by uNkNowN ElEmEnt » Mon 17 Oct 2005, 13:25:39
Alberta ranchers wonder why their livestock suffer and die
ROCKY MOUNTAIN HOUSE, Alberta–It was a frigid spring afternoon, and country veterinarian Martha Kostuch had another biological riddle on her hands.
Before her, in a livestock trailer, lay a sick calf brought in by a rancher. The animal's belly was tight and swollen, and it was barely breathing.
Kostuch and an assistant worked frantically to relieve the calf's bloating, administering orally a green liquid called Dioctol. After a few minutes, it became evident that the animal could not be revived. Kostuch ended its misery with a lethal injection of sodium pentobarbital.
After 22 years here on the high plains of western Canada, Kostuch has come to expect, if not accept, such incidents. She has heard numerous reports of puzzling deaths, spontaneous abortions, birth defects, eye inflammation and listlessness among cattle. She has seen hardened ranchers cry.
Many of the problems have occurred in areas of intensive oil and natural gas exploration, production and refining. To Kostuch and others in southwestern Alberta, this is no coincidence.
Many of the province's oil and gas fields are extremely sour–laced with hydrogen sulfide, sometimes released intact into the atmosphere but more often converted to sulfur dioxide through flaring. Both gases can play havoc with human and animal physiologies.
"No question, we're seeing chronic and acute effects," Kostuch said. She rattled them off: "Milky substance in the eyes. Difficulty breathing. Diarrhea. Neurological problems. Aggressive behavior. 'Dumb' calves that don't nurse. Poor heats. Uterine infections. Immune deficiencies."
The oil and gas industry rejects suggestions of a relationship between its operations and sickly cattle, noting that sulfur dioxide emissions are down and a recent study proved exculpatory.
"The broad public, by and large, doesn't have any burning issues with our industry," said David Pryce, manager of environment and operations for the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers in Calgary.
In many ways, Alberta mirrors Texas with its last-frontier disposition, its agrarian roots, its vastness, its modern cities. Calgary could pass for Dallas, the rig-dotted plains near Edmonton for those near Amarillo.
There is, however, one notable difference: In Alberta, sour gas pollution is a pressing human and animal health issue, the subject of endless debate in government offices, university laboratories and small-town taverns.
In Texas, for the most part, it is still treated as an anomaly. For residents of East Texas, in the midst of a sour gas boom, Alberta's experience may be both instructive and unsettling.
The little town of Rocky Mountain House is at the center of a decades-old struggle between the province's two dominant economic forces, agriculture and energy. To the west lie the Canadian Rockies, to the south, north and east farms and ranches that, in many cases, have been in families for generations. Until sour oil and gas development began in earnest 30 or so years ago, rural Albertans had only the extremes of nature to fear. Now, they face something far more capricious.
Wayne and Ila Johnston say that they have had widespread illness in their herd of Angus cattle since 1993, when Shell Canada Ltd. began operating one of the world's largest sour gas processing plants near the town of Caroline, seven miles northwest of the Johnstons' 640 acres.
"They cough," Ila Johnston, 47, said of the animals. "They aren't doing good. The calves, when they come, are just kind of stupid."
Her 52-year-old husband described some of the deformed calves he had seen–one that was hairless, others with missing or extra limbs. A cluster of defects, he said, occurred after a Shell Canada gas pipeline rupture in January 1994.
"I had 165 head when that plant came on line," Wayne Johnston said. "I had a beautiful herd. Now it's down to 140 head and dropping.
"I used to keep a lot of cows over the age of 15. Now we can't get them to that age. Some of them will just drop dead on you."
When it began construction on the Caroline plant in 1991, Shell Canada assured its skeptical neighbors that emissions would be minimal, despite a gas stream containing, on average, 350,000 parts per million of hydrogen sulfide.
"This was supposed to be a state-of-the-art plant," Kostuch said, "but from day one they've had problems." Among them: the 1994 pipeline break and numerous "upsets"–unplanned releases–of hydrogen sulfide, sulfur dioxide and other compounds.
The plant is allowed by permit to give off 8.5 million pounds of sulfur dioxide per year. "It's like a volcano that's erupting 24 hours a day," Wayne Johnston said.
Kostuch theorizes that all the sulfur interferes with essential trace elements–selenium, zinc, etc.–in the animals' diets, allowing deficiencies to develop.
A recently completed, five-year study funded by Shell Canada and other energy companies challenges Kostuch's hypothesis. Directed by Cheryl Waldner, a veterinarian in Sundre, researchers took one health survey of cattle before the Caroline plant opened and another after. No striking differences were found.
Shell Canada spokeswoman Laurieann Lynne said that the study was conceived and executed, without corporate interference, at the local level. "It is owned by the community, not by Shell," Lynne said.
Last spring, Shell Canada won approval from provincial regulators to increase the plant's throughput of gas, from 300 million to 360 million cubic feet per day. An appeal filed by Kostuch and the Johnstons was denied.
"People are very upset," Kostuch said. "Some are giving up and leaving and some are still fighting. We haven't had much civil disobedience in this province, but it's getting close."
Rancher Larry McLeod is among those who left. Through meticulous research he established what he believed to be a strong correlation between releases from sour wells, pipelines, the Shell Canada plant and a smaller Amoco plant, and reproductive problems, low weaning weights and deaths among his cattle.
"Can I one hundred-percent guarantee it? No," McLeod said. "Am I damned positive? Hell, yes. This appears to be cumulative. Cows appear to be poisoning their calves through their milk."
The sour gas activity in Alberta affects people as well as livestock.
"This industry has totally gone nuts up here," Wayne Johnston said. "When the wind comes out of the northwest, you can't think quite clearly. Your eyes water. Your ears start to ring, and the wax just turns to crap. Your emotions really get to you. It's so easy to get depressed."
Two of the Johnstons' once-unflappable neighbors are in an almost-constant state of agitation. "One of them's so riled up he's ready to shoot someone," Wayne Johnston said.
Drilling near their home outside Rocky Mountain House periodically forces Cheryl Golding and her 24-year-old retarded son, Shane, to take refuge in a motel. The oil companies foot the bill, but Golding has come to dread what can turn into weeks of exile.
She and her son moved here three years ago from Hardisty, an oil town in eastern Alberta. "I came out here to get some fresh air for Shane," Golding said in her room at the Walking Eagle Motor Inn. "The Welcome Wagon didn't bring a little pamphlet saying, 'You could be gassed.'"
The drilling began in the fall of 1994. Golding said that she and Shane–a frail, childlike young man who surrounds himself with stuffed animals and other toys–have since been overcome five times by hydrogen sulfide.
On one occasion, Golding said, she had the sensation of being drunk. On another she "couldn't breathe and had the most awful headache I've ever had in my life."
Shane is particularly susceptible to the gas, Golding said, because he is asthmatic and unable to care for himself.
"They tell you, 'This is for the people of Alberta,' then they come in and muck up your land," Golding said of the oil companies. "Hundreds of us are being driven out of our homes. This whole thing is just a losing proposition."
The origins of Alberta's natural-gas industry can be traced to 1890, when a shallow, non-sulfurous (sweet) well was drilled near the town of Medicine Hat, in the southeastern corner of the province. A deeper, more productive well drilled in 1904 set off a gas boom in the area, drawing international notice.
"Shortly after this discovery, the newly incorporated city of Medicine Hat acquired gas lights on its railway platforms and downtown street corners, making the headlines of Robert Ripley's Believe it or Not in the process," writes Fred Stenson in his book, Waste to Wealth: A History of Gas Processing in Canada.
When English author Rudyard Kipling came to town in 1907, Stenson writes, "The city went to elaborate lengths to entertain its celebrity, taking Kipling for a ride in a motor car, treating him to a community picnic and, the piece de resistance, a long gander at a roaring gas flare unleashed from the city's fiery bowels."
A few years later, the activity shifted to the sour fields of southwestern Alberta, where hydrogen sulfide concentrations can reach 90 percent.
There was a sour gas boom near Turner Valley in the early 1920s, another near Pincher Creek in the late 1940s. The drilling and processing (sweetening) intensified in more populous areas in the 1960s, and workers occasionally were felled by hydrogen sulfide releases.
In terms of public safety, however, the defining moment came at 2:30 p.m. on Oct. 17, 1982, when an Amoco well blew out 12 miles west of the small town of Lodgepole.
Two workers from Texas were killed, and sour gas spurted from the well for 67 days. Nauseating odors reached Edmonton, 75 miles away; people closer to the blowout reported headaches, eye irritation, nosebleeds among children and various gastrointestinal and respiratory ailments.
After a high-profile inquiry, the Alberta Energy Resources Conservation Board (now the Energy Utilities Board) concluded in 1984 that the accident "could probably have been avoided, even allowing for equipment failures, if Amoco had followed a policy of cautious drilling in the critical zone and if Amoco had been better prepared to deal with unexpected developments. The public was understandably concerned, frightened and angry about the blowout."
The inquiry set in motion a series of government initiatives designed to prevent a recurrence at an even worse location–say, on the outskirts of Calgary.
"Prior to 1984, it was primarily the industry and regulatory folks who looked after sour gas," said Dick Bissett, a petroleum consultant in Calgary. "Now we have a new ballplayer. It's called the public."
Although Cheryl Golding and others in the Rocky Mountain House area disparage it, the Energy Utilities Board has put in place a fairly elaborate system of checks and balances that applies to wells, pipelines and processing plants.
For example, operators of "critical wells"–those thought to pose the greatest risks to the public–must install redundant safety equipment, prepare detailed emergency-response plans, go door to door to warn residents of impending drilling and maintain certain setback distances from homes and public buildings.
In the event of a release, evacuation of the surrounding area becomes mandatory if the hydrogen sulfide concentration reaches 20 parts per million. Before Lodgepole, there was no standard.
"The onus is on the industry," said Marilyn Craig, program liaison leader for the Energy Utilities Board in Calgary.
Lodgepole did more than beget regulations. It seemed to embolden people who might have remained silent prior to the blowout.
Case in point: In 1991, Calgary's top public-health officials took an unprecedented stand against Canadian Occidental Petroleum, which wanted to drill in an established sour field near subdivisions in the northeastern part of the city. The officials called for more stringent setbacks than the company was proposing, and it eventually abandoned its plan.
"We took a fair bit of heat over that one," said John Pelton, director of environmental health for Calgary Health Services.
"The company took the approach that death from hydrogen sulfide was less likely than getting hit by a meteorite," said Dr. Ken Corbet, an assistant professor of community medicine at the University of Calgary who served as a consultant to the health agency. "Well, you don't compare an exposure situation like that to an act of God; it's apples and oranges. Besides, death is not the only consequence. Other health endpoints have to be considered."
The progress made in Alberta since Lodgepole has come mainly in the area of preventing catastrophic hydrogen sulfide releases. Routine emissions have received less attention.
There are new worries about sour gas flaring–in particular, the burning of an estimated 1.6 billion cubic meters of solution gas at some 5,000 crude-oil tank batteries around the province.
Once thought to be relatively harmless–compared to the discharge of uncombusted hydrogen sulfide, anyway–flaring unleashes a "cocktail of chemicals," including benzene and other carcinogens, said Tom Marr-Laing, executive director of the Pembina Institute for Appropriate Development in Drayton Valley.
"It's like peeling an onion," Marr-Laing said. "Here's another layer of issues we need to be concerned about."
In a 1996 report, the Alberta Environmental Centre chronicled the effects of hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide on cattle: bronchial constriction, slow weight gain, gastrointestinal disturbances, breathing difficulties, eye irritation, increased body temperature and heart rate, and death.
The center recommended that flaring be phased out and that the effects of low doses of sulfur and other contaminants on cattle be studied "with special attention to the reproductive and immunological systems." It also called for further study of the effects of high doses released during upsets.
Industry representatives, however, argue that things are better than they seem.
Sulfur dioxide emissions from oil and gas operations in Alberta have fallen by about 75 percent in the past two decades, said Rob McManus, manager of environment and safety for the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers. This is partly because of better control technologies, McManus said, but mainly attributable to depressed sulfur prices.
"People are trying to find sweet gas now rather than sour," he said.
The provincial government's one major attempt to answer questions about chronic, low-level hydrogen sulfide exposures came in 1985. Researchers from McGill University in Montreal conducted a three-month, $3.7 million study of 2,157 residents of Pincher Creek, in extreme southwestern Alberta.
These people had complained since the 1960s that emissions from sour gas processing plants were making them and their livestock ill. When the McGill researchers compared the Pincher Creek population to two others that presumably had not had such exposures, they found no significant differences in health status.
Debate over the study continues to this day. Did the McGill team, by refusing to conduct air monitoring and doing its work during a period of light activity at the plants, skew the data? Or were the environmental "illnesses" all in the Pincher Creek residents' heads?
Two Alberta academics have tried, with limited success, to pick up where the McGill study left off.
Dr. Tee Guidotti, director of the occupational health program at the University of Alberta in Edmonton, and Dr. Sheldon Roth, who heads the division of toxicology at the University of Calgary, have spent countless hours investigating the effects of H2S exposures.
Each has published extensively on the subject. Each displays the impatience of a scientist whose work remains incomplete.
"Biochemically, hydrogen sulfide shouldn't give you much in the way of chronic problems," Guidotti said. "But we continue to get these reports. People certainly aren't making them up."
Guidotti's interest in sour gas was piqued in the mid-1980s by accounts of "persistent neurological deficits" among workers who had survived knockdowns.
By 1990, he and Roth had crafted a grant proposal to establish a hydrogen sulfide research network in Alberta that would have included a registry of exposure victims. The cost was to be split between the sour-gas industry and the provincial government.
At the last moment, the province backed out without explanation.
"Government here is sometimes to the right of industry," Guidotti said. "There was a fear of what we might find."
Roth, for his part, has tried to discern the actions of hydrogen sulfide on the central nervous systems of young rats. He embarked on a three-year, province-funded study in 1986 that suggested the developing brain was vulnerable.
At about the same time, Dr. Rhoderick Reiffenstein of the University of Alberta was pondering the effects of high doses of hydrogen sulfide on mature rats.
Roth and Reiffenstein teamed up in 1990 and approached the Canadian Medical Research Council in Ottawa–the equivalent of the National Institutes of Health in the United States–with a proposal to continue their animal studies. They were rebuffed.
"It was kicked back as a provincial problem," Roth said. "We said it was a national problem, a global problem."
He and Reiffenstein appealed to the council and got their funding in 1991. Reiffenstein died of esophageal cancer four years later. Roth reunited with Guidotti, and the two hope to complete their unfinished business with regard to the exposure registry.
"We need to know the effects of low doses–under a part per million," said Roth, who became so passionate about hydrogen sulfide that he helped organize an international conference on it at Alberta's Banff National Park in 1989. "We need to know the aftermath of acute exposures. It's difficult research to do."
Strong suspicions are not enough, Roth said, because "you're dealing with a gas that's produced for economic gain."
Indeed, Alberta's sour gas industry is an economic colossus that annually produces more than $4 billion in natural gas, gas liquids and elemental sulfur.
"We're trying to get the industry to quit denying that it's emitting anything dangerous," said Rob Macintosh, research and policy director for the Pembina Institute.