The Making of a Roughneck: Circa 1981

We Were All Worms Once                                                                                                                                   

Oil patch lore suggests that on the sixth day, God made oil. He rested on the seventh day, because there’s nothing easy about makin’ oil.

No oil man, from the drilling superintendent on down ever forgets his first day and it is their common bond—everyone was a worm once. It should be noted that worm is an actual job title for a vital position on a crew. It could be a man with many years of experience, content to spend his career in worm’s corner. He could be a demoted derrick-hand, a driller, or tool pusher, fallen from grace.

Weevil, however is a more accurate title for a new guy, a greenhorn. Training is the scourge of any profession and it’s no different in the oil patch. But most occupations had training programs, trade schools, or internships, to prepare you for your new career. On drilling rigs there was no school to teach you to be a roughneck. Weevils were thrown in head first—baptized in salt brine and pipe dope, educated on the fly while makin’ hole—they didn’t shut down the operation to explain details.

The chain-hand is the man saddled with most of the training and he knows all too well that the new guy will probably not be back tomorrow. Orientation was kept to a minimum until the prospect shows signs that he’s got the sand to make a hand. If a weevil lasts long enough to collect his first paycheck, the odds increase significantly that he’ll make a roughneck.

A weevil gets introduced to the make up tongs first—slabs of iron the size of an alligator, giant pipe wrenches controlled by the driller—for tightening or breaking out pipe. Then on to the rest of his primary tools: 170 pound drill pipe slips, collar slips, wedding bands, collar subs, elevators, sledge hammers, 48s, 24s, grease guns, scrub brushes, and a worm rod.

He is told the basics: Stand here. Don’t stand there. This will kill you. That will maim you. Push on this. Pull on that. Push harder! Pull harder! Make ‘em bite worm!

The physical demand is the first hurdle to jump. A drilling day will eat most guy’s lunch: grappling with the tongs, wrestling with the kelly, and jerking the slips. Then down to the ground to strap drill pipe, attach the winch’s tail chain to a joint of pipe, point to the sky and yell suck on it. Then run up the steps to beat the pipe to the floor as it’s being hoisted up the V-door, tail it to the mouse hole, and stab it while keeping it clear of the kelly and rotary table. Remove the chain from the pipe after it’s lowered into the mouse hole, then give the driller the pipe’s length. All part of making a connection as another 30 feet is bored. If you’re drilling into salt, you might make eight or more in an hour.

After the connection you’re hooked up with catching samples from the shale shaker, every five or ten feet, depending on the formation you’re drilling into. Then deliver the sample to the mud logger’s trailer across the location, scrubbing and painting the rig, greasing fittings, carrying mud for the derrick-man, fetching drill bits, pipe dope, and tools. A drilling day is easy money for an experienced roughneck.

The true test for a weevil is tripping pipe—a task that can’t be performed fast enough. Crews are judged by their trip times and competition is fierce. You may spend hours or an entire shift stationed in worm’s corner with no breaks.

Going in the hole: you set the slips as a stand of pipe is plunged into the earth, unlatch the elevators, holding them steady as the driller applies the throttle, sending them up to the derrick-hand, latch your tongs onto the pipe in the rotary table so the chain-hand can drape the spinning chain around the box, tail a stand of pipe as the derrick-hand loads it on the fly, stab it into the box, keeping your head down as the chain-hand throws five wraps while lifting your tongs up to the top tool joint, make them bite from the backside as the driller torques the pipe, unlatch said tongs, reach down and jerk the slips with the chain-hand... Then start all over as the driller raises the crow bar, plunging the drill string down towards China.

If you’re lucky enough to catch an 8,000 foot roundhouse, you’ll be repeating this procedure 266 times in six hours...or less. If you’re fishing, 400 reps is quite likely; you won’t need to go to the gym after work to get your cardio. And those drill pipe slips are notorious for gaining weight after a few hours. You had better be putting out as hard as your new buddy, the chain-hand or you won’t be friends for long.

It’s all quite simple but terror doesn’t let the process enter your memory at first—certain you’ll lose a finger, a hand—or maybe your head at any moment.

The mental factor is just as important as the physical to make it in the oil patch. Although most roughneck’s resumes would be more likely to contain time in jail or prison than college credits, or even a high school diploma, that is not to say they aren’t inherently smart. You won’t last long in the patch without a generous dose of common sense. Attention to detail is a must: when you’re scrubbing a motor, look at the gauges, if it’s rnning hot, tell the chain hand. Spot a leaking pipe, tell the derrick hand. You get low on dope, grease, or tong dies, tell the driller. Know where wrenches, nuts and bolts are stored because you’ll be chasing them sooner than later.

The language is foreign, words and terms that only make sense to the men with experience. The word sub as an example can refer to a variety of objects, not including sandwiches and Navy vessels. You need to learn the context. Scrub the sub on a drilling day means cleaning the substructure under the rig floor. Scrub the subs, after tripping pipe means cleansing the collar subs of pipe dope. Then you have change over subs in a variety of sizes, bent subs used for directional drilling, a saver sub on the kelly, and on and on.

Plus, you’re surrounded by overwhelming noise: the draw works diesels, the mud pump, the mind numbing light plant, and the massive drum brakes, erupting squeals heard for miles.

 As the low man on location, the dirtiest, foulest jobs have your name on them. You’ve got to prove yourself the same way every oil man has.

Too much to learn in a day or even a month—it’s a job where you never stop learning, if you want to move on and up—to become a member of Oil Field Trash.