- Joined
- Jan 28, 2007
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- 1,236
Yesterday at work they took my crane away. Unable to do my normal job with no crane around, I went off to backfill a few excavations with a truck we call a stone slinger. It chucks gravel off a fast-moving conveyor belt wherever you want it to go.
Well, the excavations I am working on backfilling are square holes about twenty feet across and fifteen feet deep, with a big concrete foundation taking up most of the room. There's a couple of feet on each side. That's the space I'm backfilling. At the bottom of the hole is a concrete slab that takes up the whole thing, so you can stand on the concrete and walk around the foundation.
The water table here is super high and where I am working it is probably only ten feet down - even higher at high tide. It has been raining constantly here for a week or so andthe ground is just soaking. In one of the holes I was working on yesterday, we had three two-inch pumps, a three inch pump, and a four inch pump running constantly just to keep up with the water intake, which I would guess was around ten gallons a second. You couldn't see the slab on the bottom as it was covered in gravel that had washed in to the hole, and there was water in any low spot in the gravel.
Anyway the pumps have to come out before I can backfill. The small pumps were no problem - I pulled on the hose a bit and they came loose. But the four inch was under gravel and I couldn't see it. I don't normally work with this stuff much, so I radioed the person who put it in. She stopped by in a truck.
"What's this four incher look like," I asked.
"It's about a foot across and three feet deep," she said. "I dug it halfway out earlier. It should come out."
"Okay," I said. I climbed down into the hole and started digging the gravel away from the top of the pump. I dug the gravel awy around me, and ended up ankle deep in water pretty much immediately. The water was freezing, like water in a mine. I dug down about a foot and hit a something hard and flat. I couldn't see anything because the water came up to the top of the gravel, about halfway up my shins. I bent down and felt around. I realized two things: 1) that the concrete guys had leaned some plywood against the pump making a simple form, and then poured around it, and 2) Jackie had been lying through her teeth when she claimed to have dug it halfway out. I hit the concrete before I saw any part of the pump.
I radioed my boss.
"Hey," I said. "This pump could take a while. You better send the stone slingers to a different hole while I figure this out."
"Okay," he said. "But that pump has to come out, no matter what."
"All right," I said. I was wet from the knees down at this point. I was wearing jeans and a pair of light summer boots, and a polypro shirt. It was just after lunch, maybe one o'clock.
I felt around on the plywood a bit and realized that I would have to dig out the gravel that had fallen inside the form by hand, literally. There was no way to get a shovel in there, not enough space. I knelt down in the water and started digging out handfuls of the sharp gravel. At first it hurt, but my hands went numb after a few minutes in the cold water. I dug out handful after handful, all around the pump. I guess I pulled a good two hundred pounds of sharp rock out of there, half a pound at a time. After an hour I was so deep I had to crouch completely down in the water and dig with my shoulder pressed down to the concrete, turning my face the other way to breathe. Finally I could feel most of the pump.
It was at this point (around 3 pm, been in the water for two hours now) that I discovered the pump was not a cylinder. It bumps out about four inches at the bottom where the impeller is. The concrete guys had leaned up plywood against it, making a pyramid shaped form over a cone-shaped pump, and poured the concrete, trapping the pump down there.
I was shaking and very cold, but I could still touch my little finger and thumb together without any real trouble, so I was not worried about hypothermia.
I radioed my boss again.
"Look," I said, "This pump had been poured against. I can't pull it out of here."
"Do whatever you have to do," he said. "Smash the concrete if you have to. The pump comes out."
"Okay," I said. I climbed out out of the hole and felt a bit funny. It was like my large motor skills were not working well and my head was a bit foggy. I walked over to the tool crib and got a power hammer, plugged it into the generator that was running the pumps, and climbed back into the water. I started smashing the concrete, but I could see what I was doing at all. Everything was under a foot of muddy water. I would smash for five minutes, then set the hammer down on a ledge, kneel down it the water, feel around, pull out the rubble, get back up, and hammer more. They poured the slab a foot thick, and I had to take out about three square feet of concrete to get the pump.
I worked on it for a while and then stopped for a minute. I tried to think about what I was doing. Was it working? Was I hammering out the right concrete? What was I doing exactly? My head was totally foggy. I looked at my hands. The tips of my fingers were all beat up from digging the gravel out. I couldn't feel them at all. I could still touch my thumb and little finger together, but I was having a lot of trouble thinking clearly. "Screw it," I thought, "I'm getting out."
I climbed out of the hole and looked up at the big clock on the hotel down the road. It was quarter after four. I'd been in the water for about three hours. I was done. I started to pick up my tools and I was just out of it. I had to make mental lists of what I'd had out and I couldn't stay focused. I walked back to the seacan.
"Man, what the hell happened to you?" asked my boss.
"That pump," I said. I started trying to tell him about the thing but I was rambly and excitable. Nothing made sense and I was slurring a lot.
"How long were you down there?" he asked.
"Since lunch," I said.
"Man," he said, "You're out of your mind. I never would have got you to do that if I knew what it involved."
"Anyway there's too much concrete," I said.
"Don't worry about it," said my boss.
"I'm going home," I said.
"You better sit in your truck and warm up for a bit," said my boss. "You don't look good."
I took of my jeans and sat in my truck. I put on a wool shirt and a down vest, and cranked up the heat.
I waited for a while and drove home. I felt pretty ill when I got home but my head was clear. It took about five hours for me to feel well again.
I would say yesterday was one of my favourite days this month. Why?
There were four boxes waiting for me when I got home: a new pair of custom-built Vibergs, a dillon xl650, a case feeder, and a Karrimor Sabre 60-100 pack.
Today is the first sick day I've ever taken. I feel fine, but an experience like that really makes you want to spend more quality time with your gear. So I'm spending the day reloading on the new press!
Well, the excavations I am working on backfilling are square holes about twenty feet across and fifteen feet deep, with a big concrete foundation taking up most of the room. There's a couple of feet on each side. That's the space I'm backfilling. At the bottom of the hole is a concrete slab that takes up the whole thing, so you can stand on the concrete and walk around the foundation.
The water table here is super high and where I am working it is probably only ten feet down - even higher at high tide. It has been raining constantly here for a week or so andthe ground is just soaking. In one of the holes I was working on yesterday, we had three two-inch pumps, a three inch pump, and a four inch pump running constantly just to keep up with the water intake, which I would guess was around ten gallons a second. You couldn't see the slab on the bottom as it was covered in gravel that had washed in to the hole, and there was water in any low spot in the gravel.
Anyway the pumps have to come out before I can backfill. The small pumps were no problem - I pulled on the hose a bit and they came loose. But the four inch was under gravel and I couldn't see it. I don't normally work with this stuff much, so I radioed the person who put it in. She stopped by in a truck.
"What's this four incher look like," I asked.
"It's about a foot across and three feet deep," she said. "I dug it halfway out earlier. It should come out."
"Okay," I said. I climbed down into the hole and started digging the gravel away from the top of the pump. I dug the gravel awy around me, and ended up ankle deep in water pretty much immediately. The water was freezing, like water in a mine. I dug down about a foot and hit a something hard and flat. I couldn't see anything because the water came up to the top of the gravel, about halfway up my shins. I bent down and felt around. I realized two things: 1) that the concrete guys had leaned some plywood against the pump making a simple form, and then poured around it, and 2) Jackie had been lying through her teeth when she claimed to have dug it halfway out. I hit the concrete before I saw any part of the pump.
I radioed my boss.
"Hey," I said. "This pump could take a while. You better send the stone slingers to a different hole while I figure this out."
"Okay," he said. "But that pump has to come out, no matter what."
"All right," I said. I was wet from the knees down at this point. I was wearing jeans and a pair of light summer boots, and a polypro shirt. It was just after lunch, maybe one o'clock.
I felt around on the plywood a bit and realized that I would have to dig out the gravel that had fallen inside the form by hand, literally. There was no way to get a shovel in there, not enough space. I knelt down in the water and started digging out handfuls of the sharp gravel. At first it hurt, but my hands went numb after a few minutes in the cold water. I dug out handful after handful, all around the pump. I guess I pulled a good two hundred pounds of sharp rock out of there, half a pound at a time. After an hour I was so deep I had to crouch completely down in the water and dig with my shoulder pressed down to the concrete, turning my face the other way to breathe. Finally I could feel most of the pump.
It was at this point (around 3 pm, been in the water for two hours now) that I discovered the pump was not a cylinder. It bumps out about four inches at the bottom where the impeller is. The concrete guys had leaned up plywood against it, making a pyramid shaped form over a cone-shaped pump, and poured the concrete, trapping the pump down there.
I was shaking and very cold, but I could still touch my little finger and thumb together without any real trouble, so I was not worried about hypothermia.
I radioed my boss again.
"Look," I said, "This pump had been poured against. I can't pull it out of here."
"Do whatever you have to do," he said. "Smash the concrete if you have to. The pump comes out."
"Okay," I said. I climbed out out of the hole and felt a bit funny. It was like my large motor skills were not working well and my head was a bit foggy. I walked over to the tool crib and got a power hammer, plugged it into the generator that was running the pumps, and climbed back into the water. I started smashing the concrete, but I could see what I was doing at all. Everything was under a foot of muddy water. I would smash for five minutes, then set the hammer down on a ledge, kneel down it the water, feel around, pull out the rubble, get back up, and hammer more. They poured the slab a foot thick, and I had to take out about three square feet of concrete to get the pump.
I worked on it for a while and then stopped for a minute. I tried to think about what I was doing. Was it working? Was I hammering out the right concrete? What was I doing exactly? My head was totally foggy. I looked at my hands. The tips of my fingers were all beat up from digging the gravel out. I couldn't feel them at all. I could still touch my thumb and little finger together, but I was having a lot of trouble thinking clearly. "Screw it," I thought, "I'm getting out."
I climbed out of the hole and looked up at the big clock on the hotel down the road. It was quarter after four. I'd been in the water for about three hours. I was done. I started to pick up my tools and I was just out of it. I had to make mental lists of what I'd had out and I couldn't stay focused. I walked back to the seacan.
"Man, what the hell happened to you?" asked my boss.
"That pump," I said. I started trying to tell him about the thing but I was rambly and excitable. Nothing made sense and I was slurring a lot.
"How long were you down there?" he asked.
"Since lunch," I said.
"Man," he said, "You're out of your mind. I never would have got you to do that if I knew what it involved."
"Anyway there's too much concrete," I said.
"Don't worry about it," said my boss.
"I'm going home," I said.
"You better sit in your truck and warm up for a bit," said my boss. "You don't look good."
I took of my jeans and sat in my truck. I put on a wool shirt and a down vest, and cranked up the heat.
I waited for a while and drove home. I felt pretty ill when I got home but my head was clear. It took about five hours for me to feel well again.
I would say yesterday was one of my favourite days this month. Why?
There were four boxes waiting for me when I got home: a new pair of custom-built Vibergs, a dillon xl650, a case feeder, and a Karrimor Sabre 60-100 pack.
Today is the first sick day I've ever taken. I feel fine, but an experience like that really makes you want to spend more quality time with your gear. So I'm spending the day reloading on the new press!
