LEACHATE! Trained. Not Drained. The Operational Truth.

You’re not looking at bad luck. You’re looking at bad habits, multiplied by water. That’s leachate in training.

Hard hat, check. Boots, check. Coffee still hot, check. Good, you’re all in the right place.

For those I haven’t met yet, I’m the one who’s about to ruin a few comfortable myths this morning, especially the ones you've been told about leachate.

I see a mix here, seasoned operators, a few gray-beards who’ve forgotten more than most folks ever learn, and about a dozen rookies who still think landfill work is just pushing trash into a giant hole and going home.

Welcome to the beautifully misunderstood, slightly aromatic, always-essential trash world.

Let’s start simple. Who can tell me what leachate is, and where it actually comes from?

Go ahead. Say it out loud.

“Rain.”

“Stormwater.”

“Groundwater.”

“Bad luck.”

Those are the usual answers, and they’re usually wrong, or at least incomplete.

Then every once in a while, someone in the back gets it right... “Yesterday’s lunch.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Leachate is what happens when waste holds water, makes water, squeezes out water, and pulls more water in, and when we build the lift wrong, we help it along like we’re coaching it from the sidelines. It’s not just weather. It’s physics. It’s biology. It’s operations. And most of it is built, not born. Here’s the part most people don’t like to hear, if you want the real truth about your leachate, don’t start at the tank, the pond, or the pump, and definitely don’t start with the report. Those are just the scoreboards. Put on your boots and walk the slopes. That’s where you'll see the real story, built one load at a time, and visible anywhere the cover can’t quite hide the shortcuts. The settlement, the soft ground under your boots, the seeps breaking through, the areas where compaction got rushed and cover got thin, the spots where lift discipline slipped and moisture didn’t.

From the entrance, it looks dialed in. From above, it looks closed tight. From the slope, it tells the truth.

And today, we’re going to talk about how most leachate is trained, not drained, and exactly how we’ve been teaching it to show up. Now this stops being a weather conversation and becomes an operations conversation. Leachate doesn’t magically appear, it follows pathways. And most of those pathways are built with steel tracks and dozer blades. Water moves where we let it move. It stays where we let it stay. It gets trapped where we build it a home. That comes down to four things, and every one of them is in your hands at the working face.

Compaction. Cover. Lift thickness. And water pathways.

Let’s talk compaction first.

Loose waste is a sponge. Tight waste is a structure. It’s that simple. Every pass you skip, every area you rush, every load you don’t properly place, you’re not saving time. You’re building a reservoir. You’re installing future leachate storage one shortcut at a time.

Airspace isn’t the only thing you’re losing. You’re creating voids, pockets that hold moisture, build pressure, and eventually bleed it back out. Usually downhill. Usually into your collection system. Always onto your budget. Bad compaction doesn’t go away. It just waits its turn. When your lead is hollering, “Get that foam off the slope.” “Mix that sludge.” “Bury that bulky stuff and those spools on the inside.” “Don’t get that wrapped in your tracks.” “Don’t stack all that together.” That’s not noise. That’s leachate prevention in plain language. Foam holds water. Sludge carries water. Spools, large bundles and pipe create channels and voids. Wrapped tracks tear up your surface and open pathways. Problem loads become moisture traps when they’re buried wrong. That’s not a possibility, that’s a guarantee. So, ignore those calls from your lead and you’re not just moving trash, you’re installing future leaks. You’re building pathways and storage zones that will show up later.

Nothing disappears in a landfill, it just shows up later somewhere else. Every shortcut leaves a signature. Every rushed pass writes a future work order. You can cheat the process, but you can’t cheat the outcome. Compaction isn’t busywork. It isn’t optional. It isn’t cosmetic. It is leachate control, applied with massive steel tips, one pass at a time.

Own the passes. Own the density. You own the outcome.

Now let’s talk lift thickness.

Let’s make this so clear nobody can say they didn’t know.

If you’ve worked with me, you’ve seen it, T-posts driven into the corners, bright orange cones shoved down over them like warning beacons. That cone is the line. When your lift hits the bottom of that cone, you stop. Not “one more push.” Not “just this last load.” Stop.

The old-timers laugh when they see that setup. They say you should be able to judge lift height with your eyes and just see it. And they’re not wrong, but rookies aren’t born with that instinct. They need a visual. A hard stop. A physical limit they can’t talk themselves past. We don’t train with yelling and flying wrenches anymore. We train with markers, standards, and repeatable discipline. Same outcome, fewer mistakes buried where they get expensive. Because lift thickness is not a preference. It’s physics. Too thick and you cannot properly compact it. Period. You can only pack and lock waste together so deep per pass, no matter how big the machine or how confident the operator. Beyond that depth, you’re just riding on top and hoping. Overbuilt lifts look productive today and expensive later. They trap moisture, protect voids, and slow stabilization in all the wrong ways. What looks like speed at the face turns into volume at the sump. Thick lifts don’t save time. They store problems.

Now cover and water control.

And yeah, I’m going to say it straight because this one drives me nuts. Cover is not decoration. It’s not for the inspector. It’s not for the photo. It’s not a box you check at the end of the shift. It’s a control layer. A damn important one. It controls water, gas, vectors, and surface flow. It decides whether water sheds off your face or goes straight into your waste. When cover is thin, sloppy, or late, water walks right in like it owns the place. No resistance. No delay. No control. When cover is done right, it sheds water, limits infiltration, and keeps you in charge of what goes into that lift and what stays out.

Come on, let’s get it together here. Is it really that hard to blade a channel and get the water off your face? Drop in a piece of corrugated pipe and move the flow where you want it? Because doing it right the first time is faster than babysitting the mess later. Every time.

Good drainage is not extra work. Bad drainage is. Water is lazy. It will take the easiest path every single time. And if you don’t give it one, it will make one. Let me say this as straight as it can be said... Guessing at the working face isn’t harmless. It creates leachate, weakens control, and costs money later. This isn’t about preference, its cause, effect, and accountability. Finish it right, the result has your name on it.

Track it in. Tight. Sealed. Traffic-ready. That’s the standard, not “good enough from the cab.” Because water doesn’t need an invitation, it just needs an opening.

Through cracks. Across ruts. Along interfaces. Straight onto your problem list.

You don’t need a big storm to create leachate, bad grade and loose discipline will handle it. Flat spots, ruts, uneven slopes, that’s the doorway. Close it. This is basic working face and slope control. This is craft. This is discipline. This is knowing what the hell you’re building while you’re building it.

And if you’re a veteran reading this, this parts on you too, pass it down. Don’t just shake your head and fix it later. Teach it. Show it. Mark the line. Explain the why. Knowledge that isn’t transferred gets retired, and then the same mistakes get rebuilt by the next shift.

Lazy is expensive out here. Shortcuts are wet. Discipline is dry.

Leachate isn’t just drained. It’s trained. So, train it right.

Own the ground you leave behind.