In 1951, I was working for Inspiration Drilling, under contract for Gunner Uranium in Uranium City, Sask. We had two drill rigs on the shore of Ace Lake and were using a 3-shift cycle. Our fieldman on the project was Ned Beaulieu, who was one of the best in the business.
At one point, before we could drill a series of small holes, we had to cross a small pond. We constructed a raft made of 12 empty 45-gallon drums and a platform in order to move the tractor and drill. The water was about 20 ft.
deep and cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss. With the tractor on board, Ned proceeded to cross the pond with the aid of a 7-horsepower outboard motor. As he moved the raft forward, its front rose ever so slightly, sending the tractor backward along the incline until it splashed into the pond. Someone had forgot to set the brake.
After Ned’s cursing subsided, he motioned to us from the raft to bring out the 16-ft. boat. From on-board the raft, we could see the outline of the tractor through the clear water. It was decided that we would winch the tractor out of the pond using the drill, which was still on shore. The problem, however, was that someone had to dive into the pond and hook the drill’s cable onto the tractor’s drawbar. Ned knew I was the best swimmer in the group and suggested I do the diving.
I knew it was no big deal, but I wasn’t about to do it for nothing. I told Ned that the water was too cold to be comfortable and, after a bit of jawing, he agreed to give me eight hours of pay for every dive I made. That was music to my ears. I worked the task into four dives before I hooked the cable in place.
Years later, during a soil sampling job we were conducting for Trans-Canada Pipelines, I told Ned the truth. We were sitting in the Kapuskasing Hotel having a brew when I revealed that I could have planted the hook on my first dive but opted for the extra pay. He didn’t talk to me for a week.
— The author is product manager for Moncton, N.B.-based Major Drilling. He resides in North Bay, Ont.
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