That reminds me of a story.
Spelunk [spi-luhngk]
Etymology:
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From Middle English spelunke, from Latin spelunca,
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From Ancient Greek σπῆλυγξ (spêlunx), from earlier σπέος (spéos). .
verb (used without object) -
To explore caves, especially as a hobby.
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The noise big rocks make when chucked into a newly discovered cavern.
“Rock, honey”, Esme says “You can’t just give up on your international contracts. We agreed to give this time. Until something happens, you still need to go where your jobs take you.”
“Es, dear”, I reply, “I understand that. However, I’ve already told the guys at the shop I’ve got enough work to keep me busy at home for a full year reviewing data, writing reports, and stickhandling the data reprocessing. In the interim, I can still take local contracts if they are short enough.”
“If you think that will work…” Esme replies, none too comfortable with my decisions.
The last pregnancy terminated spontaneously when I was over in the USSR. As usual, no one has any idea why this keeps recurring. Particularly when young Khris is off the charts developmentally; physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Even if she keeps trying to ride Lady like a horse. Good thing Lady loves the attention.
I suppose one might think: “Well, you idiots, cut your losses and be grateful for what you have”.
There is that, but when maternal and paternal instincts are ramped up to 11, your long term plans were for two offspring, and this sort of challenge is thrown down; logic and critical thinking tend to go out the window.
Yeah, curse us for our all-too-human foibles.
We report to Esme’s doctor on a very regular basis. I need to attend as Esme and I are valiantly trying to understand what the problem if any, might be. I can’t do that when I’m off in the middle of absolute nowhere chasing filthy lucre.
The damnable thing about all this is the lack of any concrete evidence pointing to any sort of specific problem. After each the miscarriages, Es undergoes a battery of tests. The ‘material’ from the spontaneous abortions is analyzed by some of the best genetic and pre-natal scientists the Houston medical community can offer.
The consensus so far: Bupkis.
They’re at as much of a loss as to the cause of the problem as are we.
They see no danger in our continuing, except for the psychological trauma suffered after each of these unfortunate situations.
Physically? They see no problem whatsoever with either of us. Esme is palpably capable of carrying a pregnancy to term, obviously, but no one can nail down even an idea of what have been the contributory factors in the last pregnancy’s negative results.
The other consensus it to give it a rest for a while. Six months is good, a year would be better.
We are no longer vernal Gallus’; time, tide, and travel are taking their tolls. The biological clocks are ticking and we have no idea when Zero Hour might strike.
So, we decide to just relax, treasure Khris even more, and get on with our lives.
Always forward, never back.
So it came as a bolt from the blue when I received a telegram, remember them? from my igneous petrology professor from my days back at university.
Seems he had a secured a rather large grant from several different scientific societies to conduct research at a relatively young and potentially boisterous volcano in the Pacific basin.
In Hawaii. Well, on Hawaii, to be exact.
He needed someone with drilling and blasting experience. A ‘stone-cold professional’, as he put it, to help in his data acquisition and analysis exercises at this volcano.
There would be the usual seismic data gathering exercises, which he knew from long experience was my particular bailiwick. He also needed someone who knew his/her way around a drilling rig. He had somehow procured an older self-propelled, track mounted, shallow core-drilling rig, and had planned a series of cores right from the very floor of the caldera of this volcano.
He had the help of six graduate students but wanted a seasoned professional to be his second-in-command to run the logistics and actual operations in, on, and around the volcanic vent.
His grant would allow for me, and another of my choosing, one with proper geological credentials; travel, food and lodging in Hawaii for the duration of the program; approximately 3 weeks.
The thing was, he needed an answer within three business days.
“ES!” I shouted one day after I returned home from the office, “Daddy’s home!”
“Daddy!” Khris runs out, dragging Lady with her, to surgically implant herself around my leg.
Hey, Khris. Hello, Lady” I say, “Khris, can you let Lady out, please?”
“OK!”, and she and Lady run off.
“Hello, dear”, Es replied, “So how were the salt mines today?”
“Grueling” I replied. “Dear, a quick question: what do you know of volcanic igneous petrology?”
“What an odd question”, Es mused, “I know the usual undergraduate level of information. Why?”
“Damn, its good I keep all my old textbooks”, I replied.
“Oh, dear,” Es says, brow furrowed, “Now what do you have up your sleeve?”
“Arms” I chuckle.
Esme was not amused.
“Remember that spring holiday we were planning to Glacier?” I asked. “I was thinking, there might be a slight change in destination…”
Esme’s curiosity is full alarmed now.
Continuing…
“We need a vacation. A real vacation.” I answer, “Like someplace warm, tropical, and best of all, on someone else’s nickel?”
“Rock, you’re doing that obtuse leading-question thing again. You’re scaring your dear wife” Esme frets.
“Right. I figure it’s time to go to Hawaii”, I reply, “You’ve always wanted to go and a golden opportunity just fell into my lap.”
“Rock, you know I don’t like jokes like this”, Esme grumbles.
“No joke, oh dear heart of mine” I tell her.
I lay out the contents of the telegram I had only received the previous day.
“I’ve already cleared it with Beach Petroleum.” I told her, “I said I’m working like a dog on the USSR data; but with life, the universe, and everything, we both require a well-deserved break. I said we’re going to Hawaii for a vacation. They had no objections. I did not mention it was a working vacation; however, there are obviously no conflict of interests.”
“Wait. This is for real?” Esme’s eyes grow wide.
“Oh, yes”, I replied, “That is if my darling wife would sign off as scientific adjunct on the project as well. Dr. Ingca is currently waiting on my reply, yea, or nay.”
“What’s his phone number?” Es smiles as she picks up the receiver.
So, it’s set. We’re off to Hawaii to do SCIENCE!
In a week’s time, we’ll be flying from Baja Canada to Hawaii. Why Baja Canada? Well, Oma has, ahem, ‘volunteered’ to babysit Khris for the duration of our trip, which is slated to be no more than three weeks duration. Or so.
I’ve already upgraded our flights from grant-supported steerage class to a more amenable Business Class with our not inconsiderable frequent flyer miles. Esme has been reading my igneous petrology textbooks, and even I’m boning up on all this hard-rock igneous geology.
We’ve received a thick packet of information about the area in which we’ll be working.
I find volcanic petrology refreshing as well as fascinating. It’s another facet of geology I can now add to my fields of expertise.
We are heading to the Big Island of Hawaii and the eastern rift zone of the Kīlauea volcano.
We’re going to be examining a parasitic cone called ‘Mauna Ulu’, or ‘Mauna Ula’, depending on which vintage maps and reports you’re reading. It took significant wrangling to obtain the necessary permits to work here as it falls within the bounds of Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park.
It’s of prime interest as Mauna Ulu was in a continuous state of eruption from May 1969 to July 1974.
Now, some years later, we’re going here to sample the lava, volcanic gasses, and geophysically image the caldera to determine if the volcano poses any possible near-future eruption risk. We’re also going to obtain cores of the caldera floor to generate a cooling and mineralogical history of the basaltic magma that forms the Hawaii’in-Emperor Seamount Chain.
Sounds all very scientific, but, everyone’s got their own ulterior motives. The grad students are wrangling for letters of reference from Dr. Ingca. The good Doctor himself is there to visit and interview with the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory as he wants to obtain a direct vulconology position rather than the general earth science position he holds now at university.
Esme and I are here to work the science, increase our overall scientific knowledge, add to the universal data bank of natural science, go deep sea fishing, advance our tans, and generate a slightly stronger positive household cash flow.
Once a mercenary, always a mercenary.
Oma cheerily greets Khris when we arrive in Baja Canada. Oma, the inveterate school teacher, has determined that Khris is old enough to begin learning German. This trip will give Oma the chance to begin Khris’ training in Germanic linguistics.
We privately think she’s still a bit young, but what possible harm could come from this?
Besides it will give them something fresh and fun to do besides visit museums, cinemas, and art galleries in our absence.
Oma is all about culture.
So, we say our farewells and Esme and I are off, via airport shuttle, on another adventure of a lifetime.
Esme had always wanted to visit Hawaii. Me? Not so much. Why? I abhor crowds. However, in this case, we’re going to be well off the beaten path and up in the hills, down in the caldera. Plus, someone else is footing the bill. How could I possibly send regrets?
Our out-bound itinerary includes three stops from when we leave Baja Canada. We fly first to the Windy City and enjoy a fun FIB-filled 5-hour Chi-town layover. Then it’s onto The Golden Gate City, to enjoy a wonderful Granola-Land 4-hour layover. Finally, we’re off over the vast Pacific to our destination: Honolulu.
A scant 22 hours after our initial departure, we’ll be at our primary journey's terminus.
Even though we’re all one scientific group, we’ll be staying in different lodgings when we are physically on the Big Island.
The Grad students are booked into a relatively inexpensive hikers, backpackers, and other forms of itinerant nomad’s hostel. Primitive, austere, yet grim. We inspected it and immediately passed. We are well beyond that form of communal accommodation. We’ve done month’s long field camps, field studies, and innumerable field trips. We’ve paid our dues.
Dr. Ingca is being put up by and at the observatory. They have visiting scientist’s quarters, and even though Esme and I were offered lodging there, we weren’t thrilled with the prospect with the lack of creature comforts; restaurants, bars and such, and the ‘closeness’ with as of yet unknown colleagues.
Besides, I’ve got millions of frequent flyer miles to burn through and for Es and me. We’re treating it as a mental health break, a rejuvenation of psyche and spirit, and second honeymoon.
We secure lodging at the “Volcano House”, a very adequate billet located some mere 2.2 miles from Mount Kilauea. Volcano House is the only hotel located within Hawaii Volcanoes National Park and is perched on the rim of Kilauea's Halemaumau crater. Very convenient.
It’s only a four-star establishment, but we decide we can soldier on for our allotted three or so weeks. We obtain a ‘Deluxe Volcano Crater View Suite’ for essentially free because of the reciprocal agreement between Royal Dutch airlines and Aeroflot.
You see, for every air mile I fly on Aeroflot, I receive 1.75 air miles from the Netherlands-based airline. Their version of a combat bonus, I presume. These all go into my air miles-bank and on my Titanium Frequent Flyer card. The three week stay barely puts a dent in the agglomeration of miles I’ve acquired thus far.
We gently touch down and go through all the typical landing formalities. No one laughs at my “Where do we exchange US dollars for Hawaiian money?” joke.
Upon deplaning, we’re given fragrant floral leis, but I politely decline. It would clash with my black Stetson. I pass it on to Esme for her collection.
We decide to rent a car rather than rely on Dr. Ingca’s arranged transportation. We will have some time off and we’re not going to hang around when there’s fishing, shopping and scientific sightseeing to be done.
We arrive at Volcano House. We are immediately heartily aloha’ed and checked in. We venture up to our suite, give appreciative low whistles over the room’s view, tip the redcap, and unpack.
Es is road and travel weary and desiring of a nap.
“Rock. Hon, make sure you leave me the dialing directions for the bar. Just in case I need you to get ahold of you.” She says, sleepily.
My love for her grows daily.
So, I’m down in Uncle George’s Lounge, instructing the bartender the finer points of constructing an adult double potato juice and citrus beverage.
“Not bad, not bad” I say, giving my evaluation, “However, Maurice, needs more ice, and a nice lime slice.”
“That’s an odd drink” Maurice observes. “Then again, you’re sort of odd with your faux-Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, field boots, and Stetson. How about we call it “The Rocknocker” and feature it on the drinks menu. How about that?”
“I’d be honored, Maurice”, I reply.
So, if you’re ever at the Volcano House on the big island, remember to ask for your signature thirst-quencher by name.
I arrange for a travel cup, requisition a double, and go walkabout on the hotel grounds. Of course, I’m smoking a large cigar. Although I’m detracting from the natural beauty of the surrounding environment, a group of Japanese guests insist on taking their photo with me.
It’s got to be the full, white beard. They’re transfixed.
“Sir”, one of them asks, “What are you doing here in Hawaii? You vacation?”
“Who are you? The Japanese equivalent of my agency buddies Rack and Ruin back home?” I muse.
Continuing, “Yes, in a manner of speaking”, I reply, “See that smaller crater over yonder? Well, a group of us are going down into it for the next three weeks and do some serious volcano science.”
They were gobsmacked. We were actually going off-trail and into the maw of a very, living volcano?
“Yep.”, I reply, sipping my drink, “I’m going to run the drilling rig and do all the blasting.”
“Blasting!” they all shriek, “Why are you blasting a volcano? Won’t that cause it to erupt?”
The thought of proximity to an erupting volcano and consequent fires utterly terrifies them.
“Whoa. Ok, now just settle down, guys.” I calmly reply, “This satellite parasitic cone hasn’t been active for more than a decade. It’s dormant now, or what we call ‘quiescent’.”
They seem relieved, especially when I relate my academic and industrial credentials. I reassure them there is exactly zero danger.
We fervently hoped. I didn’t audibly add that, though.
“How do you know that?” they ask.
“Because I’m your average, everyday normal Motherfuckin’ Pro from Dover. Doctor Rocknocker, at your service. Call me ‘Rock’.” I chuckle.
They were initially shocked, then realized I was making light of both them and the situation.
They laughed heartily, and took more pictures when I re-lit my cigar. I’d be running into them on a semi-regular basis for the next few weeks. We all shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and wandered off our separate ways.
I wandered around the grounds for about a drink and three-quarters of a cigar. I realized I was feeling a bit road weary myself. Since all us scientific-types were all meeting at the Volcano Observatory bright and early tomorrow morning, I decided to head back to our suite.
Esme was just awake and pronounced herself famished. We gave room service a good working over that evening. Es was semi-impressed when I ordered a ‘Rocknocker’ to go with our steak and baked pompano dinner.
After our evening constitutional, Es and I decide it’s time for bed. Neither one of us remember ever turning off the room lights, we were out that fast.
We all meet the next morning at 0900 at the Volcano Observatory. There’s Dr. Ingca, Es, my own self, and the six grad students: Mark, Linus, Roger, Mary, Janet, and Edith. The manager of the observatory, Dr. Sumendi, greets us and shuttles us to the conference room for breakfast bites and briefings.
After the initial introductions, there’s the mandatory safety lectures. As the observatory is a United States Geological Survey, USGS, outpost, we need to abide by all guidelines; local, state and chiefly federal, particularly OSHA.
My blasting permits and associated documents had been forwarded previously to the observatory for vetting. I am now the proud owner of a USGS-certified Blaster’s Permit. I alone am able to obtain, charge, set, and detonate explosives within the park’s perimeter.
As such, Dr. Ingca and I thought I’d get all the pre-expedition blasting protocols out of the way. It’d be easier here than in the field. Here I’d have everyone’s 100% attention.
I greet everyone and explain my perceived part in this little project. I explain that when blasting is involved, I am the only one in charge. Not Dr. Ingca, not Dr. Sumendi, not even my wife. I’m the hookin’ bull. You will take all orders, respond immediately, and without question. When it could be a matter of life and death, we don’t have the time to spare for a formal committee meeting.
I explain my flag system and who is and is not permitted where and when the flags are out.
If you have any questions, ask them. Do not assume anything. Assumptions, suppositions, and guesses can prove to be not only wrong but dead wrong. I explain clearing the compass, the air horn, FIRE IN THE HOLE! and Hit it! protocols. I tell them that there will be a demonstration in the field before we go into active data acquisition mode, so that would be a good time to address your queries.
I segue smoothly into the handling of the drilling rig. It’s an old crawler-mounted CME 55 Track Rig. It has a top drive and carries up to 650 gallons of drilling fluids or water. It has a side mounted air compressor with a tank capable of attaining 250 bar. The high torque rotary box can provide 9,400 ft lbs and 1,665 rpm. The rig’s hydraulic feed system has 28,275 lbs of retract force and 18,650 lbs of pull-down force. It also has a feed rate of 55 ft. per minute (max). This CME 55 was equipped with GDOT certified auto-SPT hammers and can turn hollow stem coring bits sized anywhere from 2.25 to 10.25-inch interior diameter.
As it’s self-portable, diesel powered, and we will also be using an older model D-8 Caterpillar dozer to create access roads in and around the backside of the caldera, I ask if anyone has experience with handling heavy equipment.
Roger tells me he’s worked in a knacker yard and has experience with forklifts, small dozers, and other scaled-down heavy equipment. Mark says he’s got some experience as well.
“Roger, you’re now my second in command in the field”, I tell him’, “Right after a shakedown test. Mark, you’re right after. ”
“Yes, Sir, Doctor Rock!” they snap to.
“OK. Everyone here. It’s just Rock. OK? No need to stand on formality in the field”, I say.
Coming from someone decked out as I was, in my usual field garb, “formality” was obviously not an often utilized word in my vocabulary.
That seemed to lighten the mood in the room immensely. We all realized we were all approachable and don’t stand too firmly on lecture-hall decorum or stuffy propriety.
It is decided that Dr. Ingca will set up a Rota schedule so everyone gets some time in every aspect of the project. Esme asks if she is needed in the field. She would prefer to utilize her not inconsiderable skills in logistics, data QA/QC and data processing at the Observatory, as she had done in Greenland.
Drs. Ingca, Sumendi, and Rocknocker all think that’s an excellent suggestion.
So it begins. The project, like Gaul, will be divided into four sections.
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Dr. Sumendi will run the overall show from the Volcano Observatory. He will be responsible for operations, correspondence, finances, licenses, permits, transport, and logistics.
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Dr. Ingca will administer the field reconnaissance. This will include primary data gathering, mapping, initial field interpretations, and acquisition of physical samples: rocks, fluids, and gasses.
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Dr. Rock will manage the heavy equipment, construction, coring operations in the caldera proper, preparing, and executing blasting for the seismic along with seismic acquisition and field QA/QC.
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Mrs. Esme Rock will control all QA/QC, processing, archiving, storage, and retrieval of all data generated by the team.
Each of the six graduate students will rotate, on a three-day basis, from one part of the team to the other. That way, each will have multiple exposures to myriad of different tasks associated with the project.
As the observatory has a small amount of nifty pyrotechnics on-site, I haven’t made my initial assessments nor orders yet, I thought that since it’s near noon, we will break for lunch. Afterward, we should all meet in the rear of the observatory, near the motor pool, where I can conduct my explosives demonstrations and conduct my heavy equipment check-outs.
Everyone in attendance agrees, so we break for lunch and head for the commissary.
Es tells me she’s still tired and since she won’t be needed this afternoon, she’d like my permission to depart, partake of the in-room Jacuzzi and later, bed.
I just snicker and agree, of course. I ask if she wants me to ride back with her.
“No, you stay here and do your dog and pony show. I know how you just live for live demos” she smiles.
“Are you operating at optimal functionality? You seem to be terribly tired a lot of the time. Should I have a concern?” I ask.
“No, Rock dear”, she says, “Remember, I’ve had an invasive surgical procedure just a few weeks ago. I haven’t been getting out much at all. All this travel, fresh air, exercise, new surroundings, new foods…”
“Ok, I see. Just as long as you’re not shammin’ just so you can go shopping.” I smile.
“Never entered my mind” she kisses me, “Let me go now and relax some. I promise it’s only a transitory bit of malaise. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”
“OK, if you insist.” I say, with a smile, “BE OFF! Go Jacuzzi! Get rest!”
She smiles back, “OK, boss person. Don’t have to tell me twice.”
After lunch, I begin an introduction to industrial detonics. I make certain everyone is familiar with all the tools of the trade.
Blasting caps. Super boosters. Dynamite. Primacord. C-4. Seismogel. Gelignite. Demolition wire. Actuators. Blasting machines, galvanometers, and so forth.
“If you’re unsure, ASK ME!” I drill it into their heads. “Safety first, last and foremost. A blasting cap looks harmless but if handled incorrectly it could blow the middle three fingers right off your left hand.”
I let that sink in for a while.
I go over flagging procedures and what they mean. They’re quick studies and taking copious notes.
I had set up a little interactive demonstration for the crowd. Even Drs. Ingca and Sumendi were paying rapt attention.
In a heavily red-flagged area, I had six identical cheap-ass hardhats set up about 75 meters distant. Each a different color and each sitting directly atop a selected portion of a particular explosive. I had a blasting board set up as well and a golf-cart battery I scrounged as the source. It was all wired to a small, hand-held blasting machine.
Audience participation time.
I asked each one of the grad students, one by one, to come forward and I’d allow them to set off the explosive downrange. I’d tell them what pyrotechnic compound was under each and asked for their ideas of what would happen when they pushed the big, shiny red button.
We started with the ladies first. Edith took the machine, which was wired to a single blasting cap. That’s it. Nothing else.
I hand her the machine and ask her to do the needful.
She goes to press the big, red, shiny button and I disconnect her immediately and hit the air horn.
“Aren’t we forgetting a few things?” I ask.
“Umm”, I obviously terrorized her, so I calmed her down and gently asked again.
“Remember this morning? Clear the compass? OK, Wait one. First, let me run a quick pre-demo demonstration, then we can proceed. It was a lot to digest on the first day.” I assuage her nervousness.
“All shooters to the control area!” I shouted.
Everyone, Doctors included, immediately came over, hard hats on, goggles in place.
“OK, here’s the deal. No notes right now, just listen and learn”. I ordered.
“Who’s the blasting boss?” I ask loudly.
“Dr. Rock”, came the feeble answers.
“OK, gang. Deep breath time. I may have put the fear of Primacord in you today, but this mousy little batch of squeaks ain’t gonna cut it in the field. Use your ‘outside voice’. I’m half-deaf anyways from all this blasting. Respond so they can hear you back home on the mainland.” I order again.
“Now, who is the blasting boss?” I ask.
“DOCTOR ROCK!” Came the replies.
“That’s better. Now, compasses out. Look north. All clear? Any faunae, winged, two, or four-legged animals anywhere near the red flag zone?”
“NO! DOCTOR ROCK!” came the reply.
“Good. ‘Rock’ is fine, though. Let’s ‘Clear the Compass’. Clear west?” I ask.
“CLEAR WEST, ROCK!” and so on through the compass.
“OK” I explain the concept of ‘green’ to everyone. I make it abundantly clear that it’s the most useful term.
“Would someone be so kind as to give me three good toots on the air horn?” I inquire.
Dr. Sumendi smilingly complies. TOOTLE x3.
“OK, nearly showtime,” I say.
I hand Edith the blasting machine. I tell her when I say, “HIT IT!” she should do so, with vigor.
I then ask for a 9-part harmony: “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”, “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”, “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
I look at Edith. “Green?”
She smiles: “Green!”
I nod, give a quick final look around, point to her, and yell “HIT IT!”
Hardhat number one went considerably airborne. It was semi-impressive.
“There you go guys and gals. That procedure happens EACH and EVERY time there’s a shot unless I say otherwise. Are we green?” I ask.
“Green as grass, Rock!” I get in reply.
“OK, since we’re in a controlled condition, I’m going to forego the pre-detonation formalities for the rest of the exercise. That’s my decision and I’m the only one legally allowed to make it. Trust me, in the field, it will never happen.” I tell them. “But, this is a special occasion.”
“Janet,” I say, “You’re up. Mary, you’re on deck.”
Janet’s cap and super-booster combination got some impressive air.
Mary’s ¼ stick of 60% Herculene Extra Fast hat was hard to find, as it was in several distant, disaggregated pieces.
“OK, gentlemen. Linus, you’re up. Mark on Deck. Roger in the bullpen” I tell them.
Linus’ Primacorded hardhat just sort of took a messily shredded spinning flight.
Mark’s C-4’ed hardhat was never seen again. It just sort of evaporated.
Roger’s gelignite hardhat jumped up several tens of feet then aggressively distributed itself over a large area.
They were impressed with their new learnings.
I had one little surprise left. I had found some solid binaries. I had obtained a piece of volcanic pumice/lava of about a half-meter cube volume sitting way out, about 200 meters distant. It was also in a heavily red, yellow, and green flagged area.
Here, I ran through the pre-detonation protocols. I primed the 3 kilos of binary solids with caps and super boosters, all actuated by 25,000 feet-per-second Primacord.
Just before I gave the big, shiny red button over to Dr. Ingca, I asked if we were green.
“All green, Rock!”
“OK, then Doctor”, I hand Dr. Ingca the blasting machine, tootle the horn, and am greeted with a spontaneous triple FIRE IN THE HOLE!
Nice.
With a smile, I look to Dr. Ingca, point and yell “HIT IT!”
Three was a most satisfying deafening report and the explosion reduced that ~350-kilo piece of volcanic rock to its component molecules.
Linus wanders over for a closer look: “Holy shit. It just fuckin’ disappeared.”
He immediately blanches thinking he might have violated some protocol.
I look to him, smile, and say,”Fuckin’-A, Bubba.”
After that, the group broke into smaller sub-groups. Mark, Roger and I hung back to do check-outs on the heavy equipment.
“Roger, go get that drilling rig and walk it over here,” I tell him.
“Yes, Sir! Doctor Rock!” he laughs.
OK, this guy’s a wiseass. I like him even more.
“Mark”, I tell him “Double time that Cat over here as well. Don’t run Roger over, if you’d be so kind.”
“Sir!” and he runs off to get the dozer.
Give them their due, they handled their ends of the metaphorical logs like professional lumberjacks.
“Gentlemen”, I say as hand them both cigars, “Welcome to Team Rock. You’re my primaries. If I need help with the equipment, you’re on call, no matter your Rota. Is that acceptable?”
“No problem, Rock,” they say.
Roger asks if I have a light.
Roger’s OK. Mark is cool as well.
To be continued.
Submitted November 28, 2019 at 07:02AM by Rocknocker https://ift.tt/2pXjzQx
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