The Norman Wells Story
In Canada’s early years, important hydrocarbon discoveries occurred almost independently of settlement. In the frontiers, of course, that pattern continues. The relationship between Norman Wells and Alberta’s post-war discovery at Leduc is one example of a pattern that turns on its head the American model of petroleum development. Remote exploration has always played a critical role in the industry’s development.
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Calgary |
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Edmonton |
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· Wells |
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· Leduc |
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It would be easy to think of Canada’s petroleum industry as one that began in the south, grew wealthy, then began exploring and developing more remote lands. That is indeed a realistic caricature of the US industry, but in Canada the story was different. The most important oil discovery prior to Leduc took place just south of the Arctic Circle. In a drama worthy of the great white north, that discovery led directly to the creation of Canada’s modern petroleum industry. |
Before I address the major topic of my presentation today, I would like to suggest an idea about the development of Canada’s petroleum industry compared to that in the United States. Simply put, the patterns of petroleum industry development in the two countries paralleled their respective patterns of settlement.
As you know, the US takes up the best temperate lands along the eastern seaboard, and there are no major barriers to settlement between New York and San Francisco. The Cordillera is a problem, but settlement in the far west was still not seriously hindered – especially after the construction of the transcontinental railways. That pattern exactly reflects the development of the US petroleum industry. In the US there are many sedimentary basins – smallish, but regularly spaced across the country. Once Colonel Drake drilled his historic well, the American petroleum industry developed with patterns of settlement.
Canada has quite a different geography. Settlement was difficult in this country because of the predominance of the Canadian Shield, which provided barriers in many ways. Trapped between the Shield and the Cordillera, the Western Canada sedimentary basin is far bigger than the many on-shore basins in the US. Because of the Shield, it is well separated from the small basins in eastern and central Canada. The Shield and our northern latitudes created what I call the coureurs du bois model of how the Canadian industry developed.
In case you don’t know
the expression, coureurs du bois were fur traders who earned their
livelihoods with the aid of canoe transport along our mostly northward-flowing
rivers. They played a big role in the creation of Canada. For example, from
remote northern locations they brought information about resource potential to
our political and commercial centres.
Alberta’s first recorded natural gas find came in 1883 from a well at CPR siding No. 8 at Langevin, near Medicine Hat. This well was one of a series drilled at scattered points along the railway to get water for the Canadian Pacific Railway’s steam-driven locomotives. The unexpected gas flow caught fire and destroyed the drilling rig. The discovery took place as we built our first transcontinental railway – itself an effort to settle our empty prairies before the Americans did the job for us.
Pelican
Rapids
The Athabasca oil sands were already well known – in
fact, the first recorded mention of Canada’s bitumen deposits goes back to a
Hudson’s Bay Company record of June 12, 1719. Hoping to find light oil beneath
the sands, in the late 19th century Ottawa undertook a drilling program to help
define the region’s resources. Using a rig taken north by river, in 1893
contractor A.W. Fraser began drilling for liquid oil at Athabasca, where the
oil sands had been known for centuries. In 1897 he moved the rig to Pelican
Rapids, also in northern Alberta. There it struck natural gas at 250 metres.
But the well blew wild, flowing huge volumes of gas for 21 years. It was not
until 1918 that a crew succeeded in killing the well.
These few examples
illustrate my point. Quite unlike the situation in the US, Canada’s early
hydrocarbon exploration took place along transportation corridors rather than
in settled areas. The country had been well explored during the fur trade era,
but settlements were still few and far apart. That pattern is in evidence in
the case of Norman Wells, to which I now turn my attention.
Ask any of Canada’s
exploration professionals when Western Canada’s oil industry began, and you
will get one of two answers. The first is the Dingman #1 discovery, which began
disgorging wet gas at Turner Valley in 1914. The second is Imperial’s 1947 oil
discovery at Leduc. The more thoughtful industrial historian would probably say
Dingman was the critical event for the industry’s early years, while the modern
era began at Leduc.
I want to suggest that
another event was equally pivotal. The year was 1914. The occasion was an
expedition down the Mackenzie River by a British geologist, Dr. T.O. Bosworth.
There are direct links between that trip and the modern industry’s birth.
Out
of Calgary
Two Calgary businessmen, F.C. Lowes and J.K. Cornwall,
commissioned Bosworth’s journey. They wanted to investigate the petroleum
potential of northern Alberta and beyond, and to stake the most promising
claims. Bosworth did not disappoint. His confidence that the north was highly
prospective is apparent on almost every page of his 69-page report.
Bosworth’s own words
suggest how ambitious the expedition was. “The undertaking was planned in March
1914,” he says. “In April I consulted with the officers of the Government
Geological Survey and other Departments in Ottawa and gathered from them all
available information; maps and literature bearing on the subject.
“At the beginning of
May, I journeyed from London to Canada accompanied by three assistant
geologists and surveyors, and on May 19th, the expedition set out from Edmonton
to travel northwards in the Guidance of the Northern Trading Company. We
returned to Edmonton September 24th.”
During that period, the
Bosworth expedition covered huge distances. And according to his report, there
were excellent exploration prospects in three general regions: “The Mackenzie
River between Old Fort Good Hope and Fort Norman; the Tar Springs District on
the Great Slave Lake; and in the Tar Sand District on the Athabasca River.”
His report offered
concise, well-written geological descriptions of rocks, formations and
structures. It also included chemical reports on both rocks and oil from the
many seepages in the area. Some of his greatest praise came from investigations
north of Norman Wells, areas which to this day have not yielded a major oil
discovery. “Near Old Fort Good Hope (lat. 67 30’) in the banks of a tributary
stream, the shales are well exposed ... from the fossils it is evident that the
shales are of Upper Paleozoic Age and probably belong to the Upper Devonian,”
he said. “This remarkable series of Bituminous Shales and Limestones, of such
thickness and of such richness contains the material from which a vast amount
of petroleum might be generated and might pass into an overlying porous rock.
It is admirable as an oil generating formation.”
In a discussion of the
evidence of good reservoir rock, Bosworth points to a nearby occurrence of
“gray clay shales and shaley sandstone,” and to another of “greenish shaley
sandstone containing occasional fossils – corals, chenetes and rhynconella.”
Both of the reservoir
rocks Bosworth speculates upon lie above the Devonian shales. He was looking
specifically for “overlying porous rock” to form the reservoir. It does not
seem to have occurred to him that reefs within the shales could have served as
reservoirs, even though he specifically noted the presence of Devonian corals.
Before I turn to the
outcome of this expedition, which was quite important, I would like to share
with you the business advice he gave his clients in the conclusion to his
general report. “To avoid all competition,” he said, “I strongly advise that
you form a controlling company or syndicate containing the most influential
men. I recommend particularly that you arrange matters in such a way that it
would be to the obvious advantage of every oil man to join you, and that you
freely provide the opportunity so that the Company may include every man who
wishes to venture anything in the exploitation of the oilfields of the North.
By this means alone can you hope to avoid competition and the unfortunate
results which must follow….”
Ted
Link
In his report Bosworth noted that he had
“investigated” the discovery at Turner Valley. Fifteen months in the drilling,
the wet gas discovery came in on May 14, 1914 – just before Bosworth left
Edmonton on his expedition. Within 20 years, that discovery would be recognized
as “the largest oilfield in the British Empire.” Bosworth, however, was not
impressed. In his view, the real potential was in the North.
Believing Turner Valley
was doomed to disappoint explorers, he wrote that that “there are a number of
oil companies in Western Canada who have capital in hand which must be spent on
drilling wells. At this moment they are faced with failure (at Turner Valley),
and might gladly turn to any region where there is a genuine reason to expect
oil. Any such companies might become associated with your controlling company
to the obvious advantage of all parties, on terms which can be mutually
arranged...”
After further
commentary, he advises his clients in these words: “You would also provide for
the transportation; the necessary railroads; the pipe lines, the refineries,
and, what is more important than all the rest, and which would give you
complete command of the whole situation, all of the oil produced in the region
would pass through your hands to be marketed by you.
“If you could succeed
in promoting a great scheme on some such lines as these, no smaller rival group
could hope to compete against you, and you might eventually be in the position
to control the great oil fields of the North.”
One of the great
ironies of these comments, of course, is that they came barely three years
after the Standard Oil Trust was dismantled for just such anti-competitive
practices. In addition, Bosworth completely misread the importance of Turner
Valley and the petroleum potential of Alberta, so smitten was he by the North.
The practical value of his advice may be seen in the fact that seven decades
elapsed before oil from the Norman Wells oilfield actually began flowing to
southern markets.
Now, let us push on
with our story. Bosworth does not remark on the coming of World War I. However,
when he and his men left the world was at peace; when he returned, Europe and
the British Empire had become embroiled in that terrible war. He was probably
totally unaware of those developments while in the north.
The exigencies of war
postponed exploration of Bosworth’s claims. So did the Dingman discovery. The
petroleum industry by this time was focused on Turner Valley field development,
where standard practice was to strip naphtha from the gas stream and flare the
gas itself. By 1918 an Imperial Oil subsidiary, The Northwest Company, had
acquired the properties Bosworth had staked for his clients. Imperial had hired
Bosworth himself as chief geologist. The company decided to drill on one of
those claims.
Imperial Oil Limited’s
legendary exploration geologist, Ted Link, led the drilling expedition. By
train, scow and riverboat, he and his crew followed Bosworth’s route north to
Fort Norman, just south of the Arctic Circle. They had taken with them the
wherewithal to assemble a cable-tool drilling rig, and they soon set to work.
One valuable member of the party was an ox, which supplied heavy labour during
the summer. As the autumn cold began killing off the forage, he delivered
steaks and stew.
Before moving on, it is
worth noting that the most important early geological work at Norman Wells,
including the location of the discovery well, needs to be attributed to Ted
Link – not to T.O. Bosworth. In an important 1947 presentation to the AAPG,
J.S. Stewart of the Geological Survey of Canada is adamant on this point.
Canol
Imperial’s first well brought in the great Norman
Wells discovery, in 1920. However, there was no practical way to get the oil to
market. Because demand in the Northwest Territories was marginal, Imperial had
little reason to develop the field. However, later in the decade the company
constructed a tiny refinery at Norman Wells to supply gasoline and other
products to missions, mines, riverboats and other local customers. The company
did not need many wells to meet local needs, and did little investigation of
the geology of the reservoir.
That changed after
Pearl Harbor. When the Americans came into the Second World War, they were
extremely concerned about having secure local fuel supplies in the North,
especially after Japan took control of a couple of Alaska’s Aleutian islands.
They therefore worked with Canada to develop Norman Wells into a source of
local oil supply for a refining and distribution complex. This was the
beginning of the Canol Project. The name supposedly comes from the contraction
of “Canadian” and “oil”, but I suspect the second syllable is actually “oil”
with a Texas accent.
Construction crews
built a 950-kilometre oil pipeline over the Mackenzie Mountains to a newly
constructed refinery in Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory. The pipeline was
built over some of the most difficult terrain in the country, and much of the
work had to be done in bitter cold. Crews also laid product pipelines to
Skagway, Alaska. In total, they constructed 2,560 kilometres of pipeline.
By any standard those
lines were terrible. The line ran on top of the ground, alongside the road,
often without supports. Vulnerable to frost heaving, snowstorms and flooding,
the Canol pipelines were not designed for extreme cold. They were neither
installed nor handled properly, and they failed frequently. The crude oil
pipeline leaked onto the permafrost. So did the product pipelines, which
delivered diesel and gasoline to a fuelling station in Skagway, Alaska.
To meet the needs of the refinery,
Imperial drilled more wells, and began to better understand the Norman Wells
reservoir. Of note, the company discovered that it was a Devonian reef – of
earlier vintage than the Leduc and Redwater fields soon to be discovered in
Alberta, but still a Devonian reef. That turned out to be the geological key.
By the time the
refinery was ready to begin operations, the company had drilled 60 productive
wells out of 67 project wells in total. The test for the field came on February
16, 1944 when the pipeline began operating. As a producer of good-quality oil
(39° to 41° API), the field surpassed expectations. By October 1944 Norman
Wells was producing 4,600 barrels per day by natural pressure.
The extraordinary Canol
project did not contribute meaningfully to the war effort. The threat to west
coast shipping had disappeared and it was clear that the war would soon be won.
First oil flowed through the pipeline in 1944, and the refinery operated for
less than a year before being mothballed. Perhaps Canol was the greatest white
elephant in petroleum history.
No one really knows how
much the project cost, though there is no doubt the American taxpayer picked up
the tab. For the following calculations I will use one of the common cost
estimates: $134 million. Total oil production was about 1.5 million barrels. In
as-spent dollars, therefore, it cost $89.33 per barrel. The Whitehorse refinery
only produced 866,670 barrels of refined product. Dividing that by total
project cost, you get $0.97 per litre.
Now, let’s adjust those
numbers by official consumer price inflation in the United States. In today’s
money, the oil would cost $982 a barrel. The refined products would cost $10.69
a litre. And that’s before taxes!
Later studies of the
project’s environmental impact in Whitehorse were revealing. The Canol legacy
included the creation of an environmental horror known locally as the Maxwell
Tar Pit. Appalling disposal and clean-up practices during the Canol debacle had
created an oily mess that was declared an environmentally contaminated site in
1998. Forty years earlier, a man had stumbled into the pit and got stuck. He
later died in hospital.
Leduc
Although Canol had little impact on affairs of state,
it had a huge impact on oil development in Western Canada. As the result of
wartime field development at Norman Wells, Imperial learned that the field’s
reservoir rock was Devonian reef. Armed with this knowledge, the company’s
geologists – led by Ted Link, who by this time was in charge of
Imperial’s exploration efforts – their approach to Western Canada.
This was an important
example of thinking outside the box. Other oilmen at the time were on the hunt
for big plays that looked, walked and talked like Turner Valley. They would be
roughly 340 million years old. They would be thrusted anticlines of Paleozoic
age in a Mississippian formation. Much fruitless drilling in the foothills
sought the next Turner Valley.
Perhaps we should not
give all the credit to Imperial Oil for the geological idea that there might be
Devonian reefs in Alberta. In an email, my friend Clint Tippett asked whether
GSC mapping of the Rockies west of Edmonton – work undertaken by Helen Belyea,
Digby Maclaren and others – influenced Imperial’s thinking. Before the Leduc
discovery, Charles Stelck at the University of Alberta also gave thought to the
question of Devonian reefs in Alberta.
However Imperial
arrived at its revolutionary idea, the importance of its decision to drill for
a reef cannot be understated. That geological idea brought forth a series of
great discoveries. The first came with the aid of primitive seismic technology,
and it was a big one – the famous Leduc #1 discovery well. When it came in to
much fanfare on February 21, 1947, Leduc laid the groundwork for one of the
world’s great post-war oil booms.
There is another
important connection between post-war oil development in Alberta and the Canol
project. The refinery built in Whitehorse played an important role in Alberta’s
industrial development. Imperial bought the mothballed refinery for one dollar,
dismantled it and moved it to Strathcona, near Edmonton. There, the company
reassembled it to handle production from Leduc and other post-war discoveries.
That refinery laid the foundation for one of Canada’s biggest refining
complexes.
As I leave this
discussion, a final piece of trivia. Although Imperial is the hero of this
drama, I understand that the company’s geologists mapped the Leduc reefs at a
90° angle to their actual orientation. After mapping them correctly, Texaco
came to have the dominant position in the Leduc chain of reefs.
Summary
The Norman Wells story illustrates a pattern that
turns on its head the American model of petroleum industry development. Briefly
put, remote exploration has played a critical role in the industry’s
development since the earliest years of oil and gas exploration in this
country. Bosworth was wrong in important areas. However, his work greatly
influenced that of his successor, Ted Link, who ultimately proved that Devonian
reefs were an important key to Canada’s petroleum wealth. That change in
thinking paved the way for a series of discoveries which represented the birth
of the modern petroleum industry in Canada.
It would be easy to
think of Canada’s petroleum industry as one that began in southern Ontario and
Alberta, grew wealthy, then began exploring and developing its frontiers. But
this model doesn’t fit the facts. Key discoveries and developments took place
in remote regions. In the sector’s early years, important discoveries occurred
almost independently of settlement, and a great deal of oil and gas development
continues to take place in sparsely populated areas. In our frontiers, of
course, that pattern is fully intact.
If not for the Bosworth
report, Canada’s petroleum industry would have had quite a different history.
Imperial Oil’s efforts were heroic – indeed, the stuff of legend. Enormously
frustrated with its unbroken string of 133 dry holes, Imperial planned the
program that yielded Leduc as its last major wildcat play in Alberta. If Leduc
had not come in, it is easy to imagine the Devonian oil fields lying fallow for
many, many years. No other big players were exploring the prairies.
In the actual case,
however, oilmen around the world soon became aware of this important new
discovery, and they began to bring expertise and investment into the province.
They created one of the first great post-war oil booms and helped lay the
foundation for one of the world’s most diverse and technically advanced petroleum
industries.
In respect to its
long-term impact, T.O. Bosworth’s 1914 report may have been the most
influential geological document in Canadian history. I hope my brief comments
today have given you reason to consider that claim.
References:
1. T.O. Bosworth, 1914; “The Mackenzie River between Old
Fort Good Hope and Fort Norman; the Tar Springs District on the Great Slave
Lake; and in the Tar Sand District on the Athabasca River.” Available at the
Glenbow Archives, Calgary; reference number M-8656; 69 pages.
2. J.S. Stewart, 1948; “Norman Wells Oil Field, Northwest
Territories, Canada”; in Structure of Typical American Oil Fields, Volume
III, pp. 86-109; original paper read before an AAPG meeting in
Wichita, Kansas, on January 18, 1947.
3. Peter McKenzie-Brown, 1988; “Two Historical Documents:
Notes for an Address to the Petroleum History Society.”
Aeroplanes to the Arctic
The first airplane[i] flights into the
Northwest Territories annihilated time and distance and opened doors to the
north. Before the “bush plane,” most northern trading posts operated just as
they had for the previous century. Transportation and communication were by
York boat and canoe, in summer, and dog sled, in winter. Mail took months to
deliver and then only in small amounts, for the population was small. In 1921,
the Northwest Territories consisted of 8,100 people (primarily Inuit and Dene)
and perhaps 250 non-natives in an area one-third the size of Canada. The few
residents of the Mackenzie Valley lived in scattered forts along the banks of
the 2400-kilometre long Mackenzie River. The typical community consisted of a
Hudson’s Bay fur-trading post, a Northwest Mounted Police barracks, a Church or
Mission, plus a few log cabins and wigwams. The natives, who lived near these
established posts, hunted, fished and traded furs with the competing fur
companies (Northern Trading Company, Lamson and Hubbard, and the Hudson’s Bay Company).
Although the
first plane flight in Canada occurred in 1909, it was more than a
decade before planes flew into the Northwest Territories. No one believed that
there was a reason to fly to the North until Imperial Oil Limited discovered
the Norman Wells oilfield in 1920. A staking rush ensued, and Charles E.
Taylor, Imperial Oil’s western Production Manager, recommended the use of
aeroplanes to secure claims. President Stillman, of Imperial Oil headquarters
in Toronto, approved the purchase of two Junkers JL6 monoplanes powered by 185
horsepower liquid cooled engines. These aircraft were purchased from John M.
Larsen of New York City in December 1920 at an approximate cost
of $20,000 (U.S.) each. They were shipped across the Atlantic Ocean from
Germany to New York where they were assembled and then flown to Edmonton,
Alberta, by Captain W. R. (“Wop”) May and Lieutenant George W. Gorman. Eager to
further develop their land position, Imperial Oil’s plan was to fly a surveyor
to the site before as anticipated spring rush by fortune seekers.
This was a bold
and ambitious undertaking. The Junkers aeroplane could carry four passengers in
its cabin, but the pilot had to sit in a semi-enclosed cockpit exposed to the
wind and ice. There were no runways and they virtually had to carry all their
own fuel with them. The planes had never been flown in such cold conditions or
with skis. The engine’s water-cooling systems had to be repaired twice on the
cross-Canada flight due to frigid temperatures in Manitoba and Saskatchewan. “Wop”
May decided in Edmonton not to carry on with the adventure, so he was replaced
by another pilot, Elmer Fullerton, a member of the Canadian Air Force on leave
from the service.
Fullerton and George
Gorman had never seen the areas they were supposed to fly in, and they had to
trust their own judgment on weather conditions and safe landing areas. There
were no radios. Two other aviators were with them: flight engineer S. C. (Pete)
Derbyshire and mechanic William (Bill) Hill. The challenge was daunting, but
all of them had flown or serviced planes during World War I and they were eager
to make Imperial Oil’s program a success.
Their trip later
inspired C. H. (Punch) Dickins flights across the Canadian Barren Lands and
along the Mackenzie River Valley to the Arctic. The Norman Wells flights
convinced him that aeroplanes would become the principal means of
transportation in the North. Nine years later he was rescuing fellow fliers on
the Barren Lands. Twenty years later he was Vice-President and General Manager
of Canadian Pacific AirLines Ltd. Just as construction task forces were
arriving in Edmonton, to begin work on the CANOL Project.
The two Junkers
airplanes were Christened at a ceremony in Edmonton by Mrs. McQueen, the wife
of an Imperial Oil Limited Vice-President. One plane was named Vic for
Victoria, the daughter of Charles E. Taylor and the other Rene for Taylor’s
secretary, Rene Arsenault. After a brief ceremony both planes were flown to
Peace River where they were checked-out and fitted with skis. On March 22 they
were used to establish a cache of gasoline at a Hudson’s Bay post, 300 kilometres
north at Upper Hay River Post. Two days later, the crew of four left Peace
River with two passengers: W. H. Waddell, a Government of Canada land surveyor,
who could stake claims, plus a last-minute passenger, Sergeant Hubert (Nitchie)
Thorne, a Royal Northwest Mounted Policeman. Earlier that winter Sergeant
Thorne had taken eight weeks of bone-breaking work to take a murderer out from
Fort Simpson to Peace River by snowshoe and dog team.
As the six
anxious aviators droned northwards, at 145 kilometres per hour, optimism
grew about the success of their mission. They felt like the snow geese that
would soon be making their way north. They stared at the seemingly featureless
expanse of dark spruce and tamarack that peppered the snow-covered land beneath
their wings. They watched the shadow of the plane skimming treetops and dipping
at every valley that was crossed. Sergeant Thorne remembered his trip out. Each
stream crossing had been a struggle with his dog-team and now he watched the
plane’s shadow crossing each river valley effortlessly.
The first stage
of their flight took them from Peace River to a Hudson’s Bay post at Fort
Vermilion. They left Peace River at 9 a.m. on the 24th of March in a cloudless
sky, but after only 160 kilometres a blizzard blew-in from the northwest.
Fullerton and Gorman were forced to fly less than 200 metres above the ground
just to see where they were going. However, they stuck to their landmarks and
swooped down to make a perfect landing at Vermilion on 60 cm of snow. The
aviators spent the next three days there, stormbound.
Their next hop
took them 300 kilometres along the Peace and Slave rivers in a giant
counter-clockwise half circle to Hay River Post on Great Slave Lake. They left
Vermilion on March 27th and were able to photograph Hay River Falls, which is
one of the great sights of the north. The river first plunges 30 metres over a
limestone ledge (Alexandra Falls) and then, two kilometres downstream, another
15 metres in another sheer drop known as Louise Falls. These were the first
aerial photographs ever taken of the Northwest Territories. A successful
landing was made a short time later at Hay River Post on 80 centimetres of
snow.
The next day was
March 28th. At 2 p.m. the flyers took off again and crossed the western end of
Great Slave Lake. A strong north wind brought in another blizzard as they flew
into the Mackenzie Valley. They made a forced landing on the Mackenzie River 30
kilometres upstream of Fort Providence. The storm subsided after an hour and
they jumped to Fort Providence where they landed on the Mission Field on 100 cm
of dry snow with no problems.
By March 30th the
weather had cleared. After refueling, they took three attempts to clear the
engulfing snow and push on to Fort Simpson, another 225 kilometres north on the
Mackenzie River. Once there, they would only be a three-hour flight from the
oilfield.
As the planes approached the fork of the broad
Mackenzie and Liard rivers, Thorne congratulated himself on his quick return.
This would be a pleasant surprise for his wife who did not expect him back
before May. Although the last stop had been only one hour and forty minutes
earlier, they had now flown more than eight hours during six days. He was tired
and cold, and not used to staring out frosted windows but thankful that he
would not have to mush his dog team home. He thought, “Fifty days behind the
dogs is a long time.”
The pilots were also tired of flying over the
frozen landscape and eager to land and warm up. They were flying in a light snowstorm
against a moderate headwind. Smoke streamed sideways from the roofs of a small
group of buildings scattered along the banks of the large low island ahead of
them. This was Fort Simpson and their approach was from the south. Their legs,
arms and hands were stiff and cold with fatigue. The Roman Catholic Mission was
the most prominent building and the nearby field looked like a small blank
piece of paper. They had intended to land on the river again, but it was a
jagged mass of ice blocks, which looked like teeth to them.
Old Chippesaw, a Slavey Aboriginal
who was mushing from upriver back to the Fort, shot at the planes as they flew
over his head. Later he told the Chief Factor of the Hudson’s Bay post that a “Thunder
Bird” was after him. The roar of the landing planes could be heard for miles in
that freezing air, but no one heard the report of his rifle as he fired at the
planes.
Thorne, in Gorman’s
plane Rene, suggested a landing on the field near the Mission because the river
was impossible. So Gorman hand-signaled to Fullerton who began to descend. It
was mid-afternoon. Through the half-light they could see the whitewashed log
buildings of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police barracks and the neat and tidy
buildings of the Hudson’s Bay Company post. The ubiquitous red Hudson’s Bay Red
Ensign flapped from a pole above the post.
Fullerton safely
landed the Vic, but the fuselage sank in the deep snow. Gorman, seeing
Fullerton’s safe landing, circled once more, craning his neck to the left to
check the field for any obstructions. He intended to land about 50 metres from
Fullerton. The freezing air pierced the back of his neck and stuck steel
fingers down his jacket and across his chest. The field looked good, so he
banked over the Mackenzie River and throttled down to land. As the skis touched
down all seemed well at first. Pilot and crew held their breath looking at the
wind-crusted snow and the frozen dog-sled ruts. But as soon as Rene’s weight
pressed down, one of the skis plunged through a frozen drift and “Rene’s” nose
slammed into the ground. No one could see anything for the cloud of snow that
surrounded the plane, like smoke. The propellor dug into the frozen ground and
shattered, sending shards of walnut-arrows past Gorman’s head. The ski and
propellor were smashed, but they were safe on the ground. Now both planes sat
motionless on the cold field while snow dust fell over them, silver in the
sunlight against a darkening sky.
Fred Camsell, the
factor, and his 37-year-old missionary clerk, Walter Johnson, heard the
approaching planes as they baled furs. Fred said, “Did you hear that?” Walter Johnson
replied, “Be darned if I know what it is.”
They said nothing
more as they pulled on their parkas and mukluks and walked out to the
riverbank. From there they looked towards the Mission field where one of the
planes had already landed. The second plane was still circling to land. When
they got to the field, they were amazed to find Nitchie Thorne and the
strangers standing about the planes, angry and disconsolate.
The Vic was buried to the fuselage in snow. So
they packed a snow strip with their snowshoes, and flew her two kilometres to
the Snye – a narrow but smooth river channel between the island and the
mainland. They were still intent on reaching Fort Norman but engine trouble
developed when they ferried Vic to the Snye. They cursed their luck a thousand
times. Fullerton, Waddell and Hill thought about continuing in the Rene but
how? Their solution was to take the good propellor from the Vic and use it to
replace Rene’s shattered propeller. Then they removed a good ski from Vic and
put it on Rene. Now they could fly the Rene to the Vic on the Snye. They
transferred their equipment from Vic to the Rene. Set at last, Fullerton revved
the phoenix Rene to red line and roared down the channel.
Gorman and
Derbyshire watched from beside the crippled and cannibalized Vic, wishing their
partner’s success but wishing that they were with them. Fullerton, Waddell, and
Hill regretted leaving their partners but knew that they could be back soon to
take them south. After all, Fort Norman was only 400 kilometres away.
These hopes were
all shattered like the first propeller when Rene’s engine died 15 metres in mid-air
and the plane crashed belly-first back on to the ice. The undercarriage was
wrecked, a wing was slightly damaged, and their last propellor was shattered.
Camsell and Johnson reassured the aviators and helped gather what goods they
could carry back to the post. Aside from being shaken up, no one was hurt in
the crash.
That night, pilots and crew sat around the
Carron stove long into the night talking about aeroplanes with Camsell and
Johnson and other old-timers who came to get news of the South and the origin
of these strange silver birds. George Gorman was most upset at the thought of
being marooned until July, when the first paddle wheeler would arrive.
Derbyshire believed in the value of the aeroplane but found it difficult to
argue its merits while the two Junkers stood silent nearby. To some of the old-timers,
the way of the snowshoe and dog sled was more certain and predictable. Some
believed that it was just too cold for any engine to ever replace the dog in
the North but others knew that it was just wishful thinking. As sure as the
railway crossed the prairies, the aeroplane would come to the north. After all
the evidence was before them, in the mustached but beardless faces of Fullerton
and Gorman and the silver frost covered planes on the Snye.
No one knew this
better than Philip Godsell who had joined the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1906 as
an apprentice clerk at the age of 16. He sailed from England to York Factory
and began his career in northern Ontario, and then in northern Manitoba and
Alberta Peace River country, and Fort St John, British Columbia. He was always
pushing to the “end-of-steel” and then beyond. He had left Fort Simpson on
December 5 1920 with three other men and three dog teams. Now, in late March, he
was finally returning from his 2900-kilometre inspection of Hudson’s Bay
Company fur trading posts along the entire length of the Mackenzie Valley. As
he mushed up to Fort Simpson, he was astonished to see the two planes spread-eagled
on the snow of the Mission grounds. After the crash, he joined the rest of the
group around the stove fire but said little. The voices were unnaturally loud,
and the two all-metal planes presaged another “end-of-steel” scenario for him.
The next day,
Walter Johnson walked out to the Snye and examined the remains of the
propellors with his keen carpenter’s eye. He was the general handyman around
the post and in England he had been a cabinetmaker. The two-bladed propellers
were about twice as tall as him and composed of nine strips of black walnut
glued into a solid block shaped by a lathe and tipped with a copper sheath.
“Heck,” he said, “It
shouldn’t be such a job to make a new propellor. Eh?” He grinned. “I’ve yet to
see the woodworking job I couldn’t handle.” But this was the first plane he had
ever seen, and he had no wood.
Godsell had the
idea of using old oak sleigh boards that he had up in the old fur loft. They
were about three metres long and 20 centimetres wide. “If they’re okay, we’ve
got lots of moose skins that could be boiled down to glue.”
Pilots Fullerton
and Gorman looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “You don’t even have any
tools,” they objected. “Even if you’ve got the wood you can’t build one. They’re
precision made in factories by special engineers. We can’t possibly do it.”
Only Walter
Johnson showed any enthusiasm for the plan. “At least it’s worth a try,” he
said. “We’ve got five months, you know.” Bill Hill groused, “Why bother? You
ruddy bastards are sure to crash again and kill us all.”
That day, Walter
Johnson collected up all the tools that he could find: a few steamer clamps, an
auger, a ship’s adze, several axes, planes and a few crooked knives.
Father Decoux of the Sacred Heart Mission gave permission for the men to use
the church workshop. Just five years earlier, Walter had asked to become a
Catholic and had been baptized at the same Mission. Day after day, for eight
days, he and Hill sawed and chipped away at the oak toboggan boards, and each
other, until they had the requisite shape. Gorman and Fullerton were still
incredulous. Hill was still discouraging.
On April 15th
Elmer Fullerton bolted the first moose-hide-glue propellor on to Vic and
slipped into the cockpit to start her. He pulled the throttle full
out and the engine roared. The propellor performed perfectly. There were no
signs of any cracking, splitting or strain. They were ready for an air test. Shrugging
his shoulders once, Fullerton clenched his teeth, and roared down the frozen
Snye. The plane crawled into the air, sunlight shining on the red blur of the
propellor, and then climbed in slow smooth circles above the watching skeptics
on the ground. Gorman stood there white knuckled with arms stiff at his sides,
too breathless to speak until the plane spiraled back down, and landed beside
him. Fullerton leaped out of the plane whooping about how well the propellor
performed. Gorman and crew ran down to the Vic and they all jumped up and down
in a circle hugging each other and slapping Johnson and Hill on the back. They
were the heroes of the day. Hill straightened up saying, “Yah. You should all
just wait. Fifty miles from here and you’ll blow the engine.”
There was still
the need for another propellor, and Walter and Bill made it out of alternating
planks of oak and birch. When done, it was fitted to the Rene and flight tested
on April 20. By this time, spring was too far advanced for the planes to land
on skis at Fort Norman, so they decided to return south to Peace River.
However, bad luck still dogged them.
On April 24th they awoke to excited Indians telling everyone that the ice was going out on the river. Breakup on the Mackenzie River is a monstrous sight. Ice blocks two metres thick are rushed downstream in a huge mass of gnashing broken white teeth, thrusting ice pans and crushing ice and slush. The sound is loud and water can rise ten metres in a matter of minutes when an ice jam occurs. Their two planes were still parked on the Snye channel and in danger.
The airmen rushed
to save their planes. Tarpaulins had to be removed and fire started to heat the
engine oil. There was 400 metres of solid ice for take-off when they got to the
planes but only 200 metres when they were ready to fly-off. Gorman tried first
in Rene, but as she lifted-off her tail broke through the snow crust and
suffered severe damage. Fullerton was next in Vic. By now the ice was heaving
at the downstream end of the Snye channel. A trapper, Jack Cameron, knew of an
ice-covered lake eight kilometres away so he leaped into the Vic with his
snowshoes on. Fullerton barely lifted Vic clear of the snapping teeth beneath
them. They managed to land on the lake and trudged back to Fort Simpson in a
matter of three and half-hours. By that time the Sacred Heart Mission brothers
had pulled the stranded Rene off the Snye, using a team of oxen. Repairing her
now was out of the question.
Two days later,
on April 26th, Gorman, Fullerton, Hill and Waddell back-packed to the lake at
six o’clock a.m. and loaded the Vic with their gear plus a small package of
letters that Godsell asked them to take to Peace River. Derbyshire remained at
Fort Simpson to await parts for repairing Rene. Instead of following the rivers
back to Peace River they had decided that a direct flight to Peace River, was
necessary because they were short of fuel. Bill Waddell, the surveyor knew that
a cut line for the sixth meridian had been cut to mark the border between
Alberta and British Columbia. The distance was 900 kilometres and at a cruising
speed of 145 kilometres per hour they could be there in just over six hours.
The Junkers aircraft carried 360 litres of fuel, enough for seven and a half hours
flying under ideal conditions. As the airmen bounced off the softening ice, they
carried the first air mail ever flown from the north and delivered it six hours
later in Peace River. Upon landing they found that they had three litres of
gasoline left: enough for another five minutes flying. The small package of
letters from Godsell was for his future wife and the Hudson’s Bay factors of
Peace River and Winnipeg. Normally the mail would not have reached its
destination until the following August.
* * *
Imperial Oil Limited was chastened but undaunted by
their first failed attempt to fly men and equipment into their fledgling
oilfield. In fact, the need had become even more urgent as throngs of
prospectors made their way north to stake claims near the Discovery Well. In
January 1921, thirteen dog teams pulled into Fort Simpson carrying men and
their outfits to the new place known as Norman Wells. A Japanese prospector,
Jigrio Wada, left for Fort Norman from Fort MacMurray in the winter of 1920/21
with a team of four dogs and covered the 4,000-kilometre distance in 579 hours
travelling time. Another musher, who made the trip from Edmonton, was Tony
Neiss. On one day he travelled 130 kilometres behind his dogs. Obviously, these
prospectors were in a hurry. So was Imperial Oil.
By spring, prospecting parties were attempting get to Norman Wells by riverboats and canoes. One hopeful staking crew was the Dyers party who left Peace River on May 17, twelve days before Imperial Oil made another attempt to return to the oilfield by airplane. The Dyers’ party consisted of William G. Ogilvie, Rex Henderson and Bill Dyers. They estimated that it would take about three weeks to make their way to the oilfield by boat. In fact, their trip took about six weeks: they arrived at Fort Simpson on June 13th and reached the Discovery well in early July. In contrast, the repaired Junkers aircraft left Peace River on May 29 and arrived at Fort Norman on June 2nd after 12.5 hours of actual flying time. On this trip, the crew again consisted of Elmer Fullerton and Bill Hill, the mechanic, plus Imperial Oil geologist T. A. (Ted) Link and, once again, W. H. (Billy) Waddell. As a Dominion of Canada land surveyor, it seemed appropriate that Billy should serve as navigator. In Ted Link’s lap was a satchel containing $35,000 dollars to help buy claims along the river if they were too late to stake more claims themselves.
Fullerton was more confident than on his previous flight, for he had seen the country and this time it was spring not winter. Hill was as pessimistic as ever, “Now that you’ve got floats, you’ll drown us.” The plane was on a set of large wooden floats, which made it slower and more awkward to land than the skis or wheels. When Fullerton left Peace River it weighed 1,955 kilograms. However, its maximum take-off and landing weight were listed as 1,774 kilograms.
Fullerton banked the plane in a long slow circle around Fort Norman and prepared to land, on the Mackenzie River, with the current, 70 metres from shore. The water was smooth as glass, but as the pontoons touched down, one was torn from the struts and smashed like an eggshell. Later Fullerton reported that he must have hit a submerged ice or sunken driftwood. The river was rising at the time and floating blocks of ice and driftwood were being picked up by the rising waters. The right wingtip dipped into the river and began to fill with water and sink.
The passengers and crew scrambled out of the plane and onto the upper wing to try and keep the plane from overturning. Nevertheless, it still leaned at a forty-five degree angle and only the three-metre depths near shore saved the plane. The wing was dragged over the boulders on the bottom and sustained considerable damage. The lower part of the cabin filled with water and a third of the baggage was soaked before a line could be thrown to shore and the plane pulled into shallower water. Ted Link, thinking that the plane might sink, had thrown the $35,000 dollars overboard to try to save it. But there was no need. A small crowd of people had knotted on the shore when they heard the plane in the air and now some of the men were able to paddle a scow and several canoes out to the plane to save the crew. They lifted the damaged wing and put an old scow under it and ground the plane near shore. As for the money, someone from Fort Norman picked up the satchel and returned it, with water draining out of the pouch, onto Ted Link’s feet.
Once again, Elmer Fullerton, passengers and crew were marooned, but this time they were within reach of their destination. Fullerton and Hill, with two others from Fort Norman, floated the crippled airplane and scow 80 kilometres downriver to the Discovery well in eleven hours. A temporary pontoon was then made from empty gasoline drums lashed lengthwise to poles and fastened to the struts so that the scow could be returned to Fort Norman. The unfortunate Fullerton and Hill then had to abandon their plane for later repairs and make their way south by motorboat. About two weeks later they were back at Fort Simpson where their previously abandoned plane, Rene, stood alone on the grass of the Mission field. They needed several days to overhaul the engine of the plane.
On June 13th, Nitchie Thorne’s wife invited Fullerton and Hill for dinner. As they traded air and bear stories, the Dyers’ party arrived. They made their way to her home, which was the Northwest Mounted Police barracks, because they were required to register a Clearance Certificate at each police post along the route. A special Ordinance Respecting Entry into the Northwest Territories had been passed by the first Northwest Territories government, to deal with the anticipated oil rush. Mrs. Thorne did not hesitate to invite the Dyer’s party in for dinner too. That night Rex Henderson, of the Dyer’s party, played the only piano north of the 60th parallel. Fullerton and Hill found themselves explaining the advantages, and disadvantages, of air travel in the north once more, while horseflies batted themselves against the Junkers aircraft grounded on a mud-bank at Fort Norman. Mr. Ogilvie remarked that, “It will be a long time before flying in the north is practical,” but the feasibility had already been proven and practicality was only a matter of time.
Vic and Rene were two of 23 Junkers F13 aircraft exported to North America. A total of 318 of these planes were built in Germany. The Vic was sold to the United Railway Employees’ Investment and Industrial Association of Hazelton British Columbia (B.C.) in May, 1922. She made one more notable flight from Edmonton, Alberta to Henry House, B.C. and then was pressed into service for hunting and prospecting parties. The business languished, however, and Vic was hauled up onto the banks of the Skeena River for six years. In 1928, she was purchased by R. F. Corless and shipped to Prince George B. C. for overhauling. The air authorities refused to renew her air certification due to age and deterioration and a few days later the plane disappeared. She was then flown illegally, by unknown individuals, until September 20, 1929, when she crashed while landing on floats at Stuart Lake, B. C. She was vandalized by young people in the area and the engine was sold to an up-coast mining venture where it was rebuilt and used as an air compressor.
The Rene was even less fortunate. On August 21, 1921 she had been repaired by Pete Derbyshire and Bill Hill at Fort Simpson and was ready for a return trip to Peace River. During landing on the Peace River, a pontoon stuck a submerged log and the plane capsized. The crew were rescued, and the plane salvaged, but it never flew again.
However, the two moose-hide-glue propellors have survived. They are held by the Aeronautical Museum of the National Research Council of Canada in Ottawa. Mrs. Gorman and her family donated the Number 1 propellor in 1947. It was the one used on the Vic for the return to Peace River. The Number 2 propellor, which was made of birch and oak and fitted to the Rene, was donated to the museum in 1938 by Father Cathy O.M.I. on behalf of the Sacred Heart Mission at Fort Simpson.
Norman Wells as it was in
1982[ii]
Norman Wells, unlike many other Canadian communities, is presently experiencing “boom” economic conditions. This small community on the banks of the Mackenzie River owes its origin to the petroleum industry, and the current expansion of its oil production by Esso Resources Canada Ltd. (Esso) is simply one more step in its growth as an oil center. In the current phase of its evolution, Norman Wells is destined to become an important exporter of crude oil to southern Canada.
This industrial growth required not only an increase in oil production at Norman Wells but also the construction of a pipeline from Norman Wells to Zama, Alberta, undertaken by Interprovincial Pipe Line (NW) Ltd. With the accompanying increase in government and business functions in Norman Wells, its prospects for becoming a regional center in the central Mackenzie Valley brightened.
From 1980 to 1985, said the report, its population was expected to double to more than 600. This growth along with above average per capita income would create strong demand for more goods and services. Already Norman Wells was the acknowledged transportation center in the central Mackenzie Valley area and the signs were “promising that its role as a retail and service center will grow in the 1980s. Its present trading area, extending north to Fort Good Hope, east to Fort Franklin, and south to Fort Norman, encompasses a population of approximately 2000.”
Unlike most Mackenzie
Valley settlements, Norman Wells was not an old native community with deep
historic ties to the land. Rather, it was a creature of the oil industry and
its primary raison d ’être was oil production. Though Alexander
Mackenzie had first noted seepages of oil along the Mackenzie River in 1789,
this hamlet was only about 70 years old, dating from the time when the first
oil drilling rig arrived. The makeup of its population has been shaped by its
relationship to the oil industry – almost all the residents were employees of
Esso or are otherwise connected with the oil industry.
Most had come north to seek employment, and few remained in the community after their employment ended. In 1981, an estimated 82 percent of the population was of European descent.
The
Background
The emergence of commercial hydrocarbon interest in the Canadian north
began in 1898 when an application for an exploration permit was issued by the
Department of the Interior in Ottawa. While this show of interest in the commercial
potential of oil seepages along the Mackenzie River did not lead to serious
field investigations, it represented a positive response to the report of the
Special Senate Committee of 1888 which, in its review of the potential oil
riches of the Canadian Northwest, extolled this mineral wealth as “. . .the
most extensive petroleum field in America, if not the world.” Yet the
commercial exploitation of this deposit did not take place at that time because
of its inaccessibility to world markets and the lack of sufficient local demand
for refined petroleum products.
The first serious
investigations of the deposits at Norman Wells were conducted by J.K. Cornwall
of the Northern Trading Company in 1911. His findings were encouraging as his
samples revealed a light, good-quality crude oil. Three years later, P.O.
Bosworth obtained the mineral rights to three parcels of land in the Norman
Wells area.
Imperial Oil later purchased these parcels through its subsidiary, the
Northwest Company, and a wildcat drilling team was sent into the area near the
present site of Norman Wells in 1919. Oil was struck on 24 August 1920. At the
time, this was the most northerly oil well in the world. The rate of flow from
this well, known as the Discovery Well, was about 15 cubic metres per day. The
Northwest Company quickly erected a 50 cubic metre per day refinery designed to
serve the demand of communities along the Mackenzie River. However, the
refinery (described by some as nothing more than a “glorified boiler”) and
Discovery Well were closed in 1925 as local demand for petroleum products
proved to be insufficient.
The viability of the Norman Wells hydrocarbon industry was largely
contingent upon finding a suitable market area, one ready to consume petroleum
products at the higher prices necessitated when production occurs in isolated,
small-scale settings. Fortunately, two areas of new mining activity were opened
in the Northwest Territories during the 1930s and they provided the requisite
market for Norman Wells crude. With a contract to supply diesel fuel to the
Port Radium pitchblende mines which were to open in 1933, the refinery was
reactivated in the summer of 1932. Just six years later, the opening of the Con
and Negus mines at Yellowknife created even greater demands for Norman Wells
petroleum products. The significant petroleum requirements of the mining
industry provided the core sales, and production figures mirrored this
development as output of oil at Norman Wells increased from less than 150 cubic
metres per day in 1932 to more than 3,600 cubic metres per day six years later.
A key wartime development affecting Norman Wells was the CANOL Project
(CANOL was an acronym for Canadian Oil). Fearing a Japanese attack on Alaska,
the United States Army devised a plan to supply oil to the area – oil which
would be delivered unimpeded by a Japanese submarine or air strike. This plan,
known as the CANOL Project, saw the Norman Wells field linked to Alaska by
pipeline and the Alaska Highway. A refinery was built at the terminus of the
101 millimetre-diameter pipeline at Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. Also, the
project pressed Imperial Oil to drill some 67 new wells (of which 60 were
producers) and expand its refining operations to almost 175 cubic metres per
day. These plans were initiated in 1942, and the CANOL Project went into
service in early 1944. By that time, however, the threat of an attack on Alaska
by the Japanese had diminished considerably. Without the rationale of a
military need for such a pipeline, economic considerations forced a dramatic
refinery shutdown the following year.
To the chagrin of the U.S. Army, the 960-kilometre CANOL Pipeline was
declared obsolete, and by 1947 much of the infrastructure – from pipe to
pumping equipment to vehicles – was sold as surplus. At that time, Imperial Oil
moved its Whitehorse refinery to Edmonton and located it on the site of the
present Strathcona refinery, where it processed production from the Leduc oil
field.
The impact of the CANOL Project on the production of oil at Norman Wells
was enormous. Annual outputs from 1942 to 1944 increased exponentially, from
12,000 ic metres to more than 197,000 cubic metres. After the loss of the
military market, though, production plunged to 28,000 cubic metres 1946. By
this time, most of the new CANOL-funded wells had been capped.
With the post-World War 2 industrialization and modernization of
northern Canada, Imperial Oil slowly built its annual production through the
1950s and 1960s from below 30,000 cubic metres per day to more than 130,OOO. As
domestic demand for petroleum products such as fuel oil and gasoline increased
along with the growth of the urban population, some of the CANOL wells were
brought into production. The market area for Norman Wells crude extended from
Hay River to the Mackenzie Delta by the 1950s, and the mines at Yellowknife and
Port Radium were its best customers.
In the early 1970s production levels stabilized at around 150,000 cubic
metres per year. Several factors had contributed to this phenomenon either directly
or indirectly. First, extension of the southern highway network into the
Mackenzie District permitted cheaper petroleum products from larger refineries
in southern Canada to capture these markets. Second, the extension between 1962
and 1965 of the railhead from Roma, Alberta, to Pine Point, NWT – the site of
the Canadian Consolidated Smelter Corporation's lead-zinc operations, lowered
the transportation costs of Alberta petroleum producers to this new northern
market. Thus, by the late 1960s the market for Norman Wells refined products
was restricted to the area serviced by the Mackenzie water system north of Fort
Simpson, which marked the northern terminus of the Mackenzie Highway system.
This shrinking market included the Mackenzie District north of but not
including Fort Simpson, the Arctic coast west to Alaska and east to Gjoa Haven,
and the more southerly of the Arctic Islands to the north: essentially all
those territorial areas reasonably accessible by river-barge but not serviced
by a major highway from southern Canada.
The formation of a world oil cartel known as OPEC – an acronym for the
Oil Producing and Exporting Countries – ushered in a new era in petroleum
pricing. Able to influence world oil prices by establishing supply and export
controls, these countries caused dramatic inflation in world oil prices between
its formation in 1972 and 1981.
After OPEC's formation, prices skyrocketed from more than $14 per cubic
metre in 1973 to more than $77 per cubic metre in 1981. These rapid increases
made formerly uneconomic projects viable. The price per cubic metre of daily
domestic production was now less than that of foreign production. Esso
Resources Canada Ltd. (formerly Imperial Oil) had been carrying out tests for
secondary recovery of hydrocarbons at Norman Wells since 1968, and in 1980 Esso
and IPL produced a joint development proposal.
Esso would expand its oil field facilities at Norman Wells through a
secondary recovery project, while IPL proposed to construct a pipeline 324
millimetre (12 inches) in diameter to transport Norman Wells petroleum products
to a terminal near Zama, Alberta – some 868 kilometres to the southeast. At
that point the line would join the existing Canadian pipeline network. In
August 1981, the Government of Canada approved the $1.4 billion project –
northern Canada's first industrial mega-project. Ironically, the worldwide
economic recession began in 1981, resulting in a weakening in the demand for
petroleum products and a softening of its price.
The expansion of the Norman Wells oilfield called for more production
wells, and enhanced recovery method through waterflooding more than doubled the
amount of oil produced from this Devonian deposit. This method permitted 42
percent of the petroleum deposit to be recovered, compared to the 17 percent
produced using old-style conventional recovery.
Because much of the 100 million cubic metre Kee Scarp oil-bearing reef
lies beneath the Mackenzie River, the development plan required the
construction of six artificial islands. The islands would house approximately
half of the 150 wells, which would extend about 500 metres into the Devonian
formation.
Fuel, and diesel fuel from the Norman Wells refinery for its established
northern markets will continue at its present rate of about 335 mg per day. As
much of the new oil production is aimed at southern markets, a pipeline will be
built to the northern terminus of the Alberta pipeline system at Zama. From
there, the oil would be transported through the existing Rainbow Pipeline
System to Edmonton, where the link with IPL's extensive trans-Canadian system
will be made. The route of the Norman Wells Pipeline would be along the east
side of the Mackenzie River to a point near Fort Simpson where it crosses the
Mackenzie and then southeast to Zama. Construction of the pipeline involves two
major river crossings, the Great Bear River and the Mackenzie River. IPL's pump
stations will be located at Norman Wells and near the communities of Wrigley
and Fort Simpson, with terminal facilities located at Zama.
The main processing facility, the fieldgate, provided the industrial
infrastructure. Designed to service the wells and to produce gas for the plant,
the refinery, and the community. The fieldgate would also supply crude oil to
the Norman Wells refinery (500 cubic metres per day) and to the pipeline (4,000
cubic metres per day). This processing facility would house the separation
equipment designed to receive oil from
the pipeline gathering system, and the equipment for crude oil stabilization
and dehydration, natural gas compression and dehydration, freshwater treatment,
electrical power generation and bulk storage for processed crude oil.
The benefits of this energy project would have far-reaching effects for
Canada. At the national level, Canada will move closer to its goal of energy
self-sufficiency. In turn, by reducing its need for imported oil, Canada will
save some $8 billion over the lifetime of the oil field (Esso and IPL, 1980:
1). Federal revenues will also increase substantially through corporate and
personal income taxes. These two sources of tax revenue plus a one-third share
in the project's profits are expected to increase the size of the federal
treasury by some $172 million per year.
During the construction period, the demand for equipment and materials
will stimulate both southern and northern Canadian industries and reduce
regional unemployment. Perhaps the biggest single beneficiary will be Canada’s
steel industry, which will supply the thousands of tonnes of steel pipe to be
installed at Norman Wells and along the pipeline route. Numerous other firms
will supply a variety of equipment ranging from pumps to compressors to storage
tanks.
Much of this equipment will be manufactured in Edmonton, Alberta, and
other Canadian cities; the pipe is being manufactured by Interprovincial Steel
and Pipe Corporation at its plants in Edmonton and Regina,
Saskatchewan. From Edmonton, these materials are moved by surface transport to
Hay River and then shipped by barge to Norman Wells or to selected stockpile
sites along the pipeline route.
At the regional level, the principal benefits of this project will fall
to the N.W.T. and Alberta. Given the logistics of the existing air routes and
road network, most project-related freight and passenger movements are expected
to originate in Edmonton. For example, a significant number of Esso’s (and its
primary subcontractors, Partec-Lavalin and Northern-Loram) skilled construction
workers are residents of Edmonton and other southern Alberta centers. These
commuters will work in Norman Wells for a number (usually two to three) of
weeks and then return to their southern residences for a week off.
The Government of the Northwest Territories expected to receive a small
share of the tax revenues – some $6 million per year. The territorial
government expressed disappointment at the size of its share, which amounted to
som 3 percent of the sum received by the federal government. Nonetheless,
businesses in settlements along the pipeline route and near the focal community
of Norman Wells, should, by virtue of transport costs, have a competitive edge
in supplying certain goods and services to the two major proponents. In fact,
considerable benefits have already accrued to northern business and residents
in the form of contract services and employment, respectively. According to
Esso, during 1981-82 more than $37.5 million had been disbursed to bona fide
northern businesses, and 2876 worker-months of northern resident employment
created, through the Norman Wells Expansion Project.
At Norman Wells, most benefits should accrue to local businessmen and
workers. Already there has been an increase in the work force, an expansion of
the industrial, educational service, and recreational infrastructure, and a
growth in population. Esso expects the number of construction workers to exceed
900 from mid-1983 to mid-1984, swelling the Norman Wells population to more
than 1,200 at peak construction periods. The pressure on community services and
housing will be mitigated by the establishment of separate housing for
rotational workers. The primary camps for Esso and its major subcontractors are
expected to accommodate more than 900 workers.
The Report of the Federal Environmental Assessment and Review Office
(FEARO, 1981:73) recognized that this project would provide “... a needed
economic stimulus” to the Mackenzie Valley. Its recommendations are intended to
insure that economic benefits, particularly local employment and business
opportunities, are realized. FEARO believed that impacts on the people of the
Mackenzie Valley can be kept “within acceptable limits” and provided a number
of examples where socioeconomic disruptions should be minimized, including: (1)
inflationary effects of the project upon the local economy; (2) wage
differentials between project workers and workers in other sectors of the
northern economy; (3) pressure on housing stock, public services, and
recreation facilities; and (4) the well-being of the trapping economy.
FEARO stressed the importance of minimizing the social pressure from the
construction workers upon the communities of Norman Wells, Fort Norman,
Wrigley, and Fort Simpson. Esso has responded to this request by housing its
Norman Wells workers in self-contained work camps and by employing an air
commuting system for rotating workers to Edmonton and to northern centers. The
needs of the construction workers for housing, services, and entertainment will
thereby be satisfied mainly in the camps and in their home communities.
In 1982, the pre-construction phase of the Norman Wells Oilfield
Expansion and Pipeline Project began. By the spring of 1982, thousands of
tonnes of freight – from prefabricated buildings to drilling rigs – had been
stockpiled at Hay River, prior to being barged to Norman Wells. During the
summer months, supplies and materials were shipped along the Mackenzie River to
Norman Wells. One of the major subcontractors to Esso, Northern-Loram (a joint-venture
firm of Northern Construction Company of Vancouver and Loram International of
Calgary), signed a $100 million contract to carry out drilling, blasting, and
hauling of rock from a shale and limestone quarry near Norman Wells. Much of
this rock has been used to build a road from the quarry to the river and to
construct a new dock. In early 1983, trucks began hauling the rock over
specially constructed ice roads to the sites of four of the six artificial
islands.
During 1982, the federal and territorial governments took measures to
assist the hamlet in dealing with the increased population pressures. These
measures included the addition of new positions in the public sector, an
increase in the number of public services, and the genesis of a long-range
community plan. The need for new or upgraded recreational facilities has been
recognized and the principal developer, Esso, has provided the hamlet with a
grant for new recreation services. Similar growth has occurred at Norman Wells
in the private sector, where small businesses formed in response to the demand
for goods and services. From 1982 to 1983, the number of local businesses
increased substantially, from 37 to 51.
The first wave of construction workers arrived in Norman Wells in the
summer of 1982. According to Esso, there were 225 rotational workers in the
summer of 1982 and 300 by the winter. This influx of workers has nearly doubled
the population of Norman Wells. Concerns about the social implications of the
population boom were expressed by local and federal officials. However, the
initial impact of this project seems to have been well within the guidelines
set by FEARO. According to a report of the RCMP detachment at Norman Wells
submitted to the Hamlet Council on 23 November 1982, crime rates over the
preceding three years (1980 to 1982) had not varied significantly. This report
included an analysis of various categories of crimes, such as liquor offences,
motor vehicle infractions, break-and-enters, theft, and assault.
The construction boom that at Norman Wells brought many changes. Perhaps
the most dramatic signs of the boom included the physical shift of the Esso
operations employee residences from the original Esso lease site to a new
hamlet subdivision, work in local quarry and heavy truck traffic. The rapid
growth put some pressure on demand for family housing and commercial lots, but
supply and demand stayed in balance. To a large degree, this balance was thu
result of company control. Esso provided housing for employees in the work camps
and in company residences, and both the federal and territorial governments
supplied housing for their employees.
The role of Norman Wells as the regional center of the central Mackenzie
Valley was strengthened by the expansion of its oil field and by the building
of a pipeline to southern markets. With a larger population in Norman Wells,
the business and public service functions of the center grew, augmented by the
retail and service sectors. There was also growth in such surrounding
settlements as Fort Franklin, Fort Norman, Colville Lake, and Fort Good Hope.
The oil reserves of the Norman Wells field are expected to last for more
than 20 years at the projected rate of extraction. By that time, other
industrial developments may provide an additional economic base for Norman
Wells. These developments could involve the discovery of additional energy
resources or a better means of recovering more in-place oil. Exploration in the
Mackenzie Valley is continuing and seismic crews have been busy in recent years
in the Colville Lake (200 km northeast of Norman Wells), Fort Norman, and
Wrigley areas.
The development of Beaufort Sea hydrocarbons could also have a marked
effect on the future of Norman Wells. Currently, the three major operators in
the Beaufort region (Esso Resources, Dome Petroleum, and Gulf Canada) are
proposing several alternative methods of hydrocarbon transport to the federal
government. One of the proposals receiving considerable attention would see an
overland pipeline from the Mackenzie Delta south to existing pipelines in
Alberta, using the Mackenzie Valley as a natural transport corridor. Such
developments permanently established Norman Wells as a regional center in the
central Mackenzie Valley.
The future is now
Today, Norman Wells is the regional centre for the Sahtu Region of the
Northwest Territories. Still situated on the north side of the Mackenzie River,
the town provides a view down the valley of the Franklin and Richardson
mountains.
According to the 2016 Census, the town has not grown much: Its
population, at that time 778 souls – a decline from 809 in 2012. According to
the more recent numbers, 315 were Indigenous: 195 of First Nations origin, 80
Métis, 15 Inuit and 20 respondents of two or more Indigenous origins. The main
languages in the town are North Slavey and English.
The artificial islands used as drilling platforms to the oil deposits
underneath the Mackenzie River (Dehcho River) are clearly visible on takeoff
from the Norman Wells airport.
The Norman Wells Proven Area Agreement of 1944 is a partnership between
Imperial Oil and the federal government, administered by Indigenous and
Northern Affairs Canada, enabled Imperial to complete an oil pipeline from
Norman Wells to Zama City in 1985. Once connected to the North American
pipeline grid, it resulted in increased economic activity along its length.
The Norman Wells Métis, which is signatory to the Sahtu Dene and Métis Comprehensive Land Claim Agreement, are currently negotiating
self-government powers and have signed a framework agreement towards a new
treaty
The sources for this chapter used source material from the 1930s, which were
heavily influenced by the British spelling of the time.
This section
is based on an article by Robert M. Bone and Robert J. Mahnic
in VOL. 37, NO. 1 (MARCH 1984), pp. 53-80 ARCTIC. The title is “Norman Wells:
The Oil Center of the Northwest Territories;”.
