Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

'That's right,' Jack said, 'diesel's at the light end of the oil fractionation column. It disperses far more quickly than oils of a heavier fraction –'

  'Exactly!' Mike could stand it no longer. He leapt to his feet. 'And that's the whole problem, for God's sake!'

  His voice had been unnecessarily loud, and the silence that followed was broken only by the frantic scratching of Kay Freeman's felt pen. She stopped abruptly, not wishing to call attention to herself and wishing she'd brought her ballpoint biro.

  All eyes were focused on Mike.

  'What exactly do you perceive as the problem, Dr McAllister?' Gary Hayman's tone was icy. Who the hell was this young upstart?

  Mike glanced at Ash whose eyes were encouraging him to take the floor, but to do so with care. You're at the bottom of the pecking order, buddy, his eyes said. There's a pyramid of power sitting around this table. Watch it. Mike read the message loud and clear.

  'With all due respect, Mr Harbour Master, the very fact that diesel is so light means that it spreads quicker and travels faster than a spill of a heavier oil fraction. Further-more, being light, it consists of much smaller molecules and shorter chains of hydrocarbons, many of which, especially the aromatics like benzene, are extremely toxic to marine life. This spill could have disastrous results environmentally.'

  He'd gained their attention. Christ, Ash thought, where had Mike learned all that? Gary Hayman, too, was impressed. So the upstart knew what he was talking about, he thought. Good for him. But where was the potential disaster in a spill of only nine thousand litres?

  'We're talking of a small spill by oil-spill standards, Mike,' he said, just a little patronisingly. 'The 1967 Torrey Canyon spill was in the order of millions of litres to have the disastrous effects it did.'

  'Yes, I'm aware of that, Mr Harbour Master. But there was another factor, along with the size of the spill, which contributed to the Torrey Canyon disaster.' Mike forced himself to remain dispassionate, although he wanted to scream at them all. Jesus Christ, he thought, didn't they realise the urgency of the situation? 'The Torrey Canyon spill was of crude oil and in a very cold sea, which made the oil congeal and persist for months. This spill, although much smaller, is of a very light fraction and it's been released in warm tropical waters, which presents us with a very different, but equally dangerous, scenario. It will not only spread and travel faster, it will dissipate into the water column at a far greater speed and penetrate the fine mangrove mud more easily, thereby killing the burrowing in-fauna, like crabs and worms . . .'

  Ash watched in admiration as Mike spelled out the facts calmly. Keep going the way you're going, buddy, he thought. Don't burst into a fit of passion, whatever you do.

  '. . . The in-fauna are necessary to keep turning the mud over so that the mangroves can utilise the nutrients contained there,' Mike explained, 'and with the in-fauna dead, the mangroves themselves will also eventually die, along with the juvenile fish and prawns for which they form a nursery area . . .'

  Don't you realise the vital importance of the mangroves to the entire marine ecosystem, you stupid bastards? Haven't you done enough damage already!

  '. . . This, of course, will have a vast impact upon the local fishing and prawning industry.'

  Mike decided to continue his argument along economic lines. After all, he thought with disdain, to men of industry such as these, financial loss spoke louder than any environmental concerns.

  'Furthermore, the fine hydrocarbons in the oil will reside in the mud for a long period of time. So if the diesel gets down as far as the mangroves outside Pond Zero, which it very well might, then on each successive incoming tide, when Dampier Salt opens the gates to bring in fresh seawater to flood the evaporation ponds, traces of the oil will enter and pollute the salt.'

  There was no longer an air of complacency in the room. All, including Gary Hayman, were listening attentively.

  'As Ash has pointed out, this would mean the closure of Dampier Salt for quite some time and the loss of millions of dollars.'

  Mike sat abruptly, aware that Ash was giving him a silent round of applause. Both awaited the outcome.

  'I see,' Gary said after a moment's silence. 'Well, gentle-men, it appears this is no longer an exercise. According to our young expert, we have a potential economic and environmental disaster on our hands.'

  'Yes, Mr Harbour Master.' Mike couldn't resist the last word. 'We most certainly do.'

  'Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? Given the circumstances, I suggest you call me Gary like the rest of our colleagues.' The offer was made not in the manner of friendship, but rather snappily, Mike thought. He presumed he must have offended the man. Well, too bad, he thought. At least he'd made his point.

  Gary Hayman stood, barking out instructions. 'Crews are gathering and loading our oil-spill booms onto two of the tugs even as we speak. They'll be ready to depart at short notice once we determine where we want these booms deployed. Meanwhile, I've raised the regional coordinator at Port Hedland, and four 205-litre drums of oil dispersant are being trucked here. They should arrive within the next thirty to forty minutes.'

  He addressed his deputies, who had remained silent throughout the meeting, awaiting their orders. 'Bill and Trev, you're to return immediately to your tugs, PHS1 and PHS3 – I'm having the oil-spill booms loaded onto them. I'm holding PHS2 for the dispersant when it gets here. When we work out the placement of the booms, I'll be in contact with you on Channel 76. We'll use 76 for all maritime communications and 77 for all land-based operations. Is that understood?'

  He didn't wait for a reply as he looked around the table.

  'Mike, I want you here in the control room with me. Everyone else can return to their duties, but maintain radio contact with me at all times. Any questions?'

  'Yes, I have one.' Mike put up his hand and Gary gave a curt nod. 'What exactly is it that you have in the way of oil-spill booms?'

  'Five 200-metre lengths of small Vikoma Estuary boom, and two 100-metre lengths of Oil Mop boom.'

  Mike nodded. 'Right. Well, the Oil Mop won't be effective in the open waters of Mermaid Sound, especially if the sea state picks up, but it'd be of great use at Dampier Salt. We could put it across the gates into Pond Zero as an added protection to stop any diesel seeping past, if it gets that far.'

  The harbour master made no direct response to Mike, but turned to his deputy. 'Trev, the Oil Mop's been loaded onto PHS3. When you get to your vessel, have it offloaded and transported immediately to the gates at Pond Zero. Anything else, anybody?'

  Maurie darted a look to Ash as he spoke. 'Yes, Gary, if it's all right with you, I'd like Ash to remain here with Mike. As Dampier Salt's maintenance manager he knows far more about any mechanical equipment and civil material that may be called upon. Mike's a bit of a novice in these areas.'

  Maurie had observed Gary Hayman's attitude. The harbour master was not accustomed to taking advice from an underling. Ash was much higher in the chain of command than Mike and would serve as a buffer.

  The harbour master made no acknowledgement of Maurie's diplomatic gesture. 'Right. Ash, you stay. Now, if there's nothing more, let's all get busy.' Everyone rose from the table. 'Marge, some coffee, thanks,' he called to his secretary as she opened the door for the others.

  They started filing out of the room. Kay Freeman hung back in her chair by the wall, unobserved, awaiting her turn. When everyone had gone, and she was left alone with the three men, she stood.

  'Excuse me, Mr Harbour Master . . .'

  Gary whirled about to face her. He'd forgotten she was there.

  'Am I free to report this on the local radio at the lunch-time session, and can I put copy in tomorrow's Klarion?'

  'You most certainly may not, Miss Freeman.'

  'But the public has the right to know the facts.'

  'We don't know them ourselves yet, and until we do, you and your paper will risk serious litigation if you print one erroneous word. Now, please leave the control room.'


  'You'll let me know, won't you, as soon as –'

  'Yes, yes,' he literally bundled her outside. 'I'll person-ally inform you when I'm ready to release information to the media.'

  Kay found herself staring at the closed door. She wandered over to the reception area and parked herself there. She certainly wasn't leaving until she had her story. She'd wait all day if necessary.

  Inside the control room, Gary's manner, although still efficient, was markedly more amiable. 'Ash, Mike, make yourselves at home. Marge'll be in with the coffee shortly. I'll just put some calls through to Perth, let them know what's happening. Then I'll be on the radio to the tugs, after which we'll get down to the deployment of the booms. Shouldn't be too long.'

  He disappeared to the far end of the room, which housed the communications, and Mike and Ash sat side by side at the conference table.

  'Jesus, Mike, where'd you learn all that stuff?' Ash whispered.

  'I've been reading up – since the Torrey Canyon there's quite a lot of published information out there.' Mike was eager to share his discoveries. 'I've been running my own experiments in the lab most mornings too,' he added. 'The chief chemist's given me some large aquaria to play with, and it's been fascinating. I've tested a few of the established theories, as well as a few unestablished ones, and –'

  Ash interrupted. Mike had obviously unearthed a whole new passion and was likely to go on for some time. 'I knew you were up to something, but why oil spills?' he asked.

  'Why not? With the cavalier attitude of industry around here, this kind of thing was bound to happen. Someone has to know what to do about it.'

  'Well, I've got to say, your timing's spot on, buddy. Talk about devotion to duty! You're a godsend.'

  'There's a bit more to it than devotion to duty.' Mike found himself forced to admit the truth – he did after all have an ulterior motive.

  'And what's that?'

  'The Burmah Oil Company, now Woodside-Burmah – they've been fossicking around this region for years. They're starting to make some interesting gas discoveries in the deep waters off here and –'

  'Yeah, I've heard the rumours. They've been running their exploration out of Broome, but they'll make their way down to Dampier any day now. And I tell you what, it'll be an enormous operation when they do.'

  'Of course it will. And don't you reckon they'll just love a marine biologist who's an expert in oil-spill behaviour and its impact on the environment?'

  Ash cut short his guffaw of laughter with a glance to Gary at the far end of the room.

  'You sly bastard,' he grinned. 'So altruism isn't your sole motivation, there's a touch of ambition involved.'

  Mike returned the grin. 'Just a touch.'

  The door opened and Marge arrived with the coffee. Gary signalled from the end of the room to leave his on the table, and after serving Ash and Mike, Marge sat wordlessly, pencil and notepad at the ready. Conversation ceased.

  'I take it this one's mine,' Gary said as he joined them fifteen minutes later. 'Thanks, Marge.' He picked up the by now cold mug of strong black into which Marge had stirred two spoons of sugar.

  'The oil booms,' he continued, sitting opposite Ash and Mike. 'I've had them linked together, and I've instructed the tugs to hook up to each end and form a loop at the leeward end of the slick in order to capture it and keep it immobile until the dispersant arrives. Who knows, we might even be able to hold it there until the tide turns, providing the sea state doesn't change. I take it you're both in agreement with that?' He downed half the coffee in one go.

  Ash saw no reason to differ, but he looked to Mike for confirmation.

  'No,' Mike said firmly. 'I don't agree with that at all.'

  Gary stared across the conference table, plainly taken aback, and Marge's eyes darted up from her notepad. Subordinates didn't use such a tone when addressing the harbour master.

  'What do you mean, no?' Gary put down the mug. 'That's a standard oil-spill manoeuvre.'

  'Yes, it's a standard oil-spill manoeuvre all right, but this isn't oil. It's diesel.'

  'So?'

  'Diesel spreads very thinly over the water's surface, and with the combined effects of both the wind and incoming tide, that surface water is travelling at a speed of well over a knot. At such a speed, the diesel will simply eddy underneath the boom and continue on its way.'

  'How do you know this?'

  Gary's challenge sounded belligerent, and Ash, aware that Maurie had placed him in the control room to act as a buffer, came to the rescue. He was sure, just as Marge was, that the harbour master found Mike's peremptory manner disrespectful.

  'Mike's been studying up on oil spills, Gary, and he's been conducting experiments that –'

  'No need to speak for him, Ash, he can tell me himself. Come on, Mike, fill me in on what I don't know. How do we lay these booms? I need your advice.'

  As it happened, Maurie Healey, Ash and Marge had all read Gary Hayman's reactions incorrectly. Gary was impressed by young Mike McAllister. Any brusqueness of manner on his part was simply that of a man in command. He'd recognised not only Mike's superior knowledge, but a quality of leadership that he very much respected.

  Well, I'll be damned, Ash thought, and he swivelled around in his chair as Mike rose and crossed to the large-scale map on the wall.

  'The two major water courses to the harbour itself and the solar ponds inlet further to the south are either side of this very island we're on.' Mike indicated the positions on the map. 'Here between Parker Point on the mainland and East Intercourse to the north-west, and here between East Intercourse and Mistaken Island to the south-west.'

  Gary's impatient nod said 'Tell me something I don't know', but Mike refused to be rattled. His plan was audacious and needed to be spelled out with care.

  'I'd keep the booms in their five separate 200-metre lengths and I'd put the first one around here – about a kilometre north of the west end of Parker Point. Then I'd angle it back in a south-westerly direction. This places it not only at an acute angle to the spill, but also at an acute angle to the wind and current, which means the oil wouldn't eddy under it, but rather slide along the length of the boom.'

  Well, let's hope it would, Mike thought. This was one hell of a jump from his laboratory experiments.

  'Then I'd place the next boom here,' he continued, 'a few hundred metres behind the first, at the same acute angle but reaching further to the west, and the third one behind that, each boom deflecting the spill further out into Mermaid Strait. By the time the spill reaches the end of the third boom, it will have passed the harbour entrance.'

  'And we follow the same procedure with the other two booms.' Gary was way ahead of him. He'd picked up a red chinagraph pencil and was already marking the positions on the Admiralty chart that sat in the middle of the table. 'We set the other two booms here, from the south-west tip of East Intercourse, lying out past Mistaken Island to the west.'

  'Exactly,' Mike said, joining him and looking over his shoulder. 'If we get it right, by the time the diesel reaches these points, the tide will have changed. That means the spill would go out on the ebb tide.' He indicated the directions on the chart. 'Either back north, up Mermaid Sound, or out west, through Mermaid Strait, and into the open sea. That's when we can hit it with the dispersant.'

  Both men appeared excited by the plan, but Ash was confused.

  'I'm having a bit of trouble visualising it,' he said, stroking his beard methodically as he studied the map. 'Why stagger the booms in that way?' He pointed to the five red lines Gary had drawn.

  'Ever seen professional snooker players doing trick shots?' Mike asked. Ash stared back in bewilderment and continued to stroke his beard. 'Picture a snooker table. When you hit a snooker ball at an angle towards the cushion of the table, the ball bounces off at another angle, right?' Ash nodded. 'But if you lay a wooden snooker cue along that same cushion and hit a ball at it, the cue negates the bounce effect. The ball maintains contact with the cue and runs
straight down the table parallel with the cushion. If you could stagger another couple of cues behind it, the same thing would happen.'