Spent a melancholy night drinkin' beer with a fellow in Alpine in OR (Westside, not Eastside) in summer 1997.
His uncle Bob had recently been killed in a skidder rollover accident, and his employer (out of Bellfountain, as I recall?) barely paid to bury the dude who died on their dime. We ad-libbed a quiet ceremony late that night when my woods partner and I joined him in leaving memorial hats at his Uncle's tinfoil gravesite. I haven't returned there yet, but I will.
I never met his uncle Bob, but I have known a couple dozen of him over the years. You have too. They are the guys who know How Things Work, and who have Been There. When they retire, their home phone rings off the hook 24/7 for years because their knowledge is still in demand.
If this story smells familiar, drop me a PM. You know who you are.