perked all day long, and newspapers and magazines were stacked with the precision corners of a neat freak. Launhardt knew of one hoistman who actually waxed the floor every week. Pity the miner dumb enough to enter without making sure his boots were clean. Another man whose job was to service a hoist carried a grease rag in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other.
Some guys figured they could almost live down in the mine, and it was true. In the days before muck cars and rails, mules actually
did
live underground. Stone corrals beneath the surface contained the animals used to pull carts of muck to the hoist. Once pressed into such service, most mules never saw daylight again.
T HE DEEPER L AUNHARDT DESCENDED T UESDAY MORNING, THE hotter the rock became. Each hundred-foot drop brought an increase of one degree. At the surface, just past the opening of the Jewell Shaft, the temperature held steady at about 55 degrees, whether it was a hot summer day or a frigid Idaho winter. At the deepest part of the mine, the 5600 level, it was a sweltering 127 degrees. Mammoth booster ventilation fans and refrigeration units pushed more than 130,000 cubic feet of air through the mine to keep the conditions bearable at the lower depths. Cold water from Big Creek pulsed through the mine and emerged as hot as coffee when discharged into a tailings or waste pond on the surface. Even with all that had been learned in a century of mining at that location, the cooling system was far from perfect. Miners knew where the hotspots were at Sunshineâor at any other hardrock mine, because all mines had them. Only unlucky or inexperienced miners got stuck working in the devilâs breath. Whenever the ventilation system failed, temperatures rose quickly and the air grew uncomfortably thin.
Rapidly.
Miners working farthest from a ventilation or intake airshaft to the surface, especially those in Sunshineâs deepest reaches, would be in unbearably sweltering conditions in less than half an hour. The air temperature would surge to rock surface levels. Enduring temperatures close to 130 degrees for any amount of time was very risky.
Miners heard bosses talking about the importance of ventilation. But for those guys underground busting rock, the very idea that there was some great ventilation system bringing air throughout the working areas was nearly a joke. Large fansâthe kind that made hurricanes howl on movie setsâhuffed and puffed air through the mine the best that they could. But the air in the stopes and raises sometimes forced the thermometer to 115 degrees. A 50-ton chiller was installed on 4600 to cool ventilating air, but it didnât do all that was hopedâor promised. Men working in the lower levels used whiz-bangsâblowpipes with broad nozzles punched with holesâto spray cool compressed air into stifling work areas. Many actually preferred stope fans shut off because all they accomplished was to blow hot air at them, dry them out, and sap them of their strength. Fans also kicked around dust, which was bad enough without the high velocity of a blower. Many times, a foreman would return to a stope to find fans off and the men using compressed air. Heâd raise a big stink about it, ordering the fans turned back on.
The goddamn compressed air is to run the machines. The fans are to cool off the men!
The minute heâd disappear down the raise, the fans would be shut off again.
Besides a money-producing ore body, nothing was more important to the workings of a hardrock mine than fresh air. Before compressed air, men collapsed from what was assumed to be heat and exertion, but was actually oxygen deprivation. Even with compressed air, the air in deep mines was thin and replete with residual gases from blasting.
6:30 A.M., M AY 2
Smelterville
C ONTRACT MINER R ON F LORY STOPPED IN AT H APPY L ANDING IN Smelterville, a town surrounded by a dead ring of skeletal vegetation from Bunker Hillâs towering
Some guys figured they could almost live down in the mine, and it was true. In the days before muck cars and rails, mules actually
did
live underground. Stone corrals beneath the surface contained the animals used to pull carts of muck to the hoist. Once pressed into such service, most mules never saw daylight again.
T HE DEEPER L AUNHARDT DESCENDED T UESDAY MORNING, THE hotter the rock became. Each hundred-foot drop brought an increase of one degree. At the surface, just past the opening of the Jewell Shaft, the temperature held steady at about 55 degrees, whether it was a hot summer day or a frigid Idaho winter. At the deepest part of the mine, the 5600 level, it was a sweltering 127 degrees. Mammoth booster ventilation fans and refrigeration units pushed more than 130,000 cubic feet of air through the mine to keep the conditions bearable at the lower depths. Cold water from Big Creek pulsed through the mine and emerged as hot as coffee when discharged into a tailings or waste pond on the surface. Even with all that had been learned in a century of mining at that location, the cooling system was far from perfect. Miners knew where the hotspots were at Sunshineâor at any other hardrock mine, because all mines had them. Only unlucky or inexperienced miners got stuck working in the devilâs breath. Whenever the ventilation system failed, temperatures rose quickly and the air grew uncomfortably thin.
Rapidly.
Miners working farthest from a ventilation or intake airshaft to the surface, especially those in Sunshineâs deepest reaches, would be in unbearably sweltering conditions in less than half an hour. The air temperature would surge to rock surface levels. Enduring temperatures close to 130 degrees for any amount of time was very risky.
Miners heard bosses talking about the importance of ventilation. But for those guys underground busting rock, the very idea that there was some great ventilation system bringing air throughout the working areas was nearly a joke. Large fansâthe kind that made hurricanes howl on movie setsâhuffed and puffed air through the mine the best that they could. But the air in the stopes and raises sometimes forced the thermometer to 115 degrees. A 50-ton chiller was installed on 4600 to cool ventilating air, but it didnât do all that was hopedâor promised. Men working in the lower levels used whiz-bangsâblowpipes with broad nozzles punched with holesâto spray cool compressed air into stifling work areas. Many actually preferred stope fans shut off because all they accomplished was to blow hot air at them, dry them out, and sap them of their strength. Fans also kicked around dust, which was bad enough without the high velocity of a blower. Many times, a foreman would return to a stope to find fans off and the men using compressed air. Heâd raise a big stink about it, ordering the fans turned back on.
The goddamn compressed air is to run the machines. The fans are to cool off the men!
The minute heâd disappear down the raise, the fans would be shut off again.
Besides a money-producing ore body, nothing was more important to the workings of a hardrock mine than fresh air. Before compressed air, men collapsed from what was assumed to be heat and exertion, but was actually oxygen deprivation. Even with compressed air, the air in deep mines was thin and replete with residual gases from blasting.
6:30 A.M., M AY 2
Smelterville
C ONTRACT MINER R ON F LORY STOPPED IN AT H APPY L ANDING IN Smelterville, a town surrounded by a dead ring of skeletal vegetation from Bunker Hillâs towering
Similar Books
