Senior Drill Operator
by Mike Junkins, Senior Drill Operator
Drilling for minerals in northern Maine during winter in the 80s was no easy task. Snow was chest-deep in places, and temperatures stayed well below zero. We had three rigs in operation—two Longyear 44s and one 38—running double 12-hour shifts. There was no leaving the Bean supply pumps unattended, so shift changes happened right at the drill site.
Frozen water lines had been a recurring issue, but with crews on-site around the clock, we caught and dealt with problems before they got out of hand. Trying to fit hoses together while the pump was running was brutal—water sprayed everywhere, freezing instantly on our hands and faces.
We had the rigs set up so the B- and N-size tubes could be dumped inside, where a woodstove burned cherry red. Beech and birch made for hot-burning fuel, and we kept a stockpile of stove wood outside the rig. The day-shift helper would take the Muskeg up and yard a couple of logs down to the rig in the daylight. The Homelite chainsaw made short work of bucking them into stove-length logs. At night, the helper split and stacked the wood, keeping the stove full so we could work in some semblance of warmth.
The foreman, Ramone, was a burly, gritty old-timer who had seen it all. He ran an old Cat D-6 dozer. The ancient type with a gas pop motor to start the diesel. Getting that beast running took three arms and four hands to work the levers just right.
Ramone kept the roads cleared after every snowfall and bulldozed new accessways as we moved from site to site. The two Longyear 44s were drilling deep—1500 to 2500 ft (457 to 762 m)—while the 38 worked shorter 500 to 700 ft (152 to 213 m) intercept holes, moving every three to five days on average.
We pumped water from a pond about half a mile from the drilling sites. During the day, Ramone kept an eye on the pump. At night, the helpers would swing by to check the water temperature coming out of the main sump hose. As long as it stayed between 37 and 42°F (3 to 6°C), we were in good shape.
Four 100-pound propane cylinders, connected in series, kept the coil torch running. Those tanks lasted about two and a half to three days. The warmed water from the main pump fed into a communal sump, supplying all three rigs with drilling fluid. If the main pump went down or the lines started freezing, we were all on the scene in minutes—water was the heartbeat of any drilling program. Without it, we weren’t pulling any core.
We were drilling near Mount Chase, just north of Patten, Maine. The company had purchased a house in Patten to serve as our quarters. One of the local helpers arranged for his mother to cook for us, and the company paid her for the service. Needless to say, I didn’t lose any weight—she was a fantastic cook. She also packed our sack lunches and filled our thermoses with coffee before each crew change.
At the drill, we kept tin foil on hand so we could heat our sandwiches on the wood stove. The drive to the site was about 12 mi (19 km) up Route 11 on pavement, then another 10 mi (16 km) into the bush on a logging road to the laydown area. There, we had a small container stocked with tools, a welder, a torch set, and spare parts. We all knew how to weld, use torches, and handle most of the repairs that came up. Drillers are true jack-of-all-trades—whether fabricating a fix to keep the rig running or replacing hydraulic lines, every day was a learning experience.
Drilling was tough work, but there was nothing like the feeling of finishing a hole and retrieving the tools. We had our share of light moments too. Green helpers were always initiated with a wild goose chase for some nonexistent tool. We’d send them off looking for muffler bearings, axle straighteners, elbow grease, or the infamous ‘head slaps’ (not usual nowadays).
The best was when a driller sent a helper to the foreman asking for a set of ‘hard head slaps’—making sure they weren’t the soft ones. The wise old foreman would play along, giving the helper a solid whack on each side of the head before asking, ‘Hard enough?’. It was all in good fun, and any bruised pride was quickly smoothed over with a cold beer at the house later on. It was a rite of passage that turned us into comrades.
During the day, the foreman would grab a helper who could be spared for a few hours to haul rods, barrels of diesel fuel, core boxes, and other essential supplies to each rig site. They also hauled out the full core boxes so the geologist could access them and transport them back to the logging shed in town. Since pickups couldn’t reach the rigs from the laydown yard, we had to navigate snow-filled trails littered with stumps and boulders.
Drilling in these wintry bush conditions was doubly tough. Tripping pipe in a blinding snowstorm was just part of the job. The weather was a constant battle, but we adapted. The Muskeg was an invaluable tool on these jobs—its wide tracks and cargo areas on both sides made it our go-to vehicle for winter drill operations.
For moving rigs from site to site, we relied on a Timberjack skidder. Maneuvering the drill through dense woods required finesse—using the winch to work around trees and boulders took skill, patience, and a feel for the terrain. But that was the job, and we did whatever it took to keep those drills running.
After our ten-day hitch, we’d head home for four days. The night shift didn’t work on the final night, and the day shift shut down drilling operations around 2:00 p.m. At that point, we had to thoroughly drain the pumps and water lines. To make sure we could find them easily after a snowfall, we hung the water lines on tree limbs before heading out.
When we returned the following Monday, we switched shifts—the previous day crew became the night shift, and the night crew took over days. It was the fairest way to keep things balanced.
Looking back now, I wonder how we managed to work through the relentless cold and deep snow. At 71, I doubt I could handle that kind of strain anymore. But I’m grateful—for the experiences, the friendships, and the memories of those rugged days in the Maine wilderness.
For more information: Get in touch with Mike on LinkedIn
