As I stood there chewing away, contemplating the use of powder, I wondered how far we would have to run or even if we had to run at all, seeing as I had no idea how fast the three feet of fuse lead would burn. But running out of options, I decided to try using the powder to blow the chute open.
“You ever used this before?” I said to Anthony.
“Nope, never,” he said.
“Me either, but let’s give it a try.”
I picked up a fuse in one hand and a stick of powder in the other and said, “I think what you do is stick the blasting cap end of the fuse into the powder. We can jam the powder up between the lip of the chute here, light it, and run,” I said.
Anthony, not seeming very enthusiastic, said, “Will we have time to get away?”
That was a reasonable question, so I thought about it for a minute before saying, “I don’t know, but we’ll probably have time. Let’s just try it. It won’t blow the door off, but it might loosen it up.”
Of course I had no idea what one stick of powder would do or whether it would blow the door off, mangle it beyond further use, or anything else, for that matter, but Frankie must know, and he’s the one who gave us the powder.
I balanced a stick of powder on top of the door where the moveable lip met the stationary section of the structure then stuck the shiny metal blasting-cap end of a fuse into the end of the stick of powder.
I sent Anthony down the track drift quite a little way to act as a lookout and assuage his fear of being able to get away by already being away. Using my handy disposable cigarette lighter, I lit the fuse. I was prepared to sprint away but it seemed to be burning slowly, so with no need to panic, I made my way down the drift toward Anthony a hundred yards or so away. The fuse was a lot slower burning than either of us had figured, so we ended up waiting a good five minutes before the powder went off.
The explosion wasn’t as loud as I thought it might be, and while there was some smoke, it wasn’t much. I was feeling proud of myself for finally having blasted something as I said to Anthony, “Let’s check it out, pard.” As full of confidence as I was, we nonetheless cautiously walked back toward the chute.
Not only did the door seem intact, but I couldn’t see a mark of any kind where the powder had gone off. Still, it was possible that the door had been loosened. Carefully trying the door handle to see if it would budge the chute door proved futile. Still, we had successfully blasted something, and although that had accomplished nothing, we hadn’t hurt ourselves or—it appeared—damaged anything. So far we were doing a fine job. Next logical move? Make a bigger bomb.
I next tied three sticks of powder together and jammed them up against the chute door and inserted another length of fuse with a blasting cap. After again sending Anthony back down the drift, I lit the fuse and walked down to join him.
Several minutes later came a much bigger explosion, this time with considerably more smoke. When it cleared we again walked back to observe our handiwork. As before there was no damage, and in trying the door lever, we found no loosening of the chute door.
I decided we were not using enough force on the door, so we’d better double the effort this time by tying six sticks of powder together.
That looked like a good-sized bomb and just might do the trick. No way the door could resist that kind of force, right? Again, I lit the fuse and again walked down the drift where I waited with Anthony.
This, our third try, resulted in a massive explosion and a lot more smoke, which took some time to clear. That, I thought, was a real bomb. No way this couldn’t have worked.
As before, there was no visible damage done to the door, but it now opened ever so slightly when I pulled the handle, enough so that I could clearly see some of the ore at the base of the chute.
The chute was dripping water, but to me there was nothing to indicate that there was anything but rock filling it. Of course the prudent thing to do would have been to climb the 150-foot manway and shine a lamp down the chute from above. But that was a long climb, and having seen the rock at the base, it was clear there was no water, and besides, the 1–5 level was above the water table. How could there be much water in the chute anyway?
Thinking Anthony and I might work together on the problem, I stood on one side of the chute lip in hopes of getting a better look while he would operate the handle on the other. “Just try moving the handle a little bit,” I said. “Just move it very slowly. We don’t want to dump all that rock on the track.” So while I stood just to the side of the chute lid looking for any movement, Anthony gave the handle a pull that was a lot more than he’d intended. That’s all it took.
The bomb had worked, and the weight of all that water above forced open the chute door the rest of the way. There was no stopping it. As the water came rushing out, I was immediately submerged and washed down the drift fifty feet or so before I was able to grab hold of the wire mesh bolted to the ribs, the whole time thinking, I’m going to drown in a mine?
I had known there was the possibility of being caved in on or blown up, but drowning in a mine? I hadn’t considered that.
Still holding on to the wire mesh as the torrent was rushing by, I was able to pull my head above water. Looking around for Anthony, I didn’t see him but knew he was somewhere down the drift and still submerged.
The surge of water seemed to just keep coming as I clung to the wire mesh, still able to keep my head above water. Somehow in this, the first of several close calls during my short mining career, I began to think I might survive.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity but had probably been no more than thirty seconds, the chute emptied, and the water in the drift began to subside.
Down the drift no more than fifty feet, I could see Anthony had a firm grip on the mesh, drenched from head to toe but otherwise alive and well.
It’s funny how quickly thoughts can turn from the most serious to the most trivial. Once my survival seemed assured and I knew Anthony was fine, I became concerned that my Red Man chewing tobacco would be ruined, and how was I going to get through the rest of my shift with no chew? Perhaps the aluminum-lined bag would save it? I checked the top pocket of my overalls and found my Red Man was ruined by the flood waters. I was despondent but not for long.
Then I noticed that my miner’s headlamp, having been submerged, was still working just fine. That’s pretty cool, I thought, great engineering.
I then started congratulating myself on a job well done. The chute lip was no longer stuck, the chute itself was empty, and nobody had gotten hurt. It was all working out. Not exactly.
From down the drift I could see a light rapidly approaching and then the figure of Frankie, emerging from the darkness, running toward us. I was thinking he would be happy to know Anthony and I were OK and that I could show him we had indeed accomplished the opening of the ore chute. We might have messed up and let the water out, but nothing seemed damaged, and we had lived, so Frankie would be pleased. Frankie was not pleased.
Red faced and enraged, Frankie let loose with a string of expletives unlike any I had heard underground up until then. “You stupid cocksucking, motherfucking idiots. You flooded the drift all the way down to the station. It’s a fucking mess, you assholes. Get up to the fucking surface.”
Obviously the chute being again operable was of no consequence to Frankie. Too stunned from the event anyway, I didn’t mention it, electing instead to follow instructions and head back to the station with Anthony.
As we were walking through the drift, I could see what a mess it was. The force of the water had taken a lot of loose rock from the ribs and deposited it on the track. Nothing big, but there was going to be a lot of hand mucking to do to clear the track. “Looks like we’ll have a lot of work to do cleaning this mess up,” I said to Anthony.