Underwater welder can't let fear surface...they work in darkness, by touch
I've welded down in some dark corners and funky places put made me off-balance and made it tough to work. If you've done the same and know how hard it can be to get everything lined up on dry land, imagine doing it floating, in the dark, by touch. Or in a 250 foot pipe.
From IndyStar.com.
COLUMBUS, Ind. -- Known for being calm as sundown, Ryan Hey confronts some of mankind's most basic fears all in a day's work.
Take claustrophobia, for example, or the fear of being trapped. Hey, a 1999 Columbus North High School graduate, recently found himself crawling 240 feet down a 30-inch pipe.
He had to squeeze through a 16-inch pipe -- as wide as a large pizza -- just to get there. The fear of water? We should mention it was a water pipe.
The dark? Let's just say Hey looks at maps at the start of his day, then relies on memory.
The only time Hey, 25, admitted ever feeling uneasy -- besides the time he found himself in the 2-foot space between a riverboat casino and the Ohio River bottom -- was when he met a wild animal bigger than himself. That happened when he was working underwater around a dam on the Ohio River.
Hey put his hand on what he thought was a log for balance, but the thing swam away. He's still not sure what it was. Such is the life of an underwater welder. Hey finds himself in a variety of dicey situations, but after four years on the job with Rockport-based Bulldog Diving, he still sees a future in the work.
He worked as a welder on the surface before, and eventually it bored him. That's when he got on the Internet and learned more about underwater welding.
"There are certain people who can't do it," Hey said after a long shift and drive home to Columbus. "You don't want little things to freak you out." Little things, for example, such as the 40-pound metal helmet he dons for each job. It encases his entire head and limits his vision to a tiny glass pane.
Hey does much of his work in pitch blackness, which means he has become adept at navigating underwater spaces by hand.
The unusual nature of his job, however, draws notice. He and a friend, Phillip Rogers, recalled a recent trip to Harrodsburg, Ky., where the water tower was leaking about a gallon a minute. They climbed to the top, where Hey suited up and bleached himself so he wouldn't contaminate the water supply, then descended into the tank.
Inside, he walked along the bottom and patched it with hydraulic cement. Once they climbed down, Rogers said, they were surprised to see a television news crew.
More than two months later, however, Hey shrugged when he described the job. To him, it was just another day at work.
From IndyStar.com.
COLUMBUS, Ind. -- Known for being calm as sundown, Ryan Hey confronts some of mankind's most basic fears all in a day's work.
Take claustrophobia, for example, or the fear of being trapped. Hey, a 1999 Columbus North High School graduate, recently found himself crawling 240 feet down a 30-inch pipe.
He had to squeeze through a 16-inch pipe -- as wide as a large pizza -- just to get there. The fear of water? We should mention it was a water pipe.
The dark? Let's just say Hey looks at maps at the start of his day, then relies on memory.
The only time Hey, 25, admitted ever feeling uneasy -- besides the time he found himself in the 2-foot space between a riverboat casino and the Ohio River bottom -- was when he met a wild animal bigger than himself. That happened when he was working underwater around a dam on the Ohio River.
Hey put his hand on what he thought was a log for balance, but the thing swam away. He's still not sure what it was. Such is the life of an underwater welder. Hey finds himself in a variety of dicey situations, but after four years on the job with Rockport-based Bulldog Diving, he still sees a future in the work.
He worked as a welder on the surface before, and eventually it bored him. That's when he got on the Internet and learned more about underwater welding.
"There are certain people who can't do it," Hey said after a long shift and drive home to Columbus. "You don't want little things to freak you out." Little things, for example, such as the 40-pound metal helmet he dons for each job. It encases his entire head and limits his vision to a tiny glass pane.
Hey does much of his work in pitch blackness, which means he has become adept at navigating underwater spaces by hand.
The unusual nature of his job, however, draws notice. He and a friend, Phillip Rogers, recalled a recent trip to Harrodsburg, Ky., where the water tower was leaking about a gallon a minute. They climbed to the top, where Hey suited up and bleached himself so he wouldn't contaminate the water supply, then descended into the tank.
Inside, he walked along the bottom and patched it with hydraulic cement. Once they climbed down, Rogers said, they were surprised to see a television news crew.
More than two months later, however, Hey shrugged when he described the job. To him, it was just another day at work.


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