ODDS’N’SODS — Diamond drilling in a ghost town

Anyox, B.C., was really a ghost town in those early days (late 1930s). The bank was boarded up, but the Elks Hall was open, where there was a piano to plunk on. Never did find the library, come to think of it. Bridgeman (a drill crew member with T. Connors Diamond Drilling Co.) had a good voice and could sing the “Ice Worm Song” beautifully.

We all stayed in well-built bunkhouses, heated with steam, and were well fed by Chinese cooks. We were billeted close to the railroad track to the mine, a couple of miles away. The golf course, across the tracks, consisted of black slag — it was something else.

To address the problem of drilling holes into Mother Earth: We had at our disposal what we called the Toonerville Trolley, an electric train on which we hauled the drill equipment (including drill rods, grease, oil, gasoline, etc.) up to the drill sites. The drill was mounted on metal sticks, so too was a Model T automobile engine. That was our power pack. The engine was used to pull the drill rods out of the hole when we were drilling. It also winched us through the bush, dragging three 35-ft.-long tripod poles as well, when we moved from one drill site to another. After setting up the drill, with the tripod and two layers of platforms in place and a hole shovelled out down to bedrock, the hole would be collared.

Eventually a 5-ft. core barrel would be screwed on to the diamond bit and reaming shell, and drilling would then commence. Eventually, a 10-ft. core barrel would be attached and 10-ft. core samples would be extracted from below.

The only trouble with this apparently simple operation was that core would block in the bit regularly after 2 ft. of drilling (or less), making it necessary to pull out all the rods and repeat the whole operation. With 1,000 ft. of rod to be pulled, a lot of time was wasted and little drilling was actually done. Whenever the bit and rods were not pulled, the diamond bit became damaged and the valuable core was ground up. This infuriated the diamond-setters and upset the geologists, who depended on the core samples to make their decisions.

Which reminds me of the time one poor soul dropped a pipe down an 800-ft. hole. We used what was called a lowering iron to lower the drill rods down the hole. On the end of a 2-ft.-long pipe was fixed a contraption called a lowering iron.

We would protect the hole at the end of the shift by sticking this in the casing end covering the hole opening. The pipe slipped off the lowering iron and went down the hole. Well, the job of retrieving said pipe was just one of many problems for the setters.

I can hear diamond-setter Ezra Campbell, the crusty old Bluenoser, screaming bloody murder — cursing the unfortunate idiot who committed the crime. Ezra was a fierce old character, feared by all the poor helpers. As soon as he got within yelling distance, he would start hurling orders such as, “Get more God damn grease on those rods and more wicking on the rod ends!” It was a lonely place and the months were long.

Once, some bright character invited the people from Alice Arm, across the bay, over for a hoedown. There was drinking and all had a hilarious time. My partner got a dummy from somewhere. I hid behind a curtain and answered some idiotic Charley McCarthy questions. Then we all played musical chairs. We had with us an accordion-player from Trail, and whenever he suddenly stopped playing, there would be a dash for the chairs. When those well-loaded fishermen and drillers hit the chairs, it was a wonder anyone survived — a lot of the chairs didn’t.

Most everyone had a hell of a time. There were some giant hangovers, believe me.

Then there was the time a fast-talking salesman appeared on the scene and sold suits to some suckers. I well remember the day mine arrived — to my horror the jacket sleeves wereinches short.

So much for life in the wilds of far-off Anyox.

— This is the second of a 2-part article. Doug Gold is a retired Cominco supervisor.