“Go stand over there!” he shouted while pointing over Zak’s shoulder to the opposite corner of the floor. “And one thing you don’t ever do is step on that rotary table.” The turntable in the center of the floor was directly between Zak and his newly appointed corner where he could see rows and rows of pipe standing three joints strong, reaching all the way up to the derrickhand’s station. When Zak arrived at the desired spot, he noticed that Jesse had moved to a corner directly opposite where the driller control station was. Jesse held up his hand for Zak not to move, and the driller walked over to him and had to scream his instructions directly into Zak’s ear to be heard over the massive idling engines located just behind Zak’s head.
“In a few minutes we’re going to be pulling this pipe out of the hole! These are your tongs,” and he laid his palm for a second on one of the huge iron horseshoes. “You’re going to be putting your tongs onto that top joint. That man there is going to be putting his onto that bottom joint. Once you put ’em on the pipe you push ’em back and make ’em bite. Now, when we’ve disconnected the pipe, you’re going to push it back and rack it here,” he then walked diagonally away to where the iron floor ended and a wooden floor began, where, in neat columns, stood the ninety-foot sections of pipe. He pointed with his foot to the exact spot where he wanted that next one to go.
Although Zak understood what the man had said, he still did not know how a person was supposed to negotiate ninety feet of iron and push it twenty feet. He had hoped for more of an explanation. Maybe get taken through the motions. But it was becoming clear that Jesse intended to watch and see how Zak handled it. Returning to Zak’s side, Jesse pointed to a big iron V-shaped device that completely encircled the pipe in the hole. “Those things sitting in the hole,” Jesse said, “are your slips. They hold the weight of the entire drill string when she isn’t moving up or down, and you and Jon are going to be picking them up every time and putting them back.”
As Jesse walked back to his station, Zak tested the feel of his tongs. Even though there was leverage, suspended as they were, they still must have weighed more than two hundred pounds and were going to require a massive effort to move, let alone manipulate. Jesse was now standing at a long lever that was sticking up at forty-five degrees from the floor, and he rested his hand on it quite naturally as he watched the Small Ape finish his climb up the tower. Once in place, he waved down to Jesse who then gave the high sign that everything was ready. He looked at the Scandinavian, and he looked over at Zachary Harper, and a little grin appeared on his leathery old face.
Jesse switched on a couple of throttles, and an air condenser somewhere kicked in with a tremendous hiss. He pushed down on the long lever with his right hand, his right foot ready on a floor accelerator while his left hand grabbed a clutch that was jutting out from a control panel in front of him. Putting that clutch in low-low, he eased up on that brake handle while simultaneously stepping down on the accelerator. The engines revved. Air pressure somewhere gave three short bursts and an enormous iron clamp, already attached to the pipe in the hole, began lifting it straight up. As this was happening, the Scandinavian, Zak saw, was struggling with the slip, and Zak realized he had already fucked up! He had just been told that before anything could happen those slips had to be moved! Rushing to the Scandinavian’s aid, he grabbed onto a spare handle and together they yanked the slips up. They were heavy, a hundred pounds or more, and the third handle on the device suggested they might come to sorely miss that third crew member before very long.
The pipe shot out of the hole. One joint passed. Two joints passed. As the third joint glided by, the Scandinavian grabbed those slips again, and this time Zak was right with him, and after the next joint was through they set the slip around the pipe. It was no time for timidity. When the Scandinavian moved for his tongs, Zak mimicked his every move. They felt heavy and strange, though considering their bulk, not as awkward as they looked. Jon threw his against that bottom joint, and Zak threw his against the top with a clang. The latch on the back was plain to see and he pushed back hard, making them bite the pipe and hold firm. Just then, from alarmingly close by, Zak could hear the clanking sound of chain being coiled up and he looked down just in time to see a heavy chain about to tighten around his ankle. He jumped back. The chain led from his tongs to a huge drawworks that was slowly sucking it in, making it tighter and tighter. Winding, winding, it pulled itself off the floor until there was no slack left. Again the air sounds barked as the driller applied more pressure and the joint broke violently, moving the tongs a good four or five inches. Jon then removed his tongs and when Zak moved to take his, Jesse screamed “Leave those top ones bite!” As he spoke, the rotary table spun madly, turning the pipe in the hole to the left, thus unscrewing the two sections of pipe. Jesse picked up on that brake handle a bit and kicked in the motor ever so slightly, and the ninety-foot triple section lifted three inches. Zak looked over to Jesse for guidance as his other floorhand unlatched the worm tongs, and Jesse yelled again, “Push on that son of a bitch!” his motorman gave the dangling pipe a mighty shove and as it swung out past the rotary table, Zak scampered in behind it, placing his shoulder against it, and with all his strength kept it going toward the spot on the floor Jesse had marked with his boot. The top of the pipe remained at center derrick as he pushed against its natural tendency to swing back the other way. As the pipe neared its appointed spot it began to descend the two and a half feet to the floor and, at the last second, Jesse let ’er down with a bang, and Zak hopped instinctively out of the way. Up in the tower that Small Ape slipped a rope around the top of the pipe and released the elevators, transferring the stand from Jesse’s control to his own, and yanked back on the rope until the pipe was upright again and clanged into line with the other stands that nestled between the fingers of the rack. Zak could see how easy it would be to have a finger, a hand, or a foot get in the way of this process, and for a disturbing moment he shuddered to himself and said aloud, “I can’t believe this is how it’s done!”
Going back to his station, Zak looked up in time to see the big red clamp that had been used to haul the pipe out of the hole descending swiftly from high up in the derrick. Here’s another part of the process that’ll need doing every time, he thought. Already he knew he must work the slips and the tongs, and rack the pipe, which was a bitch. Now he thought, “What am I supposed to do with this thing?” Motorman reached up with both arms and, as soon as the elevators were at his fingertips, he grasped the two horns that were toward him, and, as it continued its descent, directed it to the pinhead at the top of the pipe that was sitting in the hole. Zak then moved to his assistance, and together they slammed it into place with a scissoring motion below that six-and-a-half-inch pinhead around the four-and-a-half-inch pipe.
The whole procedure then began again. Zak and the Scandinavian, his only other floorhand, bent down to remove the slips. The motors revved. Up came the pipe. One, two, three. When the third joint had passed and the top of the fourth was out of the hole, they threw in their slips, grabbed their tongs, and banged them onto the pipe, top and bottom, and separated the ninety-foot stand from the rest of the drill string still nestled in the slips. Every step required a maximum physical effort. It was then that Zak began to get an inkling of how tough the work really was going to be. What he didn’t know was how many times they were supposed to do this. Just pushing the pipe over to bank was about the most strenuous thing he had ever done. On top of that, no one had bothered to explain what it was they were trying to accomplish. What was the overall goal? It would have meant the world to him to hear someone say, “We’re going to have to do this for fifteen minutes,” or “We’ll need to pull twenty of these things,” but he wasn’t about to ask any questions. There was no time and no one could hear a thing anyway. Besides, it was a time for action!
He concentrated hard on his duties, on going through the motions as quickly and efficiently as he could. He put out as much as he
could each and every time. When he pulled up on that slip, he pulled his share and more. When he heard his motorman holler, “Take a bite!” he hit those tongs as hard as he could, figuring at this stage it was the only way he knew to survive, to earn his wages, and to gain the respect of his crew members. He was constantly surprised by the action and play of the pipe as he pushed it to bank. Each time it would fight that angle a little differently.
When the sixth or seventh joint was broken, gallons of warm mud and sediment spewed from the seam catching both Zak and his partner full in the face. The Scandinavian wasn’t fazed in the least but Zak was so startled he jumped back. When the next joint was about to break, the Scandinavian picked up an iron rod from somewhere and tapped the pipe and said, “It’s a wet one.” Jesse then picked up a denim jacket that was lying on the floor and tossed it over, and the floorhand tied it around the connection. When the joint was broken, the mud came spewing out but not in their faces. Zak was incredulous. “What happens when they run out of denim jackets?” After about fifteen or twenty stands, that Scandinavian gave Zak a quizzical crazy kind of twisted smile when they bent to move the slips. What that smile meant was open to interpretation but Zak felt no hostility, and before long they were taking turns pushing those stands over to bank. Later, Zak realized that smile, and his floorhand’s gesture, was Zak’s first really encouraging moment in the patch.
On they went, one stand after another. For hours they continued this grueling process without a single break in the action. If anything, the more he got the hang of it, the faster things went. And things were to go faster still. Zak, who was secretly weary after the first few stands, was beginning to feel that driller Jesse was pushing too hard, maybe on purpose. The pace was frightening and though Zak tried to wear a bold face, he could not conceal his fear. As soon as those slips were off the pipe, those engines would roar and up would come the joints. They’d throw the slips right back in and leap for their tongs. By now, he was completely covered in mud from head to toe. The floor was slick with it, making the footing treacherous. At one point driller Jesse hit the drawworks, sucking in that chain, and the tongs, having been hastily applied, came whipping off at incredible speed, snapping their powerful jaws in front of Zak’s face before they ricocheted off some iron and came flying back to smack him in the chest, knocking him hard to the floor. Luckily he was unhurt, but the experience scared him silly. He had very nearly had his face torn off; he could have been cut in half or crushed against iron.
He looked in horror over at Jesse as though that driller had been untrue to him. As if to say, “I’ve been giving you the best I have! How could you let something like this happen?!” The blank looks on the faces of the driller and motorman were inscrutable as they waited for Zak to haul himself up and resume his position. When he grabbed his tongs once more and hit the pipe he could see driller Jesse give him a nod then motion with a look and a gesture, and Zak knew to check the motorman’s tong latch as the motorman checked Zak’s, and the work went on. All the while Zak was thinking something like this should not be possible. This must be really out of the ordinary, a freak accident, highly unusual, but as he gathered his wits it slowly sunk in that it could happen at any time. He could see how, if the tongs were strung up in the derrick just a little bit crooked or if they were attached to the pipe improperly as he had done or if there was a faulty latch, just as any crooked wrench won’t bite completely, one of these monsters could come loose and fly off. The thought was horrendous. He attacked his job with renewed concentration and remained on the alert for any other unforeseen hazards, his cousin O’Mally’s words repeating themselves over and over in his mind like a mantra, “Always be aware.”
SEVENTY STANDS LATER—THAT’S SIXTY-THREE HUNDRED feet of pipe, at 16.6 pounds per foot, or four hundred ninety-eight pounds per joint, or approximately fifteen hundred pounds per stand, give or take a little mud, or one hundred and five thousand pounds of iron—Jesse brought the operation to a temporary halt. Zak dared not think that the job might be done. He didn’t want to know how exhausted he was, afraid that if he relaxed for just a second it would be the end of him. The Scandinavian walked to another part of the floor and started tackling pipe twice as big as what they had been working with. Zak looked with wonder from him to the pipe that was sticking so innocently out of the hole and tried to imagine what could possibly be next.
“Zak!” Jesse barked. “Get over there, we’ve got to change those tong heads.” Zak could see where Jesse was pointing, and when he reached the spot he stood there helplessly looking around and hoping that something would just jump out at him without killing him, but he still didn’t understand and so Jesse instructed further. “Those new tong heads! Grab ’em!” Zak picked up two pieces of iron that were lying nearby and brought them over to his tongs, beginning to get the idea that these attachments were to fit the claw of the tong thus enlarging the grip. Meanwhile, the Scandinavian was maneuvering several more large iron attachments into place around the hole where they would be handy. Jesse came off the brake handle and helped Zak adjust both tongs to a larger bite. It was becoming increasingly clear that whatever they were about to do was going to be much more difficult, and Zak vowed to himself that he would at least go down trying. Even bigger slips were brought out. In a way, this had been kind of a break, a rest, but it didn’t last long and soon Jesse was back at that brake handle. Once again pipe was coming out of the hole.
After the first joint was out, Zak could see what all the preparation had been for. The next two joints were twice the diameter and twice as heavy as the regular pipe. Unlike the regular pipe, however, this new stuff was straight, that is, untapered at the ends. Without the pinhead to work with, an extra iron collar or adaptor, four feet long with a six-and-a-half-inch pinhead, had to be screwed on tight, just atop the slip, to compensate. The supertongs were applied, and Jesse made the break using a lot more torque than usual. Off came the tongs in the usual sequence and it took both men, using all their might, to counteract the stand’s natural pendulation and push it over to bank. Jesse watched their slow and painful progress waiting for a good spot to let ’er drop. It would have to lean against the derrick itself as there was no room left up in the fingers.
When the elevators came down again, Zak could see that there was nothing at the top of the pipe for them to grip, and Jon called out to him, “Hey! Help me with this collar sub.” Together they picked up on one of the new attachments and placed it carefully on top of the pipe. “We gotta tighten ’er,” Jon said, and the two men grabbed their tongs. “Put yours on bottom.” Once it was tight they stood on their toes to catch the elevators by the horns and slammed it onto that collar sub. Jesse revved his engines, the boys removed the slips, and thirty, sixty, ninety feet of collars shot up out of the hole. They threw the slips back in and broke the joint with their tongs once more and then grunted and heaved to get the stand, more than twice as heavy as the usual stuff, over to bank.
Jesse wasn’t letting it down fast enough, and it began to overpower them as they struggled to get it over to where the driller wanted it. When he realized that the men were having trouble, he intentionally set ’er down in the wrong spot and motioned to that derrickhand not to let ’er go. Jon looked anxiously over at Zak and warned between breaths, “Look out now. He’s gonna pick up on ’er again and we’re just gonna have to try and hold ’er and then ease ’er back to where we started. We don’t want ’er to dance. If she does, someone’s gonna get hammered.” When Jesse picked up on it, the pressure was so intense the two men staggered. They eased it back to a perpendicular position and began the grueling process all over again. Five stands were placed, in more or less the same fashion, each one weighing four thousand pounds, leaning each against the derrick.
When at last the odd joint was out, there on the end was the drill bit. This was a grisly-looking device comprised of three circular cones all covered with big sharp iron teeth that fit together so the cones would roll
against each other evenly. Amidst these cones were three ominous-looking nozzles dripping with mud. This thing looked like it could chew its way to China if needs be. As soon as that bit was through the floor, Jesse yelled, “Grab the cover!” and Jon nodded toward a big iron bucket which Zak hurried to pick up with both hands. He could see the impression of those bit cones in the bottom of it as he placed the bucket in the hole and that last stand, bit on bottom, was set down into this cover.
The next trick was to get the bit off the pipe. This was accomplished by placing the tongs on the pipe, or collar, to just hold it in place while the rotary table turned just enough to make the break. When they had the last few feet of pipe disassembled and the bit resting in the cover, Jesse ordered Zak down to that bottom doghouse to fetch an “F-3, it’s a Smith bit.” Zak found it among a half-dozen boxes piled neatly on the floor, and when Zak went to lift it he nearly stumbled and fell. It weighed one hundred twenty-five pounds at least. All his mind and body anguished in the sweet agony of exhaustion as he lugged it out the door and up the long narrow stairway to the drilling floor. Each step tormented his calves, thighs, hips, back, shoulders, and arms. He delivered the bit to the top doghouse where Jesse tore into it, inserting three nozzlelike devices into their appropriate slots. He then excused the men to get a bite to eat, but told them to hurry as he would need them again soon.
ZACHARY HARPER WALKED NUMBLY OUT of the top doghouse and down to his Jeep where he plopped himself down in the front seat. He was so exhausted and emotionally drained that for a few long moments all he could do was sit and stare blankly, in a state of torpor and lassitude, across the raw rolling landscape. It was nearly dark. He wasn’t sure whether or not he had the energy to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and he wasn’t looking forward to eating one anyway. It was all he had been living on for weeks. The idea of going back up there with an empty stomach, however, seemed suicidal.
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