Two Australian coal promoters, Matt and Mitch, were driving south on Alberta’s Highway 22: The Cowboy Trail.
“Beautiful country,” said Matt, the younger of the two.
“Don’t go soft on me, Matt,” said Mitch. “Best you look at this as a lot of big rocks. Rocks and trees. For our purposes, the beauty lies beneath.”
“But why are they doing it, Mitch? These Albertans? Letting us in here to dig this up for coal?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think Albertans don’t notice it’s beautiful here. The blokes in charge, anyway.”
“I thought it was a sheila.”
“Good one, Matt. Right you are.”
“You know what I can’t believe most of all: that royalty rate!”
“Shh, my boy. Your mind is right to boggle. I was on the negotiating team, and so I have, on occasion, been given credit for that rate. I deny it. I would never have had the gall to make such an insulting offer. Even as an opening gambit. Crikey.”
“Who did the deal, then?”
“Both sides. But I think it was them more than us. Fellow named Kenney, as I recall.”
“I read about him. Jason Kenney.”
“Apparently the blokes and the sheila who run Alberta don’t think about selenium. Or maybe they actually hate fish.”
“And that’s another odd thing. A lot of the Alberta blokes we deal with have first names for last names.”
“Is it that kind of place, then, do you think, Mitch? A bit arsy-versy? Upside-down.”
“Lot of it will be upside-down when we’re done, eh…? But to your point, I think that too. But never aloud. Kenney’s long gone anyway. But the 1 per cent royalty remains. Touch wood.”
Matt looked in vain for something wooden in the rented ute.
“But it does remind me of something,” said Mitch. “We need to be on the same page. When we go home, we can’t breathe a word about the royalty rate. If it becomes generally known that we’re paying just $30 bucks a railcar to rip up these mountains, every Aussie with a backhoe will be up here.”
“But seriously, why do they do it, these Albertans? They’re not starving. Not ill educated. Why accept 1 per cent?”
“Crazy, innit? I’d lay you a bet that, when the coal smoke in London was so thick you couldn’t see, Queen Victoria was getting more from the coal companies.”
Mitch and Matt watched the scenery go by for awhile. Then Mitch spoke. “Let’s just try for a minute to figure why a province in a developed nation would want to smash up its mountains for coal.”
Matt imagined it happening in fast motion and made himself carsick. “Think of all the bloody selenium!” he moaned.
“I do think of the selenium. Often. But apparently the blokes and the sheila who run Alberta don’t. Or maybe they don’t like fishing. Maybe they actually hate fish.”
“Mustn’t like people much either,” Matt said.
“I think there’s more than a grain of truth in what you just said there, Matty. For one thing, if we tear up this whole east side of the Rocky Mountains, there’ll be humans losing hair from here to Hudson’s Bay. They won’t be calling it the bald prairies for nothing.”
That was too much. Matt asked Mitch to pull over and he got out and stumbled down the bank. He was pretty green still when he came back. Mitch thumped him on the back.
“Cheer up, young fella. Just be glad it’s not our country. With luck, you and me’ll be drinking Bintangs in Bali when the tops come off these babies.”
But Matt couldn’t cheer up. He sat slumped against his door, watching the incessant beauty slide by.
“Well, Matty, if it cheers you any, there are people down here who are trying hard to make the whole coal thing stop. As usual, it’s come down to the ones who want the jobs versus the ones who want the beauty and clean water for themselves and their children. Classic. It’s ever thus.”
“Couldn’t they have a plebiscite or something?”
Mitch had a laugh. “They did, actually. The coal side won. Damn funny plebiscite. They had it in a pro-coal town in one municipality when the actual coal is in a different municipality that’s completely against having a strip mine. Also, only half the town voted. But I didn’t hear that from the Alberta government. They say the people have spoken.”
Matt laughed.
“That’s better, old boy,” said Mitch. “How about we don’t talk about it for awhile…? We’ll just silently go about our mercenary business. No dark thoughts. That’s how I get by.”
A remarkable sunset was underway. Matt and Mitch were in an awesome valley that looked like it hadn’t changed since the Ice Age: Rockies to the west, Porcupine Hills to the east. Splendid, really! Mitch kept it to himself, but he was thinking he might bring the wife and kids for a week of camping.
It would have to be soon, of course.
Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.
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