I guess I better post the "Wildcatters Poem" as mentioned it above.
Will mean more to those with drilling experience, but the last two paragraphs we and our hip pocket nerves can all identify with!
THE WILDCAT
Running high and looking good,
Just like wildcats do and should,
Fifty feet and sometimes higher
It fills the owner’s soul with fire.
Although there’s a stretch in every line,
It’s running high and looking fine.
The driller often slips a string
But that is just a trifling thing.
They cut a sand line, and make a splice
But only do it once or twice.
They use a steel line in a pinch -
The driller’s never off an inch.
Geologists now take the dope.
And with a shining microscope.
They study sand, and shale and lime.
To think this out takes lots of time.
With their colossal brains they ponder.
Mouth-opened farmers stand and wonder.
Lease brokers stand in line and wait.
He speaks.“She’s running high, looking great.”
A thrill that shakes the very ground -
They’re gone before you look around -
Royalties and leases sell
She’s running high and looking swell.
Three months have passed - another scene,
The Rig is gone, the grass is green.
The gaping slush pit, cracked and dried.
An optimist, here, fought and died.
So thus it is with wildcatwells,
They’re spudded in withclanging bells.
When plugged and shouts ofjoy have died,
You wonder who in hell haslied.
- Unknown