The puns are ubiquitous, relentless, inevitable as April flurries.

And they’re almost always lousy.

“People say: ‘Oh, you must be a dynamite (as in awesome) salesman. Or, ‘What an explosive personality,’ ” grimaced Phyllis McCord, a resident sales ace for Ace Explosives.

“Then they apologize . . . like they can’t help themselves,” she murmured with an indulgent grin.

Larry MacDougal, Business Edge
Phyllis McCord handles explosives, gently, at the Ace Explosives Magazine near Rockyford.

McCord believes she is only one of two women in North America who earn a living selling dynamite and pentolite to energy and seismic companies. Needless to say, business is booming (Ouch. . . geez, it IS tough to resist).

McCord’s job sets the tongues wagging during otherwise dull cocktail parties. She figures it appeals to a Dennis-the-Menace impulse within those whose inner child has a frog in one pocket, a slingshot in the other, and a fat little fist full of firecrackers.

Nevertheless, McCord’s duties as a “dynamite chick” carry with them a variety of privileges, not to mention responsibilities.

For instance . . . how many women do you know who’ve been certified with a blaster’s ticket?

Her daughter’s classmates voted McCord an honour of still higher distinction: Mom With the Most Interesting Job.

“I brought all my dummy samples of explosives to class. We talked about blasting caps, and how dangerous they are. They thought that was really cool,” McCord said.

A highly capable, married-with-children Master Blaster, McCord’s professional life has been inextricably linked to the male-dominated world of seismic exploration since the late 1970s. Her duties were clerical. But when things start shaking on a seismic crew, job descriptions tend to blur.

“You do a little of everything,” she said, including rambling the line and collecting geophones — the sensitive vibration-recorders which help geophysicists track down pay dirt — on days the boys were too hung over to work.

She earned her first blaster’s ticket back in the ’80s, while assisting the drill shooters who handle the portable dynamite magazines, or mags, in the field.

“When the drills are finished for the day, the shooters go back to the main mag, and offload their powder,” she recited the, er . . . drill.

“The guys sign a slip in the morning, recording the dynamite they took with them. Then they sign off when they return. The holes they drilled are matched with the powder they loaded, and everything must balance,” continued McCord, citing federal law.

Moderate underground blasts, and sophisticated gear which records the vibrations, allow seismic geophysicists to “map” the subsurface, and thereby pinpoint oil and gas deposits.

After a few years away from the business, McCord got a call from an old friend, Al Yasinko, Ace’s seismic sales manager, in September 1999.

Oilpatch activity was picking up, and Yasinko asked: “Ever think of selling explosives?”

No, but let’s give it a whirl, McCord replied, thereby gaining entry to an exclusive club.

“There’s apparently one other woman, with a company in Utah,” McCord said.

“I think her name was in the International Society of Explosive Engineers’ journal either last year or the year before, but I haven’t been able to track her.”

Bill Kammermayer, president of the Canadian Association of Geophysical Contractors, said he has no idea how much explosive material is used in Alberta each year, “and I doubt very much if the explosives companies themselves know.”

But, when conditions are right, it is the exploration tool of choice for as many as 54 seismic crews on the job in the province this year.

In Alberta, nitroglycerine-based explosives are the most frequently used, probably because they were once produced here — until the plant blew up.

And that’s something else a seismic team can never allow itself to forget. This juice packs a deadly kick.

“I try very hard not to get complacent about the product I’m handling,” McCord said.

Every so often, an accident serves as a blunt reminder.

Such as the death, 14 months ago, of an assistant driller near Wabasca.

The culprit: a “pre-primed” explosive charge, which prematurely detonated.

Or the death of a driller in Louisiana last year. Or twin premature detonations in Alberta last spring.

“When I take clients out to the mag (Ace’s underground, bunker-like magazine, in the vicinity of Rockyford), I let the mag manager take the caps out of the box. I just don’t like ’em.

“I try not to touch blasting caps at all,” she said, holding up a dummy No. 12.

“A No. 12? What’s that mean?” an innocent wondered.

“That means,” said Phyllis McCord, “it’ll blow off your hand.”