The
age of extreme oil: ‘This used to be a forest?'
By
Arno Kopecky
19
May, 2012
One
grey Thursday at the end of April, a plane touched down in Fort
McMurray, Alta., carrying four Achuar Indians from the Peruvian
Amazon. They had flown 8,000 kilometres from the rain forest to
beseech Talisman Energy Inc., the Calgary-based oil and gas
conglomerate, to stop drilling in their territory. Talisman's annual
general meeting was coming up, and the Achuar were invited to state
their case to chief executive officer John Manzoni in front of the
company's shareholders.
But
first, they wanted to see a Canadian oil patch for themselves, and
meet the aboriginal people who lived there.
Their
host in Fort McMurray was Gitzikomin Deranger, Gitz to his friends –
a 6-foot-4 Dene-Blackfoot activist who lives in a comfortably
cluttered duplex with his parents and a revolving assortment of
relatives. Many of them crowded in to meet the Achuar, who relaxed on
Mr. Deranger's leather couch with surprising ease for people who live
in palm huts. He had welcomed them to Alberta with a smudge –
having set a small pile of sage to smoulder in a miniature cast-iron
pan, he fanned smoke over his guests with an eagle feather.
“Did
you kill the bird to get it?” asked Peas Peas Ayui (PAY-us PAY-us
AY-wee), the group's leader, a taciturn man in his mid-40s with
gold-capped upper teeth.
“No,”
Mr. Deranger said, “we only use feathers that are given. If you
find a feather on the ground, it means the eagle put it there for
you, maybe even gave up its life for you.” The Achuar talked this
over briefly and, for the first time since landing, their lips curled
into smiles.
“Condor
feathers are sacred for us too, but we never pick them off the
ground,” Mr. Ayui explained. “To do so is an omen that your wife
is preparing to leave you.” The group's female representative, a
butterfly of a woman named Puwanch Kintui Antich, giggled her
affirmation.
That
was the first of many same-but-differents that the South and North
American natives would discover about each other through the weekend.
But few of the lessons to follow would end in laughter.
Over
the course of three days spent visiting reserves, band offices and
the vast sand dunes left behind by the bitumen-scrubbers surrounding
Fort McMurray, the Achuar confronted a reality that may one day be
their own. And they didn't much like what they saw.
This
encounter was born of a new dynamic: the age of extreme oil. Gone are
the days of sweet Texas crude and boundless Arabian oil fields, when
petroleum lay so near the surface that all a company had to do was
prick the Earth's crust and let the black gold gush. To the
environmentalists who worry about reaching “peak oil” (and a
subsequent decline in fossil fuels), critics can point out accurately
enough that the world is flush with new hydrocarbon reserves. They
are less quick to acknowledge the epic complexity and risks of most
of these new finds.
Alberta's
oil sands are the obvious example: Here, on average, two tonnes of
earth must be strip-mined and seven barrels of water heated to steam
in order to produce a barrel of oil. It takes a barrel's worth of
energy to produce just three barrels of oil; 30 years ago it would
have been 100.
But
extreme oil isn't just a Canadian phenomenon: In 1985, only 6 per
cent of the oil from the Gulf of Mexico came from wells drilled in
water more than 300 metres deep. By 2009, it was 80 per cent,
including BP's Deepwater Horizon rig, which delved 1,500 metres
underwater and then another four kilometres below the sea floor
before exploding into history in its accident on April 20, 2010.
Brazil's
much-vaunted offshore deposits are just as deep. So are the Arctic
deposits that Big Oil is eyeing now. Shell, for instance, has spent
$4-billion preparing to explore off the shores of Alaska, without yet
producing a single barrel. Further north, the federal government
opened the bidding this week on 905,000 hectares of the Canadian
Arctic sea floor, adding to the leases being explored in the Beaufort
Sea by companies that have already spent billions in a region once
thought forever out of reach.
These
extremes go a long way to explaining why oil is at $100 a barrel,
which in turn helps explain why Talisman is now keen to start pumping
in Peru's Amazon. The Achuar who visited Alberta have the mixed
fortune to live above 41 million barrels of light crude, six
kilometres beneath their feet. At that depth, it takes 200 days and
up to $80-million just to drill a single exploratory well, which may
not find its mark. The quantity is globally slight – the world goes
through 41 million barrels every 10 hours – but the $4-billion it's
worth at today's prices makes it significant indeed to a mid-level
energy corporation from Calgary. […]
From
Fort McMurray, Mr. Deranger took the Achuar to visit the Fort McKay
First Nation, half an hour north. The drive took them past the oldest
oil-sand facility, operated by Suncor Energy Inc. since 1967. They
pulled over by the highway for a look.
“This
used to be a forest?” Mr. Achui asked. The region now resembles the
Sahara – fine sand left behind by evaporated tailings ponds
stretching into a treeless horizon.
“Where
are all the birds?” asked Mr. Miik, genuinely bewildered.
Mr.
Deranger explained that the cannons they heard every few seconds were
designed to scare birds off, to prevent them landing in the oily
ponds that settled like mirages between the dunes.
If
the Achuar had believed in hell, this would have been it. It made
little difference to them that Block 64's oil is light crude instead
of bituminous sand – the risks
they saw were just as great. […]
they saw were just as great. […]
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