EDITORIAL & OPINION — ODDS ‘N’ SODS — Water, water everywhere

Sometime in 1922, I got word that the Consolidated Coal Company in Fairmouth, W.Va., had a big shaft job up for tender.

This company was said to be an interest of oil baron John D. Rockefeller and was one of the biggest operators in the state. I called and found out that the company was going to open up a large new mine at Caretta, not far from the town of Welch, and that it would include three close-spaced shafts. I was given full information on these, as well as a warning that other shafts in that section were abnormally wet. The shafts were to be concrete-lined and have arched concrete openings leading from them at coal level, which was at a depth of 600 ft.

I suggested grouting to stop the flow of water, and the company became very interested, since preventing water from flowing into the shaft would mean saving on pumping costs.

I told the company that since I did not know where I could get the equipment and that I might have to have it made, my cost estimates would be delayed. Management agreed to give me a reasonable time limit, and so, after viewing the Caretta location, I proceeded to search for data.

In talking with one of the engineers at the Chicago-based Cement Association, I learned of a man in Illinois who had done a small job of this kind. I called on him and he was enthusiastic in his aid. He gave me all the information he had and which I needed. I felt sure I could shut off the water in the shafts and proceeded with my cost estimate.

My company, Longyear, was given the job because we were the only firm to propose stopping the water flow. Consolidated Coal was willing to take the gamble.

The shafts were so close that a circle with a radius of 100 yards would encompass all three. The first one to be sunk was roughly 26 ft. by 13 ft. and was to house a double-deck cage designed to haul 5-tonne cars, which would be automatically dumped, as skips are, with the car never leaving the cage. This shaft was also to contain a ladder manway and pipe compartment.

The second shaft, considerably smaller than the first one, was to have skip compartments and a manway. The skips had a capacity to haul 10 tonnes of coal. In the first two shafts, 8-inch steel H-beams were set in concrete at 5-ft. intervals. The wooden guides for the cages and skips were bolted to these beams. The third shaft was for ventilation, and measured about 20 ft. in diameter.

As my wife and I were anxious to get back to Canada, I told Longyear that this job would be my last.

We soon had the first shaft sunk into bedrock and were ready to excavate further. During this preliminary work, I explained to the bosses and engineer exactly what the grouting routine would be. Before drilling a 10-ft.-long round for blasting, we would drill a series of 20-ft.-long holes around the perimeter of the shaft, spaced about 36 inches apart. If none of the perimeter holes showed water, we would blast the centre hole, muck it out and sink a new series of holes. If water showed in any hole, we would drive in a pipe, attach it to a hose from the grouting machine and force a mixture of cement and water into the hole.

Before work began, however, I was summoned back to Minneapolis, as my wife had fallen ill. Before I left, I went over the details with the engineer I left in charge. I was in Minneapolis for three days before the engineer called to say that the shaft was flooded. My wife’s illness was not as serious as I thought, so I left for Caretta.

The wire was correct and our pumps couldn’t handle the water. When I questioned the engineer, I learned that he had disregarded my orders — he drilled only one test hole and, upon finding it dry, ordered the blast. If there is such a state as “crazy mad,” I was in it.

I got more pumps from Bluefield, W.Va., and managed to keep down the level of water, which was flowing in merrily from a diagonal crack across the shaft. How to stop it, I didn’t know, but I had to or else my well-planned work would end in failure. I had an additional handicap — neither my crew nor my bosses believed the water could be stopped.

We first drilled the required test holes around the perimeter of the shaft. Two of these showed water, so we had a point of attack. Capping one hole, we attached the grouting machine to the other, injecting a mixture of cement, water, oats and bran. The last two ingredients were my own addition.

We then drove wooden wedges into the crack at the bottom of the shaft. I had an air gauge attached to the line, which was equipped with an air control valve. If I was to succeed, it was necessary to operate the grouter continuously. That was the start of a 36-hour stint for me.

I handled the air valve on the grouter alone, and if I left for a short time, I shut if off and had my boss see that it was not touched. We started to get results (which I attribute to the oats), and over a period of hours, the water level was visibly lower. Soon, the water had stopped and the shaft was virtually dry. I had won and work soon proceeded according to original plans.

— The preceding is an excerpt from A Mining Trail: 1902-1945. The author, who retired in 1945, was a manager of the Dome mine in Porcupine, Ont.