90 Days...

90 Days… Well ninety days on the bike and the bike was on dirt every one of those days. I haven’t yet bothered to count how many days I have had in the saddle since the knee incident and the sudden lack of employment I would find myself in for the next year. 90 days is a pretty good number but I often think about where I could have gotten the extra 10 to make it to 100 before being shuttled off to lands far away and somewhat inhospitable to mankind let alone riding.

The imposed rest over the next two weeks will be the longest I have been off the saddle all season. Five days being the current standard bearer and the primary reason for that was the monster saddle sore that decided makes it’s presence felt a little too much. Monster ass growth aside this little hiatus couldn’t have come at a better time, the bike doth protest. The links and pivots are moving in ways they shouldn’t and making a little too much noise about it and my cranks have axial play that just isn’t quite normal. Alas these annoyances can only be addressed buy throwing hard currency them, which of late have been of dwindling, supply.

In the meantime I get back to the old roots of Arctic field camp maintenance. Pumping fuel and water, burning garbage and sorting out what the hell is wrong with the generator this time. All the while reminiscing the past 6 months of riding, plotting the next adventure and accumulating the much required hard currency for all of these elements to come together.

The tick list thus far:
Joint health, always a good thing
Moab, I can’t believe it took 15 years to get there
Cambodia, not the Southeast Asian nation
Highway 102 with unintended call to search and rescue
Highway 102 without aid of search and rescue.
Discovery of so many unused old and new trails in the backyard
Amazingly good Birthday Epics
The Chilcotins

The Hit List:
The 100th ride of ‘09
Northshore Triple-Crown
Seven Summits
Trail X

The Damage:
Dirvetrain replaced
Rearwheel finally gave up, wheel round and true but spoke-beds cracking
Rear Shock oil emulsified
Cranks worn chain rings still fine
Upper link pivot bolt worn.

Maybe I am going to need more than two weeks to $ort all of this out…

A shameless ploy for a free bike and more trails to ride it on...

Specialized has this little promotion thing going on to be a part of their Trail Crew. I found out about it during one of my daily viewings of the many cycling related websites I click through out there. Something about it intrigued me, it was likely the prospect of getting a free bike and as we all know, free is always the right price. Now I am supposed to explain why it is that I would be an appropriate member of this crew… Admittedly not owning a Specialized bike would count as a strike against in said application. But I did recently drop a serious wad of cash on a set of new S Works shoes and I think this could be one thing that gets my proverbial foot in the door.

Why did I buy these shoes? Admittedly they were not my first choice, and not just because they were 50% more expensive to boot… they just weren’t anywhere on the footwear radar (strike two). But damn-it I needed new shoes and halfway through the season finding anything in my size let alone the ones I truly wanted was proving to be ridiculously difficult.

I had this big ride planned for early August, 3 Days in the Chilcotins in south central BC. One of those days was going to be about 10hrs long and a healthy portion of that was going to be spent pushing my (not a Specialized) bike uphill to access miles and miles of the absolute sweetest single-track I was ever to experience. I was going to require a solid set of footwear and what had been covering my feet and attached to the pedals for the last 3 years had pretty much given up. A lot of serious miles… err I think I should say time, put in those puppies. Trails in BC aren’t typically very long- distance wise- but they will certainly beat you up in no time.

I have been riding off-road for sometime now, 20+yrs, the majority of it within 50 miles of Vancouver and of all of the sports I actively participate in, mountain biking is solidly at the top step. Now I am not on the bike every waking moment, I do work on occasion, but I have pretty much given up, missed or outright avoided many other activities because I have found a new trail to ride or a new friend to ride with. This last year being no exception, reconstructive knee surgery this past December while being a serious hindrance was a serious motivator too, I hit the trails 24hrs before hopping on the table. Apparently orthopedic surgeons believe that cycling is a great form of rehab too and it is, just don’t tell them you’ve been riding something a little more serious than the excer-cycle at physiotherapy barely 2 months post-op.

So save for those enforced 2 months off the bike, mother nature wasn’t helping a whole lot either, those old shoes of mine have been through a lot: up and down the North-Shore too many times to count, Squamish and Whistler over and over again. Many trips to the interior of our province, a trip to Moab 15+ years overdue and a recent 4hr rescue while doing a recon ride (backwards) of stage 5 of the BC Bike Race. 3 years of experiences like that in those shoes and my feet were really beginning to hurt, cramps and such likely a symptom of the cracked mid-sole and with the epic of all epics to come it was time to get something to relieve those tired dogs of mine. 2 weeks of searching and wouldn’t you know it the place I was reluctant to go to first had exactly what I needed but didn’t realize I was looking for: Fancy fishing line-like retention system, high-zoot carbon sole, fancy toe-cleats and a price tag that would make Bill Gates blush. They were a perfect fit; the only thing missing was the pumpkin that would take me to the big dance.

So since that purchase, in the last month I have had the chance to put those shoes through the paces. A couple more rides in Squamish on top of the regular rides and a little warm-up hike-a-bike somewhere in my backyard of the North-Shore. Not to mention those three days in the aforementioned Chilcotins where I was fortunate enough to experience the amazing Lorna Lake- Deer Pass combo. The quick and dirty is that while they are definitely not the best footwear to be walking 3+ hours up a mountain slope with, my feet have never been so grateful to be so well supported over those 10+ hrs.

So there you have it… Consider this my official application for the trail crew. A nice new bike to hop aboard, new friends to meet and hopefully new trails to ride, sounds like a great opportunity. I’ll bring my new shoes.

Words can't describe... But I will try. Pt 1

It was a completely innocuous moment but it set in motion the best adventure I have been a part of in sometime. I had just stepped off one of the baggage pods of my helicopter onto a dead flat expanse of wild grass when my knee collapsed. The fact that the knee did collapse wasn’t uncommon for me, I had torn the ACL for a second time a few years before and at times it had a habit of dislocating. This was different however, it went a new direction and there was sudden acute pain followed immediately by swelling. My breakthrough season of flying had just come to a sudden halt with a freshly torn medial meniscus on top of the ruptured ACL. Surgery and prolonged rehab was definitely going to be a part of my immediate future.

Fortunately cycling is a fairly stable and low impact form of exercise and one of the best ways to recover as well as cope with a knee injury. The swelling had subsided substantially as well as most of the pain and it wasn’t long before I was aboard my bike and a full year of exploration would ensue.

Cambodia, that’s where it began. It was a little notation in the blog of a SRAM sponsored athlete. I don’t recall how it was that I ended up on this particular blog but something struck me about a particular rider profile. “Favorite trail: Cambodia, somewhere in Vancouver”. The North Shore of Vancouver is littered with trails on three mountains to choose from. There are dozens of well-known trails as well as an almost equal number of the not so well known and having ridden in this area for 20+ years Cambodia fit into the not so well known.

Believe it or not the North Shore can be a pretty boring place to ride. While being world renowned for the extreme nature of the riding here the trails are generally short in nature and apart from pedaling to the trail heads there is little more than coasting and holding on till you get to the bottom after you drop-in. Now I like technical trails as much as the next guy but there are no real epics on any one of the local mountains. Save for the Bridal Path on Mount Seymour the Shore lacks areas of serious pedaling, having to actually go uphill for much more than a few meters on any of the trails here is rare indeed. When found the efforts are usually rewarded with the North Shore equivalent of the Holy Grail: Loam, that highly organic soft aromatic soil that provides tremendous traction as well as incredible forgiveness. Loam is also quite rare because of the ease of car access to a number of the more popular trails. The easier the access by car or otherwise the sooner it becomes a rutted rooted mess and if real popular will eventually resemble a cobbled country road in Europe.

Your perspective of a trail changes so much when not perched on two wheels, that much more when walking uphill. Not long after returning home from the injury the first potential epic would be found. Urban Warfare is a name Sonny and I had given to a link-up of a number of trails on Cypress Mountain many of which that are not mapped. Sonny is one of my most frequent riding buddies and while Fromme mountain is in my backyard in North Vancouver, Cypress makes up his West Vancouver property extension. Over the wetter parts of the season and to mix things up a bit he and I often hike the same trails we ride but on the lookout with keen eyes for the subtleties of trails we may not have descended before or even noticed for that matter. Baghdad, so named for the “Green Zone”, a tremendously lush mossy spot that was lit up by the afternoon sun the day we found it was just such a treasure found on a little walk. Baghdad wasn’t a new trail but it also wasn’t seeing any traffic whatsoever which was amazing considering it’s entrance is literally one whole bike length from a reasonably well traveled intensely difficult trail for which Vancouver is famous for. With historic trails such as Blind Skier, the short lung busting climbs on the Antagonizer and a rip down the Slippery Canoe as a lead in, Baghdad and 4 other trails would make a ride that would last nearly an hour and descend almost 2000’. All too accessible by car but an option of a climb up an old classic called the BLT, so named in the late 80’s for the Boulders Logs and Trees that one would be subjected too either climbing or descending what is essentially an access road for the power lines that climb the west side of the mountain, it could add another hour to the experience if one is so inclined. As accessible as many of these trails are, a couple of these trails see little use because of the climbs. Who in there right minds would ride up a trail on 40+lb bikes? Fortunately not very many and as a result there remains a little haven of loamy single-track oh so close to some of Cypress’s most popular descents. Couple that with that climb up the BLT and my faith in finding a little epic on the North Shore would be restored.

Cambodia however still remained elusive. Donna, my source for single-track goodness in Sea to Sky country knew said sponsored SRAM athlete and he wasn’t giving up any information regarding its existence. The rest of the summer of 2008 would include multiple rides on most of the classics trails on all three mountains. I returned briefly north to Yellowknife for work but due to an open compensation claim a result of that knee injury I soon found myself back at home. Nothing to do but wait for the claim to sort itself out and fortunately due to lack of pain associated with the injury a hell of a lot more riding and exploring would be done in the coming months. The only thing to give out before my knee would again was the bike…

Lets Go Play!

30 minutes and counting before Scotty shows up with the truck.

Next stop: Bralorne. A couple of days of warm up rides around the Tyaughton area before the big Lorna Lake-Deer Pass-Gun Creek Epic.

I swear it's back this time!

Many promises of getting back to updating the old blog but this time I mean it. The last year has been one grand adventure and I have many tales to tell. Many trails have been ridden, I mean many and with that was mass consumption of ale.

The bulk of the adventure started last July when I had a little incident disembarking my helicopter. Since then I have not worked a day in my chosen career due to any number of circumstances-Damn collapse of the economy- and a stint under the knife in December to repair a ruptured ACL... Again.

Full disclosure:

This desire to relay the adventures is also a shameless ploy to acquire free stuff and continue to do what I love best.

Just to get out there and ride.

So stay tuned... 24hrs from now I will be in the Chilcotins on the latest of my great bike ride hit list, which has also included a trip to Moab that was 20 years in the waiting.

Mother Nature Gives Me a Swirly...

Well due to popular demand and recent circumstances (I am bored silly) Ales and Tales has returned!

It has been almost 2 years since my last post and no I have no intention of summing up what I have or haven't been doing. I have not gleaned any new insight on life or what not. I have however have developed quite the appetite for gin though, but to most who know me that isn't much in the way of news as I have dragged most of you down with me.

Ha Ha!!

Tomorrow is shaping up to be a weather day so I may put all of that extra time available to sum up what has happened since I returned to Crane and Kholer's complaint department. Most of that time, now that I wasted most of this evening trying to figure out how to log back on to the site, will be spent remembering how it works.

Stay tuned...

Update:

That heartless cow had a two flusher on me last night and I am still working on getting the glazing off the chocolate dip she served up.

Hayseeds Revisited

Upon carefull consideration, perhaps all those hunters aren't so bad afterall. Well at least this guy anyway

Kids And Guns

I am currently in the middle of my second day off in the last two months with activity in and around the hangar having slowed down enough that I could escape. Exercise was the aim of the day and I managed to get out for a run which offered me the opportunity to become a tourist again, as I dragged my ass to the west end of town which I hadn’t yet explored. Not being much of a runner it doesn’t take much to get me distracted so how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to find out where Honey Bucket Road led? I couldn’t, although I was reasonably certain of what I would find at the end.

Not too far after having crossed behind the last of the runway 09’s approach lights, I came upon a nice little sign that informed all those who dared that Seepage Lake was just up ahead. Given my own history with sewage and field-camp septic systems I was naturally curious as to how waste is dealt with up here. I couldn’t imagine them treating it then pumping it into the river, but imagine my surprise when I rounded a bend and amongst the lush yet rapidly changing vegetation I discovered that Norman Wells has it’s very own poop chute. Though a little confused to discover that there was to be “No Dumping” without permission.

Reflecting upon the summer I have found that there is an amazing amount of people of diverse backgrounds making their way through town either for work or play. I have met all sorts: surgeons, engineers, almond farmers, concrete salesmen, Scotsmen in canoes, the Redneck Messiah and of course the boozy hall of fame baseball player. Not once did I think that in this little faraway community that I would also meet a convicted cop killer. Didn’t think too much of it at the time, mostly because I had no clue, save for the fact that he had only one arm, he was just another guy coming out of the bush.

I didn’t actually find out that this fellow was from the wrong side of the tracks until one of our pilots was telling us how during a little bit of a piss-up in camp this guy was a little disappointed that the TSX wasn’t allowing him to trade on the exchange. When asked why, he was apparently quite frank about the fact that he had shot a cop in the face, going so far as to finding an old newspaper article about the incident on the Internet. When I met him at the hangar he seemed like a pleasant enough fellow, but I guess the powers that be kind of frown upon that kind of behavior on Bay Street.

Thus far I have found that the most difficult people to deal with are not the geologists that want the pilots to land in the tightest of spots, or the residents of Ft. Good Hope who constantly phone us up wondering if we have any machines that are going to Good Hope. The Pipeline people and the ridiculous guidelines and procedures that they force us to operate under are a breath of fresh air compared to the next Yankee hayseed who either shows up with a rifle and a grin or calls us on a sat phone with a tale of woe and how they will pay any price to get out NOW!!

Last night was the latest in the “I must get out of here it is an emergency” and it followed the previous day/nights six hour ride in the mountains that went from bring in and place 2 hunters, to move 6 more groups while you are out here in deteriorating light and weather conditions. The call we received yesterday was from a fellow that was suffering from kidney stones. He had been chomping on Tylenol 3’s for the past 3 days and needed to get out. With only 3 hours of light left he wanted us to fly 100 miles into the mountains pick him up, then try to find his wife wherever she was, return to base camp so they could gather their wallets, passports and pack up then fly even further away to refuel and then return to Norman Wells. When discussing that we may not be able to get his wife because of fading light this fellow couldn’t decide whether it was an emergency or not. When the helicopter did launch, I made a call to the nursing station to advise them that we were going to be bringing in a fellow suffering from kidney stones. The reply was: “ Call us when you arrive…” and “ Is this the same fellow that was in here yesterday for kidney stones?” The helicopter returned just over an hour later without any passengers, Mother Nature wasn’t allowing a trip into the mountains. The hunter called back, where was the helicopter? The weather there was good of course.

As morbid as it seems, it is so much easier dealing with body bags. They’re not in too much of a hurry to get home, we are not going to risk life and limb to retrieve the already deceased and the Coroner’s Office never complains about the cost of the flight.

Amongst the recent tragedies it is amazing to discover how the residents deal so matter-of-factly with death and as was described when the last of the drowning victims was discovered, overjoyed with the discovery of a long missing relative. Recently I drove one of our pilots to his hotel, which is also home to the “Big Bar”. Upon our arrival in the crew van a visibly drunk native lady made her way directly toward us and offered her thanks and then told us that she was the wife of Joe Turro, mother of Adrian. It took me a moment to recall that they were two victims of the Mackenzie River drowning. As a token of gratitude she offered me her Rosary, a very touching moment that was only interrupted by here request of money for another beer.

This week we will be flying another fellow to his cabin just in the shadow of the foothills, when asking about the possibility of a flight he offered that he was quite tired having spent a long day digging a grave. I asked if he would be able to call again the next afternoon to which he responded that he had a funeral to attend to, would it be all right if he called in the morning?

Moment’s like those make it very difficult to have any sympathy for some arrogant ass that dropped 25 grand to go on a hunting expedition but was too foolish to deal with his searing dick pain before he left home.

And Then There Were None

Last night marked hopefully the end of one of the worst parts of this job and something that I don’t recall being in the job description. We dragged the last of the floaters from the Mackenzie River capsizing out of a machine last night. This particular fellow had been missing for a month and needless to say was a little on the ripe side. He brought the total number of bodies flown to the hangar in that month to a staggering total of nine. We dealt with the posttraumatic stress counseling the best way we knew how last night: A good old fashion barbeque and piss-up!

Hopefully that was the last of the tragedies that we will have to deal with this season.

It has been a rough 10 days for the folks over at North Wright. Not only did they have the crash this week but also the week before the son of the owners was run over by a grizzly bear. The unfortunate fellow works as a guide for one of the outfitters here and while set up at there camp later in the evening they spooked the bear who in turn spooked them. The bear’s only route out of said situation was right over top of the poor fellow. Fortunately for him he only suffered a broken leg.

Thus began the first phone call I received from someone from North Wright, this one at the crew house near midnight and a beer or two in to me, one very distraught mother working with the only information that she had: Son, broken leg, Grizzly bear. Fortunately that issue turned out well

What an eventful month it has been around here, death not withstanding. Last night also brought fond memories of our favorite clients of the season, the drunk guys. They have been gone for a week and a half and as difficult as it was to co-ordinate around their schedule and the endless pizza and beer deliveries they were a lot of fun and a truly professional bunch. Well as professional as you could be when rarely sober. Turns out that they will be coming back… Just needed a couple of weeks to dry out though I think that is wishful thinking. Looking forward to the return of that train wreck, maybe I will get to go on another delivery run

Speaking of drunks, I am not so sure I mentioned the baseball superstar that came through town. Word is that he likes to tip a beer every now and then. We got a call from one of the outfitting camps that if a helicopter was in their area that the gentleman in question would pay any price for a beer and he was known to fancy more than one. Of course the cheap bastard balks at cost of all of his flights in the hills and moments after autographing his visa bill asks if we have any beer.

Never a dull moment with the hunters out here. I have yet to figure out what the lifestyle is all about, these guys come out here for their adventures in the weeds 10-14 day hunts, they shoot whatever it is they are looking in the first 2-3 days and want out as fast as they can. So far my favorite guy was this little fellow who bitched about the mountains; he had a little tumble, wrenched his back and wanted to get out. I asked where he was from and he replied Breckenridge. I was dumbfounded; the Breckenridge I know is nestled in the mountains at near ten thousand feet. He was a little pudgy and I was a half step from calling him a pussy when he mentioned that it was actually the other Breckenridge: The one in Texas.

He’s still a pussy though. 3 days and he wants to go home.

Still tough getting used to seeing these guys come into the hangar with there shit eating grins and a rifle over there shoulder and then returning a little bedraggled, the a real big shit eating grin, still strapped with the smoke pole then bitching about the cost of the helicopter on one hand then mentioning how much money they make on the other. So far the only guy that didn’t bitch was the one that needed to get back to his sick kids in Boston. Would pay cash to get out. The bill was 5 grand and he had it in a big wad of greenbacks, but was going to put it on his card. We don’t take Amex and then he had to tell me how much he had to spend to get that fancy black card.

- One million, he says.
- Excellent, I reply… Got a Visa?

He was good about it and if you happen to be in Boston, check out his buddy’s restaurant. Just mention Norman Wells and helicopters and he will treat you right.

So near the beginning of the month I had a little bit of a practical exam courtesy of the good folks at Imperial Oil. They have quite the safety program for both their employees and their contractors and I have the dubious little title as the Sahtu HOC

-Helicopter Operations Co-ordinator.

Corporate speak for receptionist. Part of the job is flight following which essentially means document last known position of the aircraft, souls on board and intended destinations/plans. The pilot is to call in at every landing and give me all of the relevant info. Imperial had sent up its head of aviation to run a mock overdue aircraft exercise and was coordinating with local flight services and the other aircraft companies. He also had a minder from our company with him. The whole outfit is in a bit of a panic about the whole procedure and really none to happy with the whole process and right about the time I am about to be given the drill, one of our finest redneck pilots- example: when working out of a camp last year he repeatedly mocked the only Arab out there about the menu, “Guess what’s for supper fucker!? Pork!” and “Look lasagna, too bad for you, that’s not ground beef it’s stuffed with, guess its corn flakes for dinner again”- expresses the difficulty he has doing his job using all the vocabulary he learned in the trailer park about how messed up the Imperial guidelines are, our minder gets into a bit of a tizzy about how this pilot could mess up the whole contract. Then…

I get a phone call. “Flight Services here, you have an aircraft that is 30 minutes overdue on its flight plan.” So I start to go through the process of finding this overdue aircraft as well as trying to find out if the drill has begun. Nope, it’s the real thing. Well everything turned out all right all of the appropriate procedures were followed but there was a little issue with minder. He had a little bit of a panic attack while trying defuse the pilot and deal with the emergency all under the watchful eye of the perhaps the one guy who could make or break the contract. Meanwhile the Redneck and the Imperial guy were comparing their hometowns.

At times I have had to follow the whereabouts of up to five aircraft involved with the pipeline as well as any other company aircraft operating off of this base. The other day we had 11 machines either operating off of here or flying through here and at times I keep thinking that maybe I should have taken up the maintenance side of aviation first as there has been absolutely no shortage of work for them. With so many machines the make up of the hangar floor was constantly changing. The drawback to so many machines of course for them are the long days, I may complain quietly about the 14-16 hour days I put in on a regular basis, but the engineers have been on a steady diet of 4 hours a night for the last 3 weeks. This week a couple of tech reps from Turbomeca are coming up to help tear apart the business end of an Arriel 1d1. The first year engineer is probably pulling in more in flight pay this month than I make in salary and if the long working days aren’t enough for them the local teens are more than happy to get all big city on their asses. A few of the locals have taken to swarming wayward boozy travelers and actually took a swipe at the apprentice knocking him out cold and still swinging wildly at the two other 200+ pound engineers tending to him. I guess that they figured that nobody would find out, especially in a town as big as Norman Wells, population 600. One has since been shipped away to a home for wayward boys by his parents.

With all of these people moving in and out of this place housing can sometimes be a bit of an issue and I think that the next addition on the resume will be something about extensive experience in the hospitality industry. Out of all the operational mayhem and tragedy’s that have occurred in the last few weeks there was at least one positive development that happened yesterday. I had my first brief chat with the Chief Pilot in a long time. He mentioned that if I was interested continuing with the company there was going to be another training session in October… Not even the smell of the floater could wipe the smile from my face though the morning headache has taken a bit of a shine off of it.

All the news that's fit to print.

Holy Smoke!!

Word travels fast!!

Before things spiral out of control, lets get one thing straight:

The moustachioed one had nothing to do with the plane crash. More information regarding the plane crash can be found here and here. The town is awash in all forms of investigative and federal authoritative types; RCMP, Transport Canada and the NTSB and we are even getting the Canadian Rangers in from Inuvik.

Mr. Boggs though did pay a visit to the area and got out of here two days ago. One can say that he has a fondness for alcohol, rifles and sheep. Though not necessarily in that order.

Stay tuned…

The eye of the shiticane

Yes it has been forever since the last update.

Plenty of information stored somewhere in the brain to relay to the masses. Lots of good stuff:

Alcoholism, firearms, celebrity, intrigue, mayhem and what appears to be the rapid approach of fall.

I just have to dig real deep to retrieve it and escape the phones long enough to type it up.

But here is a little teaser, how many of the previously mentioned categories do you think this guy is involved in?

Extra Extra... Read all about it!

News Flash!!

I have been offered the day off tomorrow!

I may have to take it as I am not so sure when another opportunity like this will come up again. Yesterday I got out of the "office" at 7, fed by 8, half in the bag 10:30. First time in two weeks I got to bed before tomorrow.

I could partly blame OLN and there Tour de France coverage for that.

Pretty slow on the news front this week, almost completely uneventfull. All of the machines that were in during the last week have taken off but they will be replaced by another fleet this week. Last Saturday we had 7 helicopters here during the day. All making money for the company. Meanwhile poor old Canadian has only 2 and close up their doors at 5pm sharp it seems. Oh well, too bad for them, we know where we can find the pot of gold.

In the category of "What the hell is that thing doing here?" Is this little number:



The photo was pinched from the net because it's pretty hard to get up close to them when they are on the ramp, kind of like when the Swedes showed up a couple of weeks ago; no photos then either. So this particular aircraft showed up a couple of days ago and I could only make out a bit of it and thought that it might have been part of the Red Bull or Quicksilver fleet. So I asked a driver of one of the fuel trucks asking what he knew, the response was predictable. "Some rich American guy, comes up here every year to go fishing on Great Bear Lake". It is amazing what you can find out there on the internet and it is particularly useful on those days when I am a little short on material, came in handy looking for a picture of the plane. A little more digging and I found out that not only is the owner of that plane rich American, he also has a thing for pansies.

Whatever floats your boat.

...Or plane in this case.

Celebrity, Intrigue and More Beer Please

You would think that having not left the hangar before 11:00pm the last 5 nights I would have had plenty of time to update well boredom finally got the best of me and here it is.

A few things have happened in the sprawling metropolis of Norman Wells since the last report…

It was looking pretty bleak for material. Initially I had typed up this little tale of how it rains bugs in the hangar, a crazy phenomenon of which I had never witnessed before.

The brief version is this:

No matter how often I sweep or mop the hangar floor within minutes little fly carcasses are found everywhere. I documented the evidence CSI style; careful analysis of the scene revealed to me that the cause of death was the skylights.

The Horsefly’s get into the hangar and buzz around aimlessly, can’t find their way back to the real big door that they entered through and head for the bright light from the roof. Still buzzing they then begin bashing their little heads on the translucent roof until they finally tire right out and take a 30foot plunge straight down… 100’s of them. It’s a losing battle and almost imperative that appropriate PPE be donned in the hangar to keep them from falling into your hair. Fortunately things perked up a little around here and I don’t have to tell anybody that story.

Since then we have had all sorts of events occur here.

Celebrity

International intrigue.

And drunk guys.

So the drunks showed up just over a week ago when they poured themselves and 2200lbs of gear off a Caravan. Three of them up this way to plumb up some new fuel tanks at tower sites for Northwest Tel. A good portion of their equipment never showed up so they did what they know best when faced with such a situation…Started drinking. Undaunted, for the next couple of days they organized what they did have, stopping only to replenish supplies, which is no mean feat here considering that the liquor store opens at five with “strict” daily limits and they were back at their hotel by 6.

It’s sheep hunting season right now. Great time to either have been a resident of the Northwest Territories for 2 years or be somewhat well off and come from somewhere else. I had been told that the only reason that this base goes a little nutty in summer is because of all the tourists loaded with smoke-poles or launching pointed sticks at the critters. One of the first of the clients turned out to be somewhat well known in hunting circles. He showed up to the hangar looking like the fatter southern cousin of Clark Kent and when the idea of a pre flight safety briefing was brought up he quick changed into the Redneck Messiah. Complete with camera crew. Seems that this particular fellow owns his own bow hunting company and the best way to promote his product is run around in a fancy outfit with a fat guy and a digital video camera. Turns out that fat guys and bow hunting is good business. During his flight to the lodge he was mentioning that he just bought a new helicopter of his own. An EC120, apparently he had an R44 but he didn’t like the squeaking sound of the drive belts.

Not long after my brush with fame the Drunk guys spilled into the hangar. They had all their gear and wanted to know when they could get a helicopter. Could be a couple of days I told them, but that was no problem because the budget was padded and they had plenty of beer.

So there I was again pondering the days “rainfall” in the hangar when I thought I heard the sound of sirens. All of a sudden there was the sound of thunder. Not real thunder but jet engine kind of thunder. Odd considering that the Canadian North flight left two hours previously and wasn’t due back for at least another 20. I felt it time to leave my post in between the telephone and the broom to again further investigate. I thought it was an invasion. Really sleek and fast military jets were orbiting the airport. They didn’t look like anything we owned. We are close to an air defense zone where all traffic is to identify themselves and their intentions before entering. Perhaps a Canadian military escort to the nearest airstrip was occurring. Nope a little more exciting than that apparently.

For weeks one of the guys here was always joking about the Swedish Bikini Team dropping by for a visit and when the Swedish Air Force showed up he thought not only had his dreams come true but they also came with a military escort. The Swedes were in fact making their way from Yellowknife to Fairbanks for some big military exercise when one of their fancy new aircraft had a little issue. The life support system on board one of them had a malfunction and being that everything these days is controlled by computers, the super fancy jet plane has this 20 minute warning system. That is, should the life support system fail the pilot has 20 minutes to willingly put the plane on the ground. If 20 minutes should somehow pass and the plane is still airborne the on board computers default reaction is to ensure the pilots useful consciousness. This is made possible by automatically ejecting the pilot from the aircraft… Whether he or she is willing or not.

A distress call was made, CYVQ was in lockdown and all was well, save for the one pilot here who is still traumatized about the fact that scantily clad blondes failed to deplane from the big Hercules that tagged along for support.

A day or so later and little excitement occuring,one of the two drunk guys called from the tower they were at wondering whether or not the third was coming out with the 204 that night-the machine was being utilized to move few large fuel tanks- with their dinner. Seems that the 10 beers that they brought along for lunch was just not cutting it and they were getting a little peckish. Sure enough Randy showed up with his maximum allowable daily ration (one flat and a 40oz bottle) and all was good with the world again.

All of this crazy intrigue around town and I haven’t even mentioned the little forest fire just to the south of town. Nothing terribly exciting save for another one of those old Buffalo DC-4s rumbling right next to us for a couple of days.

Oh! oh!!!

I almost forgot about the hunters that had to be rescued two days ago because during one of the little storm cells that have a habit of developing during the afternoon in the mountains, the thunder spooked their horses and they went on a flyer not to be seen again. After 4 days without transportation they too poured themselves from one of our machines not long after our other drunk guys disembarked after a prematurely shortened stay at their tower site. I suspect that the special order of tequila they picked up that morning didn’t survive the three days they had intended. I am not yet convinced that I have seen them sober since their arrival and would love to give these guys the benefit of the doubt as I didn’t have the opportunity to greet them yesterday morning. However the 204 was dispatched out to the site again in the afternoon but had to hold back and wait for the delivery of two important items:

Clean laundry and another flat.

Burnt Weenie Sandwich

Good news and bad news in the last couple of days.

The good:

The gastronomic gods have smiled oh so briefly upon me and the community today. I think I may have figured out how to shop for groceries in this town. The beauty of my proximity to the airport is being able to hear just about everything that comes and goes. All of the food is delivered by Buffalo Airways and I am not so sure that it is on a regularly scheduled basis. But I do know that all of the aircraft are of the WWII vintage; my favorite is the C-46. The only reason that this is significant is that they are noisy I mean loud… The only way you would miss their arrival or departure would be if your head was buried in a turbine engine. It’s a reassuring sound because it is the sound of hope. That something interesting may arrive at Mary’s because the Northern is pretty much a lost cause.

Timing is critical as well. It must be adequate enough to allow for the shelves to be stocked, but not to allow too much of an opportunity for the rest of the inhabitants to scoop up the good stuff before I get the chance. The balance I believe is about 14-16 hours give or take. Everything buttons up tight by 8:00pm and doesn’t open until 10 the next morning. It is the next morning that is key, sure I am going to miss out on the absolute freshest veggies for the next 4-5 days but most of the good stuff will be there on the shelves. This morning my spirits lifted considerably when I spied the tastiest ground pork products I am aware of.

Behold!

I wonder If they will ever get the Chicken Sundried Tomato & Basil…

Mmmm…

Things are looking up in the Wells!

The bad:

Critters.

Big’ens.

White and furry.

Many sightings.

Sedna Camp.

What a pisser!! All of the cool stuff happens when I leave. It’s like this everywhere. Freeing the kamatuk from its icy grip in front of generator… No! the glory goes to the new guy.

Bastard!!

15 years ago I was in Costa Rica and there was an earthquake felt in Vancouver. Two weeks after I return to Vancouver a monster rocks Costa Rica. I suppose being charged by a Musk Ox was a little on the thrilling side but two seasons 18 miles from Hudson’s Bay and I don’t get the chance to see a single polar yogi that wasn’t already dead and either having it’s face ripped off or “drying” in some back-yard in Rankin Inlet.

So far no campers devoured

A boy can dream though… You’ll get yours. I here that Troubles coming. It might already be there by now.

Pimp My Supercycle

Still a little slow over at the hangar. This being the weekend we can’t expect much. A couple of the machines are already out in the field for the day and we are expecting the arrival of one of the mediums. Seems that the client isn’t satisfied with shuffling 9 geologists around with the 6 seater, they want to move everyone in one go so they have opted for the 204, the civilian version of the original Huey. Until the big bastard arrives we have to figure out what the project of the day will be.

It didn’t take long.

There have been over the weeks, months and years many complaints about the ride quality of my assigned machine. The old gal has been in a state of disrepair for some time and in need of some luvin’. Now is a good time to revel in its majesty.

The Supercycle Bullet

36 pounds of the highest quality Malaysian 2180 Steeltube construction; a rigid framed, 18 speed Gripshift equipped wonder of its time.

Parts highlights include:

The aforementioned Gripshift, second generation twist grip shifters
The finest in one-piece cranks
A revolutionary “F.I.S.” Falcon Index System rear derailleur.
And the super comfy 2-way sprung saddle.

Unfortunately the years have not been kind to the poor little thing and she has fallen into some disrepair. There is the tell tale cancer forming on all of the precision welds but most notably was the poor performance of the transmission. The left shifter literally, left to hang and twist in the wind a victim of some horrible mishap. The chain no longer able to move up or down the chainrings, just stuck in the tiny little 30 tooth granny gear. The Falcon was not pulling its weight either, being limited to only 5 of its 6 cogs. Then there is the saddle, any support it could give had since disappeared with the demise of its faux Corinthian vinyl. Our once proud Supercycle had since become a meek 5 speed likeness of it’s formal self.

The repairs began with the removal of the front shifter. The lack of a quality bike shop in town makes searching for replacement parts difficult and expensive. Not too many hills in these parts and the fact that it had only run on 5 of the 18 possible gears lead to this rash action.

Next we addresses the suspension/ride comfort issue or lack there of. Being made of high quality 2180 Steel tube, the Supercycle was the pinnacle in stiffness during its time. However times have changed and rigid frames are going the way of the dodo. Having the finest in aircraft-grade materials at our disposal I tackled the seating issue head on and managed to return the saddle to it’s once waterproof Barrca Lounger glory.

The cockpit was then addressed; with the removal of the front shifter, new grips were the next item on the list. Again we had to dip into the aircraft parts bin and re-taped the bars in the finest cork used on all of the Bell collectives. This was then dressed in high quality black hockey tape to cover up the unsightly seams of the cork and epoxy.

With all of the major complaints on the Supercycle dealt with, we had to dress up our new and improved girl with a little bling. Nothing like a set of streamers and axle end caps to add a little pizzaz to the new pride of the fleet. The transformation now complete, our ugly duckling is now one pimpin machine and the envy of every little girl in town.

The boys don’t seem too impressed. One of them has this motocross bicycle that I think I am beginning to covet. It’s this cool looking 24” wheeled fully suspended number that looks like a motocross bike complete with gas tank, radiator intake thingies and long seat with integrated fender. Now that kid has riding the bomb.

The first ride produced favorable impressions as I managed to make it to and from the crew house without bursting any of the patented suspension cells. One might describe the suspension as that of a really thick a jiggly gel saddle that squeaks with each pedal stroke.

Of course such a prime example of post-production modifications demands the latest in theft protection systems and when it arrives in Norman Wells we will be sure to employ it. Until then we must rely upon hiding it in the bushes cuz no-one knows the combo on the green chain currently wrapped around the glistening chrome of the 2180 Steeltube chick magnet.

5 Days in Norman Wells

So it has been sometime since I posted an update and tonight time is what I got for I have been assigned the task of Flight Watch. The fancy new machine is making its way from Hay River to Inuvik with a brief stop in the Wells for fuel or perhaps the night if the crew is a little on the tired side. 1200+ kilometers of flying and I get to man the phone… waiting… for them to update with position and ETA until they finally arrive. Fuel them up if I am lucky drop them off at the hotel if I am not… In the meantime I type… and wait.

So not quite a week here in Norman Wells and I fear the blog may suffer… This place for me is a northern anomaly… It’s completely inhabited by normal people. I haven’t yet been asked to buy any carvings the dogs in town sleep inside their owner’s houses and thus far no Pamper trails anywhere. Thus far I have not yet witnessed anything that would make me laugh out loud. So here is what I can say

5 days into my latest foray into the weeds and I am left with quite the first impression of Norman Wells. It has just about everything a small town could possibly offer save for a few exceptions:

A road connecting it to the south… Except it melts out in the spring and then everyone has to wait until the river breaks up before any significant movement of goods returns, then the reverse when it gets cold.


A golf course… Except it only has three holes… Honest to goodness grass though.

Great local radio… Except the locale changes frequently at North West-Tel‘s discretion: one minute your listening to an Edmonton broadcast of Shania Twain and the next Bob Seger on Rock101 from Vancouver.

A spectacular view of the River and the mountains to the west… Except you have to be at the dump to appreciate it.

Sometimes I wonder if those hardened men of the Hudson’s Bay Company were playing some silly joke on the residents of the north when they were settling the land and establishing their trading posts. With the exception of Yellowknife so far the grandest vistas in all of the northern communities that I have had the pleasure of visiting have presented themselves while jettisoning some form of toxic waste at the local landfill. My guess is that the viewpoints started out just fine and then a few errant whiskey bottles at sunset resulted in rubber tires and hot water tanks 150yrs later.

This place even has a liquor store with a crazy daily limit that would lead to liver failure within weeks should one actually try to consume the limit on a daily basis.

Upon first glance the only thing this place lacks is vegetables. I think today was veggie day. Not a parking spot to be had at the “mall”. That or it was hot-wings at the Boiler Room, one of at least three legal drinking establishments.

All in all not it was not a bad introduction to my new summer home.

Hangar life isn’t so bad, thus far anyway; every pilot here gets assigned their own machine, here’s mine. Though I am not yet checked out on the helicopters I have been putting some quality time with the broom and mop. I might have logged near a 1.4 this week already. Somehow word got round that I know something about computers hammering nails gathering garbage and rolling drums. I assured them that my computer knowledge was limited but I have an excess amount of patience and I have no trouble with a hammer so long as I am not in bare feet. I was recently rewarded for my fabulous mopping and typing skills with a flight to Fort Good Hope where I rolled fuel drums and gathered garbage.

The boss like my work so much he gave me the phone tonight. Where I am still waiting…

The toilet was already cleaned today; I wonder what’s in store for tomorrow.

Mosquito bites

The company’s new pride and joy arrived in Yellowknife this morning, a landmark machine in Canada. It is a pretty nice looking machine once you get around the face only a mother could love. There was apparently quite the to-do this morning. The hangar was packed all the big wigs were in town banners the works.

I missed it all.

I did manage to get to see it before it left for Inuvik. Must be something going on in Inuvik, four machines sent there this week, 3 in the last 24hrs. Anyway slept in a little this morning. Didn’t get to the hangar until almost 9:30… festivities long since over. The wise old sage in our training group thought that after our gourmet dinner at Boston Pizza, it was probably the right time to do Yellowknife up right. Having just recovered from the reality of my salary situation and figuring that with the daily per-diem for food that I could break even for the summer I went along with the plan.

We left B.P. not long after the hockey game; three of us were dropped off at Harley’s Hard Rock Saloon, Yellowknife’s only strip bar and didn’t return to our respective crew houses until 2:30. We also managed to hit the legendary Gold Range, the local native bar and finished it off closing The Raven, one of the dance clubs. All in all it wasn’t too messy, just a late night. I think the highlight of the whole night was the subtle yet lingering aroma in Harley’s… pungent yet somewhat sweet.

I know what you’re thinking, but your wrong.

Mosquito coils.

How thoughtful, after all you can’t expect the clientele to be to enthused if the talent has mosquito bites all over her ass.

Reality Check

One whole week into the new program and I finally got my kick in the nuts.

Was it the endless online exams?

No.

How about the in-house ground school?

No.

The little issue about draining the airframe fuel filter without the boost pumps being on, possibly causing an air lock in the fuel system followed by a potential flameout in someone else’s machine and the quality assurance guy on the maintenance side vocalizing his displeasure about having to bleed said system while the customer was waiting?

None of the above.

Today I finally found out how much a 100 hr pilot gets paid and I am still trying to catch my breath.

What a whirlwind couple of weeks it has been. I never imagined that being stranded in civilization could be more trying than in the weeds.

So what could bring one to thoughts like these? Hmm… two weeks ago I was bitching that drowning on land was a serious concern. We also found out that same week that the tundra could catch fire in winter/spring conditions, all it requires is enough petroleum based fuels inattentive drillers and an errant flame.

Hot dog if that weren’t enough how about six people spending the night in a shack barely big enough for the two people it’s actually meant for? We had a whole bunch of happy campers stranded at the drill for 14 hours when Mother Nature shat the bed when no one was looking. Let me tell you that it is an odd feeling back in camp knowing that 6 people aren’t coming home tonight and that much more troubling when the helicopter is out there with them. All turned out well though.

Well for four of them, you see for the other two it was just another night shift. Dan couldn’t have been happier as for the first time in four weeks he had someone to talk to at night. You see Dan’s helper spoke English. Well the whole crew spoke English except for Dan. They all spoke French though. Well that is everybody except for Dan’s helper. So I guess they were both pretty happy to have someone to talk to.

Well the last laugh was on them cuz 24 hours later Ma Nature couldn’t reach for the Imodium fast enough and Dan and Randell went out for their shift and didn’t return for two and a half days. They decided that the best way to deal with their situation was to have core box fights, kind of like pillow fights only with 5foot lengths of manipulated plywood. Somehow I don’t think there was any giggling involved.

Each one of them had someone to talk to on there next shift though.

So why would anyone want to give up that kind of an adventure to chase up some crazy dream? Given the ice bag resting on my lap I am having a hard time answering that one. It was pretty exciting for the first week though. Getting the private grand tour of the whole operation by the company President. Handed the keys to the company van and directions to the crew house where upon arrival I was offered a heaping helping of Betty Crocker’s stovetop mashed potatoes for dinner. Then there was the pilot decision making course on Sunday, followed by more of it on Monday and a bit of ribbing about finishing up exams. Tuesday a bit more program orientation was followed by a little bit of a shit storm about having not finished the exams. Tuesday night I went to work on those bastards. Knocked off one of them and failed the other one more time before nailing it at 1AM. Only three more to go by then (one as you read this).

So during this period we are given company reference manuals followed by information about how to fill out the required company paper work just in case some of us want to see a paycheck: “If you don’t put your name on your flight ticket’s I won’t pay you!” A moot point considering that after training the only thing I am likely to be flying is a broom in Norman Wells. This whole time my computer bag is so stuffed full of paper I am thinking on the one hand how I am going to need a new “flight” bag and on the other how it appears that while I have achieved my goal of gaining employment in aviation I haven’t yet put my name on the dotted line.

So today when I am feeling more comfortable about my progress and in a position to enjoy the whole process I decide to pay a visit to the HR department. Apparently someone there had been told what my salary is and when it was finally disclosed to me Lucifer had the deed and title to my soul as I had already signed the required forms in triplicate and I still have yet to fly anything.

I have got to learn to be less enthusiastic…

I fear now that given my current salary that death from liver function is a very real possibility.

And I left the comfort of the Barrenlands for what? It certainly wasn’t the paycheque.

Over the years I may have bitched about life in the Jungle that is the far north, but I learned recently that I shouldn’t knock a good thing. For you see those unfortunate souls who spent those nights out there on behalf of Mother Nature were fortunate enough to discover the one thing that had been missing from the whole operation this season and I could use them more than ever now.

Bananas!

Blessed Little Curse!

The cat that 5 weeks ago was a blessing to our shovel weary souls has since become an albatros dangling from our necks. This place is beginning to look a lot like New Orleans, we have our own Ninth Ward and a French Quarter at the other end of town, only here the dikes are working in reverse: they are holding the floodwaters in. After we had dug most of this place out what seems so long ago, our expeditor started sending up boxes and bags from our warehouse that were marked for camp. One of the first that arrived was a bag with 4 lifejackets. At the time I thought it was a bit of a joke, now I am worried that we don’t have enough.

What was once a tidy white paradise (I wasn’t thinking straight not long after the shoveling ended) has since turned into something resembling a redneck ghetto. Half garbage dump from what was left of our corebox walkway of last year and the other half swampland dotted with pallet mangroves. There is very little in the way of dry ground within the confines of camp but venture to the other side of our dikes and the snow is melting rapidly, the runoff quickly absorbed by the thawing tundra. Meanwhile back in the barrio our water meets the snowbank and creates a nice ice interface further retaining the melt. This place has surely turned into Bizarro World; with our moat on the wrong side of the fortress walls the only thing that could possibly help our plight is if it never got above zero. Good luck with that given that June is but 4 days away.

Oh hey look!

… Its supposed to snow on Monday night and Tuesday...Perhaps?

Perhaps not.

If the rising tide wasn’t bad enough the rubber boots I bought before embarking on this adventure suffered a cracked shank and now let the floodwaters in. All of that work shoveling all of that snow put a strain on them that wouldn’t be realized until it began to melt away. Now by noon when the overnight ice begins to melt I begin to tread lightly because I know that even the slightest emersion means wet feet which right now is a real pisser when I am trying to shake the Sedna influenza pandemic.

One of the biggest disappoinments about the thaw is the loss of my mini-bar, but alas perhaps there is something positive that can come of all of this courtesy of the half-witted, inbred, trailer-trash, indigenous peoples of the Deep South. Eventually the lake is going melt, and the fish will be hungry. All we need is a boat, or maybe a hurricane and a little ingenuity will do?

The Snowball Effect

"Today's forecast is total crap."
-Strong Bad (downloads)

Snowball…

Pretty much sums up the last week in any number of significant ways: circumstance, situations and weather.

Now might be a good time to explain condition purple; It’s a mood ring and it is the ultimate representation of how field progress is going and whether or not it is safe to enter the office. Ironicly lately we have been in a state of yellow. Irony indeed considering the shit that we went through.

I should begin by saying that we were in an emergency state.

No Bananas!

The monkeys were restless and they are all in camp for any number of reasons, but they all revolve around one core issue: The weather sucks, and it’s the worst kind of sucks. Low cloud, fog and the threat of freezing rain. 3 days and counting… This has led to a few problems. The helicopter pilot won’t fly; this results in all crew changes for the drill being done by snow machine. As well as crew changes trips to the drill to check on progress are also done by snow machine. Throw in roughly six trips a day and we begin to suck up the gas and oil at a surprisingly rapid rate. Which now leads us to… A fuel crisis.

On top of the fuel crisis was a cigarette crisis, and a beer crisis(ongoing), and a cooks helper crisis and the already mentioned banana crisis. All because the weather is too shitty to fly in… or is it?

So there is also a water crisis and a safety crisis out at the drill. This was for a moment one of the most puzzling aspects of the last couple of days. The drill foreman wouldn’t allow the guys on dayshift to work because there would be no helicopter support, but during night shift when it’s dark there are no issues? And no problems with the 40-minute ride 4 times a day over the tundra for the last 3 days? Now we are dragging water out to the drill because of the distance to the nearest water source but there is a fuel shortage for the supply pumps and then there is some kind of accident where one water tank falls off of its sloop and crushes another tank so now there are no holding tanks for the water and no fuel to pump it and because the helicopter hasn’t flown in 3 days now the drill has run out of diesel and absolutely nothing is getting done.

With all of this we are in condition yellow?

So we got a bit of respite, beginning with a new pilot. The last one was real cautious and the drillers weren’t to secure with the idea that he was going to be working above them. The new guy flew more on his first full day then the last one did in his whole tour. In fact we had a Twin Otter fly into camp when the last guy wouldn’t go at all… it looked a lot more like a float plane than a ski plane when taxing around here as the snow on the lake was getting a little soupy.


So we get the gasoline the drillers load up the snow machines and water pumps, and while coming back to camp at the end of their shift. Georges escape vehicle dies 8 km’s from home. They drag out another one the next day and it meets a similar demise. Now we have no shortage of gas but 50% less machinery to pump it into. And still no cigarettes! Desperate days to be a driller and profitable if anybody had any left of their own supply.

The snowball keeps getting bigger because now it’s too soft to drag the drill anywhere and now we are starting to move it with a helicopter and the weather goes back into the toilet. We did have a little bit of good news though as eventually the boys did get their smokes.

For a little bit of chocolate sauce on our giant snowball… the new pilot got himself a little bug on the jet to Rankin. Worst cold he says he’s had in 20 years. Out there trying to move the drill with a foggy head and at the same time it is literally in the clouds. The drill hasn’t moved too far as a result and with so much time spent in camp the last couple of days he has sprinkled the camp with his infection.

Mmm… Sars

Looks like we are going to have another shitty morning. With so many bad things happening we have no choice but to drink away the evil…Again.

How does a Buckleytini sound?