Memories and Memoirs of Prudhoe Bay

I was on the bus, heading towards Deadhorse, homeward bound. A familiar song invaded my
thought process, "So long it's been good to know yuh". Woody was an American hero as well a
legend. He did it all by himself. In my book, Prudhoe Bay is a legend. We did it all by ourselves,
for America. And like Mr. Guthrie, heroes we were.

It had been about 6-years since work responsibilities found me back up in Prudhoe Bay. Upon my
return came the realization that I missed being away. Rather strange, as the company that now
employs my service feels it necessary to pay an up-lift. When my boss first mentioned the "up-lift"
thing, I thought he was talking about oil field stuff. But in this case, it had something to do with
hazardous duty pay! Needless to say, I found it ironic that something like that would stand out and
allow preferential treatment, especially up here on the North Slope. It had to be just a formality, as
my employer contracts out field service work all over the world. Some places are indeed unsafe!

Sure it can be dangerous up here with the line of work we involve ourselves in and forget not the
brutal environmental conditions, but for some reason I felt safe had arrested all fear. This is not
the first time I have felt this way. I spent almost my entire work life engaged in the Alaskan oil
industry. So have many of you, my co-workers. My work allowed me to work up and down the
Trans-Alaskan-Pipeline. It meant a long hitch in Valdez and 5-years at Pump Station #1. I enjoyed
a 4-year hitch working the EOA/WOA, climbing radio towers in efforts to establish communications
for drilling rigs. Sometimes it meant 200' up with an ambient temperature at a miserable minus
something and 50 knot winds.

Now most memorable during all those years? The people, the people, the people. I will grand slam
that sentiment, it was the people! From Valdez to Prudhoe to Kuparuk to Milne Point to Lisburne
to Endicott to Badami and all other places in between. So many faces. So many miles with smiles to
be remembered. And let us not forget the milestones we achieved and beat. Remember when the
counter at Pump Station #1 registered 2-million barrels per day, then some. There was the 1-billion
barrel ceremony, 10-billion and on and on. And let us not forget the camaraderie maintained while
working as a team to operate and maintain the wells, the flow stations, the gathering stations, the
pump stations and many miles of pipe. And how about the extra baggage, from all the good eats?

And how about the above and beyond camaraderie and cherished friendships fostered, while
performing duties as a member of the Emergency Response Team? We were there for each other.
Every Saturday, every early morning emergency when we didn't have time to comb or brush, bad
breath and all, every time and anytime one of our co-workers may have found danger. We
responded as if it were indeed one of our very own family members in danger. It was, as we were
nothing short of one big family! What a team we were. Past tense has merit.

And how about the annual sea lift excitement, the expansion projects and the "Fun" runs? It was
hard work during the oil spill drills, but we had fun doing something out of the ordinary work
routine. And one can't forget the time the dart board at the BOC had Captain Joe's mug shot
attached as a target! It was very pleasing and an unforgettable rewarding experience to have the
opportunity to rekindle a missing link brought about by my absence away from the "slope", as
many familiar faces continue to stick it out. Surely it is for the money. Surely it is for another
reason. I will get to that.

Now I almost said old faces. That would have been a double take. It isn't meant to be used as an
age discriminator. But how could we have gotten so old so fast? Regardless, we did our time and
time has done its thing. But we made history, time and time again. We ventured into a place that
many outsiders consider "no-mans" land. We learned differently, gaining respect for a culture that
called the tundra home. They too became team members, as co-workers, as mechanics, as
electricians, as operators, as bull-cooks.

Each short summer, we waited patiently while thousands of caribou crossed our paths, respecting
their right of way over ours. Just think, we were privileged to work in a place wherein people
dream about visiting. We learned a whole lot of things. Like being patient when weather delayed
our travels home. We should be proud of our achievements as "Explorers". At one time, Alyeska
Pipeline Service Company had a motto for its workers. The "Best of the best". That is who we
were back in the late 70's when the first piece of pipe settled into the ground - that is who we are
now. Better then that, better then the best.

We must take credit for our endeavors. Hey, we have outlasted some of that pipe! But face the
facts, someday the sound of air exiting the turbines will not be what serenades us to sleep. Nor will
Saturdays be hamburger and milkshake day. And sad but a fact of life, from pictures still hanging
around the camps and facilities, smiles from co-workers who have passed on. This has been our
life. We started out as young men and young women workers, braving a new frontier in the "Last
Frontier" for oil giants like SOHIO and ARCO, or with Uncle Al, when the Seven Sisters ruled.
And what many thought was a mission impossible, we have for 30 years by now accomplished the
mission.

We have outlived the red, blue and white oval icon made famous by John D. Rockefeller. We have
outlived the red lettered sign that once sat so proudly against Anchorage's downtown skyline.
Funny how these icons' logos can still be found on warehouse inventory or fire extinguishers up
and around Prudhoe. Nostalgic, why not. And now our children are taking over, where we are
leaving off. Will their legacy be like ours? Let us hope so.

But our time in the oil patch will be forever different. We started it. They cannot ever take credit
for that. It is ours to cherish and take with us, wherever the path of the future may lead. They may
end it, and when that happens, the history books will capture our trials and tribulations in efforts to
exploit the "black gold", just like the gold miners that ventured to Alaska during the 1890 gold
rush. We have witnessed tragedies, but no need now to muddy the good times with details - best
left behind. We have witnessed the growth of a new generation. We fathered and mothered that
generation, as on and off parents. How come things at home always broke when we were many,
many miles away?

I ran into a "golden years" supervisor on my return trip up here. He made it clear and convincing
that our job was to make him look good. Now in my younger days, I would have taken exception to
this kind of mindset. But it was in a different tone as it was intended to emanate a different
message - a positive message. What he meant? He just wanted everybody to be safe. And return
home, once again. He had nothing to prove to anybody, neither do we, as we have already
accomplished our goals. For me, the same sentiment holds, as we just want to get home safely.

So to that aging warehouse man listening to the Rolling Stones and to that security guard rocking
out to "Purple Haze" while looking out for my safety on the Spine Road, keep the music flowing,
and my fellow oil patch friends, keep the oil moving. And remember, take a breather and look
around, we made history time after time after time. Touchy feely? Yes, so what. I am an Alaskan
oil worker, tears of joy feel OK. And that beer will taste good. It will feel good, as a toast to what
we did for America!

Bob Dylan sang that "Friends will arrive and friends will disappear." So true, as with age it is time
to move on, but rest assured the memories will never disappear. Best regards my oil patch friends
for the friendships and everything else. Thanks for being part of my work life, an exciting time it
was. And to end, I will once again let Woody do the honors. "So long it's been good to know
yuh…and I got to be driftin' along".

CopyRight 2006 ~MSK Media/Eagle Rock Press
storylineonline@gci.net


So Long Tom, Its Been Good To Know Yuh

I had the unexpected call just the other day. It meant an emergency trip back to Prudhoe Bay, up
in northern Alaska. A stubborn piece of equipment manufactured by my employer wanted to go
into hibernation, just like the grizzlies prefer to do this time of year. Anyway, it is always
interesting to accept an invite up to America's largest producing oil field.

Even before arriving at Deadhorse, I knew the essentials would welcome my invite. Like a nice
warm bed, excellent food, and friendly co-workers. Driving away from the airport to the facility
that would be my home away from home for an unspecified time period - normally counted in weeks
- it was evident that the current price of oil was bringing back to life an oil town that looked more
like a grave yard when I left my permanent job up this way, some 10-years ago. I left the job, but
to this day the memories refuse to hibernate.

Anyway, there was hustle and bustle everywhere. Workers traveling to and fro talked about
crowded camps and enthusiasm rested in the fact that work projects continued to clutter drawing
boards, which meant some semblance of security, with future work prospects. It did indeed bring
back fond memories of how this oil field operated when the infrastructure was still pretty young,
when the work force was young, and the oil companies were bend on pulling as much oil as possible
from beneath the tundra and shipping it down the "big" pipeline. And now it means some 30-years
of memories, how precious!

But today, put aside what entertained me on my way to work some 600-miles away from home, with
my thoughts focusing above all upon a memorable individual. I had befriended Tom Tuttle when I
was working the East and West operating areas of the Prudhoe Bay field. Anybody who worked
around these oil wells would indeed know to whom I was talking about, especially in the drilling end
of this business. Tom was an oil field workers kind of guy, with that John Wayne "Hellfighter" we
can do it attitude. Handsome, built like a boxer, and so friendly it would have been hard to describe
with words.

In his obituary, it mentioned Tom was survived by his adoring wife. Tom, in my book, was also an
adoring human being. I could go on and on about Tom, go on and on about other friends made in
this oil patch, many who have also passed on. We seem to be making the "In Memory" page more
and more these days. Lets admit it, for many of us our days in this oil patch are numbered or
coming close to that end. It is becoming a new age revival, with younger "wildcatters" entering the
scene, with smiles and thoughts of big paychecks come the next boom, with talk of a gas line. They
can have the gas line, as our stake was in the oil line.

Over the years, with help from talented individuals like Tom, we claimed history over and over
again. Our legacy will never be challenged, as we struck oil and sent that oil to market. To date,
well over 15-billion barrels thanks to guys like Tom Tuttle. So from this co-worker and oil patch
buddy, rest in peace brother, and see you in heaven! The times were damn good, thanks for the
friendship, camaraderie and miles of smiles.

CopyRight 2006 ~MSK Media/Eagle Rock Press
storylineonline@gci.net