Far North Friday #56: Young Geologist and His Chainsaw

It may sound like I have a grudge against diamond drillers. I don’t. I respect them a lot. It is a tough physical job, sometimes dangerous, carried out in remote areas, 24 hours per day. But, there has always been a bit of tension between drillers and geologists. Sometimes we add to that tension unintentionally.

One summer, I shared a camp with a diamond drill crew and their cook on a really small lake in northwestern Ontario. The drillers came from Val-d’Or, Quebec. Their English was better than my French, but we did not communicate very much. They worked 12 hour shifts. When they were not eating, they were sleeping.

 One evening, after I had finished plotting the daily geology map, I got bored. I decided that I would cut some firewood for the camp. The evenings were getting cool and we used an airtight stove to heat the office tent.

I gassing up the chainsaw, found a dead tree about 30 metres away from the camp, planned how I would cut it, and fired up the saw. It is mandatory to gun it a few times to ensure the chain is lubricated, the engine runs well, and it just sounds cool. Then, I attacked the tree - full speed ahead. If you have any doubts about the whine of a chain saw, have a listen to the audio:

Chainsaw audio from: https://www.soundjay.com/chainsaw-sound-effect.html

It only took about 15 seconds to fall the tree. The camp would be pleased. Imagine, a geologist cutting wood for the collective camp! Perhaps the cook would make me a chocolate cake as a reward. Maybe I would receive an award for building inter-provincial relations. At the very least, the drillers would thank me each morning when they walked into a warm cook tent.

After I felled the tree, I shut off the saw. I reached for the axe to trim off the dead branches to make it easier to cut the tree into pieces. During that quiet moment, I heard someone yelling in French. I was not certain what the person was saying, but I understood one reference to a church. He didn’t sound very grateful for my effort. The drill foreman came running over. In his best colourful English, he reminded me that the drillers were sleeping. I had just woken them up. They were not amused. I confess, I had completely forgotten that the drillers were sleeping. But, the damage was done.

I did not try to explain. I did not mention how warm and toasty the cook tent would be in the cold morning. I dared not ask if the cook had chocolate cake mix. It was not the time to discuss an inter-provincial award. And the old black spruce tree just lay there.

I slipped into my tent, seeking refuge from the linguistic attack. I was embarrassed. Disappearing was the best thing I could do.

 The next morning, the drillers packed up their camp and flew it out to their drill site. The melodious and familiar drone of the diesel engine on the drill was a white noise they could sleep to - away from a young geologist and his chainsaw.

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Chainsaw image from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chainsaw

Feb. 19/21, Facebook (Feb. 19/21)