Drilling down: My life in the Sultanate of Oman

After midnight, the rising heat eased off and it became pleasantly warm. It was August 1997, and I was into the second half of my 12-hour shift in the desert. Hours earlier, the fierce sun had set, and the dust, rock and gravel underfoot threw its stored heat upwards throughout the evening.Inside my little air-conditioned cabin, the computer collated the drilling data and matched it with the drill depth. Outside, I could look up at the derrick and watch the drillpipe sink a little lower, punctuated by the squeal of the driller's brake....