Retrospect: November 2005
The next big step in civilizing our new life here would be a source of potable water and Willy the well driller showed up as promised that first week. He was one of those distinct characters not soon forgotten, a wiry fellow in his 70s with a face that hinted of a very hard living and working past and a million adventures. The sparkle in his eyes not only warned of a dry and mischievous sense of humor but a heart as big across as this canyon. He occasionally flashed two rows of castellated gums which proclaimed that there were priorities beyond selfish vanity ... or else an extreme phobia to dentists but I like to consider the former possibility first. The age of his drilling rig equally mirrored a hard life in the desert sun, sporting a DIY crackle paint job that would make Ralph Lauren envious. The crackle effect was unintentional but added another 20 years of patina to the beast, reminding me of the '50s vintage Mad Max-looking rig of a handyman we had met a decade before. To our amazement, Willy's rig was more than 20 years newer.
Willy enjoyed talking to himself and we tried to follow his comments and nimble movements as he trotted through the bush to find some particularly special sort of wood. "Aha - he must be dowsing ... cool!" we thought. After a number of attempts at twiggery, he mumbled some more, tossed the branch aside and just set the rig as close as he could comfortably get to the rat trailer, about 7 feet out. He slipped coveralls over his dapper western attire and set to work immediately, his assistant keeping up with his pace for the most part. As the afternoon temperatures dropped, Willy stopped to unload an old 55 gallon steel drum and freehand cut an almost perfectly symmetrical ring of 2" holes a few inches up from the barrel's bottom with his cutting torch. The assistant was right on top of that operation and they soon had a warming fire to retreat to when gloves and clothing became saturated with the cold and damp. I soon realized that guarding my sparse supply of loose vintage barn board would now become a priority occupation. The drilling head slammed away into the sand and clay for a few more hours until even the barrel could no longer fend off the deep evening chills and they headed out of the canyon well after sunset.
They resumed drilling the next day around lunchtime. We would eventually figure out that Willy had little interest in getting to a work location early in the day. Age-wise, he should have been able to retire long ago but was at least exercising some benefits of it by starting the day when he was darn well ready. The late afternoon burn barrel socializing became the highlight of our following days, especially when his grown son and friends came out to see dad's latest project. The son had come home from a round the clock gas drilling job in Utah. He was making the big bucks but the long hours had taken their toll on him. He coughed and shivered over the burn barrel continuously and ended up hospitalized with pneumonia a week later. We didn't catch the bug from him but Willy's assistant would later add it to the many other 'blessings' he would leave us with.
After 3 or 4 days of steady pounding, the rig hit water at 42 feet and worked its way down another 20 feet before Willy was content. He continually examined samples expunged from the long bailing tube which took turns in the well hole with the drilling head. He was very pleased with the quality and quantity of water which he found there. The next day, when there was actually light to see by again, would see the installation of the pump.
Somewhere in all this, the assistant had been nonstop regaling us with his "10 years experience" in reworking mobile homes. It sounded as though he could skirt the trailer in for the winter, reconnect all the gas AND water plumbing in about one week - had done it a zillion times and he could do the same for us. Given the encroaching winter weather, we gave him the go ahead although his quoted per hour wage made us a little weak in the knees. What the heck, that times one week was still worth it. I will devote another whole page to that affair later however.
When Willy showed up in daylight for the pump installation, we were excited. He wired up the new pump, dropped it down the hole, fired up our new generator and ... sigh ... nothing happened.
Next entry: 2 or 3 days - seems to be a pattern developing here, doesn't it?
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Fun link of the day: (courtesty of Eric, the mad dragon-boat Viking)
http://www.hurtwood.demon.co.uk/Fun/copter.swf
Can you fly a helicopter? This will drive you nuts!
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