ODDS’N’SODS — Flight of the Polish geologist

One summer’s morning in 1963, the chief geologist at Ontario’s Madsen Red Lake gold mine informed me that I was to locate the drill casing from a hole drilled 20 years previous and that the spot in question was about a mile east of the mine shaft.

The hole was submerged beneath the tailings pond and had to be located for one very pressing reason: the 16th-level drift was about 200 ft. from where the hole was estimated to be, and, if the hole was intersected, the entire tailings pond would drain into the lower levels of the mine.

As an afterthought, the chief geologist told me to take another worker, John.

As if finding a drill casing under a tailings pond was not challenging enough! Having John as an assistant would only compound my problem.

John, who was in his late 30s, was a pleasant and outgoing fellow who had immigrated to Canada from Poland three or four years beforehand. He had been hired as an underground geologist, yet, while he had the appropriate credentials on paper, he lacked related mining experience. Also, his difficulty with the English language, combined with his involvement in a couple of near-accidents underground, resulted in his being relegated to the office.

Our intent this particular morning was to search out some old claim lines and recut them back to the intersection, for it was at that location that the sought-after drill casing was situated. Armed with the axes and other tools we would need for the day’s work, we set off. One of the morning’s highlights was walking down an old tote road while John, who was bringing up the rear, sang, in an earthy baritone, the Polish equivalent of “Hi ho, it’s off to work we go.” He was simply thrilled to get out of the office.

We reached the tailings pond and found sufficient evidence of the 30-year-old claim lines to proceed with the task at hand.

It had been a dry summer and, perhaps for that reason, wasps’ nests seemed more common than usual. We came across one on the claim line early that morning but managed to avoid it. Shortly after lunch, I came across another, which I pointed out to John. I also warned him not to cut over top of it.

Not more than five minutes later, I heard a shriek, and, as I turned toward the ruckus, I saw John’s axe fly one direction and John, another. Never before had I witnessed a man dash so quickly uphill, nor have I since — for, despite my warning, John had managed to stir up those insects to such as degree that they made a bee-line directly up his pant legs.

The unfortunate victim made his way to a relatively bald outcrop, cursing frantically in Polish. It was clear he was in pain for, by this time, he had pulled his pants down to around his knees and was swatting, with his hat, every part of his body he could reach. His movements consisted of falling down, scrambling back up, yelling and swatting some more — a routine he must have repeated at least three times.

I was observing his painful ordeal from a safe distance, with tears in my eyes and aches in my sides. The incident has become indelibly imprinted on my memory.

As the danger from the wasps subsided, we got out of the bush and went to the mine’s clinic. John ultimately suffered about a dozen stings, not to mention a bruised ego. By the next afternoon, he was back at his comfortable drafting table, his thirst for outdoor adventure more than quenched.

As for the drill hole, it was located the next winter by a diver following the lines we cut. It was securely grouted before it was intersected by the drift on the 16th level.

— The author, a consulting geologist, resides in Thunder Bay, Ont.