OFF Mayo’s coast, there is a Scottish colony, an island more populous than Inishturk and Inishbiggle. The name of the island, 83 kms from the mainland, is Sedco 711 - the rig involved in drilling for gas in the Corrib field.

Last week, Shell E&P Ireland arranged a media trip to the rig.

Run by Transocean, a drilling company sub-contracted by Shell, the rig has been engaged in preparatory work for the production of the gas in the Corrib field since April. This involves drilling a vein through 350m of seawater and 3,000m of seabed.

Of the 92 workers on the rig, only one is Irish, Sarah Naismith, a wellsite drilling engineer from Greystones, Co Wicklow.

Sarah’s job is structured around a two-week offshore, two-week onshore rota, with a fortnight off for every two trips. The workers travel in a chartered flight from Donegal airport and are transported to the rig by helicopter.

A supply boat, the Skandi Commander, with a crew of 12, sails to and from Killybegs in Co Donegal, taking waste from the rig and bringing supplies - food, drink and equipment - to it.

The drilling process, which is 60 per cent complete, is costing Shell between •300,000 and •350,000 a day, with each well coming in at as much as •50 million.

Although Shell never comment on individual project costs, spending on drilling-related activities alone has come to •125 million and the total cost of the whole project is estimated to be •1.5 billion thusfar.

This compares with an estimated value of the gas contained within the field of •2 billion.

The figures appear to throw into doubt the profitability of the Corrib gas field. If there is so little money to be made, why is Shell there?

Industry sources say that the company, which reported annual profits of •18.6 last February, is now acting like a “drunken gambler”: it has spent so much on the Corrib gas project, it is unwilling to pull out.

Some of the Sedco 711’s workers watch Wimbledon on the television in the smoking room. They talk of the great camaraderie between them, a camaraderie that comes from the rig’s isolation. On a bad day, with the horizon made obscure by grey cloud and mist, there is no sight of land, only the Atlantic, its surface corrugated under the wind.

In October, the anchors will be wound up and the rig will be tugged back to the north sea where it will begin another job.

Outside, standing by the rig’s helipad, onshore manager Keith Miller looks around, notes the sun’s position in the sky and points at some part of the horizon. “There,” he says, pointing out the direction of Mayo.

Beyond the part of the horizon pointed out by Miller, in the sand dunes between Dooncarton mountain and Broadhaven Bay is the Rossport Solidarity Camp.

Spokesperson Bob Kavanagh says that the initiative for building the camp came from the locals.

“None of us had ever lived in a protest camp before,” he says, drinking a cup of tea in the camp’s kitchen. “We were sceptical whether it would serve a purpose for the campaign and wondered if it would be a distraction for the media, whether is would make it easier for them to use the ‘eco-warriors’ label.”

The camp was established in the middle of June 2005 and in February 2006, it was relocated to the landfall of the pipeline, on the beach at Glengad.

A marquee and several benders - structures made from bent hazel poles - were constructed and, in the subsequent weeks, more benders, compost toilets, food composting facilities, a grey water treatment system, pathways and a kitchen were built.

Much of the camp is constructed of salvaged material; cookers and fridges, cabinets and wooden panels, all collected from the stuff that other people didn’t want anymore.

There is a communal kitchen and living area, powered by solar panels.

The camp has a fairly fluid population. There is a small crew who are there constantly, keeping the place together. Then there are the regular and the random visitors.

Bob says that the camp’s best function is providing a central station for the latter type of visitor, for those curious about the campaign.

“We take them around, show them the reality of the situation, the other side not seen on RTE,” he says adding: “We have nothing against gas, just the way the project is done.

“The way the locals are being called Luddites, the same label has been thrown at this camp. But we’re not saying that everyone should live in a tent. This is just a practical way to base ourselves.”

While the camp was originally a spontaneous demonstration of support for the Rossport 5, it has extended into a much broader project of activism, embracing environmental grassroots movements with which it has opened up links, networks extending from Norway to Nigeria.

Like on the Sedco 711 rig, alcohol is forbidden. A sign at the camp’s entrance says that it is located in a rare habitat, a fertile low-lying raised beach known as machair. Machairs have received considerable ecological and conservational attention, chiefly because of their unique ecosystems.

“The ethos of the camp is to keep our impact as low as possible,” says Bob.

He shows those who are interested around the camp and the beach at Glengad, landfall of the original pipeline route. In the distance, the waters of Broadhaven Bay break on the sand.

Onboard the rig, Shell’s representatives had spoken of the Corrib field in terms of “security of supply”.

Spokesman John Egan had said that, at peak production, Corrib will supply up to 60 per cent of national gas demand and replace gas imports from the UK with “indigenous” supply.

Sitting on the beach at Glengad, Bob dismisses that argument: “The issue is control,” he says. “

The government or the people do not own the gas. Shell do. And if there is an energy crisis, Shell can turn off the taps. They have no moral obligation to sell it to the people of Mayo or Ireland.”

As Bob talks of the camp’s opposition to the onshore pipeline and refinery, 83 kms away, beyond the horizon at Broadhaven Bay, the workers on the Sedco 711 continue to prepare the gas wells for production.

“It was something about pipelines two years ago wasn’t it?” one of the Scottish workers had said.

“I feel sorry for anybody who gets shafted but we’re just here to do a job,” said another.

To the workers onboard the Sedco 711, the dispute is a distant thing.

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