Exploration & Production Adventures with Tony Morley – Drilling in the Australian Outback

The Cooper Basin is a desert like no other; it’s not the hottest or the driest. What it is, however, is truly enormous—on a scale that’s nearly unimaginable. Flying over the vast Australian outback en route to the rig and looking down at the seemingly limitless dunes, I find my mind singling out a small landmark on the ground, and asking myself, “If my truck broke down there, how long would it take someone to find me?” I don’t even see another road after 35 minutes of flight time.

I’ve always jokingly referred to exploration camps out here as “the prison without walls.” It doesn’t matter in what direction you leave camp; if you tried to walk, you wouldn’t make it a day before collapsing under the relentless sun.

The blowing bull dust creeps into everything on the rig, penetrating every door seal and filling every room with a centimeter of powdered sand after every rig movement or windstorm.

As we leave camp en route for the new drilling location, another road train darts past our land cruiser, and we’re left in a storm of orange sand and dust. In my head, I’m thinking that this is exactly the kind of situation that creates serious danger.

The Toyota slows to a crawl as the dust settles, and the headlights of a four-wheeldrive vehicle come into view just ahead of our position. I’m glad we slowed down; however, the feeling is short-lived as we notice the lights are not moving, and they are upside down and slightly off the track.

I jump out and run to the car; the roof is crushed in, and I can see that the driver in the front is struggling to free himself from his seatbelt. He’s cut up from the shattered glass, and understandably disgruntled with the situation. I call out, “Hey, mate, you OK?” The answer comes back, “Ya, I’m OK, but I don’t think I’m going to have much luck getting out on my own.”

The roof has been crushed too tightly to pull him from the window. I can hardly believe he’s not dead, and he’s hardly even scratched up. The crew calls for roadside assistance, which arrives and hooks onto the side of the damaged Toyota. With a light motion, the four-wheel-drive vehicle is pulled onto its side, and a door is forced open, allowing the confined passenger to escape. Driving in the outback has always been notoriously dangerous, and it’s likely to continue being dangerous as long as there is plenty of sand, dust, and dunes.

If there is one characteristic that marks the oil and gas industry of the Australian outback, it’s a can-do attitude and the ability to make something out of nothing or make repairs out of scraps.

Drilling in the desert is very much like drilling in the Arctic—supplies are always short and a vast distance away. It’s not uncommon to run low on fuel or food and hear, “We’re down to the last inch in the tank, mate, sure hope the water truck gets here soon.”

With crews working under the FIFO rule in the desert, communications back home are one of the most important aspects of a working life in the Basin. Companies around the continent are finding that crew members are valuing solid phones and Internet connections over higher wages, better food, or more luxurious accommodations.

In a country known for being arid and dry, you would be surprised to notice the flood levy on your paycheck and hear the common outburst, “A flood levy, they’re joking, right?” But when it rains, the entire desert turns into one gigantic swamp of orange mud. Moving equipment is impossible; if you try, it will inevitably result in digging the four-wheel-drive vehicle in up to its axels.

When the rain comes to the desert, it comes in one massive deluge, crews are flown out by helicopter and equipment might be left sitting in three meters of water for weeks, months, or even years.

The rig I’m visiting now has spent two years underwater, and another year being retrofitted and repaired after it’s time spent submersed. We arrive in camp, and I get my first look at the new lease and the prehistoric American drilling rig system up the mast.

As the derrick climbs into the air and we unpack from the last move, I’m looking forward to dusting off the equipment, booting up the satellite system, and getting the well spudded.

Regardless of the terrain, the challenges and the obstacles—it’s always an adventure out here. The name of the game is “the unknown,” and as one of the many pioneering spirits here, it’s a game we are all willing to play! Stay tuned for the next issue of The OGM, as our adventures take us to a new destination deep into the mountain highlands of Papua New Guinea (PNG), where we will be drilling among the clouds.