey. Only it’s grease.

The bears love it. Should they catch a whiff of the stuff or just diesel fuel or say a smelly driller they’re in like flynn, but the drillers remain woefully indifferent in there noisy shack as they bitch and smoke up a storm. Many a driller has been chased out of the drill by Yogi and sometimes Boo-Boo too just for the taste of the grease.

Because working in this area has proven to be a somewhat contentious issue for many of the locals. Many positions on the project have opened for the sake of good community relations. The most coveted of them all is “Bear watcher”.

Job description:
2 people required 2 12 hour shifts, night and day. 2 weeks in 2 weeks out. Must provide own rifle. No reading, no walking, no carving, no sleeping. Just watching.

All interested please contact…

The number of replies have been off of the chart. Our two current guys are about to switch off for their breaks and most recently we have been in a panic replacing them. It wasn’t too bad until one of our hires found himself in the Grey Bar Hotel.

Ah…poor George. A local artisan whose milieu is caribou antlers on which he carves up likenesses of Inuit hunters. He had spent a week or so with us as a cook’s helper and was first in line to be one of the replacement shooters. So George is a bit of a character. My first day in Rankin he got the smell of new guy in town and tried to sell me a carving. In fact he was the first of many local carvers that I would meet during my three days in Rankin. So up he comes to camp to flip eggs and wash dishes. Always with a smoke in his mouth just waiting to be lit up the moment he’s finished in the kitchen. When not in the kitchen he chips away at his day with an antler and a Dremel tool. Caribou antler stinks. George knows all too well. After George left we recently discovered his preferred method of dealing with the odor: A plastic 1 cup blender bong!

Always wondered how powdered caribou antler could make ones eyes so glazed.

So George has a bit of a personal issue in camp one night. Seems his ex, of only a week has decided to shack up with her previous ex. He is in a bad mood. But it’s kind of funny as there is really nothing he can do about it and well he was just kind of a funny guy. The next day he asks if the helicopter is going into Rankin cuz he has to go for his once a month sign in with the Federales. A couple of days later Georges gig as “bull cook” comes to an end as we have a new cooking crew coming in and they are absolutely fabulous, but I digress.

So a couple of days later our helicopter engineer has to fly back home and the drill just happens to break a critical part. So everybody goes to town on the helicopter. Just as the engineer is about to check in for his flight he spots a familiar face. George and his fancy new matching locking bracelets. Seems on his first night back to town from camp he managed to violate his parole within mere seconds. So off to the clink in Yellowknife for who knows how long.

And to think we were going to pay this guy to sit around with a gun for 12 hours a day over a two week period doing…nothing.

Hope he’s only in for a short time. I really liked those carvings.

Happy thoughts.

Let them eat cake... and humous and...oooh? Is that fresh fruit?

It has been a while I have been told.

I would love to blame it on excess but sadly it is not the case. I chalk
this one up to good old fashion laziness ! So since the last report my
shoulders and frail ego have healed and believe it or not without the
aid of good old fashion beer. Bitching and moaning appears to be the
order of the day. I believe that to the best of my ability I have made
it clear that I have no intentions on strapping on the hoop and burning
the 'nads again.

So what now?

Well...a little bit of tundra gardening. My prized crop right now is
plywood and 2x4's. It's like having my own little potato patch out here,
only there is no dirt no maintenance and sadly no potatoes either.
Everyday that the sunshines a little bit of the wood grain pokes its way
through the snow. Given that now we are quite near 24hr day light the
little wood grain grows rapidly as it sucks up the rays. Yesterday I
harvested about a dozen 24" 2x4's. Two days ago it was two 4x8 sheets of
5/8" T&G and a half sheet of 1/2". Today I have seen what may turn out
to be another couple of sheets of of the 1/2". Who knew that so far
above the tree line you could grow quality dimensional lumber?

As the snow disappears so to does the lake ice. Most notably it is along
the fringes where the lakes meet the land. Much of the ice on the edges
is still stuck or frozen to the ground while closer to the middle much
of the lake ice has "popped" free. The result being a big sloppy messes
all around. It looks like a giant slushy nightmare and available in all
the favorite flavors. Visible from camp I can see Root Beer, Lime and
whatever the blue stuff is. Currently not a lot of the ground work is
being done as a result of such sloppy conditions. Doesn't taste so good
either. Throw in the run-off from the tundra and our water tanks have
the appearance of a well steeped tea. Doesn't make for a pleasant site
and for the next couple of weeks the gas is going to be toxic.

The big excitement around these parts is the food. The camp is on its
third set of cooks. These two appear to have a much larger repertoire
than fish sticks, pork chops and breaded fried chicken!. Garlic was
recently discovered in a meal and the deserts are now being constructed
using a multitude of hand measured ingredients as opposed to previously
preferred method of tearing open a box. Word on the tundra is that fresh
vegetables maybe on the way in and that a pineapple was recently
sighted. Good times shall abound!

I now have new room-mate. The consulting geophysicist has recently
returned from Senegal and has now rolled out his sleeping bag on the
other bed in the shack. His first night didn't bode well for yours
truly. I swear he was sawing logs mere moments before his head hit the
pillow. Fortunately he can self adjust that problem. However the next
morning he tells me to be aware that he has this habit of waking up
screaming.

Oh boy! This ought to be nerve racking 2-3 weeks.