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

[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]

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]

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.

 

[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.

 

[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]

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.........

 

[056kid]

Great writing. you are definitely good at it old timer

Keep it

 

[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.

 

[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.

 

[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:

 

[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,

 

[RandyMac]

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