Monday, September 26, 2011

Chapter 55: A Lake Called Quest

There are strange claims staked at old Quest Lake,
where the diamond drillers toil.
Where the rock's so hard,
and the earth is scarred,
'neath pulsing hose line coil.
"Twas there I passed my nights away
with the northern lights above,
questing for that yellow stone,
that fancy ladies love.
So down we pushed the steely rods
all smeared with gooey grease,
to penetrate the lithosphere
and grind it to release,
those cores of precious quartz and ore
the geos love to see,
in search of veins of golden ore,
to make moolah, cash money.
Into this land of trees and lakes
we dwelt in rounded tents,
encircled by a bear deterring
electrifying fence.
Around the clock we banged our skulls
against the densest matter 
with a flimsy drill at 45 degrees
coated in whale splooge splatter.
Near and far and all around
lay artifacts of rust,
left here to lay, till today,
by moiling men like us.
They also came not so long ago,
to see if the could wrest,
cash money, moolah, golden ore,
from beneath a lake called quest.
So suck it up ye workin' stiffs,
be glad to get a meal,
you can snap your backs
and have a heart attack,
looking for something real.
Just remember long from now,
when you are gnarled and old,
that you can still afford some H & B
if we can mine some f***ing gold!

I wrote that poem on the lid of a core box a few days ago as i was perched above the diamond drill, watching the steel rods spinning and grinding their way into the canadian shield. The guys here at camp really liked it, and Wes, the geo is going to ake it home and put it up in his office.

A few days ago a twin otter float plane crashed in Yellowknife, killing both pilots and injuring the seven passengers. It was the same plane that brought us here, and it had just been here at our camp 24 hours before it crashed, to pick up and relieve us of Duane, the dirtsnake driller that I used to work night shift with.

I was not sad to see him go. Even though he was only 39, he looked 60. Beaten up by years of crack addiction, two packs a day and who knows what else. Apparently he never sent money home to his wife and three kids but just went on a wild bender every time he got out of camp. He couldn't figure the drill out and working night shift with him was an agonizing nightmare. Working with Bob is much, much better.

This is a wild and rugged place. seen from the sky, it is an immense, unending sea of rock, dotted with infinite lakes and carpeted with lichen, weedy evergreens and birch. There are bears, moose, wolves and other nameless things here. I have heard several tales of bear maulings and about one guy who was feeding a wolf that came near his camp. It was a solitary female wolf. he went out onto the lake ice to feed her. She came back day after day. She demurely retreated and he followed, offering her food. She led him across the ice and into the woods, where the rest of her pack devoured him. All they ever found was part of his rib cage. So, I always keep my bear spray close at hand. There is a pump shotgun at the drill. the first round is an explosive bear banger, the next round is a rubber bullet, the rest are 12 gauge slugs.

I am working on the night shift on a diamond drill that runs 24 hours a day. After sleeping most of the day and eating a hearty meal, Buffalo Bob and I head out from our cozy camp across the lake in a fishing boat. It is customary to try to catch and release a few jackfish along the way. One of these days we're going to catch a big one. On the first day I arrived I hooked the biggest jack I've ever seen, but he gave me the slip.

So, we cross the lake, tie up our boat and then hike for half an hour through tamarack filled swamp and over lichen covered rocks to Quest Lake, where our canoe is tied to a birch. When we first arrived, they were brilliantly gold, now, day by day, as the nights grow longer and the freezing rains beat down, they are becoming skeletal and bleak. We cross Quest in a canoe, how many people in this day and age commute to work in a canoe? then we hike some more to the drill site. We tag off with the day shift and get all the engines roaring. Then we spend 14 hours toiling in the cold and dark, with wind, sleet and exhaustion banging at us. Lifting, cranking, wrestling with machines and rocks, mud and grease.

I keep a little fire going to warm up and rest by rom time to time. There have been some nights when the northern lights have come out to dance, as splendidly as I've eve seen them. Shades of turquoise and lavender dancing across the sky in great spirals and arcs. Reflected over the pure and merciless crystal clarity of Quest Lake. Buffalo Bob says that they are just waves of electromagnetic energy from solar flares, but i know better. when I see the lights come out, I pull my harmonica from my greasy, filthy overalls and play them a jig and they dance, as curious and playful as children.

So, all this work and toil should add up to a paycheck to keep the wolf from the door. Meanwhile my heart is sad from missing Yaya's birthday today, and I sure could use some hugs and kisses from my girls, but if I can stick this out, I should have enough money to be able to take the summer off to play festivals as Captain Thunderpants and continue my crawl towards intergalactic superstardom.

So, Beloved, as you lay warm in your bed, think of me for a moment, for I'll be up, and thinking of you.

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