As the chopper gained altitude, Lawton caught a glimpse of the breathtaking scenery visible inland.
Huge, sharply-etched mountains formed the eastern horizon, while magnificent sparkling green fjords filled the deep valleys. The Texan would have loved to explore this fascinating terrain more closely, but unfortunately his destination lay in the opposite direction. Already the pilot had pointed the rounded nose of the helicopter to the west. They would remain on this course until they were well out over the surging grey waters of the North Sea.
“Excuse me for not getting the chance to properly introduce myself back at the heliport,” offered the pilot as she turned toward her passenger, pushing back her chin-mounted microphone.
“I’m Kari Skollevoll. Welcome aboard Noroil One. I hope you’re enjoying Norway, Mr. Lawton.”
To be heard over the whining rotors, the Texan responded firmly.
“Actually, I haven’t seen much more than the Stavanger and Haugesund airports. I flew in from Edinburgh a little less than two hours ago.”
“Have you visited our country before, Mr. Lawton?”
asked the pilot, as she reached forward to make a minor adjustment to the fuel mixture.
“This is my first time, and I must admit what little I’ve seen so far is impressive. That countryside behind us looks magnificent. And Haugesund appears to be quite the charming fishing village.”
“It’s much more than that,” answered the young pilot, whose blond curly hair could just be seen beneath the confines other helmet.
“In my grandfather’s day herring fishing was indeed the city’s primary industry. Today Haugesund is much more diversified. We have a huge shipyard, where vessels up to 150,000 tons can be repaired.
The city is also a primary supply and research base for the offshore oil business.”
“So I understand,” replied Lawton, infected by her enthusiasm.
“How long have you been with Noroil?”
“I’m approaching my third anniversary. I learned how to fly helicopters in the Air Force, though I’ve been flying fixed-wing aircraft since I was a teenager.”
“I gather you’re from around these parts,” said the Texan.
“I was born and raised in Haugesund. In fact, most of my family still lives there. One good thing about my job is that I get a chance to visit them quite frequently.”
David Lawton nodded and peered out the window to the sea below. Though the sky was slightly overcast, the visibility was good, and he was afforded an excellent view of a series of small islands that barely managed to poke their rocky surfaces above the white-capped waters.
The forty-seven year old Texan scratched his thickly bearded chin.
“I have to admit,” he said, “that I was expecting to be greeted by waist high snowdrifts the moment I stepped foot on Norwegian soil. So far, considering it’s late autumn, the temperatures seem incredibly mild. And the only snow I’ve seen has been on the summits of those coastal mountains behind us.”
“You can thank the warming influence of the Gulf Stream for that, Mr. Lawton. An offshoot of the current flows just off our coast, and because of it, we have some of the mildest winters in all of Scandinavia. But just you hang around a little longer, and you’ll see plenty of snow around here. That I can guarantee you.”
As Lawton continued his inspection of the waters below, he spotted what appeared to be a large ship looming in the distance. It was only as they got closer to the monstrous object that he identified it as a huge oil platform.
Supported on thick concrete legs, the platform was in the process of being towed out to sea, clearly dwarfing the trio of powerful oceangoing tugs that had been chosen for the task.
As a veteran oil-service worker, the Texan had seen many similar rigs, yet none could compare to this one for sheer size. Dominating its equipment-packed surface was a towering derrick. A complex maze of snaking pipes and a vast assortment of pumps, cranes, and other heavy machinery was tucked beneath the latticed steel framework. Its living module rose over ten stories high, and was capped by a circular helipad and a number of white satellite dishes. All in all, it was an awesome structure, that proved impressive even to a jaded Texan.
Noting his interest, the pilot identified the rig for him.
“That’s the new Ice Field’s production platform, sir. It was just completed in Haugesund, and is designed to be placed in 200 meters of water off the Arctic island of Svalbard. I’ve been told that its total weight is over one million tons. From the base of its legs to the tip of the derrick, it’s over 350 meters high. The legs alone required 240,000 cubic meters of concrete, and the total quantity of steel utilized is the equivalent to the weight of ten Eiffel towers.”
“That’s mighty impressive, even by Texas standards,” reflected Lawton, as the platform passed beneath them.
“How much longer until we get to the Falcon?”
“We should be touching down on the ship’s helipad in another ten minutes,” answered the pilot.
“Why don’t you just sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. I’ve got a thermos full of hot coffee in the supply cabinet. If you’d like a cup, just let me know.”
Lawton shook his head.
“No thanks, Karl. I’ve already had my caffeine fix for the day.”
“Then would you mind some music?” she asked.
“I just got a new Oslo Philharmonic recording of Edvard Grieg’s Peer Gynt. During the chopper’s last refit, the ground crew installed a cassette player and some pretty decent speakers up here. It sure beats listening to the constant chop of those rotors.”
“Sounds good to me, Karl.”
While the pilot reached up to activate the cassette player, Lawton attempted to stretch his tall, lanky frame. The equipment-packed cockpit was far from spacious, and the bulky, bright orange survival suit that he wore over his normal clothing only made the cramped cabin that much tighter.
As the spirited first chords of the Grieg symphony broke from the elevated speakers, he took his attractive pilot’s advice and did his best to sit back and relax. The stereo system was indeed first class, and the resulting music did much to filter out the harsh, grinding roar of the Bell’s engines.
Though he wasn’t much of a classical music buff, the opening movement had plenty of old-fashioned fiddle playing in it. The spirited folk rhythms were easy to listen to, and had an almost country flavor to them.
The island of Utsira passed below. This compact, rock-strewn landmass was the western-most extension of the Norwegian mainland, and as they zoomed over it, nothing but the lonely gray sea stretched to the horizon.
Lawton stared out at the seemingly endless expanse of water and contemplated the man whose invitation had brought him so far from home. He had first met Magne Rystaad a year ago, at a symposium in Washington, D.C. The two were introduced immediately after a seminar on the latest hyperbaric welding techniques. The fair-haired Norwegian was tight-lipped at first. Yet Lawton liked him right off, and invited the Chuck Norris look-alike for a drink. Since they were practically the same age, and had both been employed as oil industry divers for over a decade, they were soon chatting away like old friends.
It was during their second beer that Magne accepted Lawton’s offer to visit an oil platform that the Texan was helping put in off the Louisiana coast. They left for the site immediately after the conclusion of the seminar.
This was the Norwegian’s first visit to the American south, and he thoroughly enjoyed his exposure to both the balmy weather and the variety of unique southern customs.
Magne seemed genuinely impressed by Lawton’s project.