Take Pictures

[tramp bushler]

090 s wil cannon out of a bind too .

I know a guy who played football for the Pliladelphia Eagles..then was bushlin in Southeast with 090s when they were the thing to run .. he had a 42 or 48 " bar on his and was bucking about a 4' cut on a log . The log was above him somewhat, and was pinching from the top down ... He was getting ready to pull the saw out and bore back in when he slightly slipped and momentarily lost his concentration on what he was doing ... The top of the cut came tight and that 090 flew out of the cut .. The back hump of the pistol grip hit him in the sternum and broke it in half lengthwise .......Knocked him out cold !!!!. Ray is a Big, Tough, Man ..... If he would have been against a stump , or bluff that saw would have killed him .....
. Ya really need to watch your footing when cutting .. .. I,ve had my 3120 come out of a cut , and I couldn,t stop it ............. I,ve heard all kinds of stories about kart engine McCullough's , Canadian's big old Homelites ..gettin a guy .....

 

[RandyMac]

Ok, here abit from the "book"

Just another day in the woods.

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 degress, 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.

RandyMac

 

[056kid]

i really enjoyed that diaolouge, you should try & keep it going..

 

[Jaredm]

RandyMac, I really enjoy reading your posts about the way things used to be.

 

[stihl sawing]

Good read Randy.

 

[Greystoke]

Just another day in the woods.

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 degress, 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.

RandyMac

Awesome post man! I want to sit on a porch sometime and drink whiskey and smoke cigars with ya!

 

[RandyMac]

Cody check your PM

Cody, come on by about 0630, I'll be starting my 4 day weekend with whiskey and a cigar. I sent you a PM, I hope you enjoy it.

 

[slowp]

Good story. Write more please. I'm mad at the local library.

 

[RandyMac]

Well sweet Polly, since it was you askin', I'll go fetch something. Back in a bit.

 

[RandyMac]

1 of 2

During my 14 year rampage through out Northern California, I did about five years worth of Forestry work. This is about fire stuff. I'm finding it tough to relate the total expirience...the smoke, waves of heat from merely hot to searing, the sounds of the crew working, the scary sounds from the fire, the smells of fresh earth, cut brush, trees and of course, smoke....there seems to be no way for me to express the noise made by a crownout in heavy timber... yes I had moments of fear, running away was sometimes the only option, mostly you gritted it out, relied on the training and your crew.
There were times that I took a long breath when the fire came into view, hadn't even gotten within several miles of the thing and already it made me tired just looking at it. One such fire was in Modoc County, I don't remember exactly what year it was, it happened one of the times I worked near Happy Camp Ca, so 1977-79. We had worked all day, clearing a fuelbreak on a ridge, lots of fun sawing. We had been back at our incampment on Elk Creek for maybe an hour when the call came in. I had just finished daily maintance on my work saws, an XL12 and XL925 (Uncle Sam loved Homelites) and jumped in the creek. I spent the next three hours driving a 35 foot cornbinder bus over a bunch of county roads, but hey, they were paved. Just before sundown, we topped a ridge, 15-20 miles to the south east, was a giant convection column, complete with a vapor cap formed as the very hot air hit very cold air. From our view point, with the setting sun behind us, it looked like something in the moderate megaton range had been detonated. It was a very quiet crew that stood and looked, as we pissed over the bank. Another hour got us to the fire camp, were they fed us the standard steak and potato dinner and actually gave us four whole hours to sleep. Four hours for some, less for others, I had to attend a briefing, check the bus, get supplies before wandering around kicking comatose boots into action. The next hour was spent in the dark, following a guide truck that had one taillight, down dusty logging roads. Dust? It was that powdered up red dirt stuff, inches deep, every vehicle had an attendent red cloud around it. Eh, I digress, you will get used to it. We were relieving a crew that had been on the line for 24 hours, it would be 36 hours before we were relieved. So, I should probably say a few words about Modoc, an Indian named place, some hills, mountains, mostly flat with lava flows and cinder cones. The area had been extensively logged of it's pines, about a century before. Regrowth was very good, lots and lots of nearly identicle trees, 24-30"dbh 125' tall, closely spaced. It's a high desert area, most of what the oldtime loggers left on the ground, was still there, kinda rotten, very dry. This was a lightning caused fire, it spread fast, very fast, in the first day, it consumed nearly 5000 acres and incorporated a few big spot fires into itself. We arrived, the Boss and I lined the crew out, I armed myself with the 925, and off we went. By daylight, we had to abandon our fireline three times, flaming crap was falling a few hundred feet from the main fire, nothing like fighting the big one and having the little ones sneak around behind you. By noon we had backed up to a half mile away from where we started, it wasn't going well for us, or anyone else. A 100 foot wide cat line had been completely ignored by the fire, there was very little water available for the pumpers, so they were on foot like the rest of us (ha ha hoseheads) The airtankers had a good time, they kept the fire from spreading to the east, but they didn't have much effect on the front. We heard them constantly, big prop jobs, ahh what a sound those big rotaries make. Anyways, sometimes hearing that rumbling roar was reassuring, more often it was a reminder that the fire was still out of control, and if they were going in, right over your head, you were close to the real action. Getting hit by retardent always brightened up your day.

 

[RandyMac]

the rest

By mid afternoon, there was a change of plan, I was shocked, after all the original plan was so wonderful. They pulled everyone out of our side, we regrouped on a two lane road about a half a mile from the fire's head. There were 6 Caterpillers rooting up both sides of the road, mostly Sixes with an odd Seven here and there. I killed pines with that 925, hardly waited to see one hit the ground, before setting steel on the next one, it was like a Xmas tree harvest, writ large. My swamper, who was good at such things, lost count after the first 40 or so. After a short break to eat crap out of cans, I cut a couple dozen more before dark, progress slowed about then. That line held, well mostly, fires, wild creatures that they are, don't always behave the way you guess that they will. We chased spot fires, lots of them, some were smothered with dirt, others had to be contained within a fireline. Forest fires are fought with dirt, don't let the nozzle jockies tell you otherwise, dirt doesn't burn, if that is all you leave in front of the fire, it starves. By sunrise, our part of the line was secure, which meant, after more canned crap, we took our circus on the road, to a more active area. Many more pines were killed, by then I was getting deaf, even with ear plugs, I was starting to hate the smell of pine sap and I was getting tired. I swore at everything. I beat that Homelite without mercy, I got the blasted thing stuck in a tree, instead of taking a break, waiting for another chainsaw, I went ballistic. I grabbed a Pulaski and went to hacking at the tree, I was enthused, not only did I get the chainsaw free, but severed the chain as well. My swamper, a fine lad named Joel, had seen it all before, just calmly replaced the chain after he filed the notch in the bar smooth. My name was "Havoc" for the rest of the day. About noon the wind changed, the fire turned back to the east, we patrolled our section, sharpened the tools, had at the canned stuff, again. We left the fire early, we didn't do mop-up, that was left for junior crews and the shiney truck guys.

 

[Burvol]

Yeeha!

 

[stihl sawing]

Good reading.

 

[RandyMac]

I laugh my ass off every time I see these old photos.

I think I just turned 20 when we went to this Kings Range fire. It was a CDF 14 man, er, person crew. I'm the goofy bastard on the left.

My barbarian phase.

 

[Burvol]

I love the Barbarian picture. Total wood savage, out for scale....look out.

 

[stihl sawing]

Keep em coming.

 

[RandyMac]

Yeah, and great fun while it lasted, those were unruly times.

 

[Burvol]

Yeah, and great fun while it lasted, those were unruly times.

I hear those stories from my family, all of the characters in the woods....now just a bunch machines with a handfaller here and there. I still throw roadkill in crummies, tape silver grey squirrel tails anttenas, ect. I can't wait to see all the new guys this season!

 

[Gologit]

I love the Barbarian picture. Total wood savage, out for scale....look out.

And let me tell you...he ain't changed much since then either.

 

[mdavlee]

That's some good stories there!