Flaxmead

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  The Crown Plaza Hotel Wharf Road Newcastle, twenty five minutes from Newcastle Airport Williamtown, forty five minutes from Hunter wineries and an hour from the major coal structure run by the mining giant Janeiro Coffee. A perfect central comfortable location, with its own private wharf overlooking the busy port of Newcastle. Equipped with waterfront meeting rooms just right for the busy mining executive to meet and plan behind closed doors and make the most of their most important resource, time. Raglan Crookborn Janeiro Coffee CEO chaired a meeting of state and area managers to discuss the latest money spinner, the extraction of coal seam gas through a method known as hydraulic fracturing or 'fracking'. Holes are drilled to the bottom of the coal seam in a grid pattern, a cocktail of chemicals is then pumped down the hole under pressure fracturing the coal and releasing methane gas. The gas is collected by a web of pipelines, separated from the contaminated ground water and into storage for immediate delivery and cash flow. The contaminated water is then stored in ponds above ground millions of litres, nothing is done with the water because nothing can be. It is poisons and dangerous to all environments man, animal, vegetable or mineral.

  The meeting was to be held closer to mining operations but it clashed with a protest from a powerful lobby group made up of winery owners, horse stud management, landowners, race horse trainers and representatives from the tourism industry. The lobby group was two thousand strong and demanded to know the chemicals used to extract the gas currently a secret. The cocktail is released into the water table during the process and was believed to have contaminated the artesian basin water in Queensland to a critical degree. Raglan Crookborn opened the meeting and the minutes of a previous meeting were read out. Crookborn a South African national then explained the current company approach. A determined man of average stature, a veteran of the coal mining industry, a brilliant mathematician feared by most in the board room.

  "Since our last meeting a month ago we have presented a plan to state government outlining the projected gross income from the gas reserves in the Hunter. We made a point of highlighting the state tax offset payable should the venture go ahead. The state is in election mode and strapped for funds. We have lobbied both sides of government as there is a strong chance the current government will be defeated at the election. We outlined the changes we require in relevant legislation, I believe they will be attracted by the extra revenue and be most accommodating."

  Hunter Valley coal operations general manager Keith Richardson interrupted Crookborn. His blue cotton work uniform with reflective strips was in austere contrast to the tailored suit worn by Crookborn. "We have a lobby group in the Hunter, a wide range of Hunter people some the most powerful business and landowners around. They are causing a hell of a stir with local government ministers. I live next to a winery how do you propose we handle this, the media coverage of Queensland gas operations aren't helping. People are pushing about damage to the ground water."

  Crookborn pushed his thick black rimmed gold hinged glasses to the end of his nose looking across the table in with a scalding face, his greying hair slightly fell over his nose and he pushed it back. "I don't care about the water I deal in coal and gas so do you. You will appreciate the fact people have concerns but continue to push our agenda. The government will handle the fine print."

  "Part of this lobby alliance includes two retired English merchant bankers Hornswaddle and Fothrington they recently bought into the area. We tried to approach them they're eccentric dangerous and rich. Retired lunatics are hard to deal with; I don't wish to run a gold fish farm in a clown suit."

  Crookborn sat back in his chair removed his glasses and began to clean them. "I have dealt with these people before, I don't know what's come over them. They are indeed dangerous." He put his glasses back on slowly. "They recently bought an old castle reliant on tourism in Ireland for next to nothing, it had fallen into terrible debt. They paid off the entire staff filled the grounds with thoroughbred race horses and hired midgets to run around the castle and grounds dressed as leprechauns. They sell wine from the dungeon sellers and the place is making a fortune. I don't know how to handle these people but should we get the legislation we are after their hands will be tied. Bugger this up and you just may be running a gold fish farm in a clown suit complete with red nose. We have leases well west of their area that is our intended target, push this fact with the lobby group, we are miles from them."

  Richardson shook his head and the edges of this mouth dropped. "The entire valley shares the same underground water table, unless we can convince them what we're doing is safe things will get worse."

  "The contract drilling companies will wear the brunt of the flak, we will simply blame them. We don't know what they use but they assure us its safe," said Crookborn.

  "Just tell them what's in it if it's safe what's to loose," replied Richardson.

  "Stall, by the time they find out it'll be too late, now enough of this. In the last two months there have been four productivity spikes across all operations in the Valley, not only ours but Fixed Hole has the same results. Why would these sundry days see a twelve percent spike in productivity." said Crookborn. He handed some graphs and reports to Richardson and the rest of the gathered management. They studied the reports in silence. "The weather was the same, available equipment levels identical what can anyone suggest and how can it be sustained," asked Crookborn.

  The manager of Greedy Piggy Creek operations from the back of the table spoke up, his cotton work uniform was tinged with coal dust. "Flaxmead."

  Crookborn looked puzzled. "Flaxmead, what are you talking about man speak English."

  "There the days the race horse Flaxmead ran."

  "What!" quipped Crookborn.

  "I was at two of the meetings myself, I remember dispatch telling me of record production when I made my usual daily call I didn't make the match then but now I see it in this graph I remember the race meeting dates."

  Crookborn folded his arms. "Forgive me if I'm not quite with you."

  Greedy Piggy Creek operations manager Rutland Girdwood spoke louder sure he was right. "A horse called Flaxmead, big black thoroughbred stallion from here in the Valley. Owned by two children, the workforce has claimed it as their own the owners live next door to the lease. This thing has brought the waring union lodges of the valley together. It's won every start and broke five track records, they say it's on the way to the Melbourne Cup. People of the valley are passionate about things like this. The last time it ran in Sydney half the valley attended the meeting me included, this thing can run the pants off a Kangaroo. They call it the hunter valley thunderbolt."

  "You expect me to return to London and report production spikes in the hunter valley were caused by a horse," enquired Crookborn.

  "Yes, the whole place is enlightened when the thing runs. The crews feel like winners and it comes out in a days work. If that horse makes the Melbourne Cup we may as well close up for the day everyone will be at Flemington in Victoria including me."

  Crookborn looked at Richardson wide eyed. 'Well."

  "I think he's right, everyone's talking about it. They carry the horse around in a flash truck with a picture of the kids and horse on the side. It passed me in Cessnock recently and everyone was going mad tooting horns and waving quite extraordinary. My wife is not the least bit interested in horse racing but studies the race guide in the paper with her friends to see when it's running. There's a rumour around that Hornswaddle and Fothrington know a bit about it. Some think the horse is kept at their winery Shangri La."

  Crookborn thought carefully for a while the room in silence. "Bring me five more production spikes that line up and I'll take it to London. Currently I think I'd get laughed out of the board room. You tell no one this is being monitored so they don't pull a fast one."

  "Wont be necessary it'll happen," said Girdwood. "I know people from the valley I am one. Open cut and underground mining have been accepted here for years. If you ever crack mine
gas in this valley it will be over a lot of people's dead bodies."