ED NAILER, A SCRAWNY man with thick eyeglasses and shaggy gray hair, held a degree in petroleum engineering and part ownership in the Fanning Land and Exploration Company. For almost a century his company, and others, had explored for oil in the New Mexico portion of the Permian Basin with phenomenal success. Using new technology the basin now resembled a tangled forest of pump-jacks, drilling platforms and work-over rigs standing side by side.
For half a dozen years Nailer had tinkered with a plan to drill north of the established oil patch on the land south of the town of Tatum where no production existed. Before work could begin he needed site clearance from the Bureau of Land Management in Roswell. Nailer started with a call to Joe Halverson, Minerals Specialist in the BLM’s District Office.
“Joe, Ed Nailer here, how’s it hanging?”
“Busy as a big buck in the rutting season, Ed. What’s up?”
“I’m planning a little drilling action on lease 9870 about twenty miles southwest of Tatum. I’ll email you the coordinates. Wonder if you guys could check it out. The lease is getting older than a broke-down mare. I need to get this project going now. What do’ya say?”
“Damn, Ed. We’re knee-deep in a habitat study out there–endangered species stuff.”
“Stuff? What stuff?”
“Prairie chickens.”
“Shit Joe, there ain't no prairie chickens out there. You’re lucky to find a rattlesnake or a prairie dog”
“Don’t say that, Ed. Prairie dogs might be next on the list.”
“I know you all have a job to do, but Joe, we’re talking oil, now. I got an opportunity that could dry up tomorrow. You need to cut me some slack, old buddy.”
Any BLM environmental project chugged along at the speed of an arthritic sloth–especially habitat studies promoted by environmental interests. The agency’s policy encouraged multiple-use on public lands, in other words; they tried to please everybody all the time with limited staff and funding.
“Let me check with the team, Ed. Maybe I can work something out. I’ll get back to you. Might be a few weeks.”
“Sure Joe, I know I can trust you to do the right thing, can’t I?”
“You bet, I'll get right on it.”
When the conversation ended, Nailer tossed his phone across the desk. It smacked into The Sally One, a 12 inch bronze oil derrick perched on the corner of his desk–a replica of their first big strike years ago. He imagined Halverson scribbling down a note to inspect lease Number 9870 at some time in the distant future.
“Damn bureaucrats. I don't have time to fart around with their rules and regulations," he muttered as he searched his computer to find the name of the current director. His voice rose as his frustration mounted. “Who the hell is the director, now? They change so damn fast I can’t keep track of ‘em. Hey, Maggie, get your butt in here.”
Maggie Rodriquez was the Executive Assistant to President Nailer. Over the years she had developed the ability to deal with her boss, who had an unpredictable and sometimes explosive personality. Nailer demanded she get the name of the District Manager in Roswell.
Maggie called, got the manager's name, and learned a bit of background on what might be the best way to approach him on leasing problems. When ready, she rehearsed her speech as she prepared to enter the lion's den.
"I have the name of the BLM manager you wanted.” She pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. "His name is Tim McKruger. He's been here two years. Before, he worked in the State Office. Got an Annual Award for signing the most oil leases on public land. He’s well-thought-of around the State."
"Oil leases? Could be worse. Could be a damn environmentalist."
"Can I get anything else for you, Ed?"
"No, Maggie. I'll give him a call." He reached for the phone.
A cheerful voice answered. "Good morning, Roswell District Office, may I help you?"
"Sure, this is Ed Nailer of Fanning Oil. Is McKruger in?"
"I believe he is. I'll transfer you to his office."
Ed drummed his fingers on the desk and waited. He glanced at the ceiling and noticed one of the florescent lights had burned-out.
"Good morning, this is Tim McKruger. How can I help you today?"
"Yes, well, I'm calling about a lease we hold southwest of Tatum. I talked with your staff guy this morning about a land clearance survey. Joe Halverson. He seemed busy with other matters."
"Joe is a key member of our staff, Mr. Nailer. He stays involved."
"Well, this is a crisis. Our lease term expires in ten months. Lease 9870. To make the deadline I signed a contract with Blackgold Drilling to start work in 60 days. I'm lucky to get ‘em. Most rig operators are booked through this year into next.”
"Yes, there is more production in the district now.”
"Right." Ed continued with more urgency. "I'll have to cut twenty miles of road to get to the site before I can start drilling, which means clearing fences and putting in cattle guards–the whole nine yards. It'll take about six months to explore the lower Permian formation with horizontal drilling techniques. Maybe longer.
"Always a risky business, Mr. Nailer, but you know that better than I do."
Of course he knew it better than this agency speed bump, but he let it pass. "If you add it all up, I'm at eight months. If everything works out, I only have two months to file for a Found Lease. Not much time."
"A Found Lease application does take a while to process since it runs the life of production."
"Right. So you see I can't wait for a land clearance survey to happen in a couple of month."
"Did Halverson give you a date?"
"No. That's the problem. Said he was busy with prairie chickens and stuff."
"Hold the line, Mr. Nailer, I'll check with him."
Ed's frustration level climbed as his thoughts raced. Why all these regulation? Damn it, I'm exploring for oil. What’s more important than that? This guy acts friendly, but he's still a goddamn bureaucrat.
"Mr. Nailer."
"Yes."
"I've checked with Halverson on your land clearance survey. Considering your timeline, I've asked him to move your survey up. He will get his team together and schedule you for next Monday morning. Joe will call this afternoon for any information he may need to speed this job along."
Ed blinked, and for a moment couldn't speak. Son of a bitch, this guy must have worked in the private sector. "That will be just fine, Mr. McKruger. Yep, just fine."
"Feel free to call anytime, Ed. We're here to help."
McKruger hung up leaving Ed staring at his phone. Both elated and confused, a feeling of satisfaction crept into his being as if a locked door suddenly popped open, allowing him passage into the future. Bureaucrats, he thought, were like tug boats. Most of the time they pulled your barge forward barely faster than the speed of the current. Not this time. This time he might make his deadline.