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
The Dead of Night, Old Growth spiders in my brain.
- Thread starter RandyMac
- Start date
Help Support Arborist Forum:
joesawer
Addicted to ArboristSite
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. 
RandyMac
Stiff Member
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
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
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?
Ever make it down to Downieville?
RandyMac
Stiff Member
I know Downieville, been to Clio?
Yup. Also Peanut, Hayfork, Igo and Ono. Hey, loggers get to see all the glamor spots.
RandyMac
Stiff Member
ha ha
Then there were the hot spots, Quincy, Portola, Chester, Weed.........Grass Valley
Then there were the hot spots, Quincy, Portola, Chester, Weed.........Grass Valley
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.
Might be time to move a little farther up the hill.
RandyMac
Stiff Member
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.
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:
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:
RandyMac
Stiff Member
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?
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.
RandyMac
Stiff Member
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.
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.
Mike Williams
Addicted to ArboristSite
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.
You have a gift my friend.
Eccentric
Mister Wizard
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....
RandyMac
Stiff Member
Got to check on statue of limitions.
RandyMac
Stiff Member
Continue with your snow story please. Did you survive?
Just for you sweet P.
Maybe tomorrow.
BTW I died a horrible death.
GASoline71
Mr. Nice Guy
But then they rebuilt you with old McCulloch parts and a couple of Homelite nuts and bolts to keep you "honest"...
Gary
Gary
Mike Williams
Addicted to ArboristSite
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.
RandyMac
Stiff Member
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 *******s 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.
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 *******s 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.
Similar threads
