Mining memories remain
Lloyd Meyers was surprised that TransAlta closed the Centralia Coal Mine two weeks ago. And he wasn’t surprised.
He would understand better than most the reasons why the mine’s Canadian owners locked the gates. Meyers managed the mine for six years when it was operated by an Avista Corp. subsidiary called WIDCO.
“That was the best job I ever had,” says Meyers, who retired in 2003 after 27 years with the Spokane utility.
An electrical engineer by training, Meyers held a variety of executive positions with Avista or its subsidiaries. Much of his career was dedicated to finding or building generating capacity to keep up with the utility’s growing need for electricity.
At Centralia from 1984 to 1990, his duties were mostly administrative. He let the mining engineers run the mine. But Meyers says he got a unique satisfaction from seeing a mining plan go from draft stage to completion right outside the door.
“I enjoyed going out in the mine and riding with the truck drivers,” Meyers says.
And what trucks they were. Big as houses, they slogged around the mining pits while the even larger drag-lines pulled away coal, or the dirt that had concealed it for 50 million years. Mud was everywhere, a challenge from the day mining began in 1971.
“There were times they wondered if they could keep the mine going,” Meyers says. Trucks sank to their axles and had to be pulled free with bulldozers.
Eventually, he says, managers figured out how to keep the pumps ahead of the water. When Meyers was in charge, the mine produced 5 million tons of coal a year, and 500 million gallons of water. Rowboats beached 300 feet below the surface allowed workers to service pumps afloat in ponds of rainwater.
Avista in 1990 sold its one-half ownership of the mine to its partner, PacifiCorp., which also took over operations. The two utilities and five others sold their interest in the adjacent Centralia Steam-Coal plant in the spring of 2000 because they did not want to undertake an expensive update of its pollution-control equipment. The mine was part of the deal.
The timing proved horrendous. Within weeks, utilities all over the West were desperately bidding for electricity as drought sapped hydropower output. Centralia became a cash machine.
But while the power plant continues to belch profits, keeping the mine above water financially has been another matter.
November’s record rains triggered a huge landslide in the main pit. It was the second this year. Also, the cost of diesel to fuel the massive trucks soared. Meyers says that fuel was a major expenditure two decades ago, with just a penny increase per gallon eroding the mine’s bottom line.
TransAlta officials have decided coal from the flat, easily mined seams of the Powder River Basin in Montana and Wyoming can be delivered to the power plant more cheaply than the stuff next door in the company’s own pits. The have negotiated a shipping contract with BNSF Railway and will sample coal from the many Powder River mines to determine what mix will work best in Centralia’s boilers.
Meanwhile, TransAlta will continue reclamation efforts on the almost 4,000 acres – of more than 14,000 at the site – that were disturbed by mining. They will also explore the possibility of permitting a new mining area, although wetlands will make that difficult. They expect the generating plant to produce electricity for another 20 years.
Meyers says every miner knows that the minerals they extract will eventually play out. Engineers projected a 35-year life for Centralia when mining began. They were remarkably accurate, but that will not make TransAlta’s surprise decision to cease operations any less painful. Some of those truck drivers who gave Meyers a lift 20 years ago were probably still on the site when the end came. Almost 600 workers lost their jobs, and the odds of finding anything that pays as well as TransAlta are slim despite Gov. Chris Gregoire’s assurances the state will do what it can.
“We knew that the day would come,” Meyers says. “The sad thing is the workers.”