Big Dog comes to town
May 7, 2013

A person takes their excitement where it can be found: our latest relief from monotony involves (what else?) oil wells.  Just west of us are two wells and just to the east of us is another pair.  I’ve mentioned that occasionally, one or another has a lift rig installed while work is being done.  That is what I thought was going to occur on one of our neighboring wells when the pump was removed and activity began at the site.
Then it seemed that much more was transpiring as I watched the pad being renovated and expanded and large equipment moved onto the area, so I wondered if the well was slated to be fracked.

As noted, one finds interest where one can, so the activity progressed with my curiosity at full alert until it finally became obvious they were going to drill a brand-spanking new well at the same site.

That surprised me; in my all-things-petroleum ignorance, I assumed that if a well was not producing as expected, it could be deepened.  Finding a plethora of retired petroleum engineers hereabouts, I inquired as to why they wouldn’t just drill the existing well to additional depth.  I learned that is not a viable option, but shall refrain from attempting to repeat the reasons and garbling it in the process.

At any rate, it was not long at all before vast amounts of equipment began to fill the pad, about five acres in size.  And who would be the drilling company but Big Dog!

I first knew about Big Dog from my daughter who has followed their exploits via a television program: “Black gold”.  She has many times regaled me with tales of the hard-working Big Dog drill rig crews who compete with other companies to complete their drilling in record time.

When we came to Midland then, we already knew about the company, later hearing about accidents - some fatal - on their operations.  At that point, I expressed the very-strong-indeed opinion that I didn’t want Chris working for them.

Of course we see drill rigs in action often; however, to watch this one in our back yard proceed from a bare patch of dirt to an operating drill rig is fascinating.  One day there is nothing there; the next day the place is a beehive of activity.  It has been just over a week: already there are six or more full-size mobile homes on the property - Big Dog’s crews live on-site throughout the process.

We have watched as they positioned all kinds of machinery; the derrick platform materialized almost as if by magic.  Of course it helps that men are working 24/7.  I’ve taken a few pictures of the process, but missed the derrick going up.  One minute it wasn’t there and when I looked back about 15 minutes later, there it towered.

They have not yet begun to drill, are still positioning equipment and what hard work it appears to be!  This morning, I watched as they lifted and secured a machine with indicator dials up onto the platform. 

It is very fun to watch from close up and evidently, the men are amenable to being observed, because when they see me watching, they wave - television stars that they are. 

They are all big burly fellas with tattooed biceps.  All are wearing hard hats; some are dressed in f.r.s, the fire-resistant clothing that is required by oil companies and that is so prevalent everywhere in the Permian Basin, but some are not, preferring muscle shirts and t-shirts.  Not sure how they get away with that - surmising f.r.s aren’t required until the actual drilling begins.

It is amazing to watch this little city-unto-itself materialize with ant people crawling around on it and when the ant people are seen up close, they are . . . well . . . hotties.

The din deepens . . .

An additional five acres of neighboring equipment and truck-sized generators adds to the general never-ceasing din, but at some point, it really doesn’t matter.  General never-ceasing din is simply that; it becomes a fact of life and eventually ceases to annoy.  Who could have imagined relocating from rural Chino Valley, Arizona, to the wrong side of the tracks in Midland, Texas, with an interstate on one side, a busy railroad track on another side, pipe yards, trucks, heavy equipment, 18-wheelers everywhere, petroleum extractions doin’s at every side, sirens, sirens and more sirens and becoming accustomed to it?

And speaking of sirens: traffic accidents continue unabated, many with dire consequences primarily because they often involve tractor-trailers.  I heard a radio newscast recently that very well summed up the situation.  I quote: “Avoid the I-20/Loop 250 intersection (this is the one closest to us - the newscaster didn’t say this part).  An 18-wheeler has collided with the bridge abutment . . . sigh  . . . again”.  First time I've heard a newscaster sigh.

And so it goes.

Midnats . . .

Not quite as intense as the energy of an oil well drill construction site, but of interest nevertheless, I have become a Midnat.  One day while walking in the Preserve, I stuck up a conversation with two gentlemen of an - ahem - more advanced age - alright, my age then. 

Members of the Midland Naturalists, they invited me to join the group on a bird-watching foray the following morning.  Boy howdy, anything that would allow me to be somewhere out of town was fine by me although I was pretty nervous about driving out to a place I’d never been to meet up with a group of strangers, so conjured many excuses to skip the opportunity.

Finally able to beat back every irrational apprehension, I set out on my early-morning mission and immediately got lost (okay, so that concern wasn’t completely irrational).  No matter, I caught my mistake and arrived at the meeting place in good order, though still jittery.

I joined the caravan that took us to a place on Midland Draw where they have obtained permission to hike.  The day was splendid; each and every one of those scary strangers was as nice as could be and the outing was a great success.

We wended our way though mesquite thickets until we arrived at a large dirt tank of water that attracts an astounding variety of birds and wildlife.  We spent a goodly amount of time settled under the shade trees along the banks, enjoying chatting and identifying many birds that arrived despite our presence.

That excursion added to the trip bird list with lark bunting, bronzed cowbird, blue grosbeak, Cassin’s sparrow, barn swallow, a beautiful black-crowned night heron, and three life birds: Nashville warbler, Lincoln’s sparrow and vesper sparrow.

Wildflowers bloom profusely despite the lack of rain.

The club ventures out every Saturday.  The following week was for their annual bird count with which I agreed to help.  Because Chris worked a 15-hour day on Friday, he and his fellow crew member opted to take off on Saturday and instead work on Sunday, so he joined me on my assignment of identifying and counting birds in five localities.

I had not fully explored one of those spots and was delighted to discover that the Sibley Nature Center trail through mesquite thickets ends up at a pond adjoining a golf course and a small lovely lake on the course - a fabulous and very pretty birding area.

I snapped a photo of one of three turtles that made their appearance and was happy to add a white-faced ibis to our list in addition to horned lark, Cassin’s kingbird, canyon towhee, black-and-white warbler and Wilson’s warbler.

Obliging members of the Midnats have told me about other hiking/birding localities that I would never have found on my own.  Not to get overly excited, there are no actual boondocking/backcountry lands among them; however, they provide some opportunities besides the I-20 Preserve.

Chris and I explored a few of them on a day off, including the Comanche Trail park in Odessa.  That was quite a surprise: it begins at a pond and is a winding path through a thickly treed greenbelt.  We were enthralled to find this little mini-forest with Virginia creeper twined upward on tree trunks, flowers and tiny meadows.  A spectacular avian find there was a summer tanager; the bonus was the knowledge that there is life after mesquite.


Other Midnat haunts are (yes, you can believe this!) a cemetery, a college campus and a golf course, all of which we trekked.  When one lacks national forest and other public lands, one does what one must.  Much astonishment on my part at the cemetery upon spotting a gray fox - critters must have water, after all, and there is a drought on.  Behind the college and next to the adjoining airport, we spotted burrowing owls, another newbie for this trip.



















 




I-20 dries up, goes green . . .

Things have changed drastically at the I-20 Preserve.  Where formerly there were bare-branched trees overlooking pools of water, now mostly dry land is accessed via a trail through thick foliage.  The one remaining waterhole is destined for dry within days, but has recently yielded a surprising number of birds new for the season, including: orange-crowned warbler, hermit thrush, green heron, pine siskin, solitary sandpiper, greater yellowlegs, lesser yellowlegs, American avocet, black-necked stilt.

At other localities, we have identified cliff swallows (thousands and thousands) and common nighthawk.  A Bullock’s oriole has joined the black-chinned hummingbirds that frequent my nectar feeder.

I don't know who made this unusual nest.

Meanwhile, Rowdy cares not a whit as he relaxes in the fresh air.