Field Notes: Fort McMurray First Impressions

William Farrant

On the plane to Fort McMurray, most people stop talking to me when I tell them my profession.

Granted, “Environmental Consultant” isn’t what they expect to hear— it’s the Oilsands

equivalent of a party crasher. But these people’s apprehensions aside, I’ve come to love

and loathe the place as the bottomless pit of crazy, wild, and bizarre that it is. Multinational

corporations spend billions to mine and suck bitumen out of the earth, but there’s an equally rich

resource to exploit here: people.

Leaving the airport the first time, all I could see were various shades of dust hovering over

the road and the hacked-out boreal forest. Swaths of buildings were arranged haphazardly,

devoid of order and place, an architectural orgy. Grimy men were hanging out on hotel

balconies adjacent to highways drinking beer and spitting, wiping sweat off their brows with their

arms, laughing and staring into their drinks, the smoke of their cigarettes furling around their

fluorescent construction helmets.

As we drove down a long hill, the radio informed us about the Alberta Provincial election.

I looked out the window and saw a large display of election signs dotting the hillside like a

floral display, which on closer inspection spelled out the phrase “Vot PC.” It was a potpourri of

grammatical imperfection, a classic foreshadowing for what was to come.

As we got closer to town the traffic got horrendous, a daily commute reminiscent of a natural

disaster evacuation scene in a movie. The city, far too big for its infrastructure, was littered with

makeshift traffic lights stuck in orange plastic barrels and grounded by sand and jagged rocks,

easily targets for a game of “let’s get drunk and move the traffic lights around.”

On my way to get dinner from Earl’s that night, my co-worker Ann told me to keep an eye out for

the “Earl’s Girls,” scantily clad sixteen-year-old hostesses hired purely to appease the clientele

of burly, slobbering oil workers. They didn’t disappoint, lurking around the main entrance,

pandering to each sloth as he came in, making him feel like the only guy in the world.

***

These were my first impressions of Fort McMurray. Regardless of where you stand on Oilsands

development, what isn’t debatable is that resource booms create boomtowns, and in them

you find little gems of humanity. It’s a gold rush in itself and together these nuggets form Field

Notes: Fort McMurray.

>> (Ed: This is the first installment of a multi-part article. Stay tuned for more from William

Farrant.)

 

originally published in analogue magazine’s March 2014 issue

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