LixyChick
04-02-2005, 03:22 PM
As you all may know, Mr. Lixy is a blaster. Not only does he blast, but he drills the holes in which to drop the explosives in. It's a grueling job!
He's weathered many a year out in the elements...drilling through rock as hard as granite, as soft as sandstone, and everything in between. Each rock is different and each hole is precisely packed to make it heave just right...not too much, not too little. There can never be any "fly rock". The mathematical skill required to figure out a particular blast takes education and a true understanding of a particular geological layout. In years gone by the driller did it by hand. Now they have drills that look like tanks. A single drill steel can weigh 30-50lbs. Some holes require double, or even triple, steel before the specific depth is reached. The amount of explosives has a mathematical formula as well, and yet the blaster in charge must know the lay of the land and adjust his explosives through knowledge and instinct. All blasts are required by law to be measured for vibration. The closer to a residential area, the less the vibration tolerance. It could be the same kind rock as was in the middle of nowhere, but if it's close to a house the blaster must adjust the way the hole is drilled and the amount of dynamite used. Strict records are kept of each individual hole blasted and the amount of dynamite used. Some sites can be acres of holes...and yet each hole and each amount of dynamite is accounted for. The A.T.F. and fire marshall's and other local authorities are on most sites with each blast. As I said...it's a grueling job...both physically and mentally!
Yesterday, Mr. Lixy brought home a poem for me to read. I thought I'd share his experience with you and I've included the poem...which I thought was cute and appropo! It had no name on the piece of paper he gave me...so I call the poem "Finally"
Enjoy!
A blaster stood at the pearly gates
His face was scarred and cold
He stood before the man of fate
For admission to the fold
What have you done, St. Peter asked
To gain admission here
I've been a blaster, sir, he said
For many and many a year
The pearly gates swung open wide
St. Peter touched a bell
Come in and choose your harp, he said
You've had your share of Hell
He's weathered many a year out in the elements...drilling through rock as hard as granite, as soft as sandstone, and everything in between. Each rock is different and each hole is precisely packed to make it heave just right...not too much, not too little. There can never be any "fly rock". The mathematical skill required to figure out a particular blast takes education and a true understanding of a particular geological layout. In years gone by the driller did it by hand. Now they have drills that look like tanks. A single drill steel can weigh 30-50lbs. Some holes require double, or even triple, steel before the specific depth is reached. The amount of explosives has a mathematical formula as well, and yet the blaster in charge must know the lay of the land and adjust his explosives through knowledge and instinct. All blasts are required by law to be measured for vibration. The closer to a residential area, the less the vibration tolerance. It could be the same kind rock as was in the middle of nowhere, but if it's close to a house the blaster must adjust the way the hole is drilled and the amount of dynamite used. Strict records are kept of each individual hole blasted and the amount of dynamite used. Some sites can be acres of holes...and yet each hole and each amount of dynamite is accounted for. The A.T.F. and fire marshall's and other local authorities are on most sites with each blast. As I said...it's a grueling job...both physically and mentally!
Yesterday, Mr. Lixy brought home a poem for me to read. I thought I'd share his experience with you and I've included the poem...which I thought was cute and appropo! It had no name on the piece of paper he gave me...so I call the poem "Finally"
Enjoy!
A blaster stood at the pearly gates
His face was scarred and cold
He stood before the man of fate
For admission to the fold
What have you done, St. Peter asked
To gain admission here
I've been a blaster, sir, he said
For many and many a year
The pearly gates swung open wide
St. Peter touched a bell
Come in and choose your harp, he said
You've had your share of Hell