Hard Core

Originally published 8/7/08.  I was telling a friend about my oil field experiences and linked him to this post and decided it was worth a "bump".

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I took these photos a few months ago to post in a political forum I used to frequent; I wanted to (try to) prove to a guy that hydrocarbons were formed by deposits of organic material. He was arguing that, since some Georgia textbook had said "oil came from dinosaurs" that that was what was taught in our schools and it was wrong. (never mind that the textbook was printed in the 50's, and was a grade school primer. That was about his intellectual level, come to think of it)

He was insisting that oil is formed in the earth's core (abiogenic petroleum origin) and that we were nowhere nearly running out of it and that oil companies kept this "fact" a secret . (and this coming from a guy who said every Ron Paul supporter was a conspiracy nut)

This is a core sample from one of my dad's wells; it came from approx. 4800 feet and is from the Brown Dolomite formation.



The large white deposit in the above photo is chert (sometimes called "flint"); drilling through the dolomite formation is tricky enough*, but these hard layers of chert could tear up a drill bit if not careful.

*Dolomite is very porous, and that's why -- in that particular area -- it is the oil-bearing strata. In other places, where it was necessary to drill deeper to find oil or gas, drilling through this particular formation took special precautions; if the drilling fluid wasn't viscous (thick) enough, or didn't have enough "filler", the formation could swell from the fresh water and "stick your bit" and pipe. It is also a "lost circulation" zone, sometimes sucking in fluid faster than could be pumped down the hole.

This next photo shows just how porous the rock is.



It's so porous, I used to like to pour liquid incense onto the core; it would soak it up and slowly release the fragrance over several weeks time.

This next shot shows some tiny fossils embedded into it. (Some might argue that they're rock, but I took this to my college geology professor and he verified it. He wanted me to give it to him, but he had already stolen a meteorite from me...long story)



No, it wasn't "just" dinosaurs that made oil; my dad used to say it was dinosaur "poop" more than the prehistoric animal remains, but that was...just like that Georgia textbook...a simplification. The organic material that later became oil came from seas that used to cover this area millions of years ago. It wasn't just one time, but several, over millions of years and millions of tons of organics. The tremendous amount of organic material, under tremendous heat and pressure, formed the hydrocarbons.



That's not as nice an example as is this core sample from Norway, but I think it's still interesting.

My dad and I used to polish rocks, and he made an ashtray out of a slab of core sample. I don't know what happened to it, but it had a beautiful shell in it.

That particular field is nearly played out, but the last time I was out there, they were drilling some injection wells and seemed to be having some success with that method. (tertiary recovery)

Most Pro-Trump County

Livin' On the Beulah Edge

After the muffled sounds of my momma's beating heart (heard in close, internal proximity, the sort that binds a child to his mother in such wonderful ways) and perhaps the highway and car noises when my parents brought me home from the hospital for the first time, this pumping unit was probably one of the first things I ever heard in my life.

I grew up smack-dab in the middle of the oil patch, living in a company owned house for the first 18 years of my life, right on the dividing line between the "A" and "B" leases. This "pumpjack" wasn't but a few hundred feet from our front porch.

My dad was a "pumper"; he took care of this and a dozen plus or so other wells and the assorted primary processing equipment (heater treater for sediment and salt-water removal), storage facilities (the tank batteries and pumps) and initial transport (pipelines from the wells to the tanks) and was the oil company's first financial agent in that process from oil in the ground to gas in your tank, keeping track of production and responsible for those documents that initiated the crude oil and natural gas transfer to the buyer. (which was Phillips Petroleum Corp, now Conoco-Phillips)

When the field was first drilled in the early 50's, this particular piece of equipment was state-of-the-art, I suppose. It was powered by a Continental-Emsco motor fueled by wellhead gas. They were contrary things, at least they were after multiple dozens of overhauls and thousands of spark plug changes and countless hours of chugging away, bringing up the black gold from nearly a mile deep.

These days nearly every pumping unit is powered by electricity, with perhaps the most remote wells, those far away from the electric grid, which might still be powered by these powerful old motors. The ones my father took care of had enormous, heavy flywheels that were hand-cranked as so to start the engine running. It was almost as complicated as crankin' an old Model-T (not that I've ever done that, I've just heard stories from my dad ) what with having to adjust the magneto and the fuel mixture, all the while turning several hundred pounds of iron with the other hand.

(Pop always said he always wanted to have a tail, like a monkey, that way he could crank one of those old one-lung motors easier, at least have sumpthin' to hold on with)

It was not only a task that required some dexterity, it was - 'scuse my French - dangerous as hell. Just like crankin' that old Ford I was talking about as if I actually knew, a guy could easily get a darn good whap on the hand, even breaking it, or with my vivid imagination on MY first stab at crankin' an old Emsco, knock it clean off. Sheesh.

My first attempt wasn't so hot, I will admit. I finally got the thing to start bangin' off, but then let go of the heavy crank the very same time the motor decided it wanted to co-operate and operate as machinery should (well, perhaps not in Stephen King's world, but...). I'd like to claim the crank was possessed (ala S. King) but it was just a case of biting off a bit more than I could chew, I shoulda paid a bit more attention the times my old man was doing it when I rode with him instead of being in that perpetual state of boredom only teenaged boys can achieve.

My dad had been standing there, letting me make some minor mistakes, gently coaching and correcting me (he wasn't always the best at that, bad memories, sorry) but letting me have a go, most likely amused I wanted to prove I was his equal, and I'm hopin' he was secretly proud I wanted to at least try to be his equal.

I barely got my hand back in time and my dad quickly went to the other side and killed the engine, all the while hollerin' at me to back up, back up! At some slower but still frightening RPM the crank flew off a hundred or so feet out in the adjacent wheat field, plowing a deep long furrow fit for planting. Could've been a shallow grave for me if the thing had whacked me in the head, for sure.

I sucessfully started that motor a few months later, but that was the last time I ever tried. I think about my ol' man cranking on those cantankerous things in winter time, or what's worse, in the summer when the Texas sun and heat try their best to not only tear the hide right off ya, but make an attempt to pull every bit of moisture from your body, starting with a river channeling through one's eye sockets, the sweat stinging like hell, then detouring through the nether regions and finally puddling in the boots.

(I knew a guy who pickled his toes that way, sweating so profusely, but I'll save that story for some other time, I'm sure you won't mind)

Who was Beulah Edge? I will reveal that mystery at a future date.

Roberts County Sunset

And the rains are coming.

West of Miami, Texas

A Little Bull

"A Little Bull" probably should've been the title of this blog, huh?

One of the heirs-in-waiting to the herd.

South of Miami, Texas.

Sweet Little Calf

Poor cattle; the mosquitoes were thick due to the recent heavy rains and no amount of tail swishing, ear-flicking and skin-rippling was going to keep them off for long.

Wasn't a lot on this little guy and while they landed on me, they didn't bite.

I guess the both of us were just too sweet for the skeeters.

South of Miami, Texas.

I'd cry, but...

I can't spare the water.

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Vote on Pickens project a sure bet

By BETSY BLANEY Associated Press

LUBBOCK -- It won't take long to count the votes next week on a plan that would help billionaire T. Boone Pickens deliver Panhandle water to growing North Texas communities. There's even less doubt about the outcome.

Just two people -- Pickens' ranch manager and his wife -- will cast ballots Tuesday on whether to confirm the creation of the Fresh Water Supply District in Roberts County.

Alton Boone, who manages Pickens' vast Canadian River Valley ranch, and his wife, Lu, live within the 8-acre water district and are its only eligible voters.

The couple also will vote to seat a five-member board of supervisors -- which would include themselves and three Pickens employees -- and to approve $101 million in revenue bonds to acquire rights of way through as many as 12 counties for delivering water- and wind-generated electricity.

The bonds would be repaid from money collected from water and electricity customers who benefit from Pickens' energy projects.

The election is the next step in a five-year effort by Pickens' Mesa Water to market and ship water from the Ogallala Aquifer to thirsty cities.

Pickens also wants to install 2,700 large wind turbines in four Panhandle counties. Together, they would be capable of producing 4,000 megawatts of electricity, making it the world's largest wind farm.

Roberts County commissioners formed the water district in September at the request of landowners in the district -- all of whom had recently bought their acreage from Pickens. Under Texas law, voters living on the affected land must ratify the change before it becomes official.

Texas' 55 freshwater districts have been established since 1919, when the Legislature authorized them for the exclusive purpose of providing and distributing water for domestic and commercial use.

Local officials say the election has drawn more interest from afar than from within the county.

"Most of them say, 'I can't believe he can do that"' County Judge Vernon Cook said. "I say, 'Yes, that's the way our fearless leaders [in Austin] changed the statute.'

"There's no doubt in my mind it'll be formed."

Texas lawmakers say they made the changes this year in an effort to standardize the state's water laws and to give property owners a greater say on issues affecting their land.

"In the end, it's not any special Pickens law," said Rep. Brandon Creighton, R-Conroe. "Nothing to do with Pickens was even remotely part of my efforts at all."

Others, however, suggest that money played a part in the changes. Andrew Wheat of Texans for Public Justice, a nonprofit watchdog group that tracks money in politics, said Pickens spent about $2.2 million on lobbyists this year and campaign contributions in 2006.

"It could be coincidence. But if it is, it's a hell of a coincidence," Wheat said. "No sooner did this law take effect, and his lawyers were already working on this particular proposal that seems to be framed by the very legal changes made."

But Monty Humble, Pickens' attorney, denied that the oil tycoon was behind the legislation.

"We had absolutely nothing to do with" those changes, Humble said.

Sen. Kel Seliger, R-Amarillo, voiced other worries.

"What concerns me more is the potential to undermine the conservation of [Panhandle] groundwater that's facing some real challenges," he said. "Those changes [in the statutes] were not in anticipation of exportation of water" by Pickens or anyone else.

Hi Jack

On a recent trip to see my boyhood home and "stomping grounds" I was idling along in my pickup and caught a tiny bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. Sure 'nuff, it was a big ol' jackrabbit, convinced that he was hidden from view but I saw him twitchin' his big ol' ears.



If this had been the late fall, winter or earliest spring and I'd have had my trusty old .22 rifle instead of my camera, I might have been tempted to shoot my supper. (or breakfast; rabbit and scrambled eggs with biscuits and gravy...mmmm.)

Ol' Jack would've had to have been a bit younger for me to make the effort, as young jackrabbits are much more tender than the tough old codgers like this one. Young jacks are tastier than a cottontail for that matter. Face it, I would have had to have been 16 yrs. old again to have enjoyed being the mighty hunter, the frontiersman who can live off the land, eating prickly pear fruit as I did as a boy, knowing the best places where doves came to roost at night, the places where momma quail hens sheltered their babies from coyotes and hawks.


By-the-way, rattlesnakes are good eatin', tasting like chicken with the texture of deep fried catfish. I haven't eaten rattlesnake in years nor am I craving it, but I would eat it if hungry.

I haven't done it in years, but I expect I could still butcher a rabbit with no knife or other utensils. A quick nip with the teeth on the back of the rabbit's neck, then with fingers under the pelt, undress the carcass with one quick pull, turning the pelt inside-out. Carefully pinching the membrane that holds the intestines in, let them fall out away from the meat. Break off the legs (it might be lucky to own a rabbit's foot, but you're lucky if you can break them off quickly!) and then pull the hide off and if you've done it right, you can neatly wrap up the offal in the hide, roll in a ball and leave for some lucky coyote's midnight snack.

I'd tote my bounty home, slung from my belt, and just before I got to the house would stop at a red ant bed. Stepping on the head with my foot, I would pull that off and leave for the ants. They would have plenty of meat to eat for a while and be sure of surviving and making more ants for the horny toads to eat...and making sure there were plenty of horny toads, such a fascinating creature!

(red ant beds are great places to clean the frogs my sisters and I had to dissect, then clean, label and pin the bones to a piece of cardboard for sophomore biology)

I'd wash the meat in the sink, wrap in wax paper and put it into the fridge. The next morning, usually one of those crisp ones that makes your breath visible, perfect rabbit huntin' season, anyone that wanted could have some rabbit with their eggs, biscuits and gravy, prepared by momma's loving hands.

Codman Lane

Codman Lane, very near where I grew up.

My big sister used to go parking down this road with her future husband.

Great bird hunting down this road; it leads to Red Deer Creek and the remnants of an old ghost town, Codman.

It also marked EXACTLY a quarter mile from our turn-in/cattle guard--I had my own measured drag strip I'd run almost every day on the way to school.

There must be some production down there now, or perhaps a house because those are new utility poles and lines.

Curved Cottonwood Copse

(click any pic for larger view)

I've always loved this little stand of cottonwood trees at the "Five-Mile Park" east of Miami; they're bent and bowed, but have managed to remain upright in the soft sandy soil along Red Deer Creek.



These two are like an old married couple; tired of trying to fight the breeze, they've just decided to lean the same way and -ahem- sway together. -grin-

The trees are at an angle where someone--someone much younger than me--could climb their way up to the top.

And here's my ubiquitous, artsy, vertigo-arousing shot:

I call it: "Bark up the long tree"



And, I got another "Sun Through Cottonwoods" shot, very nearly the same as the other.



Both are equally bad, I think.

Sun Through Cottonwood Trees

"Five-Mile Park"
East of Miami, Texas
Roberts County
Hwy 60

In more ways than one...

Sign at the "Five-Mile Park"
East of Miami, Texas
Hwy 60

Lightning & Stop Sign

Taken at the junction of state hwy 282 and FM 2391
Roberts County

Parnell

(click photo for larger view)



I was driving along Hwy 70 last week and decided to detour down Farm-to-Market road 283. I hadn't been down that road in over 20 years, I believe.

I stopped and took a photo of this historical marker; it tells of a town that used to exist just to the east of the spot. If you'll view the larger photo, you will be able to read how there was a controversy over where the county courthouse would be located. I think that's a pretty common history for a lot of areas in Texas and even through this country... men with property wanting to make their property more valuable by siting the govt. nearby or making sure the railroad went through the nearest town.

(Roberts County map - Parnell is nearly dead center in that graphic)

While reading the plaque, I noticed a bird had pooped all over "Miami". That must have been a Briscoe bird. On the other hand - claw?- the mess is also on "contested elections".

That'd be a liberal bird, still squawking.

Just For You-Know-Who

Picked just off the side of the road
Hwy 60 West of Miami, Texas in Roberts County

The Yellow (Prim)Rose of Texas

(click for larger view)

Yellow Primrose
Hwy 60 in Roberts County
West of Miami, Texas

Windmill

This is one of the last few surviving local windmills made of wood. It was saved from the elements, restored and re-erected just outside the Roberts County Museum located in Miami, Texas.

It's not a mockingbird...

But around here it's a sin to kill a bull snake

They're not venomous, but they can be aggressive if bothered and annoyed. They eat mice and rats and even rabbits if they can catch them, but they're best at consuming and thereby thinning out the local population of rattlesnakes.

This was taken last summer on a Roberts county road very near where I was raised. This was a healthy creature, probably six + foot long.

The deer didn't want to play that day...

Antelope North of Pampa, Texas
Roberts County

How Now, Brown Cow?

East of Miami, Texas in Roberts County

I have this little ritual I always perform after stopping and taking photos of cattle.

As I leave, I always holler "See ya!" and then, under my breath I mutter:

"On my plate with a side order of asparagus!"

This was taken at the same time and in close proximity to this calf. Probably its momma.