Do you still have that 046 with the 24" bar for sale? Got any o44's or 372's?
ATTN Rupedoggy
- Thread starter bwalker
- Start date
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I still have the 046 (ms460) but think the money is on the way to me. You will have second choice if that one fails. If you want a 372 I can build one. I have several that are in pieces and need to be completly rebuilt. The 044s I had went fast when the loggers started up. I have a 066 that looks rough but cuts like a dream. It has lots of compression and I just cut up a downed tree with it. I have a Jons 2077 that has been pepped up a bit. There is a Husky 394 ready to go. Didn't you say the 038 mag was a good saw? I have one of those also. Parts and pieces for 031,041,056 tons! Mike
If you dont sell the 046 let me know. BTW I am interested in new saws/ Iam sure your used ones are great, but id rather go new.
I have a new 3120 for $1000. That includes shipping. It is the biggest Husky made. Mike
Gypo Logger
Timber Baron
Hi bwalker, get the 3120 from Mike, then send it to Ken Dunn. If your your not tickled pink I will refund your $$ in full.
John
John
dbabcock
Hi Tech Redneck
pink?
dbabcock
Hi Tech Redneck
Then you'll have one just like this
3120? Heck, I dont plan to log the rainforest any time soon,lol.A 3120 is a tad too big I think.
Dennis
Arboristsite MVP
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tickled Pink?? I think Gyroboy likes Pink...hehe
dbabcock
Hi Tech Redneck
I think we all like Pink. Some of us maybe a bit too much.
StIhL MaGnUm
Addicted to ArboristSite
bwalker,
Talk to Mike about purchasing the MS460 /046,I was gonna buy it but I bought a 385XP Husky w/32" instead.So if you want to buy it feel free..
Talk to Mike about purchasing the MS460 /046,I was gonna buy it but I bought a 385XP Husky w/32" instead.So if you want to buy it feel free..
Sethro
Heathen
Stihl Magnum
You Bought a husky.I am about feed up with the Stihl dealer in my home town being he has charged me for parts several times that where to be sold as a pair but charged each like 1124 642 0900 2 .I thought the 2 stands for pair.I have all the parts and service manuals . oh well the 084 E- bay short block motor swap I did . Seth
I am packing up as you read this . Geting ready for the World Championships in Hayward ,WI
You Bought a husky.I am about feed up with the Stihl dealer in my home town being he has charged me for parts several times that where to be sold as a pair but charged each like 1124 642 0900 2 .I thought the 2 stands for pair.I have all the parts and service manuals . oh well the 084 E- bay short block motor swap I did . Seth
I am packing up as you read this . Geting ready for the World Championships in Hayward ,WI
Gypo Logger
Timber Baron
Sentimental Shark
Sentimental Shark
Give me a cabin in the woods
Where not a human soul intrudes;
Where I can sit beside a stream
Beneath a balsam bough and deam,
And every morning see arise
The sun like bird of paradise;
Then go down to the creek and fish
A speckled trout for breakfast dish,
And fry it in an ember fire -
Ah! there's the life of my desire.
Alas! I'm tied to Wall Street where
They reckon me a millionaire,
And sometimes in a day alone
I gain a fortune o'er the 'phone.
Yet I to be a man was made,
And here I ply this sorry trade
Of Company manipulation,
Of selling short and stock inflation:
I whom God meant to rope a steer,
Fate made a Wall Street buccaneer.
Old Time, how I envy you
Who do the things I long to do.
Oh, I would swap you all my riches
To step into your buckskin britches.
Your ragged shirt and rugged health
I'd take in trade for all my wealth.
Then shorn of fortune you would see
How drunk with freedom I would be;
I'd kick so hard, I'd kick so high,
I'd kick the moon clean from the sky.
Aye, gold to me is less than brass,
And jewels mean no more than glass.
My gold is sunshine and my gems
The glint of dew on grassy stems . . .
Yet though I hate my guts its true
Time sorta makes you used to you;
And so I will not gripe too much
Because I have the Midas touch,
But doodle on my swivel chair,
Resigned to be a millionaire.
Sentimental Shark
Give me a cabin in the woods
Where not a human soul intrudes;
Where I can sit beside a stream
Beneath a balsam bough and deam,
And every morning see arise
The sun like bird of paradise;
Then go down to the creek and fish
A speckled trout for breakfast dish,
And fry it in an ember fire -
Ah! there's the life of my desire.
Alas! I'm tied to Wall Street where
They reckon me a millionaire,
And sometimes in a day alone
I gain a fortune o'er the 'phone.
Yet I to be a man was made,
And here I ply this sorry trade
Of Company manipulation,
Of selling short and stock inflation:
I whom God meant to rope a steer,
Fate made a Wall Street buccaneer.
Old Time, how I envy you
Who do the things I long to do.
Oh, I would swap you all my riches
To step into your buckskin britches.
Your ragged shirt and rugged health
I'd take in trade for all my wealth.
Then shorn of fortune you would see
How drunk with freedom I would be;
I'd kick so hard, I'd kick so high,
I'd kick the moon clean from the sky.
Aye, gold to me is less than brass,
And jewels mean no more than glass.
My gold is sunshine and my gems
The glint of dew on grassy stems . . .
Yet though I hate my guts its true
Time sorta makes you used to you;
And so I will not gripe too much
Because I have the Midas touch,
But doodle on my swivel chair,
Resigned to be a millionaire.
Last edited:
Gypo Logger
Timber Baron
Found a brandnew, never used 088 powerhead in original box with all the goodies in my closet. No bar, yours for a paltry 999.99 U.S delivered.
Frank's Planks 905 702 8357
Frank's Planks 905 702 8357
Marky Mark
Hell's Kitchen Trapper
The Wood-Cutter
The sky is like an envelope,
One of those blue official things;
And, sealing it, to mock our hope,
The moon, a silver wafer, clings.
What shall we find when death gives leave
To read -- our sentence or reprieve?
I'm holding it down on God's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth;
O'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet;
Face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth;
Wondering what I was made for, here in my last retreat.
Last! Ah, yes, it's the finish. Have ever you heard a man cry?
(Sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.)
That's how I've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry,
I sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite Rest.
Rest! Well, it's restful around me; it's quiet clean to the core.
The mountains pose in their ermine, in golden the hills are clad;
The big, blue, silt-freighted Yukon seethes by my cabin door,
And I think it's only the river that keeps me from going mad.
By day it's a ruthless monster, a callous, insatiate thing,
With oily bubble and eddy, with sudden swirling of breast;
By night it's a writhing Titan, sullenly murmuring,
Ever and ever goaded, and ever crying for rest.
It cries for its human tribute, but me it will never drown.
I've learned the lore of my river; my river obeys me well.
I hew and I launch my cordwood, and raft it to Dawson town,
Where wood means wine and women, and, incidentally, hell.
Hell and the anguish thereafter. Here as I sit alone
I'd give the life I have left me to lighten some load of care:
(The bitterest part of the bitter is being denied to atone;
Lips that have mocked at Heaven lend themselves ill to prayer.)
Impotent as a beetle pierced on the needle of Fate;
A wretch in a cosmic death-cell, peaks for my prison bars;
'Whelmed by a world stupendous, lonely and listless I wait,
Drowned in a sea of silence, strewn with confetti of stars.
See! from far up the valley a rapier pierces the night,
The white search-ray of a steamer. Swiftly, serenely it nears;
A proud, white, alien presence, a glittering galley of light,
Confident-poised, triumphant, freighted with hopes and fears.
I look as one looks on a vision; I see it pulsating by;
I glimpse joy-radiant faces; I hear the thresh of the wheel.
Hoof-like my heart beats a moment; then silence swoops from the sky.
Darkness is piled upon darkness. God only knows how I feel.
Maybe you've seen me sometimes; maybe you've pitied me then --
The lonely waif of the wood-camp, here by my cabin door.
Some day you'll look and see not; futile and outcast of men,
I shall be far from your pity, resting forevermore.
My life was a problem in ciphers, a weary and profitless sum.
Slipshod and stupid I worked it, dazed by negation and doubt.
Ciphers the total confronts me. Oh, Death, with thy moistened thumb,
Stoop like a petulant schoolboy, wipe me forever out!
John Here's a good site.
http://www.artdamage.com/index.htm
The sky is like an envelope,
One of those blue official things;
And, sealing it, to mock our hope,
The moon, a silver wafer, clings.
What shall we find when death gives leave
To read -- our sentence or reprieve?
I'm holding it down on God's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth;
O'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet;
Face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth;
Wondering what I was made for, here in my last retreat.
Last! Ah, yes, it's the finish. Have ever you heard a man cry?
(Sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.)
That's how I've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry,
I sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite Rest.
Rest! Well, it's restful around me; it's quiet clean to the core.
The mountains pose in their ermine, in golden the hills are clad;
The big, blue, silt-freighted Yukon seethes by my cabin door,
And I think it's only the river that keeps me from going mad.
By day it's a ruthless monster, a callous, insatiate thing,
With oily bubble and eddy, with sudden swirling of breast;
By night it's a writhing Titan, sullenly murmuring,
Ever and ever goaded, and ever crying for rest.
It cries for its human tribute, but me it will never drown.
I've learned the lore of my river; my river obeys me well.
I hew and I launch my cordwood, and raft it to Dawson town,
Where wood means wine and women, and, incidentally, hell.
Hell and the anguish thereafter. Here as I sit alone
I'd give the life I have left me to lighten some load of care:
(The bitterest part of the bitter is being denied to atone;
Lips that have mocked at Heaven lend themselves ill to prayer.)
Impotent as a beetle pierced on the needle of Fate;
A wretch in a cosmic death-cell, peaks for my prison bars;
'Whelmed by a world stupendous, lonely and listless I wait,
Drowned in a sea of silence, strewn with confetti of stars.
See! from far up the valley a rapier pierces the night,
The white search-ray of a steamer. Swiftly, serenely it nears;
A proud, white, alien presence, a glittering galley of light,
Confident-poised, triumphant, freighted with hopes and fears.
I look as one looks on a vision; I see it pulsating by;
I glimpse joy-radiant faces; I hear the thresh of the wheel.
Hoof-like my heart beats a moment; then silence swoops from the sky.
Darkness is piled upon darkness. God only knows how I feel.
Maybe you've seen me sometimes; maybe you've pitied me then --
The lonely waif of the wood-camp, here by my cabin door.
Some day you'll look and see not; futile and outcast of men,
I shall be far from your pity, resting forevermore.
My life was a problem in ciphers, a weary and profitless sum.
Slipshod and stupid I worked it, dazed by negation and doubt.
Ciphers the total confronts me. Oh, Death, with thy moistened thumb,
Stoop like a petulant schoolboy, wipe me forever out!
John Here's a good site.
http://www.artdamage.com/index.htm
dbabcock
Hi Tech Redneck
"Back in his cabin Service took up where he had left off, enjoying a bohemian sort of life..."
John Lambert is Robert Service.
John Lambert is Robert Service.
HUSKYMAN
Addicted to ArboristSite
Robert Service is Jeff Hunt
What did Robert Service ever do to you, HUSKYMAN? 
