We are walking along Short Mountain’s
perimeter road, at the far end of the landfill from the open pit. Above
us rise a pair of pyramids wrapped in black plastic, 100-foot-high
garbage ziggurats, their hearts a potpourri of lawn furniture, kitchen
utensils and shower curtains. These are phases one and two of Short
Mountain, the latter closed only since November. Like giant black pincushions,
each of the mountains is perforated every 75 feet by one of the wells
eight-inch-diameter PVC tubes that are sunk up to 100 feet into the
trash pile. The wells are linked by a mile-long system of plastic tubing
to the power plant, where the methane that naturally burbles up from
the decomposing garbage is filtered, cooled and then fed directly into
the thrumming yellow engines.
Beside us is the main gas pipeline, an 18-inch diameter black plastic
tube that snakes along the road like a giant boa constrictor digesting
an unfortunate villager. Because the black plastic expands and contracts
with temperature fluctuations, the 3,000-foot long pipeline can gain
and loose hundreds of feet in length over the course of a day. “It
does its own thing,” says Doug, continuing to fiddle with the
electronic device. “Sometimes you come out here in the summer
and you can actually hear the pipe scraping across the road as it lengthens.”
We stop at a junction where tubing from one of the wells meets the
pipeline, a valve marked C8 with white paint and topped by a red-handled
knob. Doug kneels down to attach the Gem 2000 to couplings on the valve
casing via two clear plastic tubes. He presses a button and the machine
makes a small whirring noise, vacuuming in a gas sample for analysis.
After about a minute, the numbers flickering on the screen stabilize.
The reading: 50.8 percent methane, 33.4 percent carbon dioxide, four
percent oxygen, and a balance of 11 percent (mainly nitrogen).
The methane is what he’s after. Methane is a dense, flammable
gas, the main ingredient in so-called natural gas burned by stoves
and hot water heaters in millions of American homes. Methane is formed
by anaerobic decomposition, primarily in swamps, but also in trash
heaps—the byproduct of billions of bacteria digesting organic
matter like leather shoes, paper cups and chicken bones. In addition
to being flammable, methane is a potent greenhouse gas, and the EPA
is so concerned with its effect on global warming that each landfill
with over a million cubic feet of garbage (Short Mountain is an average-
sized landfill at nearly 6 million cubic feet) is required to capture
its methane and burn it. The combustion converts methane to the far
more benign carbon dioxide, 21 times less potent as a greenhouse gas.
If that combustion is used to fire generators as at Short Mountain,
then there is a tidy double ecological net of greenhouse reduction
and alternative energy production. Unfortunately, only 16 percent of
the nation’s 2,300 landfills harness that mandated combustion
for energy—at the remainder, the potential electricity literally
goes up in smoke.
The EPA’s Landfill Methane Outreach Program has identified 610
other landfills where methane could be harnessed for secondary use cost
effectively. In Oregon alone, EPA estimates that five eligible but untapped
facilities could generate more than 19 megawatts of electricity, enough
to power over 8,000 homes. Chris Voell, program manager for the EPA’s
Landfill Methane Outreach Program, says the slow adoption of landfill
gas plants has to do with economics and ignorance. Some landfills are
just too far away from potential users to make development financially
worthwhile. But, he adds, perception is often the problem. “People
just have mental blocks when it comes to landfills,” he says. “They
just don’t want to consider it.” For most people, the less
they think about the bloated, toxic piles of refuse, the better. To combat
that sentiment, a big part of Voell’s job is giving landfill gas-promoting
presentations around the country. |