CTV News Vancouver’s senior reporter David Molko visited a waste facility in Burnaby that will be taking on garbage from the Philippines when it arrives in Canada. Here is his first-hand account of what he observed during his visit.
I’m standing less than 10 feet from the biggest pile of garbage I’ve ever seen.
Close enough to make out the markings on the torn plastic bags, to spot the IV lines connected to their saline drips, and to cringe at the mountain of waste we all throw out every day.
While I silently vow to swear off single-use plastic bags forever, truck after truck backs up to a doorway that feels as tall as an airplane hangar, sending more cascading into the depths below.
And funny enough, I can’t smell a thing.
"It’s not actually that dirty and stinky," says my guide, Chris Allan, a chemical engineer whose daughter calls him the garbage man.
"All the air is being sucked in…and I don’t feel like I need to go home and have a shower," he says.
At least not yet.
We’re on the ground next to, and fortunately not in the garbage, at Metro Vancouver’s Waste-to-Energy Facility. It’s part garbage dump, part power plant, but the thing that really catches my eye is the giant claw that looks half-alien, half-arcade game.
"Holy crap…what the heck is that?" I ask Allan, who’s technically the Director of Solid Waste Operations here.
"That’s our grapple," he says matter-of-factly, with the experience of someone who’s been doing this for nearly two decades.
We watch the grapple do its thing, two-and-half tonnes at a time, seemingly with a mind of its own.
Allan points to the top of the pit, officially the "refuse bunker," to a tiny-windowed box I can barely make out. He tells me it’s the "crane pulpit," where someone is at the controls 24 hours a day, seven days a week, in order to move through a whopping 260,000 metric tonnes of trash year.
That’s about a quarter of the waste thrown out in Metro Vancouver.
"They just gotta keep picking up garbage," Allan says, moving it from the bottom of a pit that hasn’t been empty in decades, piling it on the sides, and eventually using those giant claws to maneuver up, over, and then dump it into three chutes that lead to three separate incinerators.
"What’s the dirtiest job in this place?" I ask, convinced I’m about to stumble onto a big secret.
"Most of the jobs are actually fairly clean," Allan says.
Prepping for the diplomatic dirty diapers
But I quickly learn that may not be the case with the 69 shipping containers full of rotting five-year-old Canadian cast-offs, set to arrive from the Philippines, after a diplomatic dispute that saw protests in the streets of Manila, and the Philippines’ president threatening "war."
Because that garbage is baled, Allan explains, trucks will have to dump their loads on the pavement. I shiver and turn a slight shade of what must be green knowing what’s coming next.
"We’ll cut open these bales, we’ll have a look, and then we’ll push it into the pit," Allan says, adding his understanding is that it’s mostly plastic and paper, and it won’t be a problem.
I’m more concerned about the used adult diapers, and random things that end up in that garbage can under the sink when you think no one’s looking. I admit, I can’t wait to check it out.
Swallowing our old garbage
To get a better view of the process, we climb up to the crane pulpit. With two operators working their joysticks, monitoring gauges, and occasionally looking out the windows, it feels more like a cockpit.
"I’m going to come into door three as well, Pete," the female operator says.
It’s oddly satisfying to watch the giant claw ascend from some forty feet below us, then drop over two tonnes into a chute.
"It’s just like one of those arcade games," Allan says.
One where you don’t want the prize, I think to myself.
Although once the garbage is burning at over 1,200 degrees, it isn’t "Game Over."
The energy heats the boilers, and the steam power a turbine, enough to power 16,000 B.C. homes for an entire year.
This is when the wisecrack from the Philippines president who told Canadians to "Prepare a grand reception" and "Eat (the rotting garbage) if (we) wanted to," takes on new meaning.
Yes, old Canadian garbage that’s been halfway around the world and spent years rotting in a Southeast Asian port, just might end up fueling your commute, spinning your washing machine, or even brewing your morning cup of coffee.
"Powered by garbage," Allan quips.
Before we go, Allan quickly fills us in on the 7,000 tonnes of left-over scrap metal that gets sold for cash every year and the pollution-control system that sends what looks like steam out the big red-and-white smokestack.
He acknowledges that incineration has plenty of critics, but points out that real-time emissions are available online.
And then, of course, there’s what’s left over from the burn, the "bottom ash."
Metro Vancouver says the three incinerators produce about 45,000 tonnes a year, or about 17 per cent of the garbage that goes in. They add the bottom ash is tested weekly to confirm it doesn’t exceed regulatory requirements before it’s sent to a landfill in Coquitlam.
The process also generates 11,000 tonnes of fly ash, produced as part of the pollution-control system, which is treated with phosphoric acid, tested, and then sent to a landfill in eastern Oregon.
When the tour is over, I quickly steer us back toward the cockpit and the giant claws.
"Can I play with one?" I ask.
"Well, we’d have to first check your insurance policy," Allan deadpans.
That’s a no.
You can read more about Metro Vancouver’s Waste-to-Energy Facility here.
