Five Acres, My Ass
September 19, 2012
Back in Aught Nine, I attended a lot of public meetings about the technology of fracking and the development of the gas industry in this region. Most of these meetings painted a rosy picture of the industry, and given that most of these meetings were sponsored by the industry in some way, this is not surprising. (A notable exception was the informational meeting I attended in Waverly, NY. That meeting provided a more balanced picture.) One phrase that came up over and over referred to the size of the well pads: “less than five acres.” The phrase was used in ways that always made it sound like five acres was small, the implication being “you’ll barely know we are here.” I wondered at the time: How many wells are we talking about here? Are they including roads in that figure? Other support infrastructure? I doubted it, and here’s why.
I ride my bike all over this area. I’ve ridden most of the roads in a thirty mile radius around Whitneyville multiple times, and I often pedal fifty or more miles away. I’ve “mapped” a lot of gas activity this way, and I’ve noticed a cumulative effect of these “five acre” pads. They may only be five acres, about four football fields, but there’s a lot of them. And that doesn’t include all the other stuff that goes along with them, like the pipeline.
So, I got an idea. On a solo ride from my house to Tioga State Forest near Asaph, I cataloged the number of gas industry disturbances I could see, ranging from pipelines to well pads to industry support. Here’s what I came up with in a 35 mile ride, 10 miles of which I rode twice (out and back). The route I followed look like a scraggly lollipop if you trace it on a map.
- Entrance to pipeline construction west of Scouten Hill Rd.
- Pipeline construction under Scouten Hill Rd.
- Well pad east of Scouten Hill Rd after crossing Hills Creek Lake Rd.
- Well pad and compressor station west of Scouten Hill Rd. after crossing Hills Creek Lake Rd.
- Pipeline construction east of Hills Creek Rd.
- Pipeline construction under Reese Hill Rd.
- Former water truck parking area south of Reese Hill Rd.
- Pipeline construction under Ikes Rd.
- Well pad south of Ikes Rd.
- Gas compressor station north of Muck Rd.
- Frack sand facility at railroad station on Muck Rd.
- Gas industry building north of Muck Rd. (off Highway 287).
At this point, I’m ten miles into the ride, and I’m about to climb Baldwin Run Rd. into the Asaph section of Tioga State Forest. For the next fifteen miles, the industry disappears, except for the well pad entrance south of Baldwin Run Rd. (Or Bennet Rd. Different maps give me different names.) Then I start home, passing the sites in reverse. I recall seeing the orange-and-gray boxes sprouting wires signifying seismic testing out that way in the past, though I’m not positive it was in the forest proper. It may have been only on the Rail Trail. But I’ve seen those boxes—another kind of mapping—everywhere.
The reality of those industrial sites puts “only five acres” into a new perspective for me. But this is one way the industry played down their impacts at the outset of their development. I could have steered my bike in any direction from my house and counted a similar number. The cumulative number adds up. Quickly. Since 2007, over forty-four hundred Marcellus wells have been drilled in Pennsylvania. That’s roughly 22,000 acres, or 83,600 football fields, cut into the forests and fields. Who knows what the number would look like if we included the pipeline and all the other stuff that keeps the industry up and running.
Of course, some will say: so what? Twenty-two thousand acres is around three percent of Tioga County’s 727,680 acres. It’s around fourteen percent of Tioga State Forest’s 160,000 acres. That’s a dot on the map. So, one could argue that the industry hasn’t had all that big of an impact. But it depends on how we define impacts, of course, and that we include other factors, like traffic and water use. But lately, I wonder most about the impact that it has on the maps in our minds.
Case in point. Two years ago, I reconnoitered some trails near Asaph for my mountain bike class. I saw what I needed to see and decided to ride some extra miles, descending the Green Monster to Left Straight Run Trail, descending Straight Run Road, and then climbing back up Asaph Road to my car. It was Friday, the woods were quiet, except for the occasional jungle call of pileated woodpeckers, and I soaked up that vibe. But as I descended the Green Monster to Left Straight, a beautiful trail with multiple creek crossings, I noticed pink surveyor ribbon tied to branches or blackberries every twenty or thirty feet. The further I descended, the more I saw, even after I hit Left Straight. I kept looking at each one, trying to read its portents like a psychic reads tea leaves. I worried that the trail, one of my favorites, was about to become part of a pipeline. I cursed the thought that public land my taxes pay for might be in the early stages of privatization for profit. (I loathe that practice.) My bike bounced underneath me as I focused on the dingbats of pink ribbon against the rolling page of browns and greens. I thought about the future of the trail instead of what future the trail might hold for me, a mountain biker not paying attention. At the first creek crossing, I hit a rock and crashed heavily on my right side. My shin thwacked a submerged rock, pain drilling sharply though the shock of cold October water flooding my lycra. I staggered to my feet, grunting and cursing, limped out of the water, wondering if I could make it back to the car. (Of course, I checked my bike, the universal sign that the mountain biker is not gonna die.) Eventually, I pedaled slowly down the trail, walking all creek crossings, cranked back to the car, and drove home. (When my daughter saw my leg, blood streaked down my shin into my sock, a creek mapped in red, she said: “I don’t like that” and marched into the house.)
I still have no idea what those ribbons meant, but that’s beside the point. The ribbons took me to a place I didn’t want to go on an otherwise blissful Friday alone in the woods on my bike with the woodpeckers, blackberries, and ferns. What this tells me is that I can’t escape the industry, that almost everything I experience holds the potential to be shaped by the industry in some way. It’s a lesson I’ve known for some time—industry is always with us—but I’ve never had the lesson articulated so well before. As one of my friends once said about me, I’m big but I’m slow.
And since I can see signs of gas development everywhere and project it where it isn’t, I wonder if my soul gets calloused to the industry the same way my butt gets calloused to a bike saddle in spring when I start logging big miles. What I mean is, as I get calloused to the industry or the saddle, what are the effects of my new tolerance? Regarding the bike, that tolerance is good for my legs and lungs and mind. Regarding the industry, I’m not so sure.
More on mapping gas soon.