# The Dead of Night, Old Growth spiders in my brain.



## RandyMac

Originally Posted by slowp. Edited from "Huge Trees"
*
I started out here when the big stuff was still being logged. It was scary and I usually just stayed out of the way during falling operations. I'd check their work after they went home. They took a while to get those trees on the ground, and around here often had another guy along to pack gear and pound in wedges. 

There was a lot of breakage. The tops exploded when they hit the ground. 

To cruise those big punkins (estimate the volume before cutting) you'd stand back and try to figure out where the tree was going to bust up and put that top diameter on the data card. There was a lot of other defect in them too.

The mills were not as efficient so a lot of "cull" logs were left either in the unit or on the landings and burned. The landing wood might get sold again for pulp, but was left for the firewood cutters and then burned. I only had an 032 with a 20 inch bar so had a hard time finding small enough wood to cut. 

The slash in the clearcuts was deep. I was following a 6 foot guy through it and he let out an "oops" and disappeared. That was how deep that bit of slash left after yarding was. That's why those units were burned. You had to be able to get to the soil for planting. *

The spiders didn't quit, whiskey slowed them down, but they are a crawlin'.

Old Growth, brings to most minds, parks or groves, treasured remnants of what was. Dark, peaceful, a place to reflect on one's place in the World.
Now, welcome to my Old Growth World. My past is littered with stumps and shattered debris, evidence of my passage is marked by a swath of devastation. OG logging was by nature a destructive process, slowp caught some of that, actually well enough to wake up my spiders. I tend to avoid the subject, that is, my own thoughts on what my falling of OG timber means to me now. I tend to consider much of what I did, to be a series of violent acts. Now, I ain't goin' hippie here, nope. Just reflecting on my motives, God help me, I loved it, the more noise and stuff flyin' in the air, the harder I pushed it. To walk up to a huge, silent being, with intent to tear into it's flesh with a ravening machine, a machine that has a mindless hunger, that gnaws with endless teeth, all the while gleefully howling it's bloodlust, I was all too often one with that beast. That is why I ran McCullochs, most other makes were too tame, McCullochs dared you to master them, a half hearted attempt to do so, gave them the chance to whip your ass.
I don't think even film can capture how it was, I won't do it the justice it deserves. The level of destruction has to be seen first hand, better yet, watch it happen, even better is making it happen. I have seen a dozen or so, very tall trees come apart on the way down down, we aren't talkin' tops, limbs, that was an everyday thing, these kinda folded in half, scattering crap everywhere. Oh yeah. Another noisy event was dropping a big tree into other big trees, best to be avoided, it happened on a fairly regular basis. Pitching a big tree down a steep slope was always made a good mess. Before you greenies, if you read this, get all bent (well, further bent) there was often no alternative. It was what it was, you dumped it's ass on the ground the best way you could, the balance between saving every inch and the pressure to produce, plus the gawd-dammed trees were contrary and fought your best efforts. We did leave some, there was no point in trying, they would be a total loss. I got in on the last of the old style bustass logging, I worked with men who had been at it from the begining of that era, I saw and did things that few others have. Does that make me better than anyone else, no, it makes me a worn out relic. I am rusting away like an old left behind arch. Those days are past and for many good reasons, mostly because sobs like me cut without much thought to what we were leaving behind.
Do I regret any of it, yes. There are several trees that come to mind, they might still be standing and they were left where they were laid. It rarely occured to me, at those times, that maybe I shoulda walked away, left them standing. In those days, I would have walked into Hell to fall timber. I remember looking back at what was left, a sea of broken wood, hulking stumps, the only dirt showing were skidroads. I felt satisfaction, I would never have to go back there, and there was more Old Growth just ahead. 
The Dead of Night, that is when stuff catches up with me and flows out my slow, worn fingers. Sitting in the near dark, chewing asprin, chain smoking, swatting spiders and doing a poor job at putting thoughts into words.






Time for a xanax to keep the bugs at bay


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## bitzer

Awesome. Just purely awsome Randy. I sure hope you write a book someday. Your wording is great and description is incredible. Getting it all down may release some of the spiders.


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## slowp

On a cheerier note, there's healthy trees growing all over a unit I did not think had a chance in help to grow back. I did not (thank God) ever have to work on that unit. It was steep. It was so steep that the mill had trouble finding cutters. Rumor had it that they imported guys from Forks who used ropes somehow. 

Now, they didn't have to worry much about a lay. Everything cut rolled down to the creek bottom. High stumps did not stop the rolling, everything went down the hill to the bottom. 

There was our usual rock bluff across it, and rock in the unit. When it was time to burn the slash, I was happy that I got assigned to be with the engine ready to put out any spot fires that might occur in the slash where a tower was yarding. We also used to do crazy things like that. We never burned up a yarder. 

The lighters didn't get very far down the hill. In fact they stopped after only a few minutes. The fire boss radioed, asking where they were and why they weren't lighting. (It is important to keep "pouring" the fuel to it, and lighting going to get the unit burned good) A worried voice answered back, "I'm behind the biggest stump I can find trying not to get killed by all the rolling stuff." The radio went quiet and then they were told to come back up when they could and the unit would be left to light itself, which it did. 

I saw fallers launch big trees off rock bluffs. Nothing much was left of the tree, because it broke into splinters when it hit. The method of yarding had a lot to do with that. An efficient high lead operation didn't want any standing trees in the way. 

That was changed when we started leaving wildlife trees in units. The layout/wildlife folks would choose trees. Then the logger would go look at it and we foresters would have to go choose different trees as the original ones would not be in places that could be yarded around. 

I've been terrified while watching a yarder yank on a 7 foot diameter log using frayed lines. The log finally moved and no lines broke. Those yarders could pull so much that logs would dig deep trenches in the ground when the front end of the log would not lift. 

Yes, it was destructive at times. Yes, we went into areas that we probably shouldn't have. But it was terrifying and fun to see so much power out there
and the ingenuity it took to get those punkins out and onto a truck. 

When I have the time, I'll scan a couple more pictures of units and post them.


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## Burvol

Where is Bob when we need him? Miss that guy


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## mdavlee

I like to read Randy's stories. It all needs to be put into a book for sure.


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## coastalfaller

Simply awesome. Randy, it's been said here more than a few times, but you need to write a book. It would quickly become a classic. I would certainly buy a copy or two!


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## GASoline71

Hey pard'... you need to write a book. Seriously. 

It can sit right next to my Gerry Beranek books on my coffee table. 

Gary


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## mdavlee

Yeah I wish he would write one. It would be a number 1 seller atleast on here.


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## 056 kid

Deffinately a life style I wish I could have participated in.

I have lots of family from CA in the Salinas Valley, carmel valley, monterey... I wonder if I have any ancestors that where in the OG buisness?


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## RandyMac

Gosh, thanks you-all.
There is a book forming, still a good ways away. Little bits like this thing are but outlines or segments.
I'm blaming this one on slowp, her insights and how she projects them, kick started my spiders into action. I fought them off for quite awhile, this is not a comfortable subject for me, admitting that I am/was bat#### crazy. Like most things, I have no controll over what is spewed onto the page, it just flows from my fingers, it's either post it or delete it. Funny thing, this only works when I am on-line, logged on to a site, it just happened to be this one, this time.

Spider byte

It was hot, even in the shade, probably in the mid 90s, I didn't notice, I had wandered off somewhere. The operator in me just kept working, keeping an eye on the work while I was gone. I was suddenly returned, old Ray, the Master faller had just bounced a small rock off the middle of my back. I found myself atop a 10 foot Redwood log, guiding a bellowing geardrive Homelite through a cut. I had gone into a bucking trance, it happens when I tuned out the noise in the long cuts. Ray was indicating that I needed to stop, his word was nearly God-like, I did exactly what he said to and exactly how he said to do it. The old 900 went silent, the air still rang with it's voice, nope that was Ray "Dammit son, if I knew you wanted to work through lunch, I woulda let ya" It had only been a couple weeks since he addressed me as "son" instead of "boy". Nothing stung worse after that time, than to be called "boy" again. In addition to the glorious day wage of $50, lunch was on Ray, part of the job so to speak. Ray's wife made killer lunchs. Not a word about work was spoken during lunch, not until Ray finished one of his hideous cigars, nasty black stubbies. I will forever picture him, sitting on a stump, rolling a lit cigar between his fingers. Ray, coughed, spit and stood up, it was lesson time. We walked down the length of the tree a bit, he pointed out that there was going to be "a hell of a bind" on the third cut. He lined out how to go about it, with the usual comment about the wedges (for falling only) With that, he grabbed his saw to finish the cut I was working on, I did the sawing from the top, he worked from the ground. I was pumped, the log was getting to the point where I could use my own saw, instead of a droning old Homlite. I fetched the 797, I was pretty sure the 48" bar would have the reach needed. The third cut was exactly the bastard I was told it would be, bound at the top with the added attraction of wanting to roll down the hill. Besides the obvious problem of getting the bar stuck, you do not want to slab off any wood, proper release of tension was critical.
It still makes me laugh, whenever I lit up a McCulloch, Ray would wince at the sound, even over the roar of a big Homelite geardrive.


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## stihl sawing

Awesome writing Randy, We always like to read your stories. Now all we need is the information when the book will be put on the shelves. I will buy a copy for sure. Thanks again for the read.


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## schmuck.k

that is some awsome writing there randy. i dont like to read books(makes me go crazy) but when you wright a book i will read it and be happy your stories are the best.


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## slowp

An put some of those pictures in your book too!


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## hammerlogging

I hear ya Mr. Randy. Thanks for sharing.


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## joesawer

I tip my hat to you and raise a glass.
You men where my heroes when I was growing up and still are!


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## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> Gosh, thanks you-all.
> There is a book forming, still a good ways away. Little bits like this thing are but outlines or segments.
> I'm blaming this one on slowp, her insights and how she projects them, kick started my spiders into action. I fought them off for quite awhile, this is not a comfortable subject for me, admitting that I am/was bat#### crazy. Like most things, I have no controll over what is spewed onto the page, it just flows from my fingers, it's either post it or delete it. Funny thing, this only works when I am on-line, logged on to a site, it just happened to be this one, this time.
> 
> Spider byte
> 
> It was hot, even in the shade, probably in the mid 90s, I didn't notice, I had wandered off somewhere. The operator in me just kept working, keeping an eye on the work while I was gone. I was suddenly returned, old Ray, the Master faller had just bounced a small rock off the middle of my back. I found myself atop a 10 foot Redwood log, guiding a bellowing geardrive Homelite through a cut. I had gone into a bucking trance, it happens when I tuned out the noise in the long cuts. Ray was indicating that I needed to stop, his word was nearly God-like, I did exactly what he said to and exactly how he said to do it. The old 900 went silent, the air still rang with it's voice, nope that was Ray "Dammit son, if I knew you wanted to work through lunch, I woulda let ya" It had only been a couple weeks since he addressed me as "son" instead of "boy". Nothing stung worse after that time, than to be called "boy" again. In addition to the glorious day wage of $50, lunch was on Ray, part of the job so to speak. Ray's wife made killer lunchs. Not a word about work was spoken during lunch, not until Ray finished one of his hideous cigars, nasty black stubbies. I will forever picture him, sitting on a stump, rolling a lit cigar between his fingers. Ray, coughed, spit and stood up, it was lesson time. We walked down the length of the tree a bit, he pointed out that there was going to be "a hell of a bind" on the third cut. He lined out how to go about it, with the usual comment about the wedges (for falling only) With that, he grabbed his saw to finish the cut I was working on, I did the sawing from the top, he worked from the ground. I was pumped, the log was getting to the point where I could use my own saw, instead of a droning old Homlite. I fetched the 797, I was pretty sure the 48" bar would have the reach needed. The third cut was exactly the bastard I was told it would be, bound at the top with the added attraction of wanting to roll down the hill. Besides the obvious problem of getting the bar stuck, you do not want to slab off any wood, proper release of tension was critical.
> It still makes me laugh, whenever I lit up a McCulloch, Ray would wince at the sound, even over the roar of a big Homelite geardrive.



Another great read Randy. I'll want an autographed copy of that book when it comes. Is Ray the Master Faller with the nickname of "Blow-Hole" that you told me about earlier?


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## Rounder

I know what you're saying. We've cut a lot for a certain company, and my job was to get the production and I tripped a lot of big old fir, larch and pondy that made beautiful logs, but at the end of the day they looked better standing. I know - not the tough guy thing to say on my part, and I don't care. When it comes to falling timber for the company, you do what you gotta do, and leave it at that - Sam


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## RandyMac

Yes my friend 'Centric, Ray is that man.

Sam, There are two trees in particular that still bother me. I felled a medium Redwood as a second saw, a "beginers" tree so to speak. I spread that poor thing all over a hillside, most of it was just pushed out of the way. I was told "good job", there was no good way to fall it, a losing game from the get-go, that is why they let me fall it. The other tree was a Cedar in the Northern Sierras. It wasn't huge, was halfway to being a snag, it was in our strip. I knew the minute I set steel to it, that it was a mistake, too late, I killed it. It was a Port Orford, way out of it's range, God only knows how it got to be there, but He knows who ended it.

Have you heard of "sport falling"? More bad.


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## Anthony_Va.

I gotta agree with the crowd. Randy, you have a way of wording your stories that make me feel like I'm there. Thats a special gift that only few have. 

I think a book written by you would be a good seller. I know I'd have a copy.


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## Rounder

RandyMac said:


> Yes my friend 'Centric, Ray is that man.
> 
> Sam, There are two trees in particular that still bother me. I felled a medium Redwood as a second saw, a "beginers" tree so to speak. I spread that poor thing all over a hillside, most of it was just pushed out of the way. I was told "good job", there was no good way to fall it, a losing game from the get-go, that is why they let me fall it. The other tree was a Cedar in the Northern Sierras. It wasn't huge, was halfway to being a snag, it was in our strip. I knew the minute I set steel to it, that it was a mistake, too late, I killed it. It was a Port Orford, way out of it's range, God only knows how it got to be there, but He knows who ended it.
> 
> Have you heard of "sport falling"? More bad.



There are some you don't forget, I know how that goes. There are definatly a few big ones seared in my memory that could have been handled/saved out better - Sam


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## RandyMac

Sam,
There were plenty of other trees that I should have let stand, such a waste in some cases. I remember the last one I cut as a pro, it wasn't wasted, I got the entire tree to a 16" top, and still I wish it was still standing.


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## Rounder

RandyMac said:


> Sam,
> There were plenty of other trees that I should have let stand, such a waste in some cases. I remember the last one I cut as a pro, it wasn't wasted, I got the entire tree to a 16" top, and still I wish it was still standing.



You can't ask for much more that a 16 top in big wood, but I know what you mean. Some just look better vertical than horizontal and may have been meant to be as such - Sam


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## CM76

Thanks for sharing those memories and thoughts Randy - they are terrific. It is wonderful to hear about the days of the OG logging, and of the men who worked day in day out, come hail or shine. I really like the stories about your mentor Ray, and his big old Homelite 900G. He sounds like one hell of a guy.

I look forward to hearing more from your memoirs / spider web!

Thanks again,

Chris.


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## belgian

dang Randy, your posts read like a good novel...those were the days indeed.
it's good to think about the good and bad things you did, in the end, it's called experience. thanks for sharing the stories with us.


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## ric5141

Nice writing Randy. You paint with your words!


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## madhatte

Just found this thread. Don't know how I missed it. I agree with the Group Consensus -- this is fascinating stuff!


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## RandyMac

*Thanks again for the support*

There is and will be more, I have begun serious work. The Dead of Night calls to me, I can hear it through the ringing in my ears.

On an old road, left to it's own, a lone fig tree stands, grapes at it's base, all that is left, of what was. The stream bed, buried in flood gravel, follows the road until it escapes up the hill. I sat in that fig's shade, listening to the rustle of big leaves, as the convected air roamed by. The old Chevy pick-up, resting, rusting, awaiting the twisted ordeal of a switchbacked climb. It's block cracked, freely exchanging oil to water, water to oil, creating a smell of mungy brown foam. That scent, bringing to mind, the Fatherly admonishments to "check the Goddammed thing before you burn the Sonofa##### up" With a sigh born of dilligence, it's life fluids topped, the starter winds in it's ever diminishing life, the big six sputters, a dense blue cloud drifts downstream. The last of the flat, safe road ends at the displaced Cemetary, second gear lugging, a straining torture of 27 switchbacks crafted from wagon ruts, paved inadequately, beaten by ages of logging truck summers and 100" winters. Windy Nip, Panther gap, Low Saddle, pioneer nameplaces hear the grinding rattle of our passage. Quick wary glances monitor temp gauge, all that can be shared with the road's attention. Shale slides covet the banks, culvert failures narrow the path, rocks lay where they land, overgrown Tanoak trees cause tunnels against the sky. The top of the ridge is gained, another respite for us. The view is far, the hill falls steeply from both sides, shimmering breezes carrying the spicy essence of plants burnt by summer's excess. No comfort here, the shade went through a distant headrig, framing for another's shelter. More switchbacks, steeper here, first gear holding against the singed smell of brakes. The face has changed, trees gave way to Tanoak brush, then thinned to Poison-oak clumps, a wan, tired grass clings to the hard soil. The Valley appears, but our goal is the farside, a hill beneath a jagged range. The smell of river damp willows, the planked rumble and thump over the Mattole, a quick turn, a blessed stop. Ears singing, legs wobble releasing tension, tired hands grip a cold, foaming reward, rinsing away traces of the passage.


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## GASoline71

Love it pard'... simply love it. It's like I'm there... 

Gary


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## RandyMac

GASoline71 said:


> Love it pard'... simply love it. It's like I'm there...
> 
> Gary



Ah, some measure of sucess, thank you Gary. Gologit will recognize the road.

I first wrote a dark tale, that sprang unintended onto the page. Too much to share at this point, I did however save it for later.


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## slowp

Tanoak. I hate tanoak. Scratch scratch...


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## Gologit

RandyMac said:


> Ah, some measure of sucess, thank you Gary. Gologit will recognize the road.



Yup...through the redwoods, over the hill, around the corners, down the hill...and a cold brew at the Honeydew store.

Randy knows.


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## rmihalek

RandyMac said:


> No comfort here, the shade went through a distant headrig, framing for another's shelter.



Beautiful writing, all of it. This sentence above is simply amazing: the enormous amount of information it conveys, essentially the entire physical and psychological process of getting lumber to the market, is shared with us in about a dozen very well chosen words. Awesome.


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## stihl sawing

You da man Randy, Whether it's writing or using a Tire Iron.


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## Greystoke

RandyMac said:


> Ah, some measure of sucess, thank you Gary. Gologit will recognize the road.
> 
> I first wrote a dark tale, that sprang unintended onto the page. Too much to share at this point, I did however save it for later.



Hell of a story man. Wish I could have been around then. Only Old Growth I fell in the Matole country was some High elevation old growth fir with limbs bigger than most trees in Montany! I did get some nice second growth redwood there, but still, I remember driving by many a large stump in envy of the "old boys" that manufactured them!


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## ric5141

Awesome descriptions and writing!


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## schmuck.k

simply amazing randy


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## Joe46

When I started falling on the Olympic Peninsula in the mid 70"s I had the privilege of working with some old time fallers. I must admit that some of them had probably forgotten more than I ever learned.Like many of the other posters there were some trees I didn't enjoy felling, but it was my job, you did it and moved on to the next one.Will probably never meet you Randy, but if you write a book I'll read it!


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## RandyMac

Today's Dead of Night had to do with some of the crazy #### my brother and I got into. My relationship with my brother is more than complex, he is my twin, that's right, there are two of us roaming the planet. At any rate, there was nothing we won't tackle together, often enough we would glom onto something that no sane person would contemplate, which was just fine with us, we were certified ####ing nuts. Besides all the woods madness, there were other aspects, ever had a fight with someone your exact equal? Oh and the termoil caused by females, that eventually moved us apart, seperate but parallel courses. We got into all kinds of trouble, bar fights, gun fights, car wrecks, three day binges...........never spent a minute in jail. The Wild West existed for us.
I have some old Super 16 film that was taken by a friend, who was either an idiot or brave enough to stay put and keep filming. My brother and I mowed through a dozen pretty good sized OG DF, while one of us was sawing the under cut, the other one was starting the back cut. We switched off on the next one, we cut them like they were going to come after us, it turned into a slaughter, as a tree started to tilt, we went for the next one. We turned a nice little grove into jackstrawed chaos, it took about an hour. later that day, we were both banned for life from the Sawblade.


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## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> Today's Dead of Night had to do with some of the crazy #### my brother and I got into. My relationship with my brother is more than complex, he is my twin, that's right, there are two of us roaming the planet. At any rate, there was nothing we won't tackle together, often enough we would glom onto something that no sane person would contemplate, which was just fine with us, we were certified ####ing nuts. Besides all the woods madness, there were other aspects, ever had a fight with someone your exact equal? Oh and the termoil caused by females, that eventually moved us apart, seperate but parallel courses. We got into all kinds of trouble, bar fights, gun fights, car wrecks, three day binges...........never spent a minute in jail. The Wild West existed for us.
> I have some old Super 16 film that was taken by a friend, who was either an idiot or brave enough to stay put and keep filming. My brother and I mowed through a dozen pretty good sized OG DF, while one of us was sawing the under cut, the other one was starting the back cut. We switched off on the next one, we cut them like they were going to come after us, it turned into a slaughter, as a tree started to tilt, we went for the next one. We turned a nice little grove into jackstrawed chaos, it took about an hour. later that day, we were both banned for life from the Sawblade.



Facinating. That explains a few things. Is H.R. your brother? Been meaning to ask you that for a while. I knew you'd "worked together, but didn't know for sure if you were related. That'd make sense, as he has his own writing ability as well...


Gunfights???


I hope to see that 'jackstraw chaos' film someday...


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## ChrisF

Your writing yet again makes me feel like I'm sitting at the kiddie's table. I love it man, if the book ever happens, I'm definitely grabbing it as soon as it comes.


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## RandyMac

Yes, HR aka Humboldt Red is my brother, his form of insanity is different from mine. The film is in the hands of the original photographer, an attempt to restore it and put on DVD. Craig thinks he may be able to lift stills, if nothing else.

A bit from the Bro.
*
Bro and I used to snag-hunt,
just to drop them.
I about got squished
we found a big Tanbark,
it was hollow enough to stand in.
all we had was a small 302 Echoe(best saw they ever made)
Decided to under-cut the solid side,
even had to climb inside to 
get at what was going to be big
trouble,I had cut suckers as big as trees
left them looking like pungi stakes
with the under-cut in,
off we went,
needed several wedges,
I'm dabbing away when the tree
SPLIT,
it went way up the tree,
it was sort of walking around the stump,
I stepped back,
tripped over a pungi stake,
laid there the little saw idling sitting on my chest,
the tree finally went backwards,bashing a fir snag,
and mashing the tool box,
Me,I pictured stomping a catsup packet.
We took the fir,headed for a few Pabst.
We learned plenty,
did it bolster our safety awareness
Oh,sure it did.

Happy hewing to all, Humboldt *


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## ric5141

Randy, you have to write a book. You have the words, the history, and know how to paint with the words. It would be one of the better books I would read!


I don't drink anymore but Pabst?


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## Rounder

PBR works fine for me....especially after a day of cutting rotten cedar that blows up off the back cut and doesn't hardly net a damn thing no matter how fancy you get............ - Sam


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## madhatte

Aw, now, everybody knows I dig the PBR. You guys best lay off!


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## ric5141

I was into the red whit and blue Bud's....No offence meant. Trust me I would have drank many PBRs in the day....Just liked Bud better. 

And I agree a cold one after a hard dusty work day, there is nothing better. It really doesn't matter which brand.


:hmm3grin2orange:


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## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> Yes, HR aka Humboldt Red is my brother, his form of insanity is different from mine. The film is in the hands of the original photographer, an attempt to restore it and put on DVD. Craig thinks he may be able to lift stills, if nothing else.
> 
> A bit from the Bro.
> *
> Bro and I used to snag-hunt,
> just to drop them.
> I about got squished
> we found a big Tanbark,
> it was hollow enough to stand in.
> all we had was a small 302 Echoe(best saw they ever made)
> Decided to under-cut the solid side,
> even had to climb inside to
> get at what was going to be big
> trouble,I had cut suckers as big as trees
> left them looking like pungi stakes
> with the under-cut in,
> off we went,
> needed several wedges,
> I'm dabbing away when the tree
> SPLIT,
> it went way up the tree,
> it was sort of walking around the stump,
> I stepped back,
> tripped over a pungi stake,
> laid there the little saw idling sitting on my chest,
> the tree finally went backwards,bashing a fir snag,
> and mashing the tool box,
> Me,I pictured stomping a catsup packet.
> We took the fir,headed for a few Pabst.
> We learned plenty,
> did it bolster our safety awareness
> Oh,sure it did.
> 
> Happy hewing to all, Humboldt *


That would be scary, Stompimg the catsup package would be about right.


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## bitzer

Awesome words Randy! Keep em coming. You could make a movie off of that kind of stuff. As long as they gave you complete creative control! The world needs something real like that. The book would still be better though.


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## RandyMac

A movie, LOL, to do it right, it would be longer then "The Stand". Movies miss so much, it hard to convey the various states of mind, in my case, that could be several. It would get a hard *R* rating, body count, sex, violence, bad language..........the stunt guys would get a work-out.


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## GASoline71

Randy... thanks for the PM... awesome pard'... awesome!

Gary


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## RandyMac

GASoline71 said:


> Randy... thanks for the PM... awesome pard'... awesome!
> 
> Gary



You are welcome Gary, thanks for reading it. I'm not sure that belongs in here, although it definately was from the Dead of Night.


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## Eccentric

Randy,

Are you talking about the piece you let me read? If so, then I think it belongs here too. It's a little dark, but not at all out of place. The imagery and such fits here fine. Folks will enjoy it. I say post 'er up!


----------



## RandyMac

a little dark?

I'll have a few brews and think about it.


----------



## bitzer

RandyMac said:


> A movie, LOL, to do it right, it would be longer then "The Stand". Movies miss so much, it hard to convey the various states of mind, in my case, that could be several. It would get a hard *R* rating, body count, sex, violence, bad language..........the stunt guys would get a work-out.



Yeah I know. Its hard to get the mind set of the individual from a movie. A lot gets lost. Even in a book not everything will come across. It would be awesome to see a serious attempt at one though. I need something decent to soak my brain into after the rest have gone to bed. The world needs a good kick in the ass right now, especially the youth.


----------



## RandyMac

*Walking in the Dead of Night*

Sometimes the sense of limited mortality looms closer
when the sun is at it's zenith on the far side of the earth. 
The deepest dark does it's insidious best to touch
things that lie hidden from the sun's searching glare.
Thoughts wriggle like brush bunnies in thick briars
ever mindful of discovery. 
As I trudge through damp thickets I avoid bright patches 
keeping to the gloom of dank pathways.
Pausing by rotting giants I feel the weight of their lives
pressing into the soil waiting to fulfill the destiny of collapse.
Saplings old after the time to grow
wait for light they yearn for by the death of those who have taken it.
Others lying where they fell sigh the relief of returning to the earth
careless of where they lay.
At the edge of densest shade stretch meadows
forming forests for the small wetting the knees of the tall. 
Vapors drift in cold air where rays warmed waters
not caught by the urge to join the race of gravity.
The darkness thickly soaks all sounds into it's self 
even Death must clap hands to claim existence. 
Here there are the oldest bones showing meekly through thin coverings of living verdigris proving that time stops for nothing.


----------



## bitzer

Good stuff Randy. Your words are eerily familar to the endless pages of notebooks I have buried in my basement. The words have been dead for years now. Seems right around the time I quit drinking hard, although I get lapses once in a while. I used to scratch on any scrap of paper or notebook I could find for a long time. The one of yours that really gets me that I keep thinking about is, 

"To walk up to a huge, silent being, with intent to tear into it's flesh with a ravening machine, a machine that has a mindless hunger, that gnaws with endless teeth, all the while gleefully howling it's bloodlust, I was all too often one with that beast."

The mindless hunger and endless teeth. Great stuff. I sure hope you get it all down. Even if not for a book, but at least for yourself. Although I know it can never seem like enough.


----------



## ChrisF

bitzercreek1 said:


> The one of yours that really gets me that I keep thinking about is,
> 
> "To walk up to a huge, silent being, with intent to tear into it's flesh with a ravening machine, a machine that has a mindless hunger, that gnaws with endless teeth, all the while gleefully howling it's bloodlust, I was all too often one with that beast."



Heh, that one really stuck with me as well, I keep thinking about that very sentence a whole lot.

It speaks volumes about stuff I do understand and a whole lot more about stuff I do not.


----------



## madhatte

RandyMac said:


> Pausing by rotting giants I feel the weight of their lives
> pressing into the soil waiting to fulfill the destiny of collapse.
> Saplings old after the time to grow
> wait for light they yearn for by the death of those who have taken it.
> Others lying where they fell sigh the relief of returning to the earth
> careless of where they lay.




Yes. That exact feeling is what keeps me in the woods. You took the words right out of my brain.


----------



## flushcut

Can I pre-order 10 copies signed please? thanks


----------



## schmuck.k

dam good randy


----------



## RandyMac

I really appreciate the feedback, even the most simple remarks are valuble. I didn't expect the depth of feeling from the responses, I am in awe. I will do my best.

I'm still considering a title and cover art, my Annie is very helpfull in this.

This last Monday I spent the day driving my brother to a Dr visit in Ferndale, It was a good day to drive into southern Humboldt. We had a good talk, I got a bunch of great leads, some things that will be included, some not. 

That last bit, "Walking", I wasn't sure about posting it, not out of fear of rejection, only that it might reveal more about me than I wanted. I need not have worried, you-all are a great group, you inspire me to out do myself.

Right now I am working on another fiasco my Bro and I got into, giant Madrones, very steep hillside, lack of common sense.......how we lived to this age.....


----------



## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> I really appreciate the feedback, even the most simple remarks are valuble. I didn't expect the depth of feeling from the responses, I am in awe. I will do my best.
> 
> I'm still considering a title and cover art, my Annie is very helpfull in this.
> 
> This last Monday I spent the day driving my brother to a Dr visit in Ferndale, It was a good day to drive into southern Humboldt. We had a good talk, I got a bunch of great leads, some things that will be included, some not.
> 
> That last bit, "Walking", I wasn't sure about posting it, not out of fear of rejection, only that it might reveal more about me than I wanted. I need not have worried, you-all are a great group, you inspire me to out do myself.
> 
> Right now I am working on another fiasco my Bro and I got into, giant Madrones, very steep hillside, lack of common sense.......how we lived to this age.....


You know how to put thoughts into words, Most people can't do that. A gift that you share with all of us and we all thank you so much.


----------



## RandyMac

Thank you SS, I am really feeling a warm glow.


----------



## mdavlee

Keep the stories coming. I really enjoy reading them. I hope you do write a book. I would love to get a copy myself.


----------



## schmuck.k

keep them comming there really inspiring.


----------



## RandyMac

stihl sawing said:


> You know how to put thoughts into words, Most people can't do that. A gift that you share with all of us and we all thank you so much.



I think I owe you a spider byte, I have to get by a certain block about that one, maybe tonight, I'll need to chain smoke through that one.


----------



## Gologit

RandyMac said:


> Thank you SS, I am really feeling a warm glow.



Now _that_ is a good landing fire. Keep the stories going if you have time. I can relate.


----------



## drill.daddy

*mr mackendrick*

I am in awe , ive been reading your stories for a few years now , from one website to another , and have always enjoyed reading your ramblings weather its an enguagement in mindless diatribe between a couple of people seeking hilarous fullfillment, or serious debates about how to repair and old saw . I think you would probably find it interesting to see how many people actually have a creative side , in one way or the other . I write alot , my brain sometimes out runs my fingers, but the only one who reads my writings would be my significant other. She has a biased opinion in my favor , lol . I commend you my brother for writing even with fear of rejection , I commend you even more for writing in the manor you do . All to often a mans pride will hold him back from greatness, you my friend have a true way with words that enthralls the mind with colorfull descriptions that make a man feel like he was watching you as you worked. You tend to make someone feel like part of the story . 

p.s. i think the cover should be an artist rendering of part of one of your stories, a crystal clear painting or drawing .


----------



## RandyMac

Thank you Wes, shoot me a bit of your stuff, I would love to read something from you.

GologitBob, I'll have something for you soon.

SS, I wimped out, could not get across that bridge.


----------



## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> Thank you Wes, shoot me a bit of your stuff, I would love to read something from you.
> 
> GologitBob, I'll have something for you soon.
> 
> *SS, I wimped out, could not get across that bridge*.


It's all good my friend.


----------



## joesawer

RandyMac said:


> I really appreciate the feedback, even the most simple remarks are valuble. I didn't expect the depth of feeling from the responses, I am in awe. I will do my best.
> 
> I'm still considering a title and cover art, my Annie is very helpfull in this.
> 
> This last Monday I spent the day driving my brother to a Dr visit in Ferndale, It was a good day to drive into southern Humboldt. We had a good talk, I got a bunch of great leads, some things that will be included, some not.
> 
> That last bit, "Walking", I wasn't sure about posting it, not out of fear of rejection, only that it might reveal more about me than I wanted. I need not have worried, you-all are a great group, you inspire me to out do myself.
> 
> Right now I am working on another fiasco my Bro and I got into, giant Madrones, very steep hillside, lack of common sense.......how we lived to this age.....





I hope you do record your story in a book. The people who lived through the greatest logging era ever are very few and even fewer who are able or willing to tell.
This time was the climax of the Paul Bunyan legends. When what had been mere fantasy and fairy tales became reality. When technology met great forests before regulation killed it. 
Those days are gone and will not be repeated in my life time.


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## RandyMac

Joe!!
Yes indeed, the logging era that few people know of, or care to hear about. Mechanized logging doesn't have the romantic vision most hold of the old hand logging. The picture of a solid man, with nothing but his strength, wit and a handtool against trees so big you were called a liar if you talked about it. The facts are far from wonderful, it was a brutal job, a man didn't last long, it made you old fast, if you lived through it. The body count was high, little or no regard given to the men, let alone the forest, the waste of both were rampant. Before steam blasted onto the scene, the woods rang with axes, men hollering, Bulls lowing, trees crashing down. Steam changed all of that, steam was loud, steam had power, cables were soon strung, rails laid, the pace picked up and so did the carnage, both men and trees. The post WW2 era saw real fuel breathing machines, crude, heavy, slow and ages beyond oxen and steam. Now we arrive in that time Joe was talking about, let's call it 1950. A few developments occured about then, McCulloch and Homelite brought portable, powerful and fast cutting chainsaws to the market. Caterpiller had pulled themselves out of a post War glut of tractors that were too heavy for practical woods use and had a strong hand on the bulldozer designs. It was on. The next 25 years saw more timber harvested than in the previous 100 years. Improvements of equipment and logging practices accelerated, by the time 1960 rolled around, the pattern was set, while machines got faster, the techniques stayed pretty much the same through the 1970s. In my opinion, the 1960s were as destructive as logging got, politics later in the decade caused landowners to throw away long term harvest plans and tear the living #### outta the land. Reseach Redwood Creek, see through the leftist cant, to who really caused the devastation.
Much of the history of this period has yet to be written, most of the machines are gone, as are the men who ran them. Whatever my personal motives may have been, it was an honor to have participated in such activities with the men who pioneered them.


----------



## Gologit

RandyMac said:


> Joe!!
> Yes indeed, the logging era that few people know of, or care to hear about. Mechanized logging doesn't have the romantic vision most hold of the old hand logging. The picture of a solid man, with nothing but his strength, wit and a handtool against trees so big you were called a liar if you talked about it. The facts are far from wonderful, it was a brutal job, a man didn't last long, it made you old fast, if you lived through it. The body count was high, little or no regard given to the men, let alone the forest, the waste of both were rampant. Before steam blasted onto the scene, the woods rang with axes, men hollering, Bulls lowing, trees crashing down. Steam changed all of that, steam was loud, steam had power, cables were soon strung, rails laid, the pace picked up and so did the carnage, both men and trees. The post WW2 era saw real fuel breathing machines, crude, heavy, slow and ages beyond oxen and steam. Now we arrive in that time Joe was talking about, let's call it 1950. A few developments occured about then, McCulloch and Homelite brought portable, powerful and fast cutting chainsaws to the market. Caterpiller had pulled themselves out of a post War glut of tractors that were too heavy for practical woods use and had a strong hand on the bulldozer designs. It was on. The next 25 years saw more timber harvested than in the previous 100 years. Improvements of equipment and logging practices accelerated, by the time 1960 rolled around, the pattern was set, while machines got faster, the techniques stayed pretty much the same through the 1970s. In my opinion, the 1960s were as destructive as logging got, politics later in the decade caused landowners to throw away long term harvest plans and tear the living #### outta the land. Reseach Redwood Creek, see through the leftist cant, to who really caused the devastation.
> Much of the history of this period has yet to be written, most of the machines are gone, as are the men who ran them. Whatever my personal motives may have been, it was an honor to have participated in such activities with the men who pioneered them.



Well said. I'm headed to the woods. Keep writing.


----------



## RandyMac

Gologit said:


> Well said. I'm headed to the woods. Keep writing.



Yes sir!!


----------



## bitzer

RandyMac said:


> Joe!!
> Yes indeed, the logging era that few people know of, or care to hear about. Mechanized logging doesn't have the romantic vision most hold of the old hand logging. The picture of a solid man, with nothing but his strength, wit and a handtool against trees so big you were called a liar if you talked about it. The facts are far from wonderful, it was a brutal job, a man didn't last long, it made you old fast, if you lived through it. The body count was high, little or no regard given to the men, let alone the forest, the waste of both were rampant. Before steam blasted onto the scene, the woods rang with axes, men hollering, Bulls lowing, trees crashing down. Steam changed all of that, steam was loud, steam had power, cables were soon strung, rails laid, the pace picked up and so did the carnage, both men and trees. The post WW2 era saw real fuel breathing machines, crude, heavy, slow and ages beyond oxen and steam. Now we arrive in that time Joe was talking about, let's call it 1950. A few developments occured about then, McCulloch and Homelite brought portable, powerful and fast cutting chainsaws to the market. Caterpiller had pulled themselves out of a post War glut of tractors that were too heavy for practical woods use and had a strong hand on the bulldozer designs. It was on. The next 25 years saw more timber harvested than in the previous 100 years. Improvements of equipment and logging practices accelerated, by the time 1960 rolled around, the pattern was set, while machines got faster, the techniques stayed pretty much the same through the 1970s. In my opinion, the 1960s were as destructive as logging got, politics later in the decade caused landowners to throw away long term harvest plans and tear the living #### outta the land. Reseach Redwood Creek, see through the leftist cant, to who really caused the devastation.
> Much of the history of this period has yet to be written, most of the machines are gone, as are the men who ran them. Whatever my personal motives may have been, it was an honor to have participated in such activities with the men who pioneered them.



I got through a couple of books about the times of oxen and rails a few months ago. I had no idea how huge the logging industry was in Wi, Mich, and Minn during the 1800s and how many board feet those boys pulled out and how they did it. The old growth White Pine 5-6' on the butt and 150' tall and running em all down the rivers at the end of the winter. Frickin nuts. Invention of the peavy and rakers on the cross-cuts. Hard times and hard livin. There was one guy whose name it bothers me that I can't recall. He started lumberjacking in Maine, made his way to Wi, and ended his career out in the PNW during the mid to late 1800s. When all the pine was clear cut here a lot of the boys made their way out west. It must have been a hell of sight around here back then. I wish they would have missed a patch of old growth though. Even an acre or two. Its tough to imagine those size of pines around here. I've found a few that were probably small when they swept through up north, maybe 3' on the butt. I do come across things in the woods from time to time. A piece of a cross cut or some calked horse shoes for walking on snow and ice. I still have the shoes laying around somewhere. 

Good stuff again Randy.


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## 74craig

Randy thanx for sharing!This has been a great thread to read.If you ever write a book i would be sure to get myself a copy.Thanx again Randy!


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## hammerlogging

bitzercreek1 said:


> I got through a couple of books about the times of oxen and rails a few months ago. I had no idea how huge the logging industry was in Wi, Mich, and Minn during the 1800s and how many board feet those boys pulled out and how they did it. The old growth White Pine 5-6' on the butt and 150' tall and running em all down the rivers at the end of the winter. Frickin nuts. Invention of the peavy and rakers on the cross-cuts. Hard times and hard livin. There was one guy whose name it bothers me that I can't recall. He started lumberjacking in Maine, made his way to Wi, and ended his career out in the PNW during the mid to late 1800s. When all the pine was clear cut here a lot of the boys made their way out west. It must have been a hell of sight around here back then. I wish they would have missed a patch of old growth though. Even an acre or two. Its tough to imagine those size of pines around here. I've found a few that were probably small when they swept through up north, maybe 3' on the butt. I do come across things in the woods from time to time. A piece of a cross cut or some calked horse shoes for walking on snow and ice. I still have the shoes laying around somewhere.
> 
> Good stuff again Randy.



Itasca State Park in Minnesota has a bit of old growth, not to mention the source of the old miss. Quite remarkable timber. Take the fam, a nice little trip. There is a logging "living history" camp in Grand Rapids, MN too, whcih is a nice little tour to see how the camps were up there back then. Up in northern Wisconsin is the Menominee Indian Reservation, they are doing long rotation even aged mgmt., they have some pretty nice timber, but not old growth. (that I know of)


----------



## bitzer

hammerlogging said:


> Itasca State Park in Minnesota has a bit of old growth, not to mention the source of the old miss. Quite remarkable timber. Take the fam, a nice little trip. There is a logging "living history" camp in Grand Rapids, MN too, whcih is a nice little tour to see how the camps were up there back then. Up in northern Wisconsin is the Menominee Indian Reservation, they are doing long rotation even aged mgmt., they have some pretty nice timber, but not old growth. (that I know of)



Thanks for the info Joe. I'll have to make my way up there someday. In one of the books I read, a faller counted the rings on the stump of one of the last big pines cut. It was somewhere around 5' on the stump. By the rings they figured it started growing a few years after columbus landed. Crazy stuff. It takes a while to grow em around here.


----------



## Steve NW WI

bitzercreek1 said:


> I got through a couple of books about the times of oxen and rails a few months ago. I had no idea how huge the logging industry was in Wi, Mich, and Minn during the 1800s and how many board feet those boys pulled out and how they did it. The old growth White Pine 5-6' on the butt and 150' tall and running em all down the rivers at the end of the winter. Frickin nuts. Invention of the peavy and rakers on the cross-cuts. Hard times and hard livin. There was one guy whose name it bothers me that I can't recall. He started lumberjacking in Maine, made his way to Wi, and ended his career out in the PNW during the mid to late 1800s. When all the pine was clear cut here a lot of the boys made their way out west. It must have been a hell of sight around here back then. I wish they would have missed a patch of old growth though. Even an acre or two. Its tough to imagine those size of pines around here. I've found a few that were probably small when they swept through up north, maybe 3' on the butt. I do come across things in the woods from time to time. A piece of a cross cut or some calked horse shoes for walking on snow and ice. I still have the shoes laying around somewhere.
> 
> Good stuff again Randy.





hammerlogging said:


> Itasca State Park in Minnesota has a bit of old growth, not to mention the source of the old miss. Quite remarkable timber. Take the fam, a nice little trip. There is a logging "living history" camp in Grand Rapids, MN too, whcih is a nice little tour to see how the camps were up there back then. Up in northern Wisconsin is the Menominee Indian Reservation, they are doing long rotation even aged mgmt., they have some pretty nice timber, but not old growth. (that I know of)



Guessing you're talking about the "Lost 40". It's about 50 miles NE of Bemidji, in the middle of nowhere, MN. It's actually 100+ acres that were never logged due to a survey error. It's now a MN Scenic / Natural Area, and there's a hiking trail through it. I haven't been there yet, but it's on the short list for weekend toodles, and you can bet camera will be along when I go.

Some reading:

http://www.minnesotafunfacts.com/minnesota-geography/the-lost-40-a-minnesota-forest-legacy/

http://www.dnr.state.mn.us/snas/sna01063/index.html

Randy, keep the stories coming. They're excellent!


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## RandyMac

Seems that most regions have their logging history, if there were forests, there were loggers and thier history. I studied up some on the Cypress logging in the South, incredible, the lengths they went to for the timber. I found a short vid, converted from old film, two men, standing in small boats, hacking away at a big swelled butt, while using the rocking of the boats to help swing the axes. Can you imagine crosscut bucking while in the water? Water? it looked like deep swamp, all full of critters.


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## madhatte

I've seen that video. Crazy stuff.


----------



## hammerlogging

Some of it is still there. I know guys who've cut for helicopter down there- nearly an annual affair. Nasty. I was down deep in the Mobile River delta last winter and saw more than a few cypress 6' diameter on the stump. My long time bud and I were taking a little canoe jaunt at flood stage, incredible just cruising the flooded swamp riding the current but you have to keep an eye out or you'll end up 6" deep every direction you look, where was that channel?

Timber is still out there, some of it is protected, good, some of it is there for the harvest, if you can get it. I've cut more than a few trees this last year older than..... well, older than whitey in this foreign land. All of these were in rather difficult places, and in most cases a real privledge to participate. That said, I'll take a 2nd growth poplar patch deep in a holler over some rocky ass knob covered in heavy leaning virgin oak any day! But thats just the faller talking, not the bottom line.

Nice pics Sam and Bob.


----------



## drill.daddy

You talk about wandering thru the woods , looking at monuments of trees gone by , I had the rare opportunity to do this a while back . 

Me and this fellow walked along a creek bed for hours , we spoke of everything under the sun while walking this old trail thru the woods. As it turns out we reached the end of this trail and behold a thicket, I was like what the hell , why did this old timer bring me to a thicket , As we pushed thru i started to realize why we had came here, The stumps left at this time were monumental , The fellow started to explain why these stumps didnt quiet resemble the stumps that i was used to seeing. I.e. bout a foot sticking up , Some of these stumps where 6 and 8 feet tall , the old fella explained that the stumps where so big at the but swell that they would have to use spring boards just to get to the area where they could actually fell the tree, Its amazing to think that what is left of these stumps is but a part of what was originally there, They where cypress . if i can ever find my way back i will take pics and bring back . but i do have pics somewhere of old cypress bottoms. a trip i took to a place a couple weeks ago. but they also have to be resized to fit here . maybe i get to it tommorow


----------



## RandyMac

I would love to see your pics and hope to travel through the South someday, Texas and Louisiana for sure.


----------



## hammerlogging

RandyMac said:


> I would love to see your pics and hope to travel through the South someday, Texas and Louisiana for sure.



Better read some Faulkner then. That'll teach you some southern.


----------



## stihl sawing

hammerlogging said:


> Better read some Faulkner then. That'll teach you some southern.


He can come by here and i'll teach him southern slang, Don't nobody sound more rednecked than me.lol


----------



## RandyMac

Bro Hammer, will do.

SS yeah and we can sneak over to Rope and nail his boots to the floor.


----------



## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> Bro Hammer, will do.
> 
> SS yeah and we can sneak over to Rope and nail his boots to the floor.


He probably ain't pulled up the last pair i nailed down.


----------



## TXcowboy

RandyMac said:


> I would love to see your pics and hope to travel through the South someday, Texas and Louisiana for sure.



If you ever make it to Texas, let me know. It'd be great to meet ya and shake your hand!


TXcowboy


----------



## Rounder

hammerlogging said:


> Better read some Faulkner then. That'll teach you some southern.



Lol, glad to see someone else still flips through paper (that stuff made out of trees), and yeah, Faulkner will get you straightened right out on Southern real quick. - Sam


----------



## drill.daddy

If you hit the louisiana line and get lost , i will role out the mat for you as well bro .


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## drill.daddy

If you pass thru new mexico , pick up that snow blowing desert rat and drag him along too . Drag humbolt along as well , seeing as i got saws on the shelf for humbolt and old ken , i could save some on shipping too , hell i even got an old pullon sd25 that could probably favor from living in a dryer atmosphere


----------



## bitzer

hammerlogging said:


> Better read some Faulkner then. That'll teach you some southern.



My wife was diggin through my books lookin for something to read. She found The Sound and the Fury and asked, whats this? I said, read it. Two or three pages in she says, I'm sorry i just can't read that. She opted for The Rum Diary and made it about halfway through. Oh well. I guess she won't be after Dostevesky anytime soon either. Maybe I can get my kids into all of that some day. I may have to re-read what I've got first though. Some pretty heavy stuff that I vaguely remember. 


I can't imagine cuttin trees that old Joe. Pretty cool to be a part of that! 

Can't wait for the next byte Randy!


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## hammerlogging

Go Down Moses is a good place to start to get a feel for Faulkner's style- it is a compilation of short stories. Tell her if she loses track to push on through, Faulkner catches you up after a bit to bring the out of sequence timeline together. An aquired taste I suppose. I finished crime and punishemnt a while back, that was pretty damn good.

As far as spiders go, and cutting legendary timber, here or there, (not than anything I cut would EVER compare to OG redwoods), I'd say that what makes me feel the worst lately is the little things. Yes, in forestry, we look at management over the big picture, and don't dwell on individuals, but, I've had a heck of a year with bee trees and unfortunately have dropped atleast three with active healthy wild bee hives in them, unbeknownst to me until I went to limb and top them. Wild bees are not doing well, and me cutting healthy hives down doesn't help. Tragic. If I'd known they were in there I'd left them, every time. Don't like hearing little birdies squalking after I fell a tree. Or like Red had last year, a couple baby hawks. Dreadful guilt there.


----------



## RandyMac

The collateral damage, some can't be helped, some weren't noticed until too late and the rest of it. I saw a big cottontail get pinched in D8 tracks during a quick turn, peeled it's hide off, like pulling a sock off your foot. It sat there pink naked, shivering, I grabbed a limb and ended it right there.


----------



## Mr. Bow Saw

RandyMac said:


> Seems that most regions have their logging history, if there were forests, there were loggers and thier history. I studied up some on the Cypress logging in the South, incredible, the lengths they went to for the timber. I found a short vid, converted from old film, two men, standing in small boats, hacking away at a big swelled butt, while using the rocking of the boats to help swing the axes. Can you imagine crosscut bucking while in the water? Water? it looked like deep swamp, all full of critters.



Nice stories you been writing. I allways liked reading them.
I like the one you worte about some old motorcycle you tide your
Mac saw on the back,The dirt road,Some old man, You know witch
one.

Here some pics of Cypress,


----------



## Rounder

hammerlogging said:


> Go Down Moses is a good place to start to get a feel for Faulkner's style- it is a compilation of short stories. Tell her if she loses track to push on through, Faulkner catches you up after a bit to bring the out of sequence timeline together. An aquired taste I suppose. I finished crime and punishemnt a while back, that was pretty damn good.
> 
> As far as spiders go, and cutting legendary timber, here or there, (not than anything I cut would EVER compare to OG redwoods), I'd say that what makes me feel the worst lately is the little things. Yes, in forestry, we look at management over the big picture, and don't dwell on individuals, but, I've had a heck of a year with bee trees and unfortunately have dropped atleast three with active healthy wild bee hives in them, unbeknownst to me until I went to limb and top them. Wild bees are not doing well, and me cutting healthy hives down doesn't help. Tragic. If I'd known they were in there I'd left them, every time. Don't like hearing little birdies squalking after I fell a tree. Or like Red had last year, a couple baby hawks. Dreadful guilt there.



The ones that I hate are the trees with flying squirrel nests in them, definatly makes you feel like a jerk, neat little critters - Sam


----------



## stihl sawing

Bee trees are no fun either, Years ago i cut a 30 inch oak down and proceeded to buckin it up, All of a sudden honey bees were all over the place. 

I dropped the saw and took off to the truck. Left saw running. I sat in the truck for half an hour before i had the courage to get the saw. The next day i went back to the tree, The bees were calm by then, The tree was hollow and they had a nest inside it. I could see them coming out one of the cuts i made.

Also knew a guy that dropped one that had a huge hornets nest in the top. They nailed him a bunch of times. He swoll up like a baloon. He wanted me to go cut it up for him. I declined.lol


----------



## 056 kid

Speaking of bees. I was throwing rocks at a bald faced hornets nest while boss man was pushing a new landing last summer. Maybe 25 yds away. So i hit the stick that the nest was hanging off a few times and got them all revved up, a few minutes later i chucked a rock and one of those bastards came right at me, following the trajectory of the rock i guess. I saw him coming @ about 15 yds but he was coming too fast. Got me right in my nose. I looked like some sort of baboon man for the next hour or so..

Learned a lesson, just cause you are not close to the bees dosent mean they cant still hone in on you!


----------



## stihl sawing

056 kid said:


> Speaking of bees. I was throwing rocks at a bald faced hornets nest while boss man was pushing a new landing last summer. Maybe 25 yds away. So i hit the stick that the nest was hanging off a few times and got them all revved up, a few minutes later i chucked a rock and one of those bastards came right at me, following the trajectory of the rock i guess. I saw him coming @ about 15 yds but he was coming too fast. Got me right in my nose. I looked like some sort of baboon man for the next hour or so..
> 
> Learned a lesson, just cause you are not close to the bees dosent mean they cant still hone in on you!


LOL, Hornets will chase your ass for quite a distance. When we was kids We used to hit em with rocks and run like hell, Sometimes we got away and sometimes we didn't.


----------



## RandyMac

Honey bees are the worst, they will not let you alone. The greater wasps like the Baldfaced ####ers hit like a .45, but the clear winner in the woods are the yellowjackets. Those little bastards.


----------



## 056 kid

.45, that sounds about right.

I could not get my eyes uncrossed for about 10 minutes after i was hit. like I was staring at the high beams of a locomotive. .

I was laughing though, gotta be tough...


----------



## RandyMac

Yep, gotta be tough, if you run away from them, you aren't working. I stayed put, hit the choke and smogged the #### outta them.
I always felt enthused during a yellowjacket attack, whoopin', hollerin', laughin' just another little thing to the day.


----------



## RandyMac

Mr. Bow Saw said:


> Nice stories you been writing. I allways liked reading them.
> I like the one you worte about some old motorcycle you tide your
> Mac saw on the back,The dirt road,Some old man, You know witch
> one.
> 
> 
> Thank you Cliff BTW nice Cypress pics.
> 
> Yes, that one, should I stick that on here?


----------



## Rounder

056 kid said:


> Speaking of bees. I was throwing rocks at a bald faced hornets nest while boss man was pushing a new landing last summer. Maybe 25 yds away. So i hit the stick that the nest was hanging off a few times and got them all revved up, a few minutes later i chucked a rock and one of those bastards came right at me, following the trajectory of the rock i guess. I saw him coming @ about 15 yds but he was coming too fast. Got me right in my nose. I looked like some sort of baboon man for the next hour or so..
> 
> Learned a lesson, just cause you are not close to the bees dosent mean they cant still hone in on you!



A couple years ago in Idaho we had to haul one of the guys to the ER for a baldface incident. Poor bastard got hit in the face about 5/6 times. He looked like Frankenstien- not pretty, not breathing well either. We all got it up there, not fun - Sam


----------



## Mr. Bow Saw

RandyMac said:


> Mr. Bow Saw said:
> 
> 
> 
> Nice stories you been writing. I allways liked reading them.
> I like the one you worte about some old motorcycle you tide your
> Mac saw on the back,The dirt road,Some old man, You know witch
> one.
> 
> 
> Thank you Cliff BTW nice Cypress pics.
> 
> Yes, that one, should I stick that on here?
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Well its one of you past adventures and you posted it befor.
> Don't have to tell everything.
Click to expand...


----------



## RandyMac

Cliff, I'll find it and put it here. I have lots of stuff that will go on paper, currently on the disaster theme, finished a long one Friday night, been throwing chunks on that fire for weeks.


----------



## 056 kid

RandyMac said:


> Yep, gotta be tough, if you run away from them, you aren't working. I stayed put, hit the choke and smogged the #### outta them.
> I always felt enthused during a yellowjacket attack, whoopin', hollerin', laughin' just another little thing to the day.



i will have to remember the choke thing. Never even thought of that.


----------



## RandyMac

This one has been around, buried in various places

Picture a Southern Humboldt morning in late October, dawn, cold, no frost, light breeze brings scents from the orchard. I'm tricking my old Honda CL450 into starting, it does, it always did, but not without some drama. It lost a choke valve in one carb, so whenever I started it, it went throught the same routine, could be near freezing or 90 degrees, spitting, popping back through carb, laboring to idle. Finally it runs on all two, the thrash from the valve gear quiets as the oil makes it's way there. I check the gear, took some fancy lashing to get it all on the bike, and to keep it there. I blew a head gasket in the Old man's Scout, so I used the beater Honda. It had a very sturdy rack, had to be tough, I strapped on a 797 with 48" bar, four gallons of mix, one of bar oil, wedges, axe, saw spares and 5 pounds worth of lunch. I had to wait for the sun to rise, my GranDad told me not to travel his roads in the dark. Roads indeed, skidtrails would be a fair bet. With a gritty crunch, I found first gear, and thump thump thump headed down the hill, I was almost sitting on the tank, not much room left. Three miles, 20 minutes later, I get to the main ranch. The old guy is swearing something fierce, something about the old D6 and the need to waste a day going to town (Eureka) for parts. Then he gave me that sideways look, you know the one, where they think you are nuts, but are too polite to say so. He mentioned the lash up I had going, wished me luck and continued swearing at the malingering D6. Wow, real county road, not paved, but it looked like freeway after the goat trails on the ranch. I headed towards Whitethorn, the road was good enough to use 3rd and 4th gears, maybe 35-40 mph in spots. Took about 30 minutes to get to the turn-off, yet more goat trails, fresh ones this time. I could hear the NorthWest log loader running, dust hung in the air from the trucks getting their first load of the day. My partner Ray was coming up behind me, his beat International pick-up chugging and squeaking up the hill. It was steep enough that I was standing on the pegs, leaning towards the headlight, all that weight on the rear made the front end a bit light. The landing was it's normal chaos, heavy equipment, log trucks, men, all moving in seemingly random directions. I parked/crashed out of the way, headed to the landing chaser's fire for coffee/crankcase drippings, before commencing on the day's harvest/destruction of timber. Ray and I felled, bucked and accounted for around 25 old growth Doug Firs, the smallest probably went 40"dbh, the big ones ran 60"-72"+. Ray was a gas to work with, wise old guy, had a way with words, I learned a tremendous amount from him, the old school way of logging. We quit at 3pm, since I was halfway there already, I decided to run into Garberville, heck paved road was only a few miles away. So, I had a couple beers, a steak dinner and visited this gal I knew. It was almost sunset when I headed back to the wilderness, I did a shortcut, yep, this time it was real freeway. The fun didn't last very long, cotton pickin' Highway Patrolman decided to stop me. He went on about overlength load, no flag, obstructed tail light.....he even used a tape to measure, just how overlength the bar was. jeeze a man born without a sense of humour and well, patience stretched a little thin by my back chat, and watching me climb the bank, to borrow some flagging off a stake. Of course crumpling and tossing the ticket didn't improve matters. I didn't make it back to the cabin, too dark by then, I hung out with my GranDad, sipped whiskey, smoked cigars on the porch, talked about the day's work.

I had tons of days like this one, at the time, it seemed endless, I know better now. So, I sit here, in the dead of night, trying to get some of this down, before it dissappears.


----------



## schmuck.k

another goog one randy


----------



## flushcut

RandyMac said:


> This one has been around, buried in various places
> 
> Picture a Southern Humboldt morning in late October, dawn, cold, no frost, light breeze brings scents from the orchard. I'm tricking my old Honda CL450 into starting, it does, it always did, but not without some drama. It lost a choke valve in one carb, so whenever I started it, it went throught the same routine, could be near freezing or 90 degrees, spitting, popping back through carb, laboring to idle. Finally it runs on all two, the thrash from the valve gear quiets as the oil makes it's way there. I check the gear, took some fancy lashing to get it all on the bike, and to keep it there. I blew a head gasket in the Old man's Scout, so I used the beater Honda. It had a very sturdy rack, had to be tough, I strapped on a 797 with 48" bar, four gallons of mix, one of bar oil, wedges, axe, saw spares and 5 pounds worth of lunch. I had to wait for the sun to rise, my GranDad told me not to travel his roads in the dark. Roads indeed, skidtrails would be a fair bet. With a gritty crunch, I found first gear, and thump thump thump headed down the hill, I was almost sitting on the tank, not much room left. Three miles, 20 minutes later, I get to the main ranch. The old guy is swearing something fierce, something about the old D6 and the need to waste a day going to town (Eureka) for parts. Then he gave me that sideways look, you know the one, where they think you are nuts, but are too polite to say so. He mentioned the lash up I had going, wished me luck and continued swearing at the malingering D6. Wow, real county road, not paved, but it looked like freeway after the goat trails on the ranch. I headed towards Whitethorn, the road was good enough to use 3rd and 4th gears, maybe 35-40 mph in spots. Took about 30 minutes to get to the turn-off, yet more goat trails, fresh ones this time. I could hear the NorthWest log loader running, dust hung in the air from the trucks getting their first load of the day. My partner Ray was coming up behind me, his beat International pick-up chugging and squeaking up the hill. It was steep enough that I was standing on the pegs, leaning towards the headlight, all that weight on the rear made the front end a bit light. The landing was it's normal chaos, heavy equipment, log trucks, men, all moving in seemingly random directions. I parked/crashed out of the way, headed to the landing chaser's fire for coffee/crankcase drippings, before commencing on the day's harvest/destruction of timber. Ray and I felled, bucked and accounted for around 25 old growth Doug Firs, the smallest probably went 40"dbh, the big ones ran 60"-72"+. Ray was a gas to work with, wise old guy, had a way with words, I learned a tremendous amount from him, the old school way of logging. We quit at 3pm, since I was halfway there already, I decided to run into Garberville, heck paved road was only a few miles away. So, I had a couple beers, a steak dinner and visited this gal I knew. It was almost sunset when I headed back to the wilderness, I did a shortcut, yep, this time it was real freeway. The fun didn't last very long, cotton pickin' Highway Patrolman decided to stop me. He went on about overlength load, no flag, obstructed tail light.....he even used a tape to measure, just how overlength the bar was. jeeze a man born without a sense of humour and well, patience stretched a little thin by my back chat, and watching me climb the bank, to borrow some flagging off a stake. Of course crumpling and tossing the ticket didn't improve matters. I didn't make it back to the cabin, too dark by then, I hung out with my GranDad, sipped whiskey, smoked cigars on the porch, talked about the day's work.
> 
> I had tons of days like this one, at the time, it seemed endless, I know better now. So, I sit here, in the dead of night, trying to get some of this down, before it dissappears.



I think you may very well be the last poet warrior of a bygone era.


----------



## madhatte

"Poet Warrior" -- I like that. Got kind of a Hunter S. ring to it, which isn't at all inappropriate.


----------



## RandyMac

madhatte said:


> "Poet Warrior" -- I like that. Got kind of a Hunter S. ring to it, which isn't at all inappropriate.



Yeah, but I won't be plugging one ear while on the phone.


----------



## flushcut

RandyMac said:


> Yeah, but I won't be plugging one ear while on the phone.



While chasing bats perhaps?


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## madhatte

I plug _both_ ears on the phone. Stoopid technology.


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## RandyMac

Old HST shot himself in the head while on the phone.


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## madhatte

He was on the phone? I don't remember that detail. Guess I screwed that joke up pretty good. Sorry 'bout that.


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## RandyMac

madhatte said:


> He was on the phone? I don't remember that detail. Guess I screwed that joke up pretty good. Sorry 'bout that.



Not a bad joke, really. I'm gonna squish myself in an undercut, that is of course, I don't get hit by a meteorite.


----------



## bitzer

The major difference between you, Randy and HST is, Hunter created his own world of insanity. More of a wet paper bag fueled by drugs and alcohol. You were a part of the crashing destruction and mayhem. You lived it. The reality. 

Not saying you didin't fuel your own fun ever though! I'd still love to see the vid of you and your brother double teaming trees.


----------



## Brian13

I have really been following this thread since I found it. I love reading what you have to say, your way with words makes it feel like the reader was there with you. Please keep writing and posting pictures! And if you ever publish a book I want on the pre-order list.


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## hammerlogging

RandyMac said:


> Yep, gotta be tough, if you run away from them, you aren't working. I stayed put, hit the choke and smogged the #### outta them.
> I always felt enthused during a yellowjacket attack, whoopin', hollerin', laughin' just another little thing to the day.



'Tis the season. Tougher than I am!


----------



## RandyMac

*The joys of being a Twin.*

I was just sitting there, in the warm sun, contemplating the error of my ways, a rare moment indeed. The old tractor tire I had my skinny ass parked on, had gone flat, the weeds were taking over, webs festooned the scaley rust. Honeybees from hives across the field, humming thier work song in the arbors, made me drowsy. Quail chuckles, Jay squables, Crow commentary competed with hen chatter and an oversized red rooster that crowed with a vein popping effort. I leaned back, digging my Zippo out, setting fire to a Pall Mall, coffee got cold, I stood up to wander off for more coffee. A supersonic wasp zipped over my head and slammed into the side of the shed. The part of my brain that was awake said "Huh, what"? shortly afterwards the lagging sound generated by rapidly expanding gases arrived, followed closely by the second wasp that plowed into the ground in front of my old pick-up. I was already flat and headed for cover when the third round went through and through the Chevy's hood, stopping for a charge in the battery. Projectile number four smacked high into the shed again, I'm thinking that the mother####er hasn't even gotten the range yet, so I start to get ready to lunge for the woodpile. Three feet of snake travel, the next round disspelled all ideas that I was being shot it by a clown, waspy number five cleared my back by a few inches and plowed into the tractor wheel, showering my neck and shoulders with hot little particles. That pissed me off, my normal response to fear or pain is anger, seeing that both were present, I was white hot. Being who I was at the time, I stood up and yelled "That was five you son of a #####" I walked to my truck fumbled under the seat for a heavy revolver, completely forgeting about an H&K 91 behind the seat. Round number six zipped through the cab, glancing off the steering wheel and continued to the shed. Ah, I saw him move 200+ yards away, so I popped up and preceded to launch a series of 240 grainers at him, emptying the cylinder. Must have come close as not another shot was fired. I spent the next hour having my wife pick pieces of copper and lead outta my thin hide, she didn't say a word, but I think I got more damage from her repairs. I got the last bit removed about a year ago, they kept it, what a rip. This kinda crap went on for years, my Bro built up quite a fan club, some were willing enough to try and shoot him. I avoided that area for quite some time, you would think that it might have cooled by now, not so much. Humboldt County, last of the Wild West.


----------



## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> I was just sitting there, in the warm sun, contemplating the error of my ways, a rare moment indeed. The old tractor tire I had my skinny ass parked on, had gone flat, the weeds were taking over, webs festooned the scaley rust. Honeybees from hives across the field, humming thier work song in the arbors, made me drowsy. Quail chuckles, Jay squables, Crow commentary competed with hen chatter and an oversized red rooster that crowed with a vein popping effort. I leaned back, digging my Zippo out, setting fire to a Pall Mall, coffee got cold, I stood up to wander off for more coffee. A supersonic wasp zipped over my head and slammed into the side of the shed. The part of my brain that was awake said "Huh, what"? shortly afterwards the lagging sound generated by rapidly expanding gases arrived, followed closely by the second wasp that plowed into the ground in front of my old pick-up. I was already flat and headed for cover when the third round went through and through the Chevy's hood, stopping for a charge in the battery. Projectile number four smacked high into the shed again, I'm thinking that the mother####er hasn't even gotten the range yet, so I start to get ready to lunge for the woodpile. Three feet of snake travel, the next round disspelled all ideas that I was being shot it by a clown, waspy number five cleared my back by a few inches and plowed into the tractor wheel, showering my neck and shoulders with hot little particles. That pissed me off, my normal response to fear or pain is anger, seeing that both were present, I was white hot. Being who I was at the time, I stood up and yelled "That was five you son of a #####" I walked to my truck fumbled under the seat for a heavy revolver, completely forgeting about an H&K 91 behind the seat. Round number six zipped through the cab, glancing off the steering wheel and continued to the shed. Ah, I saw him move 200+ yards away, so I popped up and preceded to launch a series of 240 grainers at him, emptying the cylinder. Must have come close as not another shot was fired. I spent the next hour having my wife pick pieces of copper and lead outta my thin hide, she didn't say a word, but I think I got more damage from her repairs. I got the last bit removed about a year ago, they kept it, what a rip. This kinda crap went on for years, my Bro built up quite a fan club, some were willing enough to try and shoot him. I avoided that area for quite some time, you would think that it might have cooled by now, not so much. Humboldt County, last of the Wild West.


That was awesome, You should have pulled the 91 out though.lol


----------



## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> I was just sitting there, in the warm sun, contemplating the error of my ways, a rare moment indeed. The old tractor tire I had my skinny ass parked on, had gone flat, the weeds were taking over, webs festooned the scaley rust. Honeybees from hives across the field, humming thier work song in the arbors, made me drowsy. Quail chuckles, Jay squables, Crow commentary competed with hen chatter and an oversized red rooster that crowed with a vein popping effort. I leaned back, digging my Zippo out, setting fire to a Pall Mall, coffee got cold, I stood up to wander off for more coffee. A supersonic wasp zipped over my head and slammed into the side of the shed. The part of my brain that was awake said "Huh, what"? shortly afterwards the lagging sound generated by rapidly expanding gases arrived, followed closely by the second wasp that plowed into the ground in front of my old pick-up. I was already flat and headed for cover when the third round went through and through the Chevy's hood, stopping for a charge in the battery. Projectile number four smacked high into the shed again, I'm thinking that the mother####er hasn't even gotten the range yet, so I start to get ready to lunge for the woodpile. Three feet of snake travel, the next round disspelled all ideas that I was being shot it by a clown, waspy number five cleared my back by a few inches and plowed into the tractor wheel, showering my neck and shoulders with hot little particles. That pissed me off, my normal response to fear or pain is anger, seeing that both were present, I was white hot. Being who I was at the time, I stood up and yelled "That was five you son of a #####" I walked to my truck fumbled under the seat for a heavy revolver, completely forgeting about an H&K 91 behind the seat. Round number six zipped through the cab, glancing off the steering wheel and continued to the shed. Ah, I saw him move 200+ yards away, so I popped up and preceded to launch a series of 240 grainers at him, emptying the cylinder. Must have come close as not another shot was fired. I spent the next hour having my wife pick pieces of copper and lead outta my thin hide, she didn't say a word, but I think I got more damage from her repairs. I got the last bit removed about a year ago, they kept it, what a rip. This kinda crap went on for years, my Bro built up quite a fan club, some were willing enough to try and shoot him. I avoided that area for quite some time, you would think that it might have cooled by now, not so much. Humboldt County, last of the Wild West.



Well Randy, if you'd have pulled that HK91 the SOB would still be in a shallow grave up there. Looking forward to this weekend for sure. You can bet I'll be armed though. Gotta be, if I'm planning to be seen with Humboldt Red's twin bro...


----------



## GASoline71

Pard', that is pure gold my friend... 

Gary


----------



## bitzer

Nuts, just fricken nuts. Keep it coming.


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## RandyMac

Hah ha
Not everything in life is chainsaws and timber, there was plenty of other things going on. I ran everything right to the ragged edge, including myself. I will be adding in such bytes to the whole mess, kinda like walnuts and chocolate chips in oatmeal cookies. I have fishin', huntin', motorcycles, beater pick-ups and all kinds of general nonsense, might leave out some of the parts havin' to do with the wives of others. 

I got knocked in the head once and promptly forgot about it, then I found a blood trail, I followed it to where it started, but it was an endless circle, it went everywhere I did, very puzzling.


----------



## Teddy.Scout

Randy you ol'geezer!
Great stuff!
Lil late but I had to finish my beer!
Ya, ya, I am a puke kid! But I made it!!!!

P.S. last year I sold my 2006 truck(1/2 4X4 WITH AC) to just turn around and buy a 1982 3/4 4X4 dually.
Haven't looked back and the wife still rides right next to me!!!!!


----------



## RandyMac

Thirty years is a long time.












I felled this Redwood in the State Park, near the forks of the Eel. A lightning bolt started a fire, the tree had taken the hit and had a hot spot about 200 feet up. I just happened to be driving by, stopped to offer my services, spent 30 minutes with a 10-10, collected a $200.00 voucher, continued on with my day.


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## flushcut

Sweet!


----------



## RandyMac

*A day like any other.*

I rolled over and squinted at the window, daylight was coming, time to start moving. I sat up and found that I had passed out with my boots on, again. Oh well, I levered them off, peeled nasty socks away from sweaty feet, whew, everything else landed in the same semi-rancid pile. Free at last, I headed to the shower, a good long swing through the barracks. I cranked on two or three shower heads, CDF wasn't cheap when it come to hot water and I needed a lot of it. A fast face scrape, an inspection of the stitches in my right leg and another naked trip through the barracks. My guys were still sleeping, good for them, for all the drinking, rowdy stuff, my end of the barracks was always (almost) quiet at night. I enforced discipline with a steel hand in a mail glove, woe to them who woke me up. I set out in beater tennies, cut-offs and a unbuttoned red flannell shirt to take a run up and around the hill. I wander outside, yes, another glorious day in Humboldt County, sun was showing over the ridge, fog laid low over the Eel, the air was scented with, ah, burnt frigging toast and greasy ass spuds. Well, nothing is perfect. The trail wasn't all that bad for the first third, then it steepened pretty fast, I was warmed up and tearing along, trying to ignore the tickle of blood flow from over stressed stitches, I truely hate the little pulling that stitches do. I round the top of the hill and see what was waiting for me by the oak grove, yep, it was Bendover Betty, part of the daily excerise program. I'll leave off with this, for now. Back to the Camp, more hot water, dry boots, proper uniform, then a quick pass to get the crew moving. Off to the mess-hall for whatever horror the Walrus slopped together. I think the cook was a retired Cossack torturer as he believed everything had to be boiled in lard. Today was no exception, but the Walrus put together killer lunches. Rick, my bus swamper was standing outside chainsmoking Lucky Strikes, I gave the poor lad a list of stuff to get from that evil person at the warehouse, he glanced at it, shrugged and walked toward a few minutes of verbal abuse. I drew a set of keys, posted a crew roster, managed to avoid the Ranger, but not his station Captain. We went through the routine, he had his eye on me, thought I was trouble, reminded me of past transgressions and his small hope that I would fly right. I did my thing, a crisp salute, a smart "yes sir" and walked off while he was still talking. I found my bus, a 1964 GMC 30 passenger coach converted to 21 seats and tool storage and fired it up. The crew was showing up, looking like they just got outta bed, I picked the three worse looking ones and sent them to the warehouse to help Rick deal with my brother who ran the sawshop. Crew 1 was being dressed down for returning dirty saws, not a pretty sight, shovels were thrown. Fifty yards away, I could hear the whole thing, blasphemy was his specialty. About the time we were loaded up, the foreman made his appearence, Mike had this easy going look to him, like he had seen everything and expected to see it all again. He sat in the seat behind me, lit up his pipe, that was the signal to commence. I eased the old tub out of the compound, I didn't dare spill his coffee. I cranked hard onto the Ave headed for the road to Bull Creek, Mike set his cup down, ah, it was on. We howled to the Forks of the Eel, whipped under 101 and I began the flail through the Rockefeller Forest, a narrow winding road lined with monster trees. It was a personal contest with myself, just how hard could I push it, without having puke on the deck or losing a mirror to a Redwood. I always had to push the limits, didn't matter what I was doing, if it would go this far, maybe it would go a little further. Believe me when I tell you, I did indeed expirience negative results from pushing to hard. We arrive at the gate to the Bull Creek drainage, Rick jumped out to unlock it and just as fast, jumped back in, he never got over being left behind. Panther Creek was the work site, a big log and debris jam leftover from the Dec '64 flood. We were clearing such things because the Park system feared, rightfully so, a repeat of the disaster caused by debris dams. A great deal of the debris came from the Bull Creek drainage, a large fan shaped area, just upstream from the famous Rockefeller Redwood Forest. Bull Creek had world class timber, in an area that was reknowned for big timber. It was heavily logged in the 50s, mechanized logging at it's destructive best. Would have been something to see, high production logging, very little enviromental regard, the get in there and tear out the timber mind set. Anyway, the flood picked up a huge amount of big logs, stumps, ect, which got stuck at a narrow point, that burst, sending all that crap, three miles downstream. When it got to the Redwood forest, in the park, it got stuck again, several times, and cut the creek banks, undermining the old growth, toppling them into the creek. By the time the whole thing got through 6 miles of old growth forest, it had claimed many big trees. Most of which were washed into the South Fork of the Eel River, and Highway 101 got a lot of new bridges. 

more later, fingers tired


----------



## stihl sawing

More good morning reading, Thanks for the notification. Gonna make the day better. Can't wait for the rest of it later. You da man, with or without a tire iron.lol


----------



## mdavlee

Nice, I can't wait for the ending to this one.


----------



## RandyMac

mdavlee said:


> Nice, I can't wait for the ending to this one.



You and me both. 
That was a rough draft, 20 minutes worth, a begining of something that could fill many pages. I have quite a few of these, well, close to 30 such snips of history, some are closer to finished than others. This thread has been very valuble to me, the reader's input is more important than you might think. Also when I read my crap, it causes a flood of memories, I have been taking notes or I will forget them, until the next trigger comes along. I have found that the head meds foul things up, I flushed the xanax, some things are supposed to create anxiety. The one thing I would change is the perceived need to chainsmoke while typing, my keyboard is full of ashes. 

Bitzer, I recognize the release of demons that putting thoughts in print does. It does not however always banish them, at times the room is just crowded with the mother####ers.

Bro Hammer, I see you.

SS, did those pom-poms come with an oufit? Thank my friend, your constant and consistant support is, well.........

And the rest of the lot, I am keeping a list.


.......the pain was exquisite, my body's way of telling me that I had actually survived the impact. The simple act of breathing caused the broken ends to grate against eachother, making bright swirls behind my eyes and an odd roaring in my ears. I struggled to even my breathing, each intake had a catch in it, bringing on an electric surge that was very close to all consuming. I knew I had to get up, had to move before the seeping weakness took hold. There was only one resource left to me, anger, the way out was to go mad with it.........


----------



## 056 kid

Great writing. you are definitely good at it old timer 

Keep it


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## bitzer

They will never leave. Just enough to quell the riot. Keep them moving so you can fight the ###kers. Whiskey drowns them for a while. The next day they return with lurid force. Once they are in they will never leave. What would it be to have a normal life though? Without the demons. I don't know what life would be like without all of those destructive memories blurred into one spector cinematography and I don't know that I would want them gone. They can keep you company on a rainy day. 

I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas. That bull####. Life of the weird and pushing the edge. The real fun you can't tell anyone except for those who were there. Well, you can, but they will look at you cross-eyed and confused. Sometimes the ones who were there don't believe you either. I recall a poker game at a friends house one night that got ugly. kitchen knife chipped the glass table inches from my hand. Thrown from across the table. Apparently he didn't think it was funny talking about his mom that way. ha. ha.


----------



## Driver625

Randy, excellent writing. I always look forward to reading you stories. Please keep them coming.


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## Stihl Hyde

I seem to have stumbled onto this a little late, great writing and great stories Randy. Add another name to the preorder list.


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## joesawer

Lol Do I see a book signing tour?

Keep it up for our sake if not yours Lol

When or if you make it to the south you gotta find some one to share the southern style of storing corn in a productive and profitable manner :biggrinbounce2:


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## drill.daddy

Well my freind I dont have the knowledge to store corn in its liquid form , but i do happen to know a few who do possess the wizardry of mutating it from its solid state to a much better fate. Well it at least beets the hell out of it being drivien in to high fructose corn suryp or the all beloved e 85 ethanol . Altho i would almost bet some of it i drank could be ran in an internal combustion engine of sorts,


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## RandyMac

You guys really have me thinking of white lightning, best use of corn, ever, except for feeding hogs.


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## stihl sawing

RandyMac said:


> You guys really have me thinking of white lightning, best use of corn, ever, except for feeding hogs.


A guy brought some corn squeezins to deer camp last year, I tell ya it was some strong stuff. Thought it was gonna pull my guts through my mouth after it got to burning. I'm glad they drank all of it that night. That stuff even looked evil.lol


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## joesawer

Ohhh now the art of preserving corn is at least as complicated as cutting a tree. Any dummy can do it but they might not live through it lol. Properly done it is a beautiful thing.


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## RandyMac

I was sitting in late afternoon November sun, dragging a file though 404 chain, looking at fresh snow only a few miles away. We were cleaning up the mess we made on the slopes above Calpine, CA, we had a maybe two days work left. Which was good, I was getting tired of the cold. The cabin I was living in was at 6200 feet, after the first of November, it had snowed lightly three times, nothing major, a reminder to hit it harder. I figured that I had malingered long enough, there was only a couple hours of light left and I guessed that running another tank through the Super would leave enough time to get back before dark. So I gnawed away at Cedar tops, Sugar Pine limbs and busted up Pissfirs.
We knocked off and headed to the store at Sattley for the usual beer break. I almost accepted an offer of dinner from Jeff, he had a nice older home in Loyalton, but he had kids, lots of them, hard on my nerves they were. I drove up and over Yuba Pass, got to the cabin just as it got dark. I was whipped, so I just tossed a tarp over the saws and stuff. Sometime during the night, it snowed and not just a little, there must have been 8 inches and no sign of letting up. Crap! I jumped into the truck, headed off for Sierra City to call Jeff. Jeff says no more work, the storm was going to last for a few days and that was it for us. While I expressed regret, I was relieved, the cold was doing me bad, creeping into the plate in my leg, making me me limp around. Jeff told me to sit it out and drop by after the road was cleared.
I hung out at the Pissfir station, drank their weak, tepid coffee, went through the timber bids looking for next year's prospects. The old forester was telling stories of the old days, how in the spring they would horseback into the mining claims to pull out the frozen miners. The old guy could talk, I think he missed his calling, should have been a sports writter. Everytime I pulled a bid out, he would either shake his head slightly or wink, I soon had a short pile of wink approved bids. Gill brought me another cup of coffee, it wasn't coffee, although it was the same color and temperature, it was of a different temperment. It took two more cups to finish the applications and write checks to cover the bids. Gill leafed through my pile, put half of them in a blue folder, the rest went into a red one, they all went into a drawer, business concluded.
I get outside to find six inches of fresh frozen #### on the truck, with over a foot on the ground, ####. I had enough, time to pack up and go home. Home at the time was Reno, just over an hour's drive. Hwy 89 to Truckee is not a choice, I headed across the great Sierra Valley to catch 395 at Hallelujah Junction. The valley is a caldera, worn and deceptive, but underneath, still hot, columns of steam fought the falling snow. The snow was thick and steady, not a big deal yet, it hadn't had time to freeze and make ruts, traffic was nonexsistant.
I get home, I knew I was in trouble before Lora opened her mouth, I think it was warmer outside. Jeeze, you get caught once and you will never out live it. ####, 45 minutes later I was back in the truck on the way back to Yuba. 
The snow was close to bumper height, I rescued my gear, debated whether to move the truck down the hill, nah it could wait. Right. The cabin was cold, I felt like a stoker on a steamship feeding that cheapass Red Fir into the fireplace and the stove. About the time I could take my coat off, old Carl from up the hill came stomping in to save my frozen ass like a St Bernard. The old guy was an able conspirator and Gill's drinking buddy, between the two of them, they could have ginned up a bid for Giganteums. After a stiff belt, Carl says his wife got a call from Lora's mother, he expressed his regrets and added that if he was 20 years younger, he would have done the same thing. About dark Carl took off, leaving the bottle, I had it for dinner. As a matter of fact, for the next few days, I had many twist off meals, until I ran out. ####! 
I hadn't been outside in days, the windows were shuttered, when I opened the door, the ####ing snow was hip deep. ####! My truck was an irregular mound among other hills of snow, I just stood and stared, it was still snowing. I grabbed a shovel and a broom, after I cleared to cab off, I realized the futility of clearing a path, however, I was past caring. I fired the Chevy up, I tried to remember if the hubs were locked, a trial run at backing up showed they were. With a moments consideration, I selected third gear, locked the four barrel open, popped the clutch, the world dissappeared in a cloud of white. Nope, it wasn't vaporized clutch lining, the truck lurched forward with suprising speed, cutting through the drifts like a PT boat. I didn't dare let up, I drove by memory and nearly missed the turn, but not the big Cedar at the turn, it worked out, by clipping the tree the truck hopped and skipped around the turn. Hwy 49 was in sight, sort of, the county plow had been through, made a mess, with the tach reading 2800 I hit the small mountain left at the bottom, very hard. There were some crunchy noises, nothing quit working, so I kept the throttle pinned to the floor and made it to the paved road. I didn't stop to assess, my blood was up, it could wait.

As you will for more


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## Gologit

Good story. I think the coldest I've ever been in my life was cutting timber above Sattley. We were staying in Sloat, driving back and forth each day and finally hung it up when they started enforcing the Road Closed signs.

Ever make it down to Downieville?


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## RandyMac

I know Downieville, been to Clio?


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## Gologit

Yup. Also Peanut, Hayfork, Igo and Ono. Hey, loggers get to see all the glamor spots.


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## RandyMac

ha ha
Then there were the hot spots, Quincy, Portola, Chester, Weed.........Grass Valley


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## Gologit

Grass Valley has kinda turned into a Yuppie/Commuter town. I knew we were in trouble when the places you could get a latte outnumbered the places you could get a glass of whiskey.

Might be time to move a little farther up the hill.


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## RandyMac

Like Nevada City? Downieville was getting quaintifed in the late '80s, be a bit of a commute. I think I'm going to retire to Southern Humboldt, Weott would be good, maybe above Rio Dell on the Bear River Ridge Road or is that Monument Rd? Malfunction Junction, I haven't thought about that in years. I want to be back from the coast, with a little elevation.


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## slowp

There's always Happy Camp and Orleans with the mediterranean climate. 
I hear the pot farmers turned organic farmers are now grape growers in the Orleans area so maybe it has been discovered? 

Continue with your snow story please. Did you survive? opcorn:


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## RandyMac

slowp said:


> There's always Happy Camp and Orleans with the mediterranean climate.
> I hear the pot farmers turned organic farmers are now grape growers in the Orleans area so maybe it has been discovered?
> 
> Continue with your snow story please. Did you survive? opcorn:




That is beautiful country, up any of the big creeks around Happy Camp, however I lived there, high body count. I have to wear a Nixon mask just to drive through 96. Perversly, I'm completely safe in Hupa and Willow Creek, I spent a year living at the Salyer Station.


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## slowp

RandyMac said:


> That is beautiful country, up any of the big creeks around Happy Camp, however I lived there, high body count. I have to wear a Nixon mask just to drive through 96. Perversly, I'm completely safe in Hupa and Willow Creek, I spent a year living at the Salyer Station.



I lived at Somes Bar for four years. I got tired of being bad so purchased a tape of bagpipe playing for the drive through Hoopa. I was bad. I did catch a salmon at Weitchepec and everyone was friendly about it. 

It was an interesting place to live. I call it _The Third World of Collyfonia._ There were frequent power outages, landslides, fires, floods--one had to lay in an ample supply of nescessities for the winter. On the highway, one had to be on the lookout for rocks, especially in The Bowling Alley, pigs on the road by Weitchepec, and sometimes bodies in the road. I was told to never stop for the latter. 

Orleans had the porches on all the buildings either fenced off, or torn off. The neatest building there burned down and that was the old Orleans Hotel.
It was getting gentrified. The Ishy Pishy Club was turned into an office supply and underground espresso place. There were no bars left in Orleans and no porches to sit on and sip. 

The Somes Bar grocery owner kept a gun handy and would shoot at gas thieves. He stopped thievery out of his pop machine by installing strategically placed razor blades. He made money on food stamps. During a protest of salvaging the ancient old growth recently killed snags, the Happy Camp merchants would not let the hippies into their stores. They came to Somes Bar for groceries. They used food stamps. 

Happy Camp looked desirable when one lived in Somes Bar.


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## RandyMac

I lived at the Indian Creek Guard Station in the off season, it was pretty nice there. The old CCC did their rock wall magic there. I also lived up Elk Creek, very nice up there, one of the best trout streams in the area, had to use the finest of tackle, the water was very clear, the trout were wary. We are talking tiny hooks, very light line. In the Fall I used to count fish by sitting on the bottom holding on to a rock, the fish would just swim right by, you put a shadow on the water, you wouldn't see a one.
Some of the biggest, nastiest snags I felled were in the Klamaths. My "Klamath" book shows a 134" Red Cedar, felled with an XL12, there was maybe 24 inches of solid wood around the edge. I did a fair amount of work from the inside. I also felled a 102" Sugar Pine snag, I gnawed on that thing for an hour with a 30" XL925.


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## Mike Williams

Wow Randy. I feel like a kid sitting around a campfire with his jaw hanging wide eyed when I read your posts.

You have a gift my friend.


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## Eccentric

Mike Williams said:


> Wow Randy. I feel like a kid sitting around a campfire with his jaw hanging wide eyed when I read your posts.
> 
> You have a gift my friend.



It's even better in person. I count myself lucky to have sat at a campfire, listening to Randy's tales of past adventures, barfights, gunfights, and such....


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## RandyMac

Got to check on statue of limitions.


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## RandyMac

slowp said:


> Continue with your snow story please. Did you survive? opcorn:



Just for you sweet P.

Maybe tomorrow.

BTW I died a horrible death.


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## GASoline71

But then they rebuilt you with old McCulloch parts and a couple of Homelite nuts and bolts to keep you "honest"...

Gary


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## Mike Williams

Eccentric said:


> It's even better in person. I count myself lucky to have sat at a campfire, listening to Randy's tales of past adventures, barfights, gunfights, and such....



I bet it is. I will definitely be buying his book if he publishes.


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## RandyMac

Let's see, where the hell was I? Dammit only have 5 Pall Malls left.

After crashing through the Great Wall of Plowed Snow, I managed to crank the truck onto Hwy 49 and headed downhill to Bassetts Station. I got about a mile when the temp gauge started to swing to the red, I had another couple miles left so I slowed down, it didn't help, by the time I parked at the store, the needle was pushing the peg. I took a look at the front of the Chevy, the grill had been pushed in, it stayed out of the radiator because snow had packed in front of it. The bumper had bent down, pushing the ends up, giving the truck an evil grin, the extra lights were gone, marked only by loose wires, one running light lived on. I stared at it for a few minutes, then remembered why I was there, thankfully the store was open. The old guy running the store was on the porch, he took one look at me and the Chevy, give me a line that was supposed to pass for wit, along the lines of who looked worse. I didn't give that much thought until I caught a glimse of myself in a Coors mirror, eh, three day old roadkill looked better. Topping that was the fact that it wasn't Wednesday, it was Friday afternoon. I filled a basket with something that seemed like food, his last five bottles of Beam, two cases of beer and as an afterthought, two gallons of cheap red wine. With one eyebrow higher than the other, the old feller rang it up, got overly cheerfull with the chitchat, he was one "boy howdy" away from a grisly death. I loaded up, popped the hood, it looked ok, the grill got tossed in the back, I dug what snow hadn't melted off the radiator and let it the engine idle, it stayed cool. I cruised into Sierra City to check the mail, there was a big, fat envelope with a return address from a lawyer, I scrawled "return to sender, deceased" put a wet boot print on it, tossed in in the slot. I sat in the truck for awhile, chainsmoking, trying to have a thought, didn't happen. 
Back up the hill we went, when I turned off 49, the plow mountain was reduced, someone had done a rough plowing of the road. Gill's Dodge was parked at the crossroads, he and Carl were bs'ing, I waved on the way by, I was hoping to avoid anymore old guy chitchat, no such luck. The Federal puke green panzerwagon followed me, then the old bastards had the brass to laugh at me. Ferchristsake, they laughed even harder when I invited them in for a drink. For an hour, I was regaled with their stories of indescretions, week long drunks and the appearent capacity for men to really screw up. Did they tell me to ease up, lay off the alcohol? No, they advised me to finish it off. I did my best. I did get a daily visit from one or the other, just to make sure I didn't fall off the porch and end up face down in the snow. I did have an unexpected visitor, my soon to be Xed brother-in-law showed up. He was ok, after chewing me out, then telling me that I might have been forgiven, if it hadn't been her cousin, (what is it with redheads?) we tied one on. There we were at midnight, shooting empties off the porch rails with a heavy revolver.
I kept at it for 11 days, I think. It was just done, I woke up clear as Tahoe used to be, cleaned up the cabin, packed my ####, headed West.


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## stihl sawing

Especially liked the part where you put deceased on the envelope and a wet boot print and sent back to lawyer.lmao. Awesome job as usual. Thanks for the pm. You are da man.


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## Greystoke

Been a while since I took the time to be on this thread Pard. I have been missing out! Awesome stories. I would love to sit on the porch and drink whiskey with ya, and just listen. Keep it up


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## RandyMac

I was savin' it for you Cody 

We are going to have to stick a pin in a map, set fire to something and carry on until the earth looks flat.


----------



## Greystoke

RandyMac said:


> I was savin' it for you Cody
> 
> We are going to have to stick a pin in a map, set fire to something and carry on until the earth looks flat.



Sounds like a plan


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## mdavlee

I'm glad you go that one out.  We'll all be waiting on another one.


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## RandyMac

....it was a miscalculation, one of many, too far away, couldn't do the job, too close, well we got that first hand. We had dodged in for a closer look, the roiled air, visible with the smoke, looked angry and confused, the center of the column seemed solid, we moved North and the bottom fell out. The 212 reacted badly, engines screaming, alarms screaming, crewmen screaming. It slewed to the left, settling into a list while dropping rapidly. Then came the updraft, it hit like an earthquake, the 'copter shuddered, a glance through the upper windows showed the rotors to be bent upwards some. Another kick sideways, the frame flexed, rivets popped from the deck and bulkheads.......


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## ChrisF

Yes!

Man, you got any idea how much of a tease you are when you give us a single paragraph that hits as hard as that one did? 

Thanks, man.


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## RandyMac

...it is true, that a blow to the head causes you to see stars...


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## schmuck.k

i want more randy that one paragraph is great but i am left hanging


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## RandyMac




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## bitzer

Great finish to crashing the bank Randy. You're a member of a vanishing breed.


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## schmuck.k

haha verry funny randy


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## Greystoke

Montany justice! Left hangin...LOL


----------



## ThePruner

I love those old photos!


----------



## RandyMac

*The Alton Tavern*

....MacKnothead says to me "I can't deal with this and you too" I made some comment about the Campbell blood in his family, calculated to rile Kev up, but he didn't go for it, this time. He kept at it, I knew he was seething inside, not really wanting to go there, I bought Kev another beer thinking he might ease up. For all the good it did, I should have brought up his sister, instead I reminded him that anyone who would set chokers in a stream, wearing nothing but gloves, boots and a hardhat, would certainly be capable of finishing our little project. Kev wasn't having any of it, he took a set and wasn't about to be moved. I pushed a little too hard, he took the beer out of my hand and popped me a good one below the left eye. Before I could see straight, I blundered on, saying "Mort Ghlinne Comhann" that earned me another one in the same spot. Not one to give up, I poured beer on his muddy boots and asked if I should call DiDi to come and pick him up. I saw this one coming, I prodded his sorry ass well and beyond what he would take from me. I ducked, stuck my right shoulder in his guts, lifted 225 pounds of raging Scotsman off the floor, took three big steps and unloaded him. I was figuring on Kev crashing to the floor, well, evidently we were closer to the wall and through the window he went. Kev landed on his back at the feet of shorts wearing pilgrims from Pennsilvania, who gawked then clambered back into a giant Buick. Kev climbed back in through the now empty hole, the fire in his eyes wasn't out yet.......


----------



## slowp

RandyMac said:


> ....it was a miscalculation, one of many, too far away, couldn't do the job, too close, well we got that first hand. We had dodged in for a closer look, the roiled air, visible with the smoke, looked angry and confused, the center of the column seemed solid, we moved North and the bottom fell out. The 212 reacted badly, engines screaming, alarms screaming, crewmen screaming. It slewed to the left, settling into a list while dropping rapidly. Then came the updraft, it hit like an earthquake, the 'copter shuddered, a glance through the upper windows showed the rotors to be bent upwards some. Another kick sideways, the frame flexed, rivets popped from the deck and bulkheads.......



The crew foreman looks at me, and says

"Just think. We're flying low bid."

At least that's what ruined helicopter rides for me.


----------



## stihl sawing




----------



## 056 kid

You old timers had way to much damn fun. 


Lucky ####s. . . .


----------



## RandyMac

Oh my lad, the old days. To have fun, you had to be tough.
In some places, before you went into town, you tucked a revolver in your belt, you never knew when you might run across a relative.
LMAO!!! 
We may have left the old country, but the old ways didn't leave us. I had more split knuckle fights, traded more rounds with my cousins than everyone else put together. Between the MacKnotheads and the McLains, there was little time to fight with anyone else. the McLain bunch fought just to fight, MacNaughtons fought to regain what they believe they lost, what they think I took from them. Well, there is a story for another day, the great raid on Colin's Fortress, the mystery of the Holy Regalia, decryption of the Tomes, desecration of a Tomb. 
Kinda funny, over 300 years of family politics and hostilities, continued in a tawdry tavern at a crossroads.


----------



## joesawer

056 kid said:


> You old timers had way to much damn fun.
> 
> 
> Lucky ####s. . . .





Lol just a few short years ago we played harder than people fight now. It was a different world. 
People laughed hard, worked hard and played hard and sometimes they died young.
I am not sure I like this new kinder softer world. In fact I am sure I don't I am already a dinosaur a year before I turn forty.


----------



## bitzer

Great writing Randy. I don't think there are many places left in this country where that kind of fun can be had anymore. Some one has always got to get involved. 

My cousin and I talk all the time about what it was like before cell phones and when you could get away with stuff. Now everyone knows where you are all the time. My dad and his would tell stories about how they would leave to go ice fishing and come back days later and the wife still stayed around. Barely batted an eye. Jesus, my first couple of years in deer camp in northern wi our entire camp was banned from every bar in the nearest town. Good thing there is a quck turn over of ownership up there. 

My little brothers are just high school age now and I think back to what I was doing and had already done by that age. Those boys are still wet behind the ears coming from the ice cream social after sunday school. Its a sad direction we're headed.


----------



## madhatte

joesawer said:


> Lol just a few short years ago we played harder than people fight now. It was a different world.
> People laughed hard, worked hard and played hard and sometimes they died young.
> I am not sure I like this new kinder softer world. In fact I am sure I don't I am already a dinosaur a year before I turn forty.



37 here, and agreed. Can you imagine kids of today playing "BB gun war"?


----------



## stihl sawing

madhatte said:


> 37 here, and agreed. Can you imagine kids of today playing "BB gun war"?


Yup, The ones that had the pump up guns, You avoided big time.lol Those things were powerfull.


----------



## madhatte

stihl sawing said:


> Yup, The ones that had the pump up guns, You avoided big time.lol Those things were powerfull.




We had the "three pump rule", which nobody was too religious about following, and which resulted in frequent scraps over welts that seemed too big for 3 pumps. I think I've already said too much.


----------



## Eccentric

madhatte said:


> 37 here, and agreed. Can you imagine kids of today playing "BB gun war"?





madhatte said:


> We had the "three pump rule", which nobody was too religious about following, and which resulted in frequent scraps over welts that seemed too big for 3 pumps. I think I've already said too much.



Same here. BTDT. 37 as well. Most of my friends are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s. The young bucks at work are a different breed. Their eyes glaze over when I talk about 'the old days' that were only 10-20 years ago...


----------



## RandyMac

Oh yeah, the good old days. Every generation has had them, and every succeeding generation has had the scope of the fun stuff narrowed. It's like the aggression is being bred out of us. Aggression is a natural human attribute, without it, we would still be living in smelly, vermin infested caves. Aggression is what drives mankind, it causes us to push against limits, whether they be natural or within ourselves. As things seem to be going, de-evolution is rampant, aggression/action is being looked upon as un-necessary, bad for society and OMG!! we are going to kill the planet. Crap.
I picture humans turning into pallid Firgrub like creatures, with no challenges in life.

Jack London is said to have written this

*I would rather be ashes than dust! 
I would rather that my spark should burn out 
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. 
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom 
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. 
The function of man is to live, not to exist. 
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. 
I shall use my time. *

I have used up a good sized portion of my three score and ten, that is what is measured by the clock anyways, in some ways, I have exceded service limits and in some important ways, I have just begun.


----------



## drill.daddy

I will agree with you on this to an extent Randy . Evolution being what it may is not breeding aggresion out of us . We as people , as human being set standards, for ourselves and our children .We teach ourselves and our kids the values and beliefs to make them truely what they are. I believe whole heartedly that technology , while beneficial in its own manner, is bleeding us dry. Ive met people in recent years that cant even hold a vebal discussion without loosing track of the conversation , but text message them and they will blow your phone up with conversation . Agression comes thru tru interaction as people. There are very few people with the gift of being able to convey true raw emotion in text form . Most of which who can ,are getting payed to write for a living . I am just as guilty as the next for uses of technological advancements to make my life EASIER. I will go on further to say that drive and dertermination are falling by the wayside with younger people now days . Spoiled as defined by sir webster is what i would rather emphatically say describes US today . There are far to may morals and values not being taught any more . Aggresion in the right way is not being taught, disrespectfull agression however is coming natural to kids now days . Im not saying my big arse hasnt met its fair share of adversaries amongst a group largely composed of those who partake in a liquid form of corn products. Even with that being said , I quit going to the bars with my freinds for two main reasons, 
1. Few people know how to take ass kicking now days , they are quick to pull a gun or a knife. The last fight i was in i got cut , stabbed . Didnt even go get stitched up , only because he missed his mark . 
2. there is always some lil bastard in the bar looking to make his name by jumping on the biggest SOB in the bar. At 6 foot 3 , 320 pounds , im often the candidate these vertically challenged ones which seem to be alot less affected by gravity. I mean these lil turds aint got enough butt to make a set of corks dig in . Then when they realize the ass woopin they were politicin for just got em elected , once the election process ensues and the lil politician realizes he cant squirm away , his all to often band of corn swiggin derilicts decide they need to form up a bailout plan for the wee electee. 

Bless the little people they have so much to prove


----------



## RandyMac

Wes, I think you cut yourself short (ha ha) on your writting skills.

There isn't a day that goes by, that I don't thank Him for the times in which I have lived. As things are going, I feel more like a relic, a reminder of what was, an echo of a bell long since rung. 

I was born in 1955, in Scotia, California, two blocks away from the greatest Redwood mill ever built. We had a giant Redwood stump in our backyard, the town had wooden sidewalks, and an alarm clock that echoed for miles.
My Sis, twin Bro, dog, cat and me.







My Father was a journeryman sawfiler, my Grandfather was the Production Superintendent (cast iron bastard at work, just Grampa at home), about half of my family worked at one mill or the other. Being a millbrat in Scotia was fun, we had almost free run of the place, my Bro and I played baseball in the Filing room with my Dad's Boss, got our butts tanned for walking on logs in the pond, spent many hours with old man Sellers in the hydraulic debarker operator's booth, driving him nuts. We leaned on catwalk rails watching all that goes on in a big mill, the headrig was one of our favorites. We were given matching little hardhats to wear, we were just adorable. We also followed Grampa around, by age 4, while we knew exactly where not to go, the pond was irresistable. A demonstration on why you don't walk on floating logs, did make an impression. 
We grew up thinking all this was normal, was going to last forever. As is with all things, the mill, the town, the way of life is all but gone now. Nothing but faded photos, fading memories are left.


----------



## slowp

You forgot the dog.


----------



## RandyMac

Petey?


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## Greystoke

That's awesome that you grew up in Scotia in that era. I spent four years just across the river in Rio Hell. Kinda sad to hear the way things were compared to how they are now.


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## belgian

RandyMac said:


> I was born in 1955



Dang Randy, you are still a young lad after all....


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## RandyMac

tarzanstree said:


> That's awesome that you grew up in Scotia in that era. I spent four years just across the river in Rio Hell. Kinda sad to hear the way things were compared to how they are now.



Real Dull? I'm sorry Cody. Were you atleast up Monument Rd?


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## cpr

This is the most facinating thread in all of AS. I like, on occasion, to think of myself as a writer. What I have done has sufficiently impressed editors of various tractor pulling magazines to get published.

But I am a piker compared to you, Randy. I, too find that most of my friends are older than I am (32). I love their stories, lack of BS, and strength of conviction.

Sign me up for the pre-order list, hell I'd like an advance copy...

And that's not the 16 year old A. H. Hirsch talking.


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## joesawer

It is amazing the things a young person can learn about trajectory, ricochet angles and tactical maneuvers in BB gun fights. 
Obviously Hollywood producers did not ever have BB gun fights. 
Or even rock fights. Dang the busted lips an scalps would bleed, but we survived.
I am so glad I am not a school child today. They are not allowed to defend themselves but those who prosecute them for defending themselves lack the will or even the desire to defend them.


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## RandyMac

*Damage*

I was up at 5:30 and not happy about it, it snowed again during the night, another 3-4 inches of wet snow, by dawn, it would start raining, again. This crap had been going on for almost two weeks, very unusual for the area, there should have been elbow deep snow by now. I almost gave in to the thought of going back to bed. Instead I trudged out the fire up the old truck and back in for more coffee. Daylight found me waiting at the mill for the rest of the crew, there wasn't many of us. Four drivers including me, one loaderman and a fat old guy for a landingman. This was a mobile operation, we were doing a last chance before spring log hauling. The weather had done bad things to the roads, the USFS was threatening to cut the roads before they were beyond repair. The push was on. It was a motley bunch, men and trucks, only two of the trucks were log trucks, the others were converted hay haulers. I drew one of those, a cabover Peterbuilt with a flatbed, log chocks lashed on by cable. Off we went, our own little parade, we all went in and left the landings at the same, a tracked loader was our shepard. I said bad things, we were going in the same road as yesterday, we had beat the crap outta the road and it wasn't all that good to start with. We all made it to the landing, big improvement over the day before, where one truckdriver pussed out, he didn't have the whereforall to drive with wheels in the ditch. I was third in line, the loaderman had to lift the back of the trailer, to scoot it over, there was no room to turn around and it couldn't be loaded up like a proper log truck. I got three 36" 40s down, two more in the middle and a 5'X32 Sugar Pine butt on top. I put four binders on and got in line to wait on truck number 4. We left at 5 minute intravels, each driver giving the ones behind him a running patter about how the road was handling the traffic. Well, it wasn't doing so very good, small streams were crossing in places, the cutbanks were slumping into the ditches, the formally hard packed gravel surface had dissappeared under squishy red mud. Truck number 2 had a clown in it, he remarked that he had all his wheels on the road, for a whole minute. What a liar. He had run the ditch and crawled the bank some, the road was going away. When I got to that spot, I tried to follow his tracks, with some success, until I got to the tight left turn, this is where the hay hauler had problems, the dratted flatbed was too long, didn't bend around corners very well and had a high center of gravity. I hugged the bank, kept the revs up, the road gearing kinda sucked. About halfway through I heard that buckling sound, then the twang of snapping binders, the mirrors showed the rears on the outside sinking, fast. The road had given way. I did the only thing I could, I straightened the front wheels and floored it, came close to pulling it off. ####### highway rig, humped, jumped and spun, lost headway, the road was winning. More unpleasent noise from the trailer, it didn't much care for being pulled in two directions, with a twist. It only took one glance in the mirrors to make up my mind, time to get the #### out of that truck. I yanked the handthrottle open, grabbed the door handle and got about half of my skinny ass out the door. About then, the road won, it took the back half of the trailer with a lurch, that shut the door on me, the armrest hit me in the hip. Yeah, it hurt. I was beyond worrying about a little pain, the truck was going backwards. I got the door open again and jumped, landing in a ditch full of ice cold slimey ass mud. The last real impression of of the truck were the logs going over the bank and a big cloud of dust. Yeah, dust, two weeks of rain and there was dust, that sight gave me such wonder I had forgotten there was another truck coming down the hill. well, my ears still worked, I heard him coming, crap, time to get up, out of the ditch and do it fast. I didn't know something was wrong until I tried to run, left leg suddenly became useless, I pitched onto my face, couldn't turn over. Things were fuzzy around the edges. The driver in truck 4 was a big guy, a Morman with 50 kids, he was on it, stopped well short, clued in by flying logs, clouds of red dust. I can't remember his name, but I remember what he said "You pray to your God, I'll pray to mine, we will get you home" The next few days was a narcotic blur, I completely missed the drills, saws, screws, metal plates, pins, a yard of stitches. With all the pill shaped happiness, It was four full days before I found out that I had snapped the ball off my femur.

I typed this out a few weeks ago, I rarely speak of it, it's cold sweat and nausea time. Some things are still to close

I had that dammed plate in for a year, went back to work in 4 months, then had another long break after they dug the plate out.

I carried that chunk of metal when I cut this Pine





__________________


----------



## Eccentric

Wow Randy. You'd hinted about this incident before, but never really explained it in detail. I can see why now. That one was a bit too close. I knew there was a reason not to push you for details. Thank God that big Mormon was on his game. More excellent writing. Thanks for sharing it with us. Couldn't have been easy...


----------



## Greystoke

RandyMac said:


> Real Dull? I'm sorry Cody. Were you atleast up Monument Rd?



Nope...right in the middle of town...painter street. Lots of tweekers around, and one of the little maggots managed to steal my nice Honda XL600R that I used to get to work.


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## Greystoke

I can see how a ride like that could be seared into you memory! Hell of a story pard...thanks for sharing


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## drill.daddy

Thanks for the comments on my writing skills. Its one of those thing where life's inspirational moments seem to take hold and metaphors and similies tend to help describe the mindset at which i approach life's lil debacles. My high school english teacher would be proud to learn that i finally figured out how to use the grammatical directions which she tried to cram in my head like a foot into a leather boot that sat to close to the fireplace overnight . Plus it helps to have like minded individuals read the butchery that has became my ever so loose grasp of the English language . My roughneck mentality and southern origins have never helped my mauling of the English language . 

I took a road trip down the coast one year thru Mississippi , Alabama, with a slight twist northward on thru the Carolina's and on up into Ohio. I stopped at a lil road side diner to rest a weary gas pedal and give the state troopers a break from lecturing me on the speed laws of each state i floated thru . I think it was the shear jealousy and hatred that i was from a better state than them . As a matter of fact there was a gentlemen of the law in north carolina that lost all gentlemen aspects when i told him why i thought he really pulled me over . The citations i received on this road trip did more damage to my finaial status than my ever so loving ex wife did. ( bless that kind hearted woman , she must have thought my checking acct needed a spring cleaning

Any way back to the diner , this place looked as if salmonella should have been one of the top menu items. you where certainly gonna get it weather you requested it or not. ( the voyage home was spent speeding form truck stop to truck stop to further desecrate an already devastated public dump site .) I ordered my entree and waited patiently as the waitress/cook/ hostess/ sanitation engineer began to prepare the afternoons delicacies. She finally finish preparing the delicacies brought it to the table and graciously asked would i be needing anything else.... I said " naw" , it was at this point in the engagement in conversation went to my origins. She asked in this ever so educated manner as to imply that my dumb country ass couldn't understand unless she spoke slowly and over pronouncing her words. I said mam i speak english , even your version , and i am from luziana. she said ohhh Louisiana . I said that might be how you pronounce it but everyone from the continent of luziana pronounces it as such . For some reason i think the final statement must have offended her civil minded status. She tromped off like the former Mrs. smith used to when i would say something derogatory in manner to her . 

lol . p.s. i think the gravy on the country fired stake was left over dry wall mud that had dried in the sun and they decided to rehydrate it and sprinkle something that looked like black pepper on top. Her tip was left on a napkin it read like this . 
" your tip , never assume that because someone sounds different from you that there educational standards are any less than yours I graduated high school with honors in academics, sports and music. Had scholarships to several colleges. i sure did appreciate the polite service and the pleasant atmosphere . good day ."

welcum to luziana


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## RandyMac

Proper english has it's place, it is universal, well, mostly. I type as I think, depending on who I am at the time. That rowdy ####er got out and is going to get me in trouble again.

The Road, Cafes, Cops and Cleavage.

My Road was 101 from Orygun to Santa Rosa, made weekly round trips to SR from Weott, either droning along in a beater pick-up or cheating death on a Kawasaki. I always stopped in Laytonville to fuel up, there was an older station that had really good gas, the Kaws loved it. Fueling in Laytonville also meant I could indulge the Kawasaki's thirst for fuel, using the meaty part of the Z1Bs powerband would drop it's mileage into the low 30s, normal mpg was about 45. I saw high teens with a 750 triple. I had many chats with Highway Patrolmen. Before I wander off
One such return trip, it was late afternoon Sunday, Santa Rosa had fog to the ground, by Hopland it was a steady mist, it was raining steadily in Willits. When I stopped for gas in Laytonville, I saw that the 101 Cafe was open, decided to fuel up on chili and coffee. They fetched a towel, a plastic lawn chair and let me drip dry in the corner. They? I meant the waitresses, two of them, with not much to do. Both were older, like mid thirties, fully equipped, all the options and well maintained. I couldn't help but notice the button failure rate on their blouses, every time they came by with the coffee, there was yet another button that lost it's grip. I drank a lot of coffee. Later, I hung out with a CHP under an overpass while we discussed the merits of high speed death. He was an old school Patrolman, we were on a first name basis the second time he stopped me. I was let off with a warning and parting words....#### and at night in the rain!!! I got very few tickets, they were some whoppers when I got caught, but you can't give a ticket to someone you couldn't catch. If they hit the lights I pulled over, sometimes I had no idea I was being pursued until I stopped for gas or something.


----------



## bitzer

Good stuff Randy. I look forward to checking this thread and the falling pics thread every day. The best damn things going on this site.


----------



## Gologit

Oh man, the 101 Cafe. You could get a couple of chapters at least about the goings on in that place. Like the time Big Eddie Kanowski *ate* the "No Calks" sign. They put another one up but this time they made it out of metal.


----------



## Brian13

RandyMac said:


> I was up at 5:30 and not happy about it, it snowed again during the night, another 3-4 inches of wet snow, by dawn, it would start raining, again. This crap had been going on for almost two weeks, very unusual for the area, there should have been elbow deep snow by now. I almost gave in to the thought of going back to bed. Instead I trudged out the fire up the old truck and back in for more coffee. Daylight found me waiting at the mill for the rest of the crew, there wasn't many of us. Four drivers including me, one loaderman and a fat old guy for a landingman. This was a mobile operation, we were doing a last chance before spring log hauling. The weather had done bad things to the roads, the USFS was threatening to cut the roads before they were beyond repair. The push was on. It was a motley bunch, men and trucks, only two of the trucks were log trucks, the others were converted hay haulers. I drew one of those, a cabover Peterbuilt with a flatbed, log chocks lashed on by cable. Off we went, our own little parade, we all went in and left the landings at the same, a tracked loader was our shepard. I said bad things, we were going in the same road as yesterday, we had beat the crap outta the road and it wasn't all that good to start with. We all made it to the landing, big improvement over the day before, where one truckdriver pussed out, he didn't have the whereforall to drive with wheels in the ditch. I was third in line, the loaderman had to lift the back of the trailer, to scoot it over, there was no room to turn around and it couldn't be loaded up like a proper log truck. I got three 36" 40s down, two more in the middle and a 5'X32 Sugar Pine butt on top. I put four binders on and got in line to wait on truck number 4. We left at 5 minute intravels, each driver giving the ones behind him a running patter about how the road was handling the traffic. Well, it wasn't doing so very good, small streams were crossing in places, the cutbanks were slumping into the ditches, the formally hard packed gravel surface had dissappeared under squishy red mud. Truck number 2 had a clown in it, he remarked that he had all his wheels on the road, for a whole minute. What a liar. He had run the ditch and crawled the bank some, the road was going away. When I got to that spot, I tried to follow his tracks, with some success, until I got to the tight left turn, this is where the hay hauler had problems, the dratted flatbed was too long, didn't bend around corners very well and had a high center of gravity. I hugged the bank, kept the revs up, the road gearing kinda sucked. About halfway through I heard that buckling sound, then the twang of snapping binders, the mirrors showed the rears on the outside sinking, fast. The road had given way. I did the only thing I could, I straightened the front wheels and floored it, came close to pulling it off. ####### highway rig, humped, jumped and spun, lost headway, the road was winning. More unpleasent noise from the trailer, it didn't much care for being pulled in two directions, with a twist. It only took one glance in the mirrors to make up my mind, time to get the #### out of that truck. I yanked the handthrottle open, grabbed the door handle and got about half of my skinny ass out the door. About then, the road won, it took the back half of the trailer with a lurch, that shut the door on me, the armrest hit me in the hip. Yeah, it hurt. I was beyond worrying about a little pain, the truck was going backwards. I got the door open again and jumped, landing in a ditch full of ice cold slimey ass mud. The last real impression of of the truck were the logs going over the bank and a big cloud of dust. Yeah, dust, two weeks of rain and there was dust, that sight gave me such wonder I had forgotten there was another truck coming down the hill. well, my ears still worked, I heard him coming, crap, time to get up, out of the ditch and do it fast. I didn't know something was wrong until I tried to run, left leg suddenly became useless, I pitched onto my face, couldn't turn over. Things were fuzzy around the edges. The driver in truck 4 was a big guy, a Morman with 50 kids, he was on it, stopped well short, clued in by flying logs, clouds of red dust. I can't remember his name, but I remember what he said "You pray to your God, I'll pray to mine, we will get you home" The next few days was a narcotic blur, I completely missed the drills, saws, screws, metal plates, pins, a yard of stitches. With all the pill shaped happiness, It was four full days before I found out that I had snapped the ball off my femur.
> 
> I typed this out a few weeks ago, I rarely speak of it, it's cold sweat and nausea time. Some things are still to close
> 
> I had that dammed plate in for a year, went back to work in 4 months, then had another long break after they dug the plate out.
> 
> I carried that chunk of metal when I cut this Pine
> __________________



Driving a truck for a living is one of the more underrated dangerous jobs! My father has been driving for almost as long as I can remember, and has seen some horrible accidents. One morning he was heading to Miami (witch is a 3 a.m. start to be at your first stop by about 7) and had with him my buddy Colby. Colby had just got his license and had just started driving a couple of months earlier. Now for those that dont know anything about Florida when going to Miami from the west coast there is a long straight portion of I-75 that goes through the Everglades called Alligator Ally, the road is very dark and often limited or zero visibility due to smoke and heavy fog. On this particular morning Colby decided right before they got on the Ally that he no longer felt comfortable driving due to a headache and switched with my father and continued on. It happened to be a day with very heavy fog, visibility was limited to one maybe two of the broken lines dividing the lanes. My father saw a faint red glow ahead and began to slow down, soon realizing that traffic was stopped. Another truck was moving along and had rear ended another stopped vehichle. After this discovery they inched along in the breakdown lane debating on weather they should get out and see if they could do anything, when suddenly they were able to hear the sound of crunching metal. The fog was so dense that other vehicles were just plowing into the wreck at full speed. After all was said and done 27 total vehicles were involved 17 being trucks. Three died and thirteen were injured. My life could have changed forever as my father and real good friend happened to be driving through as this was happening. As it were, it just ended up being a reminder of how dangerous driving can be.
If anyone is interested and wants more info on the accident,
http://www.usfa.dhs.gov/downloads/pdf/publications/tr-155.pdf

Sorry to intrude on your thread Randy but that story reminded me of that.


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## drill.daddy

Unless randy states diff , thats what this thread is about , mostly his memories , but some of his stuff sparks memories. I check this thread daily . its either first hing in the morning with eggs and a dr peper or last call in the evining . Randy i reall enjoy reading your stuff. carry on brother , and tell humbolt i got another 1010 to send him .


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## RandyMac

Carry on Gentlemen.


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## Rounder

Thanks for the truck driving story Randy. That's what being a real logger is all about, jumping in where ever you're needed. It ain't all glorious, but whatever it takes is whatever it takes. That's logging. I've spent a lot of time in machines and trucks where i didn't know what the hell I was doing, but I always have done my best and not whined about it.

Whatever it takes, take care man - Sam


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## slowp

Gologit said:


> Oh man, the 101 Cafe. You could get a couple of chapters at least about the goings on in that place. Like the time Big Eddie Kanowski *ate* the "No Calks" sign. They put another one up but this time they made it out of metal.



Did he put ketchup on it? I believe those signs were cardboard here, and usually had No Knives, No Guns along with No Calks.


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## drill.daddy

90 percent of my hellish tales would involve A million pounds of brute force pullins steel piled up in a form that somewhat resembles a oil rig. Machines that where dreamed up to pull 500,000 pounds , iron creaking , teeth rattling , nothing more than 1500 horses of pure pulling power. Not to mention what we decided to get into after hours. bar brawls, all night drinking binges, lord have mercy i dont know how i lived to see the next day most of the time. well offf to work this mornin .


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## Gologit

slowp said:


> Did he put ketchup on it? I believe those signs were cardboard here, and usually had No Knives, No Guns along with No Calks.



I don't know. I got there just as they were loading him into the Sheriff's car. It was Saturday night after payday. The way I heard it was that they wouldn't let him bring his whiskey bottle into the cafe and he was hungry so he got a little upset. They let him cool his heels in jail for awhile and kicked him loose the next morning. He couldn't go back to the 101 for awhile, though. He also had to pay for the newspaper machine that he threw out into the middle of the highway .


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## Gologit

Randy...great stuff man...keep at it. Almost makes me wish the "good old days" were back. Almost. Don't know if I'd survive them all over again.


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## Greystoke

I agree with Bob...good readin! Don't worry Bob, plenty of lads like myself that would be happy to take your place goin back in time! Wonder if I would survive???


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## madhatte

This thread just keeps delivering. Randy, you're doing some truly great writing. Keep it up, man.


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## MURT

*Quincy*

Quincy the boomtown? Musta been the days. A couple years ago I got seen riding the rear engine on a train coming south from Vancouver WA and got pulled off by sherriff's deputies at Westwood. They came into the cab with guns drawn and when they saw me sitting on the stairwell they said Aaaah, allright.
They were pretty scared and were relieved by finding me just sitting there, my hands on my knees with my palms facing out when they opened the door.
One deputy hauled me the 30 miles to the Quincy jail where he promptly had to go chase some joker that was driving around in his pickup truck shooting people with an airsoft gun. He had to get back from that for me to be booked and they fed me a real tasty dinner made by the women inmates. 
There was hooting and hollering galore from the women's section as I was led past to get fingerprinted. From the way they sounded they hadn't seen a man for 500 years.
Just my little Quincy experience, or part of it anyway, I'm really enjoying reading your writing man. I hate freakin glossed over glory everything-was-great-and-noble history like you find in books sometimes.


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## RandyMac

Eh, jails, a whole 'nother world, a subsociety with it's own language and customs.

The bulk of my barbarian days were in the '70s, starting in July 1973, when I bought my first chainsaw. It was a 5 cube McCulloch with a rollertip and the first saw I had with chisel bit chain. It was pretty much on from there.


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## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> Eh, jails, a whole 'nother world, a subsociety with it's own language and customs.
> 
> The bulk of my barbarian days were in the '70s, starting in July 1973, when I bought my first chainsaw. It was a 5 cube McCulloch with a rollertip and the first saw I had with chisel bit chain. It was pretty much on from there.



What a coincidence Randy. I was born in July 1973...


This is still my favorite thread on AS. The real deal...


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## RandyMac

I have often given thought, to how I survived my barbarian phase. I'm still not altogether sure, there were so many ways to die, get maimed, get jailed. Not that I made it through unscathed, I had enough stitches to put together a football, I tore up joints, broke bones, left blood trails.

I was a mobile hazard, when I was done with one thing, I moved on to the next patch, whether it was timber, forestry or truck thrashing. The 1970s were actively fluid, the effects of the gas embargo lingered on, the economy was rocky, there was Nixon, Ford and Carter. My home counties, Del Norte and Humboldt, got robbed of a great deal of timber jobs, the promised Federal help just didn't happen. There was work, if you could travel, camp out near the site and take whatever jobs you found. I took a ricocheting path throughout Northern California, with a few raids into Orygun and Nevada, to saw anything that paid. Some paid well, some paid enough to keep cutting, some I almost broke even, just to cut timber. Many of the jobs were fairly short term, sometimes a few days or weeks worth of work. I learned to stay away from the big Companies, too many rules cramped my style. I tried them, PL was obligitory, family connections were strong, I popped in and out of there a few times, they would only let me chase landings or play with the rigging. I put in two weeks with LP at Big Lagoon, I decided that I didn't want to die by their hand, drew my pay and split. Then there was US Fiber (?) in the Sierras, run by clueless idiots, by remote control, only worrying about the spreadsheets. I found happiness with small, family based shows, usually five or six men, mostly private lands. Outfits like these were a blast, you got to do pretty much everything the way you wanted to. The range of expirience was fantastic, old codgers, beardless boys and ass bustin' men in their prime. When the job was done, they would ask where I was headed, sure as ####, I'd have something lined up before I had the truck packed. It didn't matter if it was Pines in Modoc, DF and Cedar in the Klamaths or Sierra Red Fir or Lodgepole, if there was a chance to fall trees and maybe make a buck, I went that way.
Sometimes my lunacy would catch up with me, I knew when it was time to withdraw, it just wouldn't do to crash and burn away from my home territory.


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## Greystoke

Ahhh, the life of a timber tramp...and the stories that accompany it! Keep up the good work pard


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## Tzed250

.

I have done myself a terrible disservice by not finding this thread earlier, but I have found it and I am hooked. 

Randy, you have created some of the finest prose I have ever read about a subject that has fascinated me since childhood. No pictures, moving or still, could ever provide the feeling of involvement in the way your writing does. 

I, and I believe many others here, will not soon tire of your Odyssey. 

Please continue...

.


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## drill.daddy

*hellish tales none the less.*

My tales in almost 15 years of plunging shards of metal into the earth for someone elses hopes of making them a higher financial status fast. Short of winning the lottery in the south you just about have to make a fortune in the oil and gas industry. ive worked straight thru 14.5 years with one company . While most of my tales wont have the intelectual flare that Mr macs has, in its own ways have a grip of there own . My job on a day to day basis is some what of a make a wish foundation oragnization . Danger is inherent , fear in a god like manor , respect , like what your father demanded. MY chosen feild of expertise ask of me this , Drill a orifice into the ground 15,000 feet straight down in most cases , pulling weights that rank in the phenomenal areas of 200,000 pounds and up , and do all of this with a piece of equipment that was barely new when my grandfather stood on some of the same iron ( never new the man, but guess roughnecking is in my blood) . 

the first time i ever had the priviledge of grabbing a brake handle on a set of gardner denver 1300's was awe inspiring to say the least . The driller stood beside me dicatating , as if to some kind of mental patient, exactly what to do . This man was a rather portly fella , Standing 5'9 and tipping the scales at a lofty 350 pounds, chewed levi garret by the pouch, He bellered out grab that clutch boy pull it till it stops. 
At this point is where you have the tiger by the tail so to speak , 1300 horses sprung to life in a iron buckling , steel screching manor , hearing the pins that hold the derrick together groaning as to say " oh hell boys here comes the load." As the pipe slowly pulled off bottom and my foot slowly sank into the accelerator the deafening pulse of 3 caterpillar 399's became to come near cardiac arrest status. All eyes were planted squarely on the worm ( greenhorn) . I was wathching the dial infront of me bounce from 275k to 300k pounds. Nervous is a description used to describe albert einstine playing tic tac toe compared to this , One slip and 300 thou comes crashing to the rig floor with enough force to register on the rictor scale . The driller nursed me thru the rest of the operation , with my infantile rig running skills this was more than necissary . We made it thru my first encursion running the iron giant. over the years i learned most of the time the hard way that even thow you can run a piece of equipment with a devout perfection , never forget iron can and will develop its flaws for you , and when they do the rodeo ensues. 8 seconds on red rock would be smooth sailing on these days..

I guess sitting with my family today reminded me of what and why i am so thankfull , dredged up old memories of scrapes with the grimm collector. i cant honestly tell you that some of these memories dont come with a tear in remberance of a roughneck family that had dinner today with a seat empty due to the unforgiving nature of iron. Today i gave thanks for simply being able to wake after a nights slumber , thanks that i can return home after dancing with the tiger for a week . 

over the next few weeks i plan on sprinkiling a lil roughneck into the undergrowth of this thread. 

Randy , will this suffice , all i ask is look over the grammar and spelling, my memories out run my fingers


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## RandyMac

*YeeeeHawwwww!!!!!*

Let it flow, don't be worried about freakin' grammer, she can take care of herself.


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## drill.daddy

If you wonder wht this is like , watch a crane work , he lifts his load and in most cases the load is many yards away from the cab of the crane . My ole rig runs just like a crane, blocks and all , on a grander scale of course, but in the smae manner with a few exceptions, 

1 my blocks run inside the mast ( the boom of the crane) 
2 We operate this iron standing directly under the mast that supports this load and the blocks that some time hesitantly pull it , 
3. we drill into pressured zones , pumping fluid down the hole with thousands of pounds of pressure moving the fluid thru the pipe , out the bottom and back out to surface. 

bad days are something most therapist couldnt even straighten out . I stand 6 foot 3 inches tall , 305 pounds, spend two hours in the gym daily ina a semi religous manner , and there have been days where the tigers tail was more than i could hold 

to be continued


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## mike1273

I just spent the last coupla hours reading this thread. Randy you truly been there, done that, then stole the t-shirt. Keep it coming, I've never been exposed to this much reality in history, contrary of the books written for the masses of children to learn from. All they learn in school is how to be herded like animals in a direction someone else told them to go. You blazed a trail & lived to tell about it, count me in for a preorder on a book.... like many others have stated their age, I'm 37 also & had the pleasure of learning my trade from old timers & these young guys I'm trying to teach don't have the enthusiasm of the lifestyle involved; just the pay check! Respect Rep comin your way.


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## Stumpys Customs

Just had to say thanks for the story's fellas. Puts life in perspective for me.


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## RandyMac

Thanks guys, it means a great deal to me to have feedback. 

These are rough samples, parts and starts of better, more full stories. I just finished a brutal tale, Man vs machine vs nature, nobody won, all were left broken, defeated. Made me break into a sweat proof reading it. 

A problem with some of this, when I go back, it goes too far sometimes, I am there, with a fear of not getting back. I don't have much control over what flows from the fingers, there have been suprises. I have a file of "deletes", things written, never intended to see the light of day, born in the dark, of the dark, to stay in the dark. A few I have never read after finishing them, they are that bad, don't know why I kept them. The tribal memories live on.

On a lighter note, I tapped out some funny stuff in part 3 of the epic Kev MacKnothead Adventures. Finished the Alton Tavern bar fight, halfway (maybe) through something called "As big as a house". I have dabbled in family dynamics, pretty twisted when viewed with an outside eye. Dealing with the subject of my brother has been educational to say the least. There are some things we still won't talk about, might not live long enough to settle a couple things, looking at the business end of that Colt of his, gets old.


----------



## drill.daddy

There are days when my ever so delicate structure overloads my posterior to the point where im covered in so much fecal matter that I would have to have a snorkel that would reach a giraffes exhaust pluming just to take a breath of fresh air , Sad to say most of these days my alligator mouth overloads my hummingbird ass. These days seem to have a way of returning a blowheart back to church mouse status. Just incase it was missed earlier I am a rather large feller, 6’3 305. and not a slouch at that status. 

When you read this story it will probably take even a good reader a matter of several minutes to dredge thru this tale . Keep in the back of your head that what im writing and your probably reluctantly reading over breakfast and coffee, this took less than ten seconds to transpire . well the actual horror part . Horor in my line of work happens in mear seconds and sometimes has almost tragic results. 

I stepped out of the crew house , 5:00 am , looked into the derrick while listening to the sound of the generators humming , Watched the Kelly slowly spinning in the rotary table , the rotary of death ( this means my relief ran one square off in my ass without even a slight trace of anything slick . ) 13000 feet of pipe to pull out the hole to change the bit out , That sorry s.o.b. waited till 4:45 too call the boss and tell him the bit was trashed and wasn’t drilling worth a damn. Which means they have just enough time to prepare everything for a long days work for us.( bits just like chains , when dull will not cut for chit) . By the time the Marlboro red had just about burnt out my vertically challenged boss decided to come out for the safety meeting and try to rub salt in a wound. My demeaner at this time went back a few years , Like a transformer I went from sum beach I got to trip pipe , to HELL YEA lets get this muther f***er out the hole and show these boys how to burn a bit back to bottom . Roughnecks motto . old school that is “ f**ck , fight , and trip pipe…..

There is something almost spiritual about the feeling of the machine when you pick up its vibrations , how its running pulling, howling , the two almost become one . When that machine sings to the tune your playin . When you drag the pipe up off the slips, the cluctches groan and squeal as the bladders air up and fully engage them , when the derrick squats after you pick up 300k pounds off the slips. Spiritual , hell its poetry in motion , 

Shortly after the safety/ bull#### meeting came to a close it was time to dress for hell, January on a mountain of steel with water leaks and drizzling rain from time to time would make a well diggers ass pucker up at time . One layer of long handles on top of some silk stockings,( laugh if you will the damn things work ) with two pair of wool socks crammed into redwings, With a carhart duck brown long sleeve draped over the top . All underneath the cherry on top the old grey hard hat that had seen more miles than a two dollar hooker in allnight truck stop . ( when I was 18 I looked at men with this description and wondered why they had a calloused attitude , now I know) . I truged through the slush they called a rig pad to wards the rig floor stairs. My relief being the considerate gentlemen that he was had recently douched the rig floor off and washed the stairs in the process. At 20 degrees this makes a trip to the rig floor more like a barnum and baileys side show act , Most times with a lunch pail being hurled off the steps just so you can grab the handrails to kepp from making a dramatic trip back to the bottom twice as fast as your trip up . At this point in our adventure my mood was somewhere between the warmth of a hibernating grizzley being rudely awakened or a rottwilder someone just kicked in the face with a golf shoe . 

Attitude aside , I made the trip to the floor without falter. Not saying I didn’t slip , just not enough to prematurely panic. My relief was standing in the old delapodated dog house smiling like a possum eating chit . My pride wouldn’t let him knoiw he had pissed me off, I shook his hand , said our to do’s and on his merry way. Now for the task at hand. PULLLL THIS PIPE OUT THE GROUND…. Hold on boys here we go , first 15 stands pulled where slicker than greased out chit , Numebr 16 had its lil surprise in store , Pulled 30 foot of the stand out and wham , the lil weight indicator went from 250 to 300k pounds in a split seconds. Gut reaction , dump the clutch and let her fall back out of it . In a perfect world this works, My world aint perfect….

10 seconds of horror, Dumped the clutch, it fell out of the spot that was dragging her down , whew , relief the pipe aint stuck, Grabbed the auxiliary brake to slow the ole girl down so my brakes would stop it , Guess the auxiliary brake decided it wanted to take a siesta, and kick itself out , At this point I Scream at the top of my lungs for my crew to abandon ship , Well I told them “ get the f**k out of here.” The boys scattered like roaches when the lights came on . My derrick hand was watching this fiasco from a safe vantage point approx 95 feet above my head . When he relized what was going on he was squeeling over the p.a. for me to run . At this juncture my brain was saying run, but the body was locked in for the ride. When I realized my aux brake had went on hiatus , raw instincts had me climb on top of a 6 foot long brake handle and bounce like a 5 year old on a trampoline trying to stop this 900 mile an hour freight train from dumping on the rig floor . Even with bouncing and pulling nothing was even remotely slowing. Raw momentum pulled the blocks back to the rig floor as if gravity itself had multiplied exponentially . When the elevators hit the rig floor and the rig floor held the load I was able to stop the blocks from continueing on there destructive path. When the cloud of white smoke cleared and I could see ole yellow( the 25k pound blocks) it was appox 3 inches above my head. It was at this point my drawworks returned to life, and the forking clutch I had enguaged 5 seconds prior to this finally enguaged and began pickint the blocks back up . Damage to the rig. One piece of 1 inch square tubing was bent on the cage that went around the drillers console . this piece of iron is only 8 inches from my head when I am standing flat footed on the ground. I was standing on top of the brake handle at this point which elevated my postion to 2 foot higher. Why I wasn’t Knoncked flat on my arse I will never know . my head was above the bar, the bar was bent. 

When all the “dust” settled and I could convince my hands and muscles to release their anaconda like grip , I stepped back and went to my knees. It wasn’t a voulantary movement , it was as if Dracula had tapped a vein and drained the life from my limbs. 

These days have been few and far between , but as infrequent as they might be they still have a way of humility, While I don’t like remembering these events, I am thankfull for them . reminds me that anything human made can fail, even steel


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## cpr

Good work Drilldaddy, I enjoy this, too. Never tried the "silk stockings" route, but have no doubt. For what it's worth, take all the big-bux warm and dry gloves from Cabelas, et.al. and chuck it. Get a box of surgical gloves from the local drug store and wear them under the gloves of your choice. Your hands will not stay dry, they'll sweat from the heat and you'll be $$$ ahead.


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## drill.daddy

the surgical work well , no doubt. If working round diesil or gas the gloves dont hold up well, try the rubber gloves for washing dishes......they will last longer...


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## RandyMac

Holy Crap!! Wes

Do you have any pics of the collossal machine? I'm trying to wrap my mind around the size and configuration.


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## drill.daddy

well i do but not good ones. seein how my bossses require me to keep a digital camera on the rig at all times i can get some , and this is a good enough excuse.


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## drill.daddy

randy i emailed you some pics to your hotmail acct. i cant get them to post for me . been trying for an hour now


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## RandyMac

*got them*


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## drill.daddy

http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i58/RandyMac713/McCullochs/off brands/misc/ws/100_0028.jpg

this is the drillers console, the bar at a 45 degree angle with the chain and springs is the break handle , thats what i was standing on trying to stop the blocks from falling . 

the round dial with all the numbers is the weight indicator , it tells what i am pulling , how much wieght is hanging from the traveling blocks in the derrick 

all the levers and controls to the left are air controls that activate clutches that enguage the 2 750 horse electric motors that run this operation . 

if i had to explain a set of drawworks to a forestry hand, i would say its like a yarder on steroids


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## drill.daddy

http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i58/RandyMac713/McCullochs/off brands/misc/ws/100_0005.jpg

this lil jewel is a caterpillar 399, its an 18 cylinder caterpillar deisil engine this engine runs a 1000kw generator. this generator has electrical leads that leave the gen and go to a scr house that has transformers and everything to trun the electricity into d.c. or a.c depending on what the device requires


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## drill.daddy

http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i58/RandyMac713/McCullochs/off brands/misc/ws/100_0013.jpg

this is a 1300 horsepower pump , capable of pumping up to 7000 psi, most times this pump runs about 2500 psi and puts out about 400 gallons per minute. it pumps drilling fluid( mud) down the pipe out the bit and back up the backside of the pipe carrying drilled material out of the hole , back to a set of shakers that seperates the drilling fluid from the cuttings, the cuttings go out to a pit on the edge of location , the fluid falls thru to a set of tanks and starts its cycle again . 

this is a far more complicated process than it sounds, just trying to make it simple so everyone can understand what this equip does and what basic purpose it seves


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## drill.daddy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSOh6GX6LZM

here is a video of a crew making a connection , what they do is drill a joint of pipe down, which is approx 30 foot long , when the 30 foot is drilled. they hoist it all out of the hole add another joint and go back to drilling .


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## DHIBBS75

drill.daddy said:


> http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i58/RandyMac713/McCullochs/off brands/misc/ws/100_0005.jpg
> 
> this lil jewel is a caterpillar 399, its an 18 cylinder caterpillar deisil engine this engine runs a 1000kw generator. this generator has electrical leads that leave the gen and go to a scr house that has transformers and everything to trun the electricity into d.c. or a.c depending on what the device requires



Those are damn good engines and I belive that one is v16 1200 rpm. Ive got several in towboats and D398 V12,,, D379 V8...... Parts are getting hard to get for them, aleast 30 yrs old..... 

Is the vintage of engines most of the rigs run?


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## ChrisF

Really cool pictures, that is some brutal-looking machinery. Thanks for sharing.


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## bitzer

Thanks for sharing Wes. Really great stuff!


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## drill.daddy

yep we run all sorts of breeds of caterpillar and wakashaw engines, ohh and emds and etroits. you are correct on 1200 rpm engines. damn good engines. if you need parts try calling h&h engine out of carthage and ask for lee, he can find anything you need. or call louisiana machinery . those are the two companies that fix these old dinosaurs.


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## drill.daddy

And thanks should go to randy if i had not read his stuff i would have never wrote the first word in story on thius thread. but due to a lil coaxing form him i decided what the hek go for it


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## Tzed250

Thanks DD!!!

I got to sit and watch a crew drilling a gas well here in WV a few years back. Those guys were working their tales off. I was blown away by how fast they could drop a new pipe in place....


.


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## drill.daddy

well here goes another episode.. Twisted perceptions from the mind of a roughneck..

The day drilling in the TXU coal mine went to HELL. 

Sitting on top of the biggest hill in an old coal mine in tatum , texasss.. This mine had machinery that would dwarf our old rig with ease. Roads in this coal mine were at a phenominal status. The machines that traversed this road could run over a half ton pick up truck and they would have never know you were ever there. i drove this road on a daily basis to and from the ole girl on top of the hill. When we started this job we absolutely loved the position the rig set in . A norm for mid summer in texus reaches into the 110 plus range , normally the rig would be in some thick ass god forsaken area of woods that you couldnt even pump a freakin breeze in . But for some reason the upper management for the drilling company actually loooked at a calender for this job and spotted the earth penatator in an area where it would be nice to work . This hill was high enough that the 70 foot pines at the base of the hill looked up to us, the way it should be . 

This morning i drove into the rig, 430 a.m. first day back in hell, A kind sight for a travel weary driller was that the rig was actually drilling, I pondered for a moment " when i get on shift i can put my feet up for a lil bit and watch this iron beast chew its way through layers of earth that havent been seen since its creation . " have one of the boys watch the break for me and kick back and have a power nap . ,,,, lil did i know my thought pattern wouldnt end up the way i exactly expected... After a few moments of rationless thought i unloaded the ole f -150 took my bags in threw em in the floor beside my bunk. HAHAHA bunk . twin size bed for a king size man. kinda like squeezing shamu into a 50 gallon aqarium . IN other words i could get in it but there was stuff hanging out around the edges. but this morning i had 45 minutes before my shift started , NAP time . layed down long enough to get comfortable doze off and the screaching of an ole busted alarm clock said get my big ass up . should have said " dressed rehearsal for hell boys.. " But unkowingly we rolled out, strapped up and out teh door. 

The 20 mph breeze atop this hill was sharp as a razors edge this morning . A lil cool snap with mish in the breeze from the water pumping station down the hill that sprayed water in all directions constantly in a 180 degree radius. The breeze just carried the mist right on up the hill. This however made it nice as the day trugded on . Up the stairs we went . all talkin crap about how we waisted a perfectly good set of days off,.. On in the dog house the crews met up to relieve, my reliefs first words to me was FRESH MEAT . HEHEHE, hell yea i said. My relief informed me that we had 70 more feet to drill to reach our mark, 13,065 feet . we spoke about pump pressures, how much weight it was taking to make this carbide sprinkled peice of fecal matter on the end of our drill string to make hole. (the bit) . All the ecenticities aside , it was my turn to hold the bull by the horns for seven days. 7 12 hour shifts. 6 am to 6 pm . Day break to sunset , lock in ya seat belts boys here we goooooooooo..

I reached the marked deapth , called my boss , he said good job , now drill 150 more feet we just got clearance from our office to see what the next formation holds. I eased back to the brake and put her back to drilling , by this time it was almost 8 am , my bosses where down in the lil tin cans , makin daily phone calls faxing in reports. so i propped up by the brake handle smoking me a cig. It was a stunningly beautiful day on the hill, I told my boys what i wanted them to get cleaned up around the rig and off they went , as if they were actually gonna make a lucid effort to accomplish what i had aked of them in a timely manner.... bullchit , as soon as they were out of line of sight they were just like state workers, completely useless.... hahahah , neways...
back to drilling , pump pressures , rate of penetration, hook loads, mud pumps strokes. all kinds of stuff to monitor. Im here to tell you , if you walk this iron long enough the vibrations of the steel will hold conversations with you. something running to fast or to slow makes the old deck plates rattle a lil different, makes the engines wine a lil harder. this morning was no different. 

I put the cig out and walked to the hand rail , been watching the sun come up for years today had been no different. watched deer playing in the fields of grass surounding rig. Out of the blue i felt the ole rotary table bog down like the ole bit was finally digging its teeth in . I walked back to the monitor by the brake handle and looked , my penetration rate went from 25 feet an hour to 350 feet an hour, This sumbeach is diggin its ass off. All as if in perfect unison , my pump pressure fell off, lost 500psi, my flow rate ( how much fluid was coming out of hole ) went from 250 gallons per minute to 400 and climbing. I layed on the old horn, it broke the silence as if a cannon had been set off. when the horn is blown one long continuous time , every body reports to there battle station . i shut the pumps down, and started picking the pipe up out of the hole . SUm beach the mud is still coming out , bubling and belching out the hole as i picked up , My assumptions were correct , we had drilled off into a sandy formation full of hydrocarbons( natural gas, and this gas liked to show its ass) . The pressure of the gas was greater than the presuue exerted by the column of fluid that sat atop it , so here it comes. 


got the bushings clear the hole , mud spewing as if coming from the back of moby #### him self . I looked like a huge chocolate covered easter treat for some kid. i ran to the hand rail , bellered to the man on the b.o.p. controls to shut her is and open the diverter lines . Whew. had the bull by the balls now , what to do with er. We fought this well for 62 days, txu tompkins #3 better known as hell on the hill. We ciculated and burnt a flare for the rest of the job. finally got it killed and finished . That well is one of the best producers they have in that mine . 

sorry this story doesnt have the gramatical flare of some of my others , sleep time creeping in .


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## drill.daddy

i will try and break down some of the days on this well , this was day number one


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## drill.daddy

[uView attachment 160151


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## drill.daddy

i am so trying to remmeber how to put the pic in the post where the pic shows


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## brnchbrkr




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## RandyMac

I'm wandering off for a bit, something is gnawin' on me, be back after awhile.

<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>


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## Gologit

RandyMac said:


> I'm wandering off for a bit, something is gnawin' on me, be back after awhile.
> 
> <object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>



Don't be gone too long. You know the way back. We'll be here.


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## raycarr

RandyMac said:


> I'm wandering off for a bit, something is gnawin' on me, be back after awhile.
> 
> 
> The Deep end? Give me a call, if I don't hear from you, I'll be up next week.
> I owe you.


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## joesawer

RandyMac said:


> I'm wandering off for a bit, something is gnawin' on me, be back after awhile.
> 
> <object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gR8pJlbrEIQ?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>





Come on PawPaw tell me a story! LOL


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## madhatte

Freakin' LOVE Robin Trower.


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## drill.daddy

:smoking::smoking:


bbbbbbuuuuummmmmppppp . come on randy your on deck


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## Joe46

madhatte said:


> Freakin' LOVE Robin Trower.



You might try to find this then: Robin Trower, Jack Bruce, and Bill Lourdan did an album called BLT. It may be impossible to find now? When I decided to change my ways about 30 years ago I sold all 475 of my rock albums. That was one of them. Sorry for taking the thread off track.


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## brnchbrkr

Joe46 said:


> You might try to find this then: Robin Trower, Jack Bruce, and Bill Lourdan did an album called BLT. It may be impossible to find now? When I decided to change my ways about 30 years ago I sold all 475 of my rock albums. That was one of them. Sorry for taking the thread off track.



http://www.arboristsite.com/showthread.php?p=2619014#post2619014


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## madhatte

Ka-Pow! That's the stuff!


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## stihl sawing




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## Greystoke

:agree2:


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## drill.daddy

truely amazing randy

almost sounds like something from beowolf, the book not the cheesy ass movie , the movie was good but the book way bettery


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## bitzer

The battle rages on Randy. Keeps you on your toes. Practice your grip from time to time. Hard to look others in the eye on occasion. I have a sliver of the feeling you're talking about, but I'm young yet. I can only imagine it will get worse. That last one with a few word changes I've written myself. The weirdness can be fun, intoxicating, lackluster, annoying, sobering, ragged, maddening. I can't imagine any other way. Good writing man.


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## schmuck.k

again randy good writing


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## drill.daddy

It strange how a mans occupation all to often takes over a good portion of his life. In some cases the job becomes his life, it directly affects them as a person . its the turning point in our lifes where its not what we do for a living, its what we live to do .


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## joesawer

It is the freedom of mind and body the lack of an ever present and stifling safety net that protects us from ourselves. But in return turns us into good little docile well fenced livestock. 
As a very young person I have a memory of it and long for it.


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## 056 kid

RandyMac said:


> I tried to form a metophoric picture of what has gone on in my head for the last few weeks, I had control issues so to speak. The entity that was run down and locked up, has been running freely for months, not a normal thing for me, a tight and sturdy leash is used. However, I let him out, let him run, had a blast and ran the ragged edge for too long. I told him enough already and was ignored, I lost control, he gained it. I had to resort to using one of the more basic entities to force him into the locked box, it wasn't fun. This is where my fear of spiders comes from. I have gone through this cycle many times, I get tired, one of them seizes the reins and goes until the wheels fall off.
> I use my barbarian friend to go back, to see, feel and almost live the past, this is where the stories come from. He loves it there, hates the current era and trys to trick me in becoming stuck in the 1970s. He has done it before, will again, it is too easy for me to be drawn back, I really don't care for this era either. I have gotten stuck there, it took effort to be present, when here, I want to go back and I fear that if I do, I'll get lost.



You where lucky enough to live the life, I dont see any problems staying in it. #### this wireless hands free era, its fake . . .


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## Massmacfreak

*McCulloch's*

Randy Mac, I think you just put your finger on the reason I restore old Macs. Dangerous, gnarly and temperamental. Well said!!!!!!


RandyMac said:


> Originally Posted by slowp. Edited from "Huge Trees"
> *
> I started out here when the big stuff was still being logged. It was scary and I usually just stayed out of the way during falling operations. I'd check their work after they went home. They took a while to get those trees on the ground, and around here often had another guy along to pack gear and pound in wedges.
> 
> There was a lot of breakage. The tops exploded when they hit the ground.
> 
> To cruise those big punkins (estimate the volume before cutting) you'd stand back and try to figure out where the tree was going to bust up and put that top diameter on the data card. There was a lot of other defect in them too.
> 
> The mills were not as efficient so a lot of "cull" logs were left either in the unit or on the landings and burned. The landing wood might get sold again for pulp, but was left for the firewood cutters and then burned. I only had an 032 with a 20 inch bar so had a hard time finding small enough wood to cut.
> 
> The slash in the clearcuts was deep. I was following a 6 foot guy through it and he let out an "oops" and disappeared. That was how deep that bit of slash left after yarding was. That's why those units were burned. You had to be able to get to the soil for planting. *
> 
> The spiders didn't quit, whiskey slowed them down, but they are a crawlin'.
> 
> Old Growth, brings to most minds, parks or groves, treasured remnants of what was. Dark, peaceful, a place to reflect on one's place in the World.
> Now, welcome to my Old Growth World. My past is littered with stumps and shattered debris, evidence of my passage is marked by a swath of devastation. OG logging was by nature a destructive process, slowp caught some of that, actually well enough to wake up my spiders. I tend to avoid the subject, that is, my own thoughts on what my falling of OG timber means to me now. I tend to consider much of what I did, to be a series of violent acts. Now, I ain't goin' hippie here, nope. Just reflecting on my motives, God help me, I loved it, the more noise and stuff flyin' in the air, the harder I pushed it. To walk up to a huge, silent being, with intent to tear into it's flesh with a ravening machine, a machine that has a mindless hunger, that gnaws with endless teeth, all the while gleefully howling it's bloodlust, I was all too often one with that beast. That is why I ran McCullochs, most other makes were too tame, McCullochs dared you to master them, a half hearted attempt to do so, gave them the chance to whip your ass.
> I don't think even film can capture how it was, I won't do it the justice it deserves. The level of destruction has to be seen first hand, better yet, watch it happen, even better is making it happen. I have seen a dozen or so, very tall trees come apart on the way down down, we aren't talkin' tops, limbs, that was an everyday thing, these kinda folded in half, scattering crap everywhere. Oh yeah. Another noisy event was dropping a big tree into other big trees, best to be avoided, it happened on a fairly regular basis. Pitching a big tree down a steep slope was always made a good mess. Before you greenies, if you read this, get all bent (well, further bent) there was often no alternative. It was what it was, you dumped it's ass on the ground the best way you could, the balance between saving every inch and the pressure to produce, plus the gawd-dammed trees were contrary and fought your best efforts. We did leave some, there was no point in trying, they would be a total loss. I got in on the last of the old style bustass logging, I worked with men who had been at it from the begining of that era, I saw and did things that few others have. Does that make me better than anyone else, no, it makes me a worn out relic. I am rusting away like an old left behind arch. Those days are past and for many good reasons, mostly because sobs like me cut without much thought to what we were leaving behind.
> Do I regret any of it, yes. There are several trees that come to mind, they might still be standing and they were left where they were laid. It rarely occured to me, at those times, that maybe I shoulda walked away, left them standing. In those days, I would have walked into Hell to fall timber. I remember looking back at what was left, a sea of broken wood, hulking stumps, the only dirt showing were skidroads. I felt satisfaction, I would never have to go back there, and there was more Old Growth just ahead.
> The Dead of Night, that is when stuff catches up with me and flows out my slow, worn fingers. Sitting in the near dark, chewing asprin, chain smoking, swatting spiders and doing a poor job at putting thoughts into words.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Time for a xanax to keep the bugs at bay


----------



## woodguy105

madhatte said:


> 37 here, and agreed. Can you imagine kids of today playing "BB gun war"?



Oh yeah! BB Gun war...haven't thought of that in a long long time. And to think we walked all over with a bb guns. Now you'd have the SWAT team called in.......


----------



## FSburt

drill.daddy said:


> It strange how a mans occupation all to often takes over a good portion of his life. In some cases the job becomes his life, it directly affects them as a person . its the turning point in our lifes where its not what we do for a living, its what we live to do .



Well said that is how I feel my career has progressed. My family and wife did sacrifice their summers because of my career but my wife knew when we married that this was what she married into. It also helped that she worked for the outfit as well when she was younger and knew what to expect when the phone calls would come late at night or when I was gone 5 days a week all summer long. Lucky sancho stayed away or so I think he did.


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## Gypo Logger

drill.daddy said:


> It strange how a mans occupation all to often takes over a good portion of his life. In some cases the job becomes his life, it directly affects them as a person . its the turning point in our lifes where its not what we do for a living, its what we live to do .


 The drilling is just the mineral below the overburden and just as exciting to see.
It's just that there's alot more granite than pine. Lol
John


----------



## 056 kid

I wish I could tell stories like Randy.

Been raisin hell all day in this east coast snow storm. LOLOL.

People really get scared when you cock your rig sideways, spinnig tires trying to get up hills. 

LOLOLOL, I made some people hit the ditch, they where going down a hill, I was trying to rocket my way up, they saw me all sideways and decided to slam on brakes, hahahahaha, they ended up in a ditch. Thats really funny to me because those morons did that all on their own. 
A whole town full of idiots

People are FUCHING STUPID. . . .


----------



## Rounder

My first logging job was the result of an interview....not sure what that means anymore. Anyhow, owner says to me, very matter of factly- "Logging is not a job, it is a lifestyle". Jesus ####ing Christ, he wasn't kidding - Sam


----------



## GASoline71

I cut my teeth on the landing with a Stihl 076. Had a 41" bar on it. Huge monster for a 17 year old kid to be runnin' around with buckin' the butt ends off of the big pickles that came up from below. It was a far cry from my Gramps old Echo EVL somethingorother jap saw we used for firewood. That big Stihl beat the snot out of me for 2 years until I enlisted in the Navy. Boot Camp was a welcome sight as it was easier than what I had been doin' in the woods the 2 years prior to joining up.

I still have a small dent in my chest where that big 076 came back at me hard in a pinch and knocked me flat on my ass. Lifted me off the ground and tossed me a good 6 feet from where my corks were planted. I misread the compression on that log. Only about 6" of the bar was still in the big Douggie spar that I was buckin' but it held the powerhead of that saw off the ground 'pert near 3 feet. It wobbled back and forth as if to say to me "Nice try punk." The saw sputtered to a halt and it was real quiet for a sec... 

The cat workin' the shovel, saw me get the wind knocked out of me and came to check on me. I really can't type what he actually said here... but it was to the effect that there was a loggin' operation in full swing and I was holding up the show by layin' down on the job. I stood up, and went to pull that big Stihl from the wood. No dice... pinched up hard like a virgin on prom night. I went to the crummy and got an 056 that was there for a "backup". It was a beat POS... lots of nuts and bolts missing, and low on compression, and to beat all, a rattling loose muffler. But the bar was long enough to do the job of rescuing the 076 from the death grip the huge Doug had on it... and the chain was razor sharp.

Off I went with the pain still burning in my chest from that kiss I took earlier. I freed up the big saw in decent time... but continued to use the POS because it was lighter. My sternum and ribcage were killin' me with every breath. I finished the day and when I got home... my Mom took me to the ER. I had torn cartilage on my sternum, and 2 cracked ribs. I was back on the job in 2 weeks (against doctors orders)... I almost missed football that year (my senior year) because of that injury.

Oh well... I have the dent in my chest to match the dent in my head... and that pard'... is another story. 

Gary


----------



## RandyMac

YeeHaww!!!

That 056 sounds like every landing saw I have ever seen.

So, about that dent in your head.


----------



## Tzed250

.

The scars help to keep the memories clear...


.


----------



## joesawer

The spiders bite me today. Lol
I am at my dads and dug out my very first saw and started messing with it. 
How many people get to go through as many saws as I have and still go back to the one that got their cherry? Lol


----------



## RandyMac

joesawer said:


> The spiders bite me today. Lol
> I am at my dads and dug out my very first saw and started messing with it.
> How many people get to go through as many saws as I have and still go back to the one that got their cherry? Lol



Squish that spider, let's hear your first saw story.


----------



## RandyMac

Dammitalltohell!!!
A couple days ago, someone let me know that most of my photos don't show up in threads, and they don't. I checked my photo site, it's been hacked, mostly gone and they left tree hugging crap in it. I have started fixing it. Happened just after I got an AS content warning. Back to rotating passwords again. I also got a big increase in unknown username e-mails, that I never open, the titles are enough.

The spiders are suspicious.


----------



## Joe46

That's a ##### Randy. Had that happen to me last spring while I was visiting friends in SoCal. Scumbag hit up all my contacts for money. Fortunately all my contacts know that's not how I operate and nobody sent them anything.


----------



## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> Dammitalltohell!!!
> A couple days ago, someone let me know that most of my photos don't show up in threads, and they don't. I checked my photo site, it's been hacked, mostly gone and they left tree hugging crap in it. I have started fixing it. Happened just after I got an AS content warning. Back to rotating passwords again. I also got a big increase in unknown username e-mails, that I never open, the titles are enough.
> 
> The spiders are suspicious.



Bastards! 

Hold my beer while I go get my tire iron...:chainsawguy:


----------



## joesawer

That sucks about your getting hacked. There is more than one way to steal from a man.

As for my saw... It was given to me when I was 15 yrs old by grandpa.
It is a Mac 550 that was really to much saw for me at the time. 
It is 99cc and I did not know how to sharpen a chain and could not take advantage of the power.
With its lack of anti vibe and slow cutting and weight it was quite unpleasant to run. 
The exhaust sound was also impressive.
It has a ton of compression and without good drop start technique it is impossible to start. When it spits back it will take the starter handle from you. 
As an unskilled teenager it was simply too much saw and I grew to not really like it much.
I put it up some time before I graduated high school in the loft of a tractor shed at my dads.
The tractor shed now is a part of a whole lot of sheds and a the sight of a sawmill and the tractor shed itself houses a planer mill and filling shop.
Things have changed some since then. The first thing I noticed it only weighs about half of what I remembered. Lol
Sitting for over twenty years has not been kind to it. I hope it will be worth fixing. 
I don't really want to do a restoration on it but get it in good working condition and actually cut a few trees with it. Not for production but when I have an occasional big yard tree or some sport cutting to do.


----------



## RandyMac

Sport cutting, oh those were the days. My bro aka Humboldt Red and I roamed southern Humboldt county looking for interesting trees to fall, we often got far more than we bargined for. There are reasons why the old loggers left trees, we rediscovered some of the whys.

Joe, that 550 shouldn't give you too much trouble to get going, if it does, the Mac guys will help.


----------



## stihl sawing

Just want to wish all of you a Very Merry Christmas.


----------



## madhatte

I have a line right now on a good 550 that comes with an auger attachment. Should be picking it up in a couple of weeks. I imagine I won't have much chance to use it to its full potential, but I'll sure be thinking of where it's been every time I run it.


----------



## Eccentric

madhatte said:


> I have a line right now on a good 550 that comes with an auger attachment. Should be picking it up in a couple of weeks. I imagine I won't have much chance to use it to its full potential, but I'll sure be thinking of where it's been every time I run it.



Grab it and post pics. A 550 packs a *bit* more power than needed for an auger attachment. I'm impressed with my 550 so far, but haven't put it in 'big wood' yet...

That '70s wildman pic you've got in your siggy is one of my favorites Randy!


----------



## RandyMac

Thanks Aaron.
the famous barbarian phase, the basic, elemental being in us all, I let mine go for it.


----------



## joesawer

RandyMac said:


> Sport cutting, oh those were the days. My bro aka Humboldt Red and I roamed southern Humboldt county looking for interesting trees to fall, we often got far more than we bargined for. There are reasons why the old loggers left trees, we rediscovered some of the whys.
> 
> Joe, that 550 shouldn't give you too much trouble to get going, if it does, the Mac guys will help.





Did you get your pics straightened out. I would hate to have greasy smelly hippys living on my page lol.
Sometimes I get a call to cut something that is for a good cause and sometimes it is even fun! Lol 

time has not been kind to that old 550. So far the gas tank is not in serviceable condition the carb is not working or the oiler. But the piston and cylinder look new and it has great compression.
I have posted about it on the Mac page.
I just have to find time to work on it.


----------



## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> Thanks Aaron.
> the famous barbarian phase, the basic, elemental being in us all, I let mine go for it.




Ahh, there's the famous 'finger' pic. That one *is* my favorite!


----------



## RandyMac

Continued elsewhere.


----------



## Rounder

Amen, I'm out - Sam


----------



## Rounder

Ok, one more, gotta get post 666, lol...


----------



## Teddy.Scout

WTF!
This thread sucks now!
It will be missed!

I live were George Washington cut ALL the timber out for the Lake wars.
Nothing LARGE or HUGE! The occasional plantation Oak or home stead Maples.
But nothing continues! Good to hear stories (detailed) of cutting. 
Never fell anything over 5'(well actually that was only twice at 4-5') everything else has been 2.75-3.5' and those are rare or even just to make room or clear up congestion in a stand.

Man, hippies(tree huggers) have there place! But I only take them serious if they are living in a cave or pine lathe A-frame tent.


----------



## raycarr

He just sent me a wild, very funny tale about spearing a too big of a King, after it tried to drown him, it beat the crap out of him, way funny. Too bad this didn't continue for another 50 pages or so. You lost a great deal here.


----------



## Gologit

*Ray..*

Yes we did. We lost some good members and others don't come around much because of it. A lot of knowledge was lost when the bannings started.


















l


----------



## stihl sawing

Randy will be missed big time, I loved reading his stories. Plus he had forgot more about Macs than most people know about em.


----------



## Mike Williams

He will definitely be missed. I'm new and just found his stories not to long ago. Hate to see him go


----------



## cpr

If you need help,

and you can find him,

The maybe you could talk to...

The RandyMac


----------



## Gologit

I tried to post, and then PM you guys where RandyMac can be found now. Apparently that's a no-no because the addresses were deleted and couldn't be listed in a post or a PM.

If you can't find him PM me and I'll send you my cell number. Call me and I'll tell you where he is.

To the mods...I'm not advertising for another site and I'm certainly not advocating breaking the rules. I'm not trying to inspire a mass exodus from AS...just helping guys stay in touch. If we can't do it the easy way, we'll try it the hard way.

And if, after all these years, I get banned for this...well, maybe it's time to go anyway.


----------



## Eccentric

Gologit said:


> I tried to post, and then PM you guys where RandyMac can be found now. Apparently that's a no-no because the addresses were deleted and couldn't be listed in a post or a PM.
> 
> If you can't find him PM me and I'll send you my cell number. Call me and I'll tell you where he is.
> 
> To the mods...I'm not advertising for another site and I'm certainly not advocating breaking the rules. I'm not trying to inspire a mass exodus from AS...just helping guys stay in touch. If we can't do it the easy way, we'll try it the hard way.
> 
> And if, after all these years, I get banned for this...well, maybe it's time to go anyway.


 
Well put Bob.


----------



## joesawer

Randy can be found on face book.


----------



## paccity

Gologit said:


> I tried to post, and then PM you guys where RandyMac can be found now. Apparently that's a no-no because the addresses were deleted and couldn't be listed in a post or a PM.
> 
> If you can't find him PM me and I'll send you my cell number. Call me and I'll tell you where he is.
> 
> To the mods...I'm not advertising for another site and I'm certainly not advocating breaking the rules. I'm not trying to inspire a mass exodus from AS...just helping guys stay in touch. If we can't do it the easy way, we'll try it the hard way.
> 
> And if, after all these years, I get banned for this...well, maybe it's time to go anyway.


 amen! it's a good place.


----------



## climberjones

RandyMac said:


> Joe!!
> Yes indeed, the logging era that few people know of, or care to hear about. Mechanized logging doesn't have the romantic vision most hold of the old hand logging. The picture of a solid man, with nothing but his strength, wit and a handtool against trees so big you were called a liar if you talked about it. The facts are far from wonderful, it was a brutal job, a man didn't last long, it made you old fast, if you lived through it. The body count was high, little or no regard given to the men, let alone the forest, the waste of both were rampant. Before steam blasted onto the scene, the woods rang with axes, men hollering, Bulls lowing, trees crashing down. Steam changed all of that, steam was loud, steam had power, cables were soon strung, rails laid, the pace picked up and so did the carnage, both men and trees. The post WW2 era saw real fuel breathing machines, crude, heavy, slow and ages beyond oxen and steam. Now we arrive in that time Joe was talking about, let's call it 1950. A few developments occured about then, McCulloch and Homelite brought portable, powerful and fast cutting chainsaws to the market. Caterpiller had pulled themselves out of a post War glut of tractors that were too heavy for practical woods use and had a strong hand on the bulldozer designs. It was on. The next 25 years saw more timber harvested than in the previous 100 years. Improvements of equipment and logging practices accelerated, by the time 1960 rolled around, the pattern was set, while machines got faster, the techniques stayed pretty much the same through the 1970s. In my opinion, the 1960s were as destructive as logging got, politics later in the decade caused landowners to throw away long term harvest plans and tear the living #### outta the land. Reseach Redwood Creek, see through the leftist cant, to who really caused the devastation.
> Much of the history of this period has yet to be written, most of the machines are gone, as are the men who ran them. Whatever my personal motives may have been, it was an honor to have participated in such activities with the men who pioneered them.


 
Man you do have a way with words put it in a book for all the world to see its great end of story!


----------



## cpr

climberjones said:


> Man you do have a way with words put it in a book for all the world to see its great end of story!


 
He is writing a book. No word on when it'll be done. Randy's in the very early stages of gathering the stories on paper (or computer, whatever) then editing. It'll be a bit, but I for one am excited to see it.


----------



## Teddy.Scout

cpr said:


> He is writing a book. No word on when it'll be done. Randy's in the very early stages of gathering the stories on paper (or computer, whatever) then editing. It'll be a bit, but I for one am excited to see it.


 
AMEN! I want a first edition!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It will go well on my night stand next to my dream saw (don't tell Randy it is a creamsickle!)


----------



## raycarr

cpr said:


> He is writing a book. No word on when it'll be done. Randy's in the very early stages of gathering the stories on paper (or computer, whatever) then editing. It'll be a bit, but I for one am excited to see it.


 
I can say that it is beyond the early stage, I have read many pages so far. Some of it made me laugh so hard I pulled a muscle, some of it wasn't funny *at all*. Same with the pics, some are cool, some aren't, the one with all the blood down his back was not very cheery.
Expect more weird poetry stuff. I am thinking it might be another year.


----------



## cpr

Good to hear Ray. Looking forward to it very much.


----------



## ltdann86

Banned for what? pics?


----------



## 8433jeff

ltdann86 said:


> Banned for what? pics?


 
No good reason. Randy doesn't care, really. Just found this thread, and now off to find him again.


----------



## ChrisF

Randy kicks a$$! Ain't no two ways about it!


----------



## raycarr

The old guy has been quiet lately, must be up to something. I should make the run up there before the baby comes, there won't be any going anywhere afterwards. I am borrowing one of his many names for my son when he arrives in March. Randy bet me a 6 pack of warm beer that this one be as redheaded as his Mom and little Ray.


----------



## Gologit

*Ray...*

Yup...get up there and tell him to get busy. :computer: Most of us know where to find him now and we're all more than ready for the next batch of good stories.

And good luck with your newest tax deduction.


----------



## raycarr

Thank you Mr. G.

It will be me and the boy next weekend, leaving my Cindy with a quiet house for a couple days. Littlest Ray likes going in the car, fusses at the car seat some "I'm big" he says.
I'll see about getting something posted, elsewhere. I would do it, but don't want to be fed to the crabs.


----------



## RandyMac

I have been partially re-instated.
The Dead will still be elsewhere.


----------



## paccity

well good morn.


----------



## cpr

RandyMac said:


> I have been partially re-instated.
> The Dead will still be elsewhere.


 
Yay!


----------



## stihl sawing

Glad your back.


----------



## RandyMac

I want to thank you all for all the kind words and moral support.
I hope all who got banned will return as well.
I am in the same mind set that I was in mid December.
Where that dammed spider get to?


----------



## RandyMac

TreeCo said:


> Hadn't noticed you were gone but it's good to see you back!


 
You didn't notice 'cause you don't hang out with the right folks:rotfl:


----------



## Mike Williams

RandyMac said:


> I have been partially re-instated.
> The Dead will still be elsewhere.


 
Welcome back. You've been missed.


----------



## Mike Williams

RandyMac said:


> I want to thank you all for all the kind words and moral support.
> I hope all who got banned will return as well.
> I am in the same mind set that I was in mid December.
> Where that dammed spider get to?


 
Oh good. Grabs a beer and pulls the log closer to the fire.


----------



## RandyMac

Yeah, missed like that rock in your boot, that you just tossed out.

Thank you Mike.


----------



## Mike Williams

RandyMac said:


> Yeah, missed like that rock in your boot, that you just tossed out.
> 
> Thank you Mike.


 
Chuckles.. well ya get used to pain from the rock eventually


----------



## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> I have been partially re-instated.
> The Dead will still be elsewhere.


 
Howdy stranger. Glad yer back. I was just about out of Stingers..


----------



## flushcut

RandyMac said:


> I have been partially re-instated.
> The Dead will still be elsewhere.


 
Did you get a chance to finish your book while you were in camp?


----------



## forestryworks

MacKendrick!


----------



## RandyMac

*Crumpler!!!*


----------



## paccity

it's looking at me again!:bulgy-eyes:


----------



## RandyMac

paccity said:


> it's looking at me again!:bulgy-eyes:


 
And IT knows what you are thinking.


----------



## slowp

thanks for reminding me that I need to go feed the Grapple Cat. He gets mean if I don't.


----------



## RandyMac

I am here to serve.


----------



## forestryworks

paccity said:


> it's looking at me again!:bulgy-eyes:


 


RandyMac said:


> And IT knows what you are thinking.


 
IT needs to be Bullbuck!


----------



## ric5141

Glad to see you back Randy......


----------



## RandyMac

forestryworks said:


> IT needs to be Bullbuck!


 
A good a name as any, it is running the show after all.


----------



## stihl sawing

Ok Randy, Time for another installment..........PLEASE.


----------



## RandyMac

ok, later. Got to get a few things done first.


----------



## Eccentric

RandyMac said:


> ok, later. Got to get a few things done first.


 
Hey Randy,

Is that the old Chevy that got the 'extra ventillation' due to the case of mistaken identity???opcorn:


----------



## RandyMac

Oh gosh.


----------



## RandyMac

Back in 1980 I was snowshoeing in the northern Sierra Nevadas. Being a knothead I was by myself and was only intending to be out for the day, but was prepared for a bit more than that. I started at first light, needed hard snow to go uphill on, the part was pretty steep. It started to snow just about the time I got to the top and really came down an hour later. I followed the ridge top, it was easy because there was no trees and flat enough for a good trail. I heard thunder, very odd, thunder in a snowstorm. I got this weird itchy feeling, it got worse and I heard a humming. Snow was being shaken from the shrubs, I stopped, very puzzled, I took off my hat, my hair stuck out everywhere. Oh, I thought, not a good place to be, a charge was building up and I was very nearly the tallest thing around. I plunged downhill toward the stream, stopping at a faint trail at the bottom. The bolt hit farther up, a sizzling crack with a blinding blue flash. It didn't ground right away and blew snow for hundreds of feet. More thunder, I stuck to the trail, not much of a choice, the stream had cut steep banks, 5 foot snowshoes didn't allow for fancy footwork.
I had lost a lot of time, it was going to be dark in an hour and I had to keep following the stream, it was slow going. I spotted an overhang on the bluff on the opposite side, gritted my teeth, waded across in fast moving, very cold water, just above my knees. I decided to tough it out and spend the night under the rock. With much labor a fire of sorts was burning, I had the little stove doing it's mediocore best to melt snow into coffee. It got dark fast, in a blink of an eye twilight was gone. While foraging for firewood, I found that the overhang had a split in the rock. I grabbed the flashlight to take a look. I was completely amazed at what I saw. Petroglyphs, lots of them. Most were the standard etchings that the natives left everywhere, some were not. I still find it difficult to describe them, they weren't like anything I had seen before. One was a man figure with three rings around his head, yes I knew it was a man, there was artisic proof of manhood, something the natives didn't do much of. There were other weird things as well, nothing that I could make any sense of. Petrogylphs are fairly standardized with regional styles, this place was off scale. I did give some thought to moving on, but the snow was falling hard, it was dark, haybale fort dark, so I hunkered down. I tried to sleep, it wasn't happening, a check of the time showed that it was many hours until daylight. Still kinda creeped out by the ancient artwork, I of course heard funny noises. A sound like the creaking of whicker furniture, a hollow bass note like footsteps on wood planks and what seemed to be a scraping noise, like glass on stone. All of this was like a flicker of movement at the corner of one's eye. I double damned the singing in my ears, I could not trace where any of these sounds were coming from, the stream was not helping matters. I decided to leave, which meant crossing the stream, again, in the dark.
I found a solid stick and commenced. I made it to the trail, figured that continuing upstream was the best bet. I tried to stride away purposely as in not running in panic, not easy to do in snowshoes. I trudged on for about two hours, stopping now and then to listen and heard nothing. I denned up at the base of a big sized tree, another fire, more coffee, a few cigars later it was light. Internal conflict raged, part of me badly wanted to go back and check that place out in the light. The rest of me wanted out as soon as I could. I departed, leaving the mysteries behind.
That afternoon, in oh so glorious sunlight, I made my way back towards my truck. I had to backtrail once, because of bad ground and found that a Wolverine had been following me, it took a nasty crap in one of my footsteps. I came to a meadow with early snowmelt streamlets winding around willow clumps. I stood in a thicket of pines, trying to decide whether or not to remove the snowshoes or just carry on. While I was thinking, about 15 feet in front of me, from behind a willow clump, up pops a cinnamin bear, standing on his hind legs. He didn't see me and started toward me, damned snowshoes, couldn't run. So, I drew my heavy revolver, crouched down and stuck a bowie knife in a close by tree. I need not have worried, he caught a big nose full of sweating whiteman and decamped in a hurry. I laughed my ass off, the poor thing had just gotten out of hibernation, his skin was three sizes too big. He looked like a child in Daddy's clothes, when he ran, that loose hide was a half step behind him.
When summer came, I could not make myself go back to that place, it still creeps me out, badly. 

I went too far, I smell pine smoke.


----------



## Eccentric

Sounds like it's time for a drink Randy. If you're still at work, say so. That way I can have one for you too! That was another good one my friend. I've felt and heard the "pre lightning" hum/buzz thing in the Sierra myself. I've spent a night or two in 'very old' places that made me feel like that too (with the sounds and corner-of-the-eye movements). No petroglyphs though...............at least not the ancient kind. Over a few belts I'll tell you about some of the experiences I've had skulking around our now shut-down 79 year old facility and the grounds surrounding it...


----------



## RandyMac

Our little jail has history back to '64, with an addition from '94. The are things that make noise or flickered sightings. I work in a mostly glassed octagon with the glass to the tanks "mirroring" the angles. Now and then I see an old guy in a green uniform reflected in the H-0 tank glass. The dept changed to black uniforms in '88.
One of the resident boogers will toss a handball in the old side rec in the middle of the night. The jail was built along side an old stream bed, which is now F street, rumor has is that there was a pioneer gravesite near here.
We have a death here about once every two years, the lastest was Dec last year, a violent one. That kind of sprit is easy to handle, the ancient ones forget they are dead and won't be dealt with.

There is a cave system north of Wilson Creek, right on the ocean. Humboldt and I went through it once, never again, just too strange.


----------



## Eccentric

I still have a few of my greens. We changed to black uniforms in 1999. Took the patches off of the greens and use them as coveralls when working on equipment. You see and hear strange things working nights...

We shut our old facility down in August of 2006. It had been in continuous opperation since 1932 or so. I feel fortunate to have worked in there before the shutdown. It's extremely facinating. The sub basement (which is realy three stories underground) has three HUGE boilers that are similar to what was in large steamships of the period. The electrical pannels down there look like something out of Dr Frankenstein's lab. They're taking 'soil samples' around the place (lotsa lead and asbestos) and planning it's demolition. I'll be sad to see it go, but am looking forward to seeing much of the 'inner workings' exposed to view. The original refrigeration plant was amonia based. Much of the old compressors and such were just walled over in sections of the basement when they were 'replaced'.

The city stopped spending any real money to maintain it back in the '80s, as it was "only going to be running a couple more years".....................for about 25 years or so. If they'd maintained it, the place would be in much better shape. I am so angry about that fact that I could chew nails and spit screws. We're only about 1/4 mile from the ocean. Salt air....neglect.......concrete........steel...

The property this facility (and the new one) is on is still heavily wooded. There's a section of GG Park NRA that butts up against it. There's a wildlife preserve nearby too. Whole place is still very old and wild.............despite being so near metropolis. Told you about that Cougar I saw last year while making night rounds. There was a herd of Bison from GGP there years ago. I've seen coyotes, deer, a cougar, bobcats, owls, various falcons, etc. I believe there were Miwak Indians on that land at some point as well...

I've been in the old facility about a dozen times since we shut 'er down. Extremely spooky. Back in the 'old days' (up until about 30-40 years ago) it was used to house a lot of drunk-in-publics (that are now just kept in a 647f RWS tank downtown at intake/booking until sober, then cited and released). Drunks would spend a week or so out there. I know old timers that swear that during certain times of the year they'd have a DIC once a WEEK amoung all those decrepid old drunks. Again, that was many decades ago. That's a lot of souls that departed there over the years. 


Then there's the ad-seg cell in 6-South where three guys committed suicide. We hadn't used any of those ancient "Alkatraz sollitary confinement looking" all steel cells in 20 years. If you spend any time in that cell you'll get a terrible chill and a nervous feeling that doesn't come from any of the other cells. Doesn't have anything to do with a draft either. I won't get into the violent DIC's that have happened there over the decades...

Since we've shut that place down, I've seen more than a few flashes of orange moving by the windows on the tiers. Heard gates crashing when inside too, despite there being no wind at the time. Also heard locks turning and showers being turned on (they have push-button pneumatic timed valves). 

Down in the basement, a coworker and I were loading firefighting equipment to take over to the new facility for storage. We heard a heavily loaded bar being lifted and clanked onto the bench in the old staff weight room down the hall. Heard it many times over about an hour period (while we were finding equipment and loading it in a cart). Made our way to the weight room, and ALL of the weights had been removed. Only an empty bench. NOTHING loose to swing or clank. We had the only keys to the facility and were the only live souls there save the rats...

That will do for now. I've got a cold sweat going. The rest will wait until we're talkin' and drinkin' face to face...


----------



## ChrisF

Awesome stories, both of you!


----------



## Eccentric

Thanks Chris. I just feel fortunate to have something to share in Randy's thread here. I'll shoot some pics of the old place and post them here sometime. Time to take a cue from the 'normal' non-nightshift folks in the house and hit the rack. I'm typing while they snore!


----------



## cpr

Wolverine, eh? But I've never been to California.

Sadly the last known wild wolverine here died last summer.

Good stories guys.


----------



## stihl sawing

Great stuff guys.:msp_thumbsup:


----------



## RandyMac

cpr said:


> Wolverine, eh? But I've never been to California.
> 
> Sadly the last known wild wolverine here died last summer.
> 
> Good stories guys.


 
California is the land of some of each. The State's terrain varies hugely, from below sea level to the highest peak in the 48, volcanos, coastal rain forests.....

You should ease on over and wander about.


----------



## stihl sawing

My sister lived in San Jose, Some nice scenery around there. She moved to springfield Missouri just last year. She had been in california for more than 30 years. She said something about taxes there were getting to high. I dunno. If she moved cause of the high traffic, Well she moved in another high traffic area. Springfield is near Branson and it's always crowded.


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## RandyMac

San Hosey, that is in Alta Mexico.


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## Brian13

Eccentric said:


> That will do for now. I've got a cold sweat going. The rest will wait until we're talkin' and drinkin' face to face...


 
Thats just cold, leaving a brother hanging like that!!! This is one of the few stories I can say I have had my own experiences with. There is a park out on one of the beaches where I live, that has many mysteries, and seems to have a dark side about it. A little history about it, for starters it is very probable that it was a Indian burial ground at some point in time which is not uncommon for this area. This area has been a pretty popular resort area since the 40's and 50's. The park itself lays on the tip of a barrier island right by on of the major passes to the Gulf, and currents can be very strong, so numerous drownings have occurred through the years, mainly from tourists not realizing how strong the currants are around here. And more recently there was a few murders and rapes from the gangbangers that used to hang out there. I have been there both during the day and night, and its always creepy but at night its by far one of the scariest places in my area. My first visit for me was the most scary, not necessarily because of the events, but because it is harder for me to write off as irrational fear. So we will start with my friend asking me what we want to do for a Friday night, and he asks if I have any interest in checking this place out. He tells me it haunted, and my response is to laugh. I dont discount ghosts at all, but I was very skeptical that anything cool like that could possibly be found in this boring ass town. So what the hell we went. Once you get to the park you realize this isnt a place to bring your kids, at least not at night. And that has nothing to do with ghosts, more like the derelicts that hang out to drink and do who knows what else. But the bums and dog size racoons are not what Mike brought me out there to see so we push forward to the entrance of the trail system. We enter a tiny forest of Australian Pine, Mangrove trees, Sea Grapes and other tree/bushes that thrive so close to saltwater, and first thing you notice is how dense it is, very claustrophobic. Visibility through the woods during the day isnt very far and its even less at night, the darkness is very oppressive to say the least. For those that are not familiar with Floridas weather, in the summertime it stays hot and humid at night, you dont get a break when the sun goes down, but back here its almost chilly. As we are walking I start to get a strong chill going through me, and start to get nervous, still skeptical I just tell my self I am being a wuss and dont say anything. Eventually I notice a spot off to my right a little above my head maybe two or three feet away, that just seems darker than the surrounding area. It is really hard to describe, it was something but it was nothing. Just a blob of an area that had a different darker texture, and it was really bothering me, but I said nothing and maintained my stance that I was just scaring myself. Minutes later Mike points to that exact area, dead center, and said "there is a ghost right there". I never said anything to him about what I saw, I was trying to ignore it as best as I could, but what ever it was Mike saw it too. After that I was hooked and visited many more times, and have seen and felt many things. There is for sure something different there, something not so good, and just writing about it, I want to grab some friends and go back out there. In that aspect I dont think I will ever grow up.


----------



## RandyMac

Good stuff Brian, I feel somewhat more sane now.

I roamed the Sierras from north of Tahoe to the Feather River, I was always drawn
to the rocky out crops. I found that others have done the same, probably since the first Man went through there. I found a spot in Gold Valley, on the West side that reeked of dispair. There was a rough, handhewn platform jammed in a big split rock, with a firepit below it. There was a small pile of old rusted tin cans and a few bottles and some misc debris. I was scuffing around in there and saw two deformed bullets sitting on a stone ledge. They had been badly cast out of poor alloy.
I took them outside to get a better look, very crude. Then I noticed that all the tin cans had been peeled apart, the "tin" used to seal the seams had been melted off. Those wretched lumps were probably the result of much labor.
They were close to .40 and were most likely rifle bullets. 
Once that thought was fully formed, the bullets were burning cold in my hand.
I put them back where I found them and rubbed my hands raw with dirt.
The place was about 5 miles from where the petroglyphs are, the stream is fed from Hawley Lake. I cut a few trees for the Empire Mine located downstream, I liked that valley and explored it.


----------



## Gologit

cpr said:


> Wolverine, eh? But I've never been to California.
> 
> Sadly the last known wild wolverine here died last summer.
> 
> Good stories guys.


 
Wolverine? One of our company 'ologists found one. One. I think that's all she does anymore... follow that little critter around.


Lone wolverine continues to roam Sierra - Sacramento News - Local and Breaking Sacramento News | Sacramento Bee


Maybe your wolverine moved to California?


----------



## slowp

Apparently wolverines are now rare. I had one run across the road in the north part of our fair state, and log truck drivers would see one in the same area. It was a populated area, camps, cafe, boat launch. I just assumed they didn't want to be seen, the wolverines, that is. Now there is one up in the Methow country that is being tracked, collared, tortured, etc. I wonder how much we need to learn about them? Or is somebody just needing to write a doctoral thesis?


----------



## Eccentric

stihl sawing said:


> Great stuff guys.:msp_thumbsup:


 
Thanks SS. Means a lot.



stihl sawing said:


> My sister lived in San Jose, Some nice scenery around there. She moved to springfield Missouri just last year. She had been in california for more than 30 years. She said something about taxes there were getting to high. I dunno. If she moved cause of the high traffic, Well she moved in another high traffic area. Springfield is near Branson and it's always crowded.



If nothing else, the air quality has got to be better where she is now. San Ho is TERRIBLE. Like Mexico City. The taxes here are getting worse every year too...



Brian13 said:


> Thats just cold, leaving a brother hanging like that!!!



Sorry Brian. Some things just aren't suitable for the interwebs..........or a phone call for that matter. Besides, the Single Barrel has worn off and my own spiders have crawled away to sleep for a bit. Get yer butt out west here sometime and I'll share more of my 'unbelievable' experiences with you...



Brian13 said:


> This is one of the few stories I can say I have had my own experiences with. There is a park out on one of the beaches where I live, that has many mysteries, and seems to have a dark side about it. A little history about it, for starters it is very probable that it was a Indian burial ground at some point in time which is not uncommon for this area. This area has been a pretty popular resort area since the 40's and 50's. The park itself lays on the tip of a barrier island right by on of the major passes to the Gulf, and currents can be very strong, so numerous drownings have occurred through the years, mainly from tourists not realizing how strong the currants are around here. And more recently there was a few murders and rapes from the gangbangers that used to hang out there. I have been there both during the day and night, and its always creepy but at night its by far one of the scariest places in my area. My first visit for me was the most scary, not necessarily because of the events, but because it is harder for me to write off as irrational fear. So we will start with my friend asking me what we want to do for a Friday night, and he asks if I have any interest in checking this place out. He tells me it haunted, and my response is to laugh. I dont discount ghosts at all, but I was very skeptical that anything cool like that could possibly be found in this boring ass town. So what the hell we went. Once you get to the park you realize this isnt a place to bring your kids, at least not at night. And that has nothing to do with ghosts, more like the derelicts that hang out to drink and do who knows what else. But the bums and dog size racoons are not what Mike brought me out there to see so we push forward to the entrance of the trail system. We enter a tiny forest of Australian Pine, Mangrove trees, Sea Grapes and other tree/bushes that thrive so close to saltwater, and first thing you notice is how dense it is, very claustrophobic. Visibility through the woods during the day isnt very far and its even less at night, the darkness is very oppressive to say the least. For those that are not familiar with Floridas weather, in the summertime it stays hot and humid at night, you dont get a break when the sun goes down, but back here its almost chilly. As we are walking I start to get a strong chill going through me, and start to get nervous, still skeptical I just tell my self I am being a wuss and dont say anything. Eventually I notice a spot off to my right a little above my head maybe two or three feet away, that just seems darker than the surrounding area. It is really hard to describe, it was something but it was nothing. Just a blob of an area that had a different darker texture, and it was really bothering me, but I said nothing and maintained my stance that I was just scaring myself. Minutes later Mike points to that exact area, dead center, and said "there is a ghost right there". I never said anything to him about what I saw, I was trying to ignore it as best as I could, but what ever it was Mike saw it too. After that I was hooked and visited many more times, and have seen and felt many things. There is for sure something different there, something not so good, and just writing about it, I want to grab some friends and go back out there. In that aspect I dont think I will ever grow up.


 
Nicely done Brian. I've been in a few places like that. The wooded area of the property I talked about earlier has a deep, dark section like what you describe. Also, there are areas in the Mendocino NF and in the forrested areas near Burney that have given me the same feelings. There's a few other places near me that do it too. The Point Reyes area has much Miiwak (sp?) Indian history. I've had some interesting hikes there as a young lad. Same with the old Navaro Boy Scout camp near Boonville and Fort Bragg. That camp property was an OLD looging camp long ago. Many old gasoline and steam donkeys and other stationary engines and logging equipment still quietly rusts there. The land is still owned by one of the big logging companies IIRC. Used to do a bit of 'unauthorized' relic hunting there. Got the spooks in more than a few locations. Revolvers have been found there in the past...


----------



## 8433jeff

This is good stuff. Almost worth sending some beverages west for some more tales, but mine have been impounded for quality assurance purposes. Hate to send inferior stuff to superior posters.


----------



## cpr

Wolverines are indeed rare. Ask around in this state, lots of people will claim to be thanks to a certain university, but the real thing is gone from MI. Too bad really, the whitetails are overpopulated and the coyotes don't seem interested. Wolverines would help fix it, though (and no, I don't mean U of M grads).


----------



## RandyMac




----------



## lfnh

*Sunday night thread diversion*



slowp said:


> Apparently wolverines are now rare. I had one run across the road in the north part of our fair state, and log truck drivers would see one in the same area. It was a populated area, camps, cafe, boat launch. I just assumed they didn't want to be seen, the wolverines, that is. Now there is one up in the Methow country that is being tracked, collared, tortured, etc. I wonder how much we need to learn about them? Or is somebody just needing to write a doctoral thesis?



Sunday night thread diversion - Mods move it to separate thread if ya want to.

From Center for Biological Diversity
Some of the legal "facts" in the 2000 filing (near the end) concerning elk riparian management seem like a stretch. Anyway, this is the decades long legal wrangling:

Action timeline 
August 3, 1994 – The Biodiversity Legal Foundation, now merged with the Center for Biological Diversity, and Predator Project submitted a petition to list the American wolverine as a threatened or endangered species under the Endangered Species Act.

April 19, 1995 – The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service found the 1994 petition to hold inadequate information to call for listing the wolverine. 

July 14, 2000 – The Biodiversity Legal Foundation (now the Center) and allies submitted another petition to the Service to list the American wolverine as a threatened or endangered species under the Endangered Species Act.

October 21, 2003 – The Service published a 90-day petition finding announcing that the 2000 petition failed to present substantial information indicating that listing the wolverine was warranted.

June 8, 2005 – Conservation groups filed suit against the Service for using the wrong standards to assess their 2000 listing petition.

September 29, 2006 – A federal court in Montana ruled that the Service’s 2003 decision not to list the wolverine was in error and ordered the agency to make a 12-month finding on the status of the wolverine.

April 18, 2007 – The Service obtained a five-month extension on the deadline for the court-ordered status review, which was moved to February 28, 2008.

June 5, 2007 – In response to the 2006 court order, the Service initiated a status review of the wolverine and opened a public comment period.

March 11, 2008 – In its 12-month finding, the Service announced that it would not protect the wolverine in the contiguous United States due to the fact that wolverines were not endangered in Canada. The Service determined that American wolverines did not constitute a “distinct population segment” and therefore did not warrant federal protection. 

July 8, 2008 – The Center and nine other environmental groups, represented by Earthjustice, announced their intent to sue the Fish and Wildlife Service for its failure to list the American wolverine as threatened or endangered under the Endangered Species Act. 

September 30, 2008 – The Center and its nine allies sued the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service for its decision not to protect the wolverine despite the animal’s imperilment and the ever-increasing threat of global warming. 

June 10, 2009 – Under a legal settlement with the Center, the Service agreed to reconsider whether to add the wolverine in the lower 48 states to the endangered species list. A new listing determination was set to be due in December 2010.

December 13, 2010 – The Service found that endangered status for the wolverine was “warranted but precluded,” relegating the species to the candidate list to await Endangered Species Act protections indefinitely.


----------



## Brian13

Eccentric said:


> Sorry Brian. Some things just aren't suitable for the interwebs..........or a phone call for that matter. Besides, the Single Barrel has worn off and my own spiders have crawled away to sleep for a bit. Get yer butt out west here sometime and I'll share more of my 'unbelievable' experiences with you...
> 
> 
> 
> Nicely done Brian. I've been in a few places like that. The wooded area of the property I talked about earlier has a deep, dark section like what you describe. Also, there are areas in the Mendocino NF and in the forrested areas near Burney that have given me the same feelings. There's a few other places near me that do it too. The Point Reyes area has much Miiwak (sp?) Indian history. I've had some interesting hikes there as a young lad. Same with the old Navaro Boy Scout camp near Boonville and Fort Bragg. That camp property was an OLD looging camp long ago. Many old gasoline and steam donkeys and other stationary engines and logging equipment still quietly rusts there. The land is still owned by one of the big logging companies IIRC. Used to do a bit of 'unauthorized' relic hunting there. Got the spooks in more than a few locations. Revolvers have been found there in the past...


 
Thanks!!! For me though these are not memories I wish to repress, quit the opposite actually. I relish those experiences and wish relive them in as much detail as possible. But I guess I will have to just add that to my list of reasons to get out there. Dont forget though you can always come out this way .


----------



## Eccentric

Brian13 said:


> Thanks!!! For me though these are not memories I wish to repress, quit the opposite actually. I relish those experiences and wish relive them in as much detail as possible. But I guess I will have to just add that to my list of reasons to get out there. Dont forget though you can always come out this way .


 
Not repressing 'em Brian. Just don't feel they belong on the interewb. They're also too personal for a phone call. They're best shared in person..............................................................for reasons that also must be explained in persion...

I'll head out that way again someday...


----------



## Brian13

Eccentric said:


> Not repressing 'em Brian. Just don't feel they belong on the interewb. They're also too personal for a phone call. They're best shared in person..............................................................for reasons that also must be explained in persion...
> 
> I'll head out that way again someday...


 
I can respect that, although I would be lying if I said I am not super intrigued......Good thing my short term memory is short LOL.

I went back to wander the trails there many times, with several different friends including my now wife. Almost every time I would see or feel something, and its hard not to say that my imagination didnt play some role, but I cant help but think that place has a dark if not malicious vibe. Some things I have seen so clearly I cant believe my eyes were playing tricks. There is a bridge in the middle of the trail, and once you cross this bridge it seems like you enter the epicenter of all the activity. On one trip, we reach the bridge and on the other side me and my friend can clearly see a man in a long coat and a derby hat. There was also a cat roaming around his feet as well, both figures more like a shadow in appearance than anything else. One we reached the other side of the bridge there was nothing there, no signs that anybody had been there. The weird part is neither of us remember seeing the shadow leave, just wasnt there when we got there. 

I have never seen such an oppressive darkness as this place can hold too. On another trip out, it was near a new moon and very dark out. Once entering the trail we noticed immediately it was dark, I mean devoid of any light, and almost immediately an intense feeling of claustrophobia consumed both of us. The darkness ahead of us had a movement to it, like viewing the dead space ahead imploding on itself through blurry vision. We didnt make it more than a hundred feet or so before we turned back. We went back out and followed the beach right along side the trail. We walked past where the trail ends back at the beach, reaching a peninsula where it wraps back into the backside of the wooded area the trail roams through. Once reaching this point instead of noticing the city lights across the pass, I couldnt help but feel that we were being watched from below the surface of the water. It was a real strong feeling, almost like an audience from below. It was only later that evening I found out about the numerous drownings that have occurred over the years.


----------



## RandyMac

There are Wolverines in the Klamaths, I saw one on Preston Peak.

The critter I have only encountered once, was a Fisher. I almost shot it out of a tree, just for the tail, then I figured out what it was.


----------



## bitzer

More than once I've seen the flicker of fire light in the distance or the presence of something. Like I was the intrusion. The northern woods at night. The stands of white pine. Dense, dark, and deep. I've seen a moccasined foot or two crest those hills and heard the calls echo across the lake at night and through the valleys. An old homestead in the middle of the forest with nothing but a skeletal cobblestone chimney. Something bad happend here. Alone in the woods and other dark places. God's only man. 

Good writing boys.


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## Eccentric

8433jeff said:


> This is good stuff. Almost worth sending some beverages west for some more tales, but mine have been impounded for quality assurance purposes. Hate to send inferior stuff to superior posters.



Thanks Jeff.

I'm sure your beverages are of hiqh enough quality for the crowd here. Have Brian and Wes pick you up on their way west and we'll have a grand time when you boys get here...


----------



## RandyMac

I was sorting through a gig's worth of unfinished business, an attempt to get a few things lined up. I started a Foreword, with after thoughts. Then got sidetracked, yeah, I know, hard to believe. The more I work at it, the more things demand attention. There seems to be no end.


----------



## RandyMac

*Two boys and the King.*

When you grow up in an area such as the one that I did, it's easy to take for granted all the wonderful things that were here.
Until the last two decades or so, I didn't give it much thought. I always figured that what I knew was always going to be here. 
I was wrong, many things no longer exist or are severely restricted, some for good reason, others, not so much. There are plenty of things that were done in the normal course of our business, so to speak, that would have us in jail today. Now mind that we were not considered criminals at that time, just unruly or lacking in manners. That is part of it, some of our adventures were things that came with the territory, deeds done the way they had been done for many years. Take this next little tale, it might completely sadden, enrage and cause outcry in today's lace panty world.

Two boys and the King

The spring break was late this year, as normal for our family, my brother and I were packed up and sent away. We didn't know why, we did expect it and looked forward to it. We ended up on the great ranch in the Mattole Valley, which was just fine, even in the rainy weather.
We did chores, played in the barn, explored the work sheds, all the things that 12 year old boys do. One rainy morning our Grandmother said that she wanted a salmon and asked us to go get one. We sprang at the chance, besides, that meant driving the beater Jeep pick-up that was nicknamed the "Bomber" for it's droning old flathead six. The jeep had no brakes, was permanently stuck in low range and enough play to use up a full spin of the steering wheel. In other words perfect for 12 year old boys. We knew the jeep was fun, but what we put in the back was viewed with high anticipation. This fishing trip was different, no fishing rods would be used, no nets, no dynamite, yep, we had us a spear.
Granddad’s spear, made from an old three tine pitchfork with the center tine removed, the remaining two tines were fitted with removable “toggle” tips, fastened to a rope by wire.
The theory being that once the tips hit the fish, they would come off the tines and “toggle” sideways, making them tough to dislodge. It worked, mostly.
Up the hill we went, brimming with enthusiasm in spite of the pouring rain. The road leading to the creek was washed out, no matter, we cheerfully walked the mile and a half, taking turns carrying the 8 foot Pepperwood pole. We just knew that salmon were stacked up in the pool know as the big blue hole. Well, there were salmon there, sleek fast moving Silvers and well beyond our reach, the pool was too deep. After a bit of lunch, we went upstream to the West fork, a pristine stream that flowed from the King Range, no roads crossed it, no-one lived within many miles from it, as pure a stream that can be found. The stream had carved its course through steep terrain, leaving high banks with overhanging trees, deep pools connected by swift flows around boulders. The creek laughed and chuckled as it ran clear and cold. Small gravel beaches on inside bends were shining with rain. This is where we found the King. As with many great events, it was mainly by accident. We had struggled through the wet brush along the banks, couldn’t have been more wet by swimming. We startled a small black bear from its meal of a Silver salmon and watched as it plunged across the stream and plowed up the bank. We waited a few minutes, listening as the sounds of its flight diminished. When our breathing calmed, we continued our search for Grandmother’s salmon. We spotted a couple Silvers, made a few attempts to skewer them and failed. Then came the fated pool, where the great King rested on the bottom. After some discussion, we changed tactics, no more Celtic lunges, a stealthy approach was indicated. With my brother head of me, we quietly waded into the crystal waters, over the knees, to our belts, the waters lapped at our elbows. The spear was slowly extended toward that submarine sized fish. When it was judged that the tips were close enough, then came the Celtic lunge. The tips were plunged deep behind his gills, The King reacted by rearing up off the bottom in a cloud of blood and gravel, then off he went, upstream dragging us with him. I remember the gravel bottom sliding under my feet, my war cry mixed with my brother’s. The son of a ##### came close to drowning us, the King, wounded as he was, had a great deal of power in his element. Neither one of us thought to let go of the pole, the fish was tethered to it after all. We chased him up a riffle into another pool, not so deep this one, it allowed us to try and beach him. Big mistake, the “beach” was a half moon shape, only a few feet in size, backed by a sheer rock wall and fronted by the pool. The King objected to being hauled out and flailed strongly, beating us soundly below the knees, defeating any attempts to pin him down. Back into the water we went, all three of us. Several more minutes of floundering around chest deep, found us back at the beach. Again with the thrashing, not quite the same scale as the first time, but still enough to force us back in to the pool. This charge carried us downstream, toward deeper water, we got him turned, our first directed move since putting the iron to him. We tried a bigger beach this time, success!! No returning to the stream this time, but he continued to fight us. I broke a hefty stick on his head, Bro had at him with a rock, slimy blood glinting with scales was spattered everywhere.
Finally subdued, we prepared to pack out our prize, like native bearers hauling an Impala slung on the spear. The ordeal of the rain soaked brush, the long walk up the muddy road to the old jeep, the now dead battery awaiting us.
The King weighed out at 42 pounds, my brother and I together went maybe 180. We were sore for days. Such was growing up in NW California and we thought everybody did stuff like this.


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## ChrisF

Beautiful story.


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## stihl sawing

Awesome, :msp_thumbup:Was the salmon good eating?


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## bitzer

Awesome story Randy!

I have a similar one from when I was 12 involving my 10 year old cousin up north. Man we used to raise some hell at such a young age. This one involved a home-made spear, a club with nails in it, a hatchet, a canoe sneak attack, and shoreline full of spawning suckers that were packed tighter than cordwood.

I will make my way out to your country someday. Its sounds like one hell of a place.

A spider just dropped out of the ceiling and dangled around the screen. I squished the booger.


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## madhatte

That's the stuff.


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## slowp

And it has a happy ending...Salmon, yummy!


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## cpr

slowp said:


> And it has a happy ending...Salmon, yummy!


 
Getting hungry... Leave a big ole' piece in a tub overnight with maple syrup on it (the real stuff, not sold in a plastic bottle). Grill it slow wrapped in foil with some mandarin oranges... Wonderful eatin' and good for ya'!


----------



## 056 kid

Only you lucky guys got to have fun like that. I have herd stories of my Grandad bringing huge messes of abalone home, shooting sea lions with the .22 form the warf. Stealing beer form the army base. All kinds of fun stuff. . . All that is a bygone era. . .
The best I could ever do was running around in the woods behind my house with Lucy, my yellow lab, catching crawdads out of a muddy creek with sewer pipes spanning it every few hundred yards. . .


----------



## paccity

056 kid said:


> Only you lucky guys got to have fun like that. I have herd stories of my Grandad bringing huge messes of abalone home, shooting sea lions with the .22 form the warf. Stealing beer form the army base. All kinds of fun stuff. . . All that is a bygone era. . .
> The best I could ever do was running around in the woods behind my house with Lucy, my yellow lab, catching crawdads out of a muddy creek with sewer pipes spanning it every few hundred yards. . .


 
ya got to get out there and fish like hell to make up for it.:msp_smile:


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## RandyMac

I'm bored, the meds have made my brain feel soggy, my legs wobbly, could someone please tell me a story.


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## slowp

Well, it is a bright and windy day......


----------



## 8433jeff

Or gray and rainy. Warm though, not a lot of wind, but enough to let the geese know they aren't on a pleasure cruise.


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## Eccentric

It's a wierd sunny/overcast/windy/rainy day here. Last night was brutal. Wind and rain up the wazoo. Spent some *wonderful* time late last night (before the power went out) and early this morning (after the power came back on) shop-vac'ing over 30 gallons of water from my garage floor. 

Damn pad in front of the garage is graded wrong. I put a threshold in, but the water seeps under a joint somewhere. I need to get that drainage squared away. Standing in water and getting rained on while running a noisey shop-vac in the dark is no damn fun. Looked up and noticed that some punks egged the front of the garage, and even got a few on the roof. Had homicidal, non-Christian thoughts....

Power keeps dropping out and coming back on. Since the family's out of town, the net is my entertainment. Reboot/log-in. Reboot/log-in. Repeat.....


----------



## slowp

We are supposed to be telling stories here. So, you are supposed to read my mind (I am woman) and add something to the story that starts out, It is a bright and windy day.

Like, _It was a bright and windy day. The wind was so strong that it turned his gelled hair into a twisted thicket of madness. There was no comb handy, so he smashed it down with a torn and faded Seattle Mariners baseball cap. Not that he liked or followed the Mariners, he simply had an old hat that somebody left behind. It fit well, stuck to the now dust covered gel, and would stay on during the gales of the day. 

He tired of the endless, "How about those Mariners?" questioning, He began to think about his shotgun. _There, that's a start.


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## 8433jeff

The one his crazed ex was holding hostage until he gave her his dog "back". Well, he could find another shotgun, hell, even another ex, but he was keeping this dog.
He knew the gel was a bad idea. But the current Ms. Right Now said it made him look younger, and thats why she would stay Ms. Right Now, until Ms. Next in Line showed up.
This idea of Burt's was another bad idea, couldn't focus at all on the surveillance, trying to keep his footing, balance, and the hippie in his mind and focus at the same time.


----------



## Brian13

RandyMac said:


> I'm bored, the meds have made my brain feel soggy, my legs wobbly, could someone please tell me a story.


 
I will give it a whirl, no promises though. Before I got into rebuilding saws and other saw related saw related activities, I was into mountain biking.......I know there are not any mountains in Florida, but we make do with what we have. After we found out my wife was pregnant I knew my riding time was limited, which brings me to the beginning of my story. Santos mtb park, just over 2 hrs from my house its the best park I have been to. It was a limestone query at one time and now is one of the largest mtb parks in Florida. Not only is it one the largest, its also the one of the only parks that allow freeride and dirtjump style riding. After getting off work at 0730 I grab my bike and head out to meat Mr. Bones and head of to Santos. Knowing this will probably be my last ride, and it had been a few months since the last one I was excited. Has big plans, wanted to work on 180s and a couple of other tricks. We get there and head straight to the jumps, its been dry for at least a couple of weeks and you could see it on the jumps. Ruts, hard, and cracks littered the faces. Its a slow start, not really feeling the groove. There are three lines of jumps, the beginner line, small to meduim table tops, then the middle line medium set of doubles, and the pro line, medium to large doubles. Each line has about 5 or so jumps in the line, and the middle and pro line had about a 20ft tall roll in, while the beginner had a flat roll in you just peddled into. Not even an hour into the day I stop half way back to the start to talk to some regulars I havnt seen in awhile. My back was turned to the jumps, but I heard someone roll of the big roll in and shortly after heard a yelp. I turned only to see someone had used the big roll in for the beginners line, too much speed on that first jump and it want to buck you, and that is what I am seeing unfold. A walmart mtb bike starting to endo with a kid wearing some 1980s walmart helmet. On a side note, this style of riding is very demanding and dangerous. A walmart bike and helmet is not the best choice as it will not hold up well to that kind of riding. Seen the best of bikes catastrophically fail, and some top helmets split. Back to the story, as I am seeing this kid start to go over his handlebars in the air in slow motion. Kind of starting to look like superman until his face hits the ground, and then he starts to resemble a scorpion. Shortly after kicking himself in the head, he finely came to rest. I am sitting no more than 10 feet away as this unfolded, and before anyone could even move to see if he was ok he let out this wrenched grunt, as if all muscles in his upper torso contracted instantly. I quickly looked to the guy I had been talking to and both of us had that expression OH S*&T this is very bad. And it was as I approach I immediately notice the blood coming from his mouth, and it was then the kid started to scream. I went to the kids head and held C-spine( for work I am a firefighter/emt) and started to ask him some questions. Wasnt looking good, about every minute or so we would start over again, he would ask "what happened?", "How did I get here?", and "I am hurt bad arnt I? My face it hurts I am going to be ugly forever?". It seemed like every minute on the minute this would start over with no recollection of asking these very same questions before or the questions we were asking. Fortunately for me another rider there was in paramedic school and helped me out. From the waist down there was no feeling, nor was there any movement. This is a relatively remote location, but there is access points for the ambulance to get out there, and it seemed like forever, my knees and lower back were burning bent over holding his head as still as possible. At some point I looked up to see where my bike was expecting it to be with my riding partner, but it was still sitting where I dropped it and Mr. Bones was nowhere to be found. Gone like a ghost, vanished nowhere to be found, later he explained that he dosnt do well with blood and had to go somewhere else. Finally the Medics get here and I am relieved thinking someone will take over and I can go on about my day. Didnt work out like that, the LT. decided I was already there and better off to leave me there, knees and back are really starting to hurt this cant be over fast enough and it feels like time has stopped. They hooked him up to a monitor, and started to put him on a back board and somewhere in the midst of this I heard the LT mention trauma alert, means they are going to be landing an helicopter nearby. Finely got the kid on a back board, c-collar on and set and ready to go and I was relived. After-wards we covered the blood up with dirt and continued to ride, with the reminder that one little screw up can hurt bad weighing heavily on our minds. Killed the vibe for the rest of the day. It will be two years this month and I havnt been back yet, kids have kept me a lot closer to home and I have since started on the chainsaw rebuilding for a hobby. Here is a video from my glory days LOL, and this part of the park is where they landed the helicopter. Hope this wasnt to long and boring.

<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GpMv0FFI7KE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>


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## 8433jeff

That was good, no problem at all. Thanks for sharing.


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## cpr

Awash in sweat and the butterflies of anticipation. Afterall, it did take 2 years to construct, 4 hours to drive here and 45 minutes to prepare. Now encapsulated in a cocoon of steel and nomex, switches are flipped, valves are pulled.
A spritz of ether and with a shudder it barks, coughs, then dies… Another shot of goofy gas and a thumb depressed more forcefully, more out of nervousness than anger, and again a shudder wells , seemingly, from within. The rack dispenses straight No. 2 through stainless lines in succession, depositing each shot into dished pistons, decompressed to cope with what is to come. The clatter of pump and thumping valve train is all that can be heard as a cloud of anticipation emanates from the glinting stack of sonic fury.
The menacing rake, fat 30.5s speaking to the power capable, yet from 50 feet away all seems as such a garish poseur. Surely this thing cannot accelerate 50,000lbs. across 300 feet? It’s just

So

Quiet…

For the purported controller of this fickle beast of burden all is not so calm. Eased into position, a cold hook deposited as retainage against potential earnings, the machine is ready. A quick scan of indicators and a green flag…

It is on.

A white knuckled fist clenches a cold rod of aluminum, inching it forward and beckoning more shots of No.2 to be issued into the 504 cubic inch row of 6. Slowly, slowly the ignored tachometer yawns to beyond 3000 while a centrifugally assisted clutch tries to free itself from its kick of inoperability. Dinner-plates of bloodshot concentration witness the boost gauge flicker to life.
For a moment a roar as if emanating from beneath a pile of pillows causes 3000 heads to swivel to attention as a unit never designed for it announces its birth at north of 6000rpm, ignored for 1 that has now snapped to as 4 turbos engulf the roar with a jet-engine’s whistling shriek. Manifold pressures rocket past the lifeline trigger at 45 psi on its way to 200+ all the while tripping a fire hose of water into the intakes without which, the heart of the beast would cook itself down into a shovel-ready pile of wheelbarrow fodder. A black tornado rises as arms and feet flail wildly, outwardly appearing as a seated marionette, struggling to coordinate throttle, clutch and brakes to steer while a paw flails at the now useless steering wheel. All, of course, unnoticed but for the now ravening beast of burden alight.

8 seconds later…

Benches have cleared, jaws speak to the triumph.
Yet one head sits down shielded from view with a sweat-drenched grin of satisfaction…
And a solitary index finger directed skyward.

Mark Ulmer Lost IH 1086 Diesel Super Stock
Chassis by Doc Christensen
Engine by Hypermax
Fuel and Turbos by Esdon Lehn

On board and trackside views from Rock Valley, IA 2009

<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xLjHDoK-oRo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qUTT3_01RIg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>


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## Eccentric

Fantastic Charles. I need a drink after that 'ride' with Mark in the first video.

Liked seeing the restored and modern IHC and Case-IH iron at then end of the track too.


----------



## ltdann86

cpr said:


> Awash in sweat and the butterflies of anticipation. Afterall, it did take 2 years to construct, 4 hours to drive here and 45 minutes to prepare. Now encapsulated in a cocoon of steel and nomex, switches are flipped, valves are pulled.
> A spritz of ether and with a shudder it barks, coughs, then dies… Another shot of goofy gas and a thumb depressed more forcefully, more out of nervousness than anger, and again a shudder wells , seemingly, from within. The rack dispenses straight No. 2 through stainless lines in succession, depositing each shot into dished pistons, decompressed to cope with what is to come. The clatter of pump and thumping valve train is all that can be heard as a cloud of anticipation emanates from the glinting stack of sonic fury.
> The menacing rake, fat 30.5s speaking to the power capable, yet from 50 feet away all seems as such a garish poseur. Surely this thing cannot accelerate 50,000lbs. across 300 feet? It’s just
> 
> So
> 
> Quiet…
> 
> For the purported controller of this fickle beast of burden all is not so calm. Eased into position, a cold hook deposited as retainage against potential earnings, the machine is ready. A quick scan of indicators and a green flag…
> 
> It is on.
> 
> A white knuckled fist clenches a cold rod of aluminum, inching it forward and beckoning more shots of No.2 to be issued into the 504 cubic inch row of 6. Slowly, slowly the ignored tachometer yawns to beyond 3000 while a centrifugally assisted clutch tries to free itself from its kick of inoperability. Dinner-plates of bloodshot concentration witness the boost gauge flicker to life.
> For a moment a roar as if emanating from beneath a pile of pillows causes 3000 heads to swivel to attention as a unit never designed for it announces its birth at north of 6000rpm, ignored for 1 that has now snapped to as 4 turbos engulf the roar with a jet-engine’s whistling shriek. Manifold pressures rocket past the lifeline trigger at 45 psi on its way to 200+ all the while tripping a fire hose of water into the intakes without which, the heart of the beast would cook itself down into a shovel-ready pile of wheelbarrow fodder. A black tornado rises as arms and feet flail wildly, outwardly appearing as a seated marionette, struggling to coordinate throttle, clutch and brakes to steer while a paw flails at the now useless steering wheel. All, of course, unnoticed but for the now ravening beast of burden alight.
> 
> 8 seconds later…
> 
> Benches have cleared, jaws speak to the triumph.
> Yet one head sits down shielded from view with a sweat-drenched grin of satisfaction…
> And a solitary index finger directed skyward.
> 
> Mark Ulmer Lost IH 1086 Diesel Super Stock
> Chassis by Doc Christensen
> Engine by Hypermax
> Fuel and Turbos by Esdon Lehn
> 
> On board and trackside views from Rock Valley, IA 2009
> 
> <iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xLjHDoK-oRo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
> 
> <iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qUTT3_01RIg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>


 



Great....Now I have to spend another 3hrs looking uppulling vid's :msp_smile:


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## 8433jeff

ltdann86 said:


> Great....Now I have to spend another 3hrs looking uppulling vid's :msp_smile:


 
You could just waste your time instead of enjoy it.


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## RandyMac

no waste of time here, thank you all for your time and effort.

I am still feeling a bit water logged, better today.


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## RandyMac

*The bullet hole truck.*

Oh yes, the old Chevy. It was a 1964 C-10 with the 292 cubic inch in-line six and three on the tree. It had been worn out twice before my Dad gave it to me. The rust, oh that rust, when you slammed a door hard or whomped a big piece of something in the box, big flakes fell to the ground. My Dad did a sturdy job of keeping the weather out of the cab, that involved many pounds of fiberglass. To top it off, Chevy painted it this nasty semi metallic green, the type of green you would expect to see on a toxic pond. The engine was well beyond reasonable service limits, on start-up, it would blow a big chunk of black smoke at the ground, for three years after it was gone, you could still see where it sat and was started. The valve guide tolerance was generous, on long downgrades, it would suck what passed for motor oil, into the cylinders, when you hit the gas at the bottom of the hill, it laid down the thickest smoke trail I have ever seen. It almost had an engine fire on a B-17 beat. I smudged out a couple Deputies coming off Little Greyback into Takilma, OR, the bastards sat at the crossroads near the bottom, there was a stop sign there. Normally folks just blew through this intersection, you could see quite aways, I did it because I could cool my brakes and even out the vapor trail. I saw two big white Dodge sedans parked near the sign and just managed to stop in time, the old thing was heavy loaded with warm brakes, hell, on a good day, empty, I had to think ahead before I stopped. When I pulled away from the sign, the old Chevy was chugging on all the oil it spent the last 30 minutes sucking into the cylinders,(insert a string of descriptive phrases) I tried to make it past the cops, didn't happen, with all the panache of a sinking tugboat, we drifted off to the side. Crap, here comes Mr Deputy all helpful like, all interested in how my day was going. The other Deputy got tired of leanin' on his car and wandered up to inspect what was strapped in the box. There was some discussion about origin, permits and stuff, I had all the proper documents, after all, I wrote them. That done with we commenced to shoot the bull, they were very interested in where the wood came, I had a giant slab of all clear, vertical grain Port Orford Cedar, not easy to come by. It was the devil to unload. Getting it in was easy, it was hanging out over a creek bed, I backed under it and carefully cut off a big piece, close to too much. We ended up over the bank shooting each other's revolvers. When I left, they stood behind the truck, I think it unloaded a pint out the tail pipe.


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## Gologit

:msp_biggrin:  No words yet...need coffee.


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## RandyMac

I understand entirely. 
My next blast of coffee will be this afternoon:hmm3grin2orange:


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## RandyMac

I think it's time to scan in a few more old photos.

maybe later today, maybe not. Headin' out to the shop where the only sounds will be rain on the roof and a low growl from the Pacific.


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## slowp

It was so damp and chilly in my shop, that The Grapple Cat didn't leave his warm bed to come and harass me. I didn't stay out there very long. I believe the rain has turned to a drizzle today. Time for outdoor activities!


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## bitzer

Good story Randy. Hope you do get some pics up. I've got the rain, wish I could be at the quiet shop right now with a hot fire and a couple a beers.


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## Gologit

I need to buy some sun-screen . I'm sorry...I just had to say that. :msp_rolleyes:


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## Joe46

Gologit said:


> I need to buy some sun-screen . I'm sorry...I just had to say that. :msp_rolleyes:


 
Yup, rub it in. I think we are at day 44 without what they call "official" sunshine.


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## GASoline71

LMAO... this is the first time since the weather guessers have been keeping records of the weather in WA State that it has not been above 60 degrees by mid April... EVER.

Gary


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## RandyMac

Mid 50s right now with a very heavy Orygun missed.

The Klamath/Siskiyou Mountains are getting a lot of warm rain, flooding is expected.


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## bitzer

Late breaking weather update- The rain has taken a new form. 34 and snowing. A good stiff breeze coming out of the NW. It was 80 here a week ago. Classic Wisco weather.


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## slowp

It is 57 here. I put on shorts. 

I can see shadows, must go out and see what is making them!!:msp_ohmy:


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## RandyMac

I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.


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## cpr

RandyMac said:


> I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.


 
No, you were. I'm certain the stories are spectacular and appropriate contrition would negate the character judgement...

Whatever, I still like you.


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## 8433jeff

RandyMac said:


> I got a chapter titled "Confessions of a Sport faller" on the edit table, I am such an ass.


 
Just post it, and we will decide if you ever were one or not.

Somewhere along the line, sir, you has been rehabilitated, if you ever were one for long, because it doesn't seem you are much of one now.

Least not more than me, which can be a very low mark to exceed at times.


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## RandyMac

Well, in my case, recognizing my own excesses doesn't always mean I wouldn't do it again and I do. I do hope to be more selective, as in having the tree utilized instead of just going for the noise. I roamed the wilds looking for interesting trees and felled many of them. I more skills I learned or thought I did, meant looking for more challenges. I would pack a heavy saw a half mile into a canyon, just to fall a Fir snag. Old Growth hardwoods were fun too.

I might not call myself a timber faller now, I do however have opportunistic predator traits.


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## cpr

Never said you wouldn't do it again, that just means you're human.


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## RandyMac

cpr said:


> Never said you wouldn't do it again, that just means you're human.


 
You, I understood well enough. I'm working on understanding my self. A CDF Ranger II used to ask me "What in the Devil possesed you?" I never had an answer, I am getting one now.


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## ric5141

Getting to understand ones self is a long walk.


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## bitzer

The high and the mastery coupled with that lack of fear that few possess. 


I nearly got into a broadside the other day. A girl pulled out into a two lane in front of me and her car stalled blocking both lanes. I had to hit the brakes HARD, and with no anti-lock brakes I left a hell of a skid trail. Strong smell of burning rubber and tires squealing like a screaming pig. I made my way around her and back down the road. I half-expected my heart to be beating out of my chest. Nothing, just pumping away as if I were hunkered down on the couch at home. Is this normal?


----------



## 8433jeff

ric5141 said:


> Getting to understand ones self is a long walk.


 
A walk one needs to stay on throughout life, and stay the course; shortcuts rarely ever are, and the downhill path looks easy, but soon is to steep walk back up.


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## RandyMac

Minor update, 5 chapters completed, another 6 partials on the table, enough fragments for several more, a foreword with afterthoughts, 40photos to review. There are some that I was going to use, but out of respect for the dead, most were returned to the families. The widow of one man had lost everything in a fire years ago, the old faded photos were the only ones she has now. While I would have loved to have included them, I felt that my needs were a distant second place.
The last chapter completed was "Adventures in Sport Falling" aka "We left them were they fell". 
The next up is "Living with Elastic Boundaries" stories of a more personal nature. Oh the pitfalls and follies. Apalling behavior by today's standards and maybe it wasn't all that cool back then either, oh well.
I am maybe 25% into the Sierra Nevada story and possibly one full third along the way to finishing. Tough going at times, often at odds with myselves, LOL, I can be such an ass.
Two family members have threatened bodily harm, one of them mailed me a dead crow. Someone I have never known wanted to sue me for the title, which is not the same as this thread and not set yet. That went well for them, I promised them a long term hospitial stay if I heard from them again. ####ing commie bastard. Its good to have friends of friends that owe you.


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## cpr

Good Morning Randy,

glad it's coming along. Still can't wait to read it.

Busy weekend coming, be well.


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## RandyMac

Thanks.
Sometimes it's like digging a trench with a spoon.


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## ChrisF

RandyMac said:


> Thanks.
> Sometimes it's like digging a trench with a spoon.


 
From what I understand from other people who have written their memoirs, that's the only way to describe the process you're going through at times.


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## slowp

A spoon is best used for this. Use a backhoe and you are likely to miss some important detail. 

The battery to Wing is charging. See ya soon.


----------



## Samlock

RandyMac said:


> Two family members have threatened bodily harm, one of them mailed me a dead crow. Someone I have never known wanted to sue me for the title, which is not the same as this thread and not set yet. That went well for them, I promised them a long term hospitial stay if I heard from them again. ####ing commie bastard. Its good to have friends of friends that owe you.


 
Randy, I'm so glad to hear you keep on typing and making some good progress too. 

Considering the reactions, the title must be dynamite!


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## madhatte

Carry on smartly; it ain't gonna write itself. Detractors be damned. It's not their story.


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## tdi-rick

Damn, how have I missed this thread ?

Subscribed.


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## Brian13

Glad to hear you are moving along. Looking forward to the finished project!!! My wife is now kind of doing the same thing now, its not organized yet, just a bunch of journal entries more or less. I think she is looking to be the next Sylvia Plath, being as "The Bell Jar" is one of here major influences. Keep writing, and as many others, cant wait for the book.


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## mdavlee

Glad to hear it's coming along pretty well. Can't wait for the finished product.


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## Gologit

Brian13 said:


> I think she is looking to be the next Sylvia Plath, being as "The Bell Jar" is one of here major influences.



Okay... as long as she doesn't want to do _everything_ just exactly as Plath did.


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## Brian13

Gologit said:


> Okay... as long as she doesn't want to do _everything_ just exactly as Plath did.


 
That can be a touchy subject. For now I would say she is more comparable to J.D. Salinger in that respect.


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## 8433jeff

Thanks for having me google that wench, and now I'll probably never be able to forget she was nuts.


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## bitzer

The day after a long night of strong drink was always my favorite for writing. Just before the next night of strong drink. Usually this ended up being a Sunday. 

Sunday Morning Coming Down.



Can't wait to see it in print some day Randy.


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## Gologit

8433jeff said:


> Thanks for having me google that wench, and now I'll probably never be able to forget she was nuts.


 
She was nuts. But she could write.


----------



## tdi-rick

Gologit said:


> *She was nuts*. But she could write.


`

Who amongst us isn't ? 

(except me  )


----------



## promac850

tdi-rick said:


> `
> 
> Who amongst us isn't ?
> 
> (except me  )


 
Hey, watch it now aussie man... Some of us are only _partially_ nuts...

I am fully nuts though, they do all the thinking... :jester:


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## RandyMac

Randy! I opened one eye and saw my second at the door, he called again, louder RANDY!. I said what? fighting to urge to kill him. Then he spoke the magic words "Hey, the call just came in, we gotta roll" It was just after 1am, I still had PBR flowing in my blood, but the thought of fighting fire cut through that. I sat up, hmmmm only had to pull the boots on.
My second was a good man, he had the bus warmed up and the crew moving. I headed over to the shop to fetch the saws, we were going to Mendocinco, the load out was three 10-10s, two 660s and some other things, oh yeah, Homelites. Another 20 minutes and I was tearing through the warm night air, leaving a diesel smoke trail in our wake. 4 hours traveling south and we left the paved roads behind for log haul roads. I loved haul roads, the bus handled them well, power drifts were not unheard of. We could see the glow reflected off the convection column over the next ridge. As we topped the hill, we saw the fire, it was in old logged off land, with patches of remaining old growth. The fire was a hot one as we were in the second year of the great '70s drought. The Fire Camp was three tankers, two crew buses and a few pickups. We got our assignment from the Fire Boss and did the pre-fire ritual, which looked like a bar fight. We were a rowdy bunch, to get the blood flowing, well sometimes blood flowed. My guys knew their stuff and drew their tools.
The word was that we were cutting line in the forward edge, using an old skid trail and anchored off the haul road. It was warm, maybe upper 70s, dawn was soon enough, a faint hint of the day to come. We commenced, it was brush mostly, I hung back and let the 10-10s do their thing. It wasn't long before the Sun popped up, the temps rose quickly, by 7am, it was closing in on the high 80s. My first kill of the day was a big Fir log, maybe 60", I gnawed at it with the 660, breaking a beer induced sweat. 20 minutes later I tied into a DF snag, burning of course. That was pretty much the pattern for a few hours, bucking big DF logs and dumping snags. The 660 had a 48" bar, the usual 1/2" chain, it could cut almost anything. By noon, it was hot, really hot, the going was getting tough, the ground was steep, the brush was thick. The 10s were having hissy fits, boiling fuel, hard starting, yee old vapor lock. The 660 didn't care, yet, it's time was coming though. We took a meal break, thoughtfully provided by the Feds, who invited us to this party. We managed to waylay a couple of them, they "volunteered". We entered a logged off zone, it had been cut in the mid '60s, that meant lots of debris. I sent my second back for the other 660, there were logs on top of logs....I spent the next two hours bucking 12 foot holes through the leftovers, did I mention that it was hot? This is about the time things got, well, interesting. amazing what a little change in the breeze will do. We went from chasing the fire, to defending our line. We pulled out the stops. With my second saw happily bucking old crap, I went after the standing hazards, big hardwoods and DF snags. The 10s caught up after their nap, good thing too, cutting brush with a 660 was not all that much fun.
By late afternoon the heat and smoke was taking it's toll on us, we took a break. The 660 was getting temperamental, restarts were a touchy thing. Popping snapbacks, gouts of unburnt fuel, refusal to idle. Did I mention it was hot?
A patch of smoldering DF snags was tossing burning crap, can't have that now, could we? I grabbed one of the Feds, he had a piss-pump and his Federal thumb up his ass, time for him to earn his wages. I went after a 60" DF snag, burning nicely in places. As I started the undercut, I found it was hollow, and burning inside. The Fed drizzled a bit of water on it, with all the enthusiasm, as a guy with the clap, taking a leak. I get a wedge set in the backcut, had to give up on the Fed, worthless bastard couldn't pound a wedge to save his life, would probably hurt himself pounding his pud. Anyways, I was sawing one handed while tapping at the wedge easy like, the snag was fragile looking. So it was tap, look up, tap and look up. Yeah, and sure as ####, I tapped and looked up, just in time to catch a piece of burning bark, about the size of a dinner plate, right in the tinhat. Boy I'm telling you, that pissed me off! The Fed was stumbling around trying to tell me something, I hit him in the chest and knocked him down. I turned back to the snag and killed it. Only after that, did I figure out what the Fed was telling me. It was obvious enough, to someone not in a red rage. I had three rather deep lacerations, 18 stitches worth, the blood had flowed down my back, a startling contrast to the yellow Nomex. Did I quit working? Oh Hell no!


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## 1375619cm3

Would like to place my preorder for the book since i have been glued to my computer screen for the last 8 hours and have read the entire thread trough.

thread subscribed.

Randy your life story through the good and bad has made me think in depth about mine and giving me much needed wisdom for the future.


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## RandyMac

The best wisdom is learned by ####ing up.


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## 1375619cm3

RandyMac said:


> The best wisdom is learned by ####ing up.


 
That is true but a few stories go a long way with "between a rock and a hard spot" decision, they help you pick the one that is the lesser of the two rough choices.


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## RandyMac

Well, I have dents from choosing the rock.

In the "Foreword, with afterthoughts" I have disclaimers.


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## bitzer

Awesome Randy! Just frickin awesome!


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## RandyMac

Oh Bitz!

I just hit up. going through old photos, havin' flashbacks, this could be good!

(whistles, claps, yells HEY YOU! Get there hell over here and talk to me!)



"Huh?"


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## RAG66

Wow, cool stuff! I'm a residential tree service owner and think I've done a few crazy things but NOTHING compared to working in the woods or on a woods fire crew.... I lost a good buddy last year and he had been in the big trees when he was young. The stories and knowledge he had were nothing short of amazing. I am also continually surprised at the close ties between the woods and the residential cutting. He tought me a bunch of good things about making special cuts or whatever other jackpots I got into. Seems like the farther I think they are apart I'll hear stuff that makes me remember my own spiders!


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## NORMZILLA44

Kinda miss this guy, well alot lately really. I would like to hear more storie's, and see more picture's someday.


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## Eccentric

Randy's still around, but has been busy with other things. I agree that it's time for another installment of our Old Growth Spiders adventure...


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## NORMZILLA44

Yep, good friend's good storie's. The they are all gone now thread kinda hit me, and choked me up. So time for bed my friend's.


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## flushcut

Book release date?


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## Eccentric

*Here's a pic of the old jail...*

The grand old jail is scheduled to come down over the next few months. Hazardous materials removal is going on now. The wrecking ball will follow. I'll try to get some more pics of the old place (past and present) soon. Also, there's an early '70s doccumentary of the place floating around on the web. Interesting to see how the place ran 40 years ago. Not too different from how it was when I was there at the turn of this century. I'll try to find it and post the link. Also hoping this'll prod Randy into sharing more of his Spider Tales with us...




Eccentric said:


> I still have a few of my greens. We changed to black uniforms in 1999. Took the patches off of the greens and use them as coveralls when working on equipment. You see and hear strange things working nights...
> 
> We shut our old facility down in August of 2006. It had been in continuous opperation since 1932 or so. I feel fortunate to have worked in there before the shutdown. It's extremely facinating. The sub basement (which is realy three stories underground) has three HUGE boilers that are similar to what was in large steamships of the period. The electrical pannels down there look like something out of Dr Frankenstein's lab. They're taking 'soil samples' around the place (lotsa lead and asbestos) and planning it's demolition. I'll be sad to see it go, but am looking forward to seeing much of the 'inner workings' exposed to view. The original refrigeration plant was amonia based. Much of the old compressors and such were just walled over in sections of the basement when they were 'replaced'.
> 
> The city stopped spending any real money to maintain it back in the '80s, as it was "only going to be running a couple more years".....................for about 25 years or so. If they'd maintained it, the place would be in much better shape. I am so angry about that fact that I could chew nails and spit screws. We're only about 1/4 mile from the ocean. Salt air....neglect.......concrete........steel...
> 
> The property this facility (and the new one) is on is still heavily wooded. There's a section of GG Park NRA that butts up against it. There's a wildlife preserve nearby too. Whole place is still very old and wild.............despite being so near metropolis. Told you about that Cougar I saw last year while making night rounds. There was a herd of Bison from GGP there years ago. I've seen coyotes, deer, a cougar, bobcats, owls, various falcons, etc. I believe there were Miwak Indians on that land at some point as well...
> 
> I've been in the old facility about a dozen times since we shut 'er down. Extremely spooky. Back in the 'old days' (up until about 30-40 years ago) it was used to house a lot of drunk-in-publics (that are now just kept in a 647f RWS tank downtown at intake/booking until sober, then cited and released). Drunks would spend a week or so out there. I know old timers that swear that during certain times of the year they'd have a DIC once a WEEK amoung all those decrepid old drunks. Again, that was many decades ago. That's a lot of souls that departed there over the years.
> 
> 
> Then there's the ad-seg cell in 6-South where three guys committed suicide. We hadn't used any of those ancient "Alkatraz sollitary confinement looking" all steel cells in 20 years. If you spend any time in that cell you'll get a terrible chill and a nervous feeling that doesn't come from any of the other cells. Doesn't have anything to do with a draft either. I won't get into the violent DIC's that have happened there over the decades...
> 
> Since we've shut that place down, I've seen more than a few flashes of orange moving by the windows on the tiers. Heard gates crashing when inside too, despite there being no wind at the time. Also heard locks turning and showers being turned on (they have push-button pneumatic timed valves).
> 
> Down in the basement, a coworker and I were loading firefighting equipment to take over to the new facility for storage. We heard a heavily loaded bar being lifted and clanked onto the bench in the old staff weight room down the hall. Heard it many times over about an hour period (while we were finding equipment and loading it in a cart). Made our way to the weight room, and ALL of the weights had been removed. Only an empty bench. NOTHING loose to swing or clank. We had the only keys to the facility and were the only live souls there save the rats...
> 
> That will do for now. I've got a cold sweat going. The rest will wait until we're talkin' and drinkin' face to face...





Eccentric said:


> Thanks Chris. I just feel fortunate to have something to share in Randy's thread here. I'll shoot some pics of the old place and post them here sometime. Time to take a cue from the 'normal' non-nightshift folks in the house and hit the rack. I'm typing while they snore!







The current jail is located to the right of this pic. The 6-South cells I mentioned are on the top left of the building (from our point of view).





Here's a pic of an old tree on the same grounds. We've been there a while. See what's left of an old fence rail sticking out of the tree? I think this was once part of a hog pen (the inmates used to raise livestock on the grounds). The rail comes out the other side of the tree too.


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## Joe46

Toured the old Montana State Prison several years ago. Can't really put into words, but there was just this feeling of ugliness?????


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## Gologit

Joe46 said:


> Toured the old Montana State Prison several years ago. Can't really put into words, but there was just this feeling of ugliness?????



We took the Alcatraz tour. Same feeling. Eerie place.


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## coastalfaller

Gologit said:


> We took the Alcatraz tour. Same feeling. Eerie place.



I did the same, Bob, I agree. Eerie! Especially the medical room. Took the audio tour, highly recommend it!!!


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## Eccentric

I took the Alcatraz tour as a teenager. That was back when they only had live tour guides. They also locked us in a solitary confinement cell for a few minutes. That practice was ended a few years later, after a tour group got locked in for several hours due to a malfunctioning lock! Our old jail is older than the main cellhouse at Alcatraz. When we shut it down, we gave a buncha keys, locks, gates, and such to the park service so they could refurbish a few things at Alcatraz. Same vintage of hardware. Years ago, a number of the parks service folks took a tour of our jail. They were excited to see it in operation with inmates! I still have a "house set" from our jail (don't tell anyone....LOL), and will shoot a pic or two for those folks that have never seen the old style Folger Adams keys.


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## coastalfaller

Yeah, the audio tour is pretty great. They have it timed perfectly like when you enter the mess hall, you can hear the din of background conversation, the clanging of cutlery etc. Puts you in the moment!


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## Steve NW WI

A bump for those who haven't yet read the Emporer's stories.

Randy, how's the book progressing?


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## Freehand

I, like others here fell cheated I did not find this thread sooner. I rarely peruse this forum as my falling professionally days are long behind me, I've spent the last fifteen years standing flat-footed in sweaty dusty woodshops making contrivances and contraptions out of of the timber so valiantly extracted from the wilderness. A love for the early days of heading into the deep recesses of the wilderness with saw in hand to earn a days pay is what lead me to find this site………


A very fine thread indeed you've started here Randy, hope there's more to come . *bump*


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## James Miller

I hate to post to s thread so old but was a book ever published.


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## Sagetown

James Miller said:


> I hate to post to s thread so old but was a book ever published.


Hmmm! I haven't seen Randy around in a while. When I came aboard some years ago, he welcomed this ole shy boy here, and I surely appreciated that.


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## madhatte

Randy's still around on various interweb places, if you know where to look. I visited him at home a few months ago, and he's doing OK. I, too, am still hoping for a book release. The guy can tell a story!


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## Sagetown

madhatte said:


> Randy's still around on various interweb places, if you know where to look. I visited him at home a few months ago, and he's doing OK. I, too, am still hoping for a book release. The guy can tell a story!


Thanks madhatte.


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## madhatte

Yer welcome!


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## James Miller

Thank you both for the responses.


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## RandyMac

It has become relentless
The more that sees the light of day
the deeper the shadows lie


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## madhatte

Ah, good, let 'em speak if need be.


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## stihl sawing

Bout time ya got this goin again.


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## bitzer

Like desperados waiting for a train


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## RandyMac

I read through the whole thing after someone I don't know tracked me down.
A random event and yet coherent. 
So answers were supplied to the 18 year old Sportster rider from Florida.

In order to go ''there'' and report back on a certain reality, in dust covered sweat detail, requires some serious thought.


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## madhatte

We are eagerly awaiting further transmissions.


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## 1270d

bitzer said:


> Like desperados waiting for a train


I like that one.


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## bitzer

1270d said:


> I like that one.


I played the red river valley...

That song reminds me of my grandpa. I told him that when I was drunk a few years before he passed. Damn near brings a tear to my eye when I hear it.


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## RandyMac




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## Gologit

RandyMac said:


> I read through the whole thing after someone I don't know tracked me down.
> A random event and yet coherent.
> So answers were supplied to the 18 year old Sportster rider from Florida.
> 
> In order to go ''there'' and report back on a certain reality, in dust covered sweat detail, requires some serious thought.



Tell it the way you want to. And when you want to. We'll be here.


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## madhatte

Gologit said:


> We'll be here.



You can count on that!


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## RandyMac

Residuals dead or alive.
Crowded by regrowth, dropped with damage.


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## bitzer

I myself have seen my wilder days


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## madhatte

RandyMac said:


> Residuals dead or alive.
> Crowded by regrowth, dropped with damage.



Outlaws


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## RandyMac

Yep.
One of my favorite things.


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## scheffa

Just read this thread entirely for the second, can't get enough of the stories, is the book still progressing?


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## GilksTreeFelling

Thanks for the stories randymac, it's great to read late at night when insomnia kicks in and my CC won't let me buy any more stuff on eBay. Look forward to anymore you write


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## RandyMac

The dead of night is where it comes from, reading it then is intended.


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## scheffa

RandyMac said:


> The dead of night is where it comes from, reading it then is intended.


Will there be any more instalments or a book?
Love reading your stories


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