 | It's Labor Day, September 01, 2008 | for everyone |
So am I laboring? As much as I ever do! The door is unlocked, the lights are on, the sign is flipped to "OPEN", some paperwork is caught up, and some books shelved. Normal day - pfffft to holidays!
I tend to ignore holidays. I hate crowds and the weather is usually crappy, so I come in, open the store, grab a cup of coffee & a good book and proceed to thoroughly have fun for the day.
And yeah, now a hectic summer is winding down, things that needed to be dealt with are mostly done, and things in my life are settling down. I am going to try to resurrect this blog and resume the autobiography - maybe.
First item on the agenda is to re-read everything I have written - so I don't start repeating myself in a repetitiously repetitive & redundant manner - and see if any further worms of overlooked memory crawl up onto the surface to be plucked and immortalized in here.
So, if any of my usual two readers still check this space, there might be material coming. If not bio stuff, than other stuff. Hopefully the next twelve months won't hold quite the drama and tension of the last twelve.
(Me) (Home)
I tend to ignore holidays. I hate crowds and the weather is usually crappy, so I come in, open the store, grab a cup of coffee & a good book and proceed to thoroughly have fun for the day.
And yeah, now a hectic summer is winding down, things that needed to be dealt with are mostly done, and things in my life are settling down. I am going to try to resurrect this blog and resume the autobiography - maybe.
First item on the agenda is to re-read everything I have written - so I don't start repeating myself in a repetitiously repetitive & redundant manner - and see if any further worms of overlooked memory crawl up onto the surface to be plucked and immortalized in here.
So, if any of my usual two readers still check this space, there might be material coming. If not bio stuff, than other stuff. Hopefully the next twelve months won't hold quite the drama and tension of the last twelve.
(Me) (Home)
| HOM: More on Pat, from Larry. | for everyone |
Got to thinking-Yes I know that can be dangerous! Did I ever mention huckleberries? Well when they got ripe back then, there were not as many folks out getting them where they were big and tasty as these types were way off the roads, beaten paths or whatever. When we would be out marking timber, we always had to eat our fill. I remember one time when Pat was recording and I was marking and measuring and found a bush that had berries on it that, honestly, were so damn big that you could take 4 bites out of one and throw the core away! No lie, just fact! Anyway Pat would holler "Hey where are you?" And I would holler back "I got a problem and have to eat my way out of it." Then he would find me and we would just have to eat our way out from under that bush.
Well, anyway back at Big Creek, Bill Anderson would always make us show him our tongues before supper and if they were purple, then he would wiggle that stub of a cigar around and tell us "No pie for you clowns tonight." So we got to where we would pack our dinner buckets with berries during the day and give them to Bill that night and then the next night he would have FRESH huckleberrie pie for the crews. That worked real well and got Bill off our backs. Of course there was not only me and Pat, but also Fred Young, Bob Wynecoop and Dick Lukes what were involved also.
About this same time of year, Grouse season was starting up. Back in those days you could pack iron. One day when Pat and I were heading up a fork in the road up Coal Creek, a chicken was in the road. Pat stopped and I got out and got down on the ground in my hands and knees with that old Colt that I have and I started sneaking up on that chicken. Pat kept whispering "aim for the head, aim for the head we don't want to cook that thing with a hole in its middle!" Well, just as I was getting ready to draw down on that poor grouse, I noticed a movement off to my right and here was Vance Conn, the Engineer, on the other side of the corner, sneaking up on that same chicken with fried grouse in his mind also. I think that bird got the hint and it flew so neither me and Pat or Vance and Flip Darling got any grouse for lunch that day.
There was almost always some lucky soul up there that would have a moose permit back then as those permits were going more to us locals than to rich Doctors, Lawyers or whatever from out of state. We had a special code that we used on the radio to let the station-Red Rogers-know where we were and that a moose was present. Then the Brush Crew or whoever had the permit would get their butts to where the moose would be at. The rig that had the fellow with the permit always had a rifle with them. That night, we all ate moose for supper. That way, the entire station got to savor the goodies and the shooter still got one hell of a lot of moose meat. We all seemed to like the liver, onions, mashed potatoes and gravy the best.
Boy things have sure changed in the Forestry Circus as now if they found out that there would be a firearm, of any kind in a rig, oh boy I sure hate to think of what would happen to the crew and/or the owner of that gun. That was back when it was a pretty well known fact that we all were responsible adults when it came to firearms. Not like some people would lead one to believe nowadays!
Just another fleeting thought of the moment that I thought that you might like to read about.
G'dy mate!
Everybody has a scheme that won't work.
Well, anyway back at Big Creek, Bill Anderson would always make us show him our tongues before supper and if they were purple, then he would wiggle that stub of a cigar around and tell us "No pie for you clowns tonight." So we got to where we would pack our dinner buckets with berries during the day and give them to Bill that night and then the next night he would have FRESH huckleberrie pie for the crews. That worked real well and got Bill off our backs. Of course there was not only me and Pat, but also Fred Young, Bob Wynecoop and Dick Lukes what were involved also.
About this same time of year, Grouse season was starting up. Back in those days you could pack iron. One day when Pat and I were heading up a fork in the road up Coal Creek, a chicken was in the road. Pat stopped and I got out and got down on the ground in my hands and knees with that old Colt that I have and I started sneaking up on that chicken. Pat kept whispering "aim for the head, aim for the head we don't want to cook that thing with a hole in its middle!" Well, just as I was getting ready to draw down on that poor grouse, I noticed a movement off to my right and here was Vance Conn, the Engineer, on the other side of the corner, sneaking up on that same chicken with fried grouse in his mind also. I think that bird got the hint and it flew so neither me and Pat or Vance and Flip Darling got any grouse for lunch that day.
There was almost always some lucky soul up there that would have a moose permit back then as those permits were going more to us locals than to rich Doctors, Lawyers or whatever from out of state. We had a special code that we used on the radio to let the station-Red Rogers-know where we were and that a moose was present. Then the Brush Crew or whoever had the permit would get their butts to where the moose would be at. The rig that had the fellow with the permit always had a rifle with them. That night, we all ate moose for supper. That way, the entire station got to savor the goodies and the shooter still got one hell of a lot of moose meat. We all seemed to like the liver, onions, mashed potatoes and gravy the best.
Boy things have sure changed in the Forestry Circus as now if they found out that there would be a firearm, of any kind in a rig, oh boy I sure hate to think of what would happen to the crew and/or the owner of that gun. That was back when it was a pretty well known fact that we all were responsible adults when it came to firearms. Not like some people would lead one to believe nowadays!
Just another fleeting thought of the moment that I thought that you might like to read about.
G'dy mate!
Everybody has a scheme that won't work.
| I feel like Mark Twain | for everyone |
The reports of my death have been exaggerated.
When Pat Grizzard died, (see below), the obit in the Interlake said he "managed" Blacktail Books. Somehow the word spread, not that Pat had died, but that "I" had died, resulting in phone calls and visits and a few massive double-takes from folks that walked in expecting me to be gone.
So, to all those who expressed their concern, Thank You. To those who were celebrating, My Apologies. To those that told me I hadn't been looking good lately, PFFFTT!! And to those who were worried about the book credit they had here, Safeguards Are In Effect. My dying won't cancel things out.
This has been educational. . .
When Pat Grizzard died, (see below), the obit in the Interlake said he "managed" Blacktail Books. Somehow the word spread, not that Pat had died, but that "I" had died, resulting in phone calls and visits and a few massive double-takes from folks that walked in expecting me to be gone.
So, to all those who expressed their concern, Thank You. To those who were celebrating, My Apologies. To those that told me I hadn't been looking good lately, PFFFTT!! And to those who were worried about the book credit they had here, Safeguards Are In Effect. My dying won't cancel things out.
This has been educational. . .
| Caddis | for everyone |
From the Shelter, Saturday:
A 2 yr old chocolate lab X, who instantly fit into Kathy's life.
A 2 yr old chocolate lab X, who instantly fit into Kathy's life.
| RIP, Rocky | for everyone |
Kathy's Best Friend: In her words, but i echo the sentiment:
Rest in peace my best friend Rocky. Rocky died in the evening of 6-11 at the vets of acute pancreas. On Sunday we went to JIms farm and he found a old bone and ate it be for he could be stopped. He started getting sick on Tuesday after noon. Wensday mid morning I took him to the vets where we discovered he had a bad temperature of 106.5. He got hooked up to a I.V. and they ran blood tests which most of it came back bad. The X Ray they took also came back not good. The vet started thinking that it was acute pancreas. They ran a test and it came back positive. The Vet said that if he got threw the first 24 hours his chances would improve but he was very, very sick. I stayed there until about 12:15 p.m. then I had to leave. I got the call from the Vet about 11:50 p.m. As soon as I heard her voice I knew that he was gone. The Vet thinks that he died right after she left after 8:00 p.m. cause she found him in the same position as when she left.
----------------------------------
Good bye my loyal friend. For almost 12 years you have been by my side and with me almost all the time. You went with me to work, you'd go with me at night time if there was errands to be ran. I fixed the back of the truck as comfortable as I could for you with dog beds to lay on and sleep, a bucket kept in the back that had water in it for you to drink, and a rope for you to be hooked on to get in and out of the truck if you wanted too. There was times I'd unhook you so you could run around and play. In the summer when it got really hot I'd unhook you and hose you off with water from the hose to cool you off (which you hated and couldn't understand why I did it). I kept the sliding window open for you in nice weather so you could get fresh air blowing in as we drove down the road. I'd look in my side view mirror to see you with your head out looking in front of us as if to see where we were going or I'd look in the rear view mirror to see you sitting in the back looking up front and threw the front window. When you'd see me walking towards the truck from the side that the sliding window was on you'd stick your head out and I'd stop to pet you.
Never again can I pet you and you put your paw across my arm.
You were one of the most loyal and happy best friends and companion that I could have. I hope you know how much I love you and what you mean to me.
Home and the truck (or as I would call the truck Rocky's moving house) will be empty and lonely with you not here. With you gone there's a emptiness now that can never again be filled. With you gone a part of what made me happy is gone now for ever.
I wish I could've been with you to hold, comfort, pet you and tell you I love you one last time as you went into your final sleep. Maybe you left me the way you did to save me the pain of having to go threw that. Showing and telling me one last time that you love me.
I love you and miss you always. Know that I will always love you and you'll always be with me inside my heart. You can never be replaced nor will you ever be forgotten.
I love you and miss my loyal friend.
| Rocky: Life or Death | for everyone |
Kathy's lab ate something that gave him a massive bacterial infection. He has been in ICU at the vet's for the last 14 hours, and she said she would check on him again at midnight - if he is worse, she will put him to sleep.... At 20:00, his fever had dropped a degree or two, his stools were firming up, and he had done some massive vomiting - hopefully getting rid of the bad stuff, but he is very, very weak...
Vomiting, diarrhea, fever, weakness, since Monday afternoon - guess he ate something bad at the farm Sunday.
Prayers, good thoughts, whatever, appreciated.
Hoping he makes it. Rocky is a special guy, and I don't really want more guilt & loss for a while - still not over Dad or Woof..
Vomiting, diarrhea, fever, weakness, since Monday afternoon - guess he ate something bad at the farm Sunday.
Prayers, good thoughts, whatever, appreciated.
Hoping he makes it. Rocky is a special guy, and I don't really want more guilt & loss for a while - still not over Dad or Woof..
| Yahoo | for everyone |
Appears to be screwing with their Geocity Blog settings.
Hopefully they get past this soon.
Hopefully they get past this soon.
| RIP | for everyone |
Patrick ‘Pat’ Grizzard, 63 Posted: Wednesday, May 28, 2008 - 11:07:37 pm MDT
Patrick “The Leprechaun” Grizzard, 63, passed away Sunday, May 25, 2008, at Brendan House in Kalispell. He was born March 17, 1945, in San Diego. Pat ran track in high school, focusing on the 440 and the 880.
During his career, Pat worked for NASA, hosted a radio talk show in California, and worked at the Blacktail Bookstore in Kalispell.
He moved to Kalispell in 1996 and graduated from Flathead Valley Community College with an associate’s degree.
Pat enjoyed photography and many of his pictures won prizes. In his early years he enjoyed surfing, fishing, camping and loved to travel. He was an avid reader. Pat will be missed.
Pat was preceded in death by his wife, Linda.
He is survived by many dear friends.
Memorial services for Patrick will be held at 2 p.m. Saturday, June 7, 2008, at Big Sky Manor, 110 Second Ave. W., in Kalispell.
Johnson-Gloschat Funeral Home and Crematory is caring for Patrick’s family. You are invited to go to www.jgfuneralhome.com to offer condolences and sign Patrick’s guest book.
Patrick “The Leprechaun” Grizzard, 63, passed away Sunday, May 25, 2008, at Brendan House in Kalispell. He was born March 17, 1945, in San Diego. Pat ran track in high school, focusing on the 440 and the 880.
During his career, Pat worked for NASA, hosted a radio talk show in California, and worked at the Blacktail Bookstore in Kalispell.
He moved to Kalispell in 1996 and graduated from Flathead Valley Community College with an associate’s degree.
Pat enjoyed photography and many of his pictures won prizes. In his early years he enjoyed surfing, fishing, camping and loved to travel. He was an avid reader. Pat will be missed.
Pat was preceded in death by his wife, Linda.
He is survived by many dear friends.
Memorial services for Patrick will be held at 2 p.m. Saturday, June 7, 2008, at Big Sky Manor, 110 Second Ave. W., in Kalispell.
Johnson-Gloschat Funeral Home and Crematory is caring for Patrick’s family. You are invited to go to www.jgfuneralhome.com to offer condolences and sign Patrick’s guest book.
| NOTE TO SELF: | for everyone |
DO NOT turn off the computer when it is writing to disk....
Reinstalling Windows - again - but at least with all the recent practice it is going faster.
Reinstalling Windows - again - but at least with all the recent practice it is going faster.
| Apologies | for everyone |
for the mental vacation.
Events/emotions over the last six months have distracted me, having trouble concentrating on past events or even current ones, so I have taken some time off to retrench and concentrate on photography again, neglected it since Woof died.
Besides, the weather is too nice to be writing....
Events/emotions over the last six months have distracted me, having trouble concentrating on past events or even current ones, so I have taken some time off to retrench and concentrate on photography again, neglected it since Woof died.
Besides, the weather is too nice to be writing....
| HOM: Flashing Back Again | for everyone |
Writing about that Topcon camera dredged up a few historic points.
Dad's camera was an old Kodak with a bellows lens and a leather & metal case. I still have it....
Paul's old camera was a Mercury II Model CX Half-Frame 35mm Camera, it used 35mm film and we mostly had it developed as slides.
Grandma Striet was interested in photography too, and I still have her old Brownie camera. Mom's last camera was an Ansco ultra-compact Vision Twin-Lens in an offbeat film size.
We found it a few weeks ago with film in it - but it was too old to develop properly.
We took National Geographic magazine when I was in Hgh School, and I spent a lot of time drooling over the ads for the Pentax Spotmatic camera - I got a used one some years later.
------------
And now, from the past...
Did I mention Uncle Tom using a match to check the level of gas in the tank on the hay baler? He was lucky - it wasn't empty! All he lost was eyebrows.
Then there was the time Ian was courting Mom and stopped over to visit the Streits. He was out in the yard visiting with Grandma & Mom & her sisters when their old dog walked up behind him and peed on his leg. I can only imagine his embarrassment.
Vic. He found his neighbor up at the old farm alongside the path, dead of a heart attack. He called it in, and said he would NEVER do that again. He was treated like a murder suspect at the time and never did forgive the LEOs for that.
More later.
TBC
Dad's camera was an old Kodak with a bellows lens and a leather & metal case. I still have it....
Paul's old camera was a Mercury II Model CX Half-Frame 35mm Camera, it used 35mm film and we mostly had it developed as slides.
Grandma Striet was interested in photography too, and I still have her old Brownie camera. Mom's last camera was an Ansco ultra-compact Vision Twin-Lens in an offbeat film size.
We found it a few weeks ago with film in it - but it was too old to develop properly.
We took National Geographic magazine when I was in Hgh School, and I spent a lot of time drooling over the ads for the Pentax Spotmatic camera - I got a used one some years later.
------------
And now, from the past...
Did I mention Uncle Tom using a match to check the level of gas in the tank on the hay baler? He was lucky - it wasn't empty! All he lost was eyebrows.
Then there was the time Ian was courting Mom and stopped over to visit the Streits. He was out in the yard visiting with Grandma & Mom & her sisters when their old dog walked up behind him and peed on his leg. I can only imagine his embarrassment.
Vic. He found his neighbor up at the old farm alongside the path, dead of a heart attack. He called it in, and said he would NEVER do that again. He was treated like a murder suspect at the time and never did forgive the LEOs for that.
More later.
TBC
| HOM: Check! | for everyone |
My picture taking started in grade school, and was an inherited interest; Ian took pictures, and so did Mom. My first camera was a Kodak Brownie in grade school, my first good camera was an old Mercury split frame (72 1/2 size pictures on a 36 exposure roll) that belonged to Uncle Paul.
Mom had kept it for him and used it herself and then I used it, so when Paul came home, I talked Mom into buying him the tape recorder he wanted in trade for the camera.I had a lot of fun and a lot of frustration with it.
Total manual control was all the camera offered, and even when I got an exposure meter I had more bad pictures than good ones.
My first Forest Service paycheck went to Guest's Photo Art for a single lens reflex camera with automatic exposure control - a Beseler Topcon Auto 100.
To Quote the brochure:
Congratulations, on your choice of the BESELER TOPCON AUTO 100 camera which has been designed by our engineers and optical scientists to give an ideal camera fulfilling the following basic requirements:--
1. Single lens reflex--for viewing and focusing of the exact subject image as it will be captured on the film.
2. Electric Eye automation--for automatically setting the correct exposure to the camera simply by pointing it at the subject.
3. Complete lens interchangeability--for changing from the standard to the wide-angle or telephoto as the requirements of the picture may demand.
4. Superior UV lens coating--for producing crisper black-and-white shots and true-to life color pictures.
But, besides these basic requirements, the camera also incorporates all the complicated mechanism that make picture-taking completely automatic, such as:--
1. Fully automatic instant re-opening lens diaphragm action--for holding the lens at wide aperture, for view-focusing ease, but stopping it down automatically to the selected aperture for the shutter action and then re-opening it once more to wide aperture.
2. Quick-as-a-wink mirror action--which, in coupled action with the automatic lens diaphragm action, swings the mirror up and out of the way for shooting and then snaps it down once more, quick-as-a-wink, for view focusing.
3. Single stroke film winding lever action-- not only advances the film one frame, but advances the exposure counter, charges the shutter and sets up the automatic lens diaphragm action.
4. Automatic re-setting additive exposure counter.
5. Automatic pop-up rewind button.
And, as an additional bonus, the camera also has:--
1. Complete electric eye automation with all interchangeable lenses.
2. Special UV filter effect on all interchangeable lenses.
3. Aperture scale visible in finder, even with electric-eye automation.
My second paycheck went for a pair of White (Brand - not color!) boots for work.
Priorities!
TBC
Mom had kept it for him and used it herself and then I used it, so when Paul came home, I talked Mom into buying him the tape recorder he wanted in trade for the camera.I had a lot of fun and a lot of frustration with it.
Total manual control was all the camera offered, and even when I got an exposure meter I had more bad pictures than good ones.
My first Forest Service paycheck went to Guest's Photo Art for a single lens reflex camera with automatic exposure control - a Beseler Topcon Auto 100.
To Quote the brochure:
Congratulations, on your choice of the BESELER TOPCON AUTO 100 camera which has been designed by our engineers and optical scientists to give an ideal camera fulfilling the following basic requirements:--
1. Single lens reflex--for viewing and focusing of the exact subject image as it will be captured on the film.
2. Electric Eye automation--for automatically setting the correct exposure to the camera simply by pointing it at the subject.
3. Complete lens interchangeability--for changing from the standard to the wide-angle or telephoto as the requirements of the picture may demand.
4. Superior UV lens coating--for producing crisper black-and-white shots and true-to life color pictures.
But, besides these basic requirements, the camera also incorporates all the complicated mechanism that make picture-taking completely automatic, such as:--
1. Fully automatic instant re-opening lens diaphragm action--for holding the lens at wide aperture, for view-focusing ease, but stopping it down automatically to the selected aperture for the shutter action and then re-opening it once more to wide aperture.
2. Quick-as-a-wink mirror action--which, in coupled action with the automatic lens diaphragm action, swings the mirror up and out of the way for shooting and then snaps it down once more, quick-as-a-wink, for view focusing.
3. Single stroke film winding lever action-- not only advances the film one frame, but advances the exposure counter, charges the shutter and sets up the automatic lens diaphragm action.
4. Automatic re-setting additive exposure counter.
5. Automatic pop-up rewind button.
And, as an additional bonus, the camera also has:--
1. Complete electric eye automation with all interchangeable lenses.
2. Special UV filter effect on all interchangeable lenses.
3. Aperture scale visible in finder, even with electric-eye automation.
My second paycheck went for a pair of White (Brand - not color!) boots for work.
Priorities!
TBC
| HOM: Close | for everyone |
The closest call I had with the USFS job didn't happen on the job.
Several of us carpooled, and one fine day the guy we were riding with got fired.
Like a lot of folks, he took his anger out on the car and the road, traveling fast and cutting things closer than he should. He missed turning south at the Blue Moon so we flew over to the US-93 junction. The driver - also named Jim - came very, very, close to a head-on when he tried to pass a car and misjudged the traffic and the scare got him to slow down. But it was VERY close...
Another car-pooling incident that sticks in memory was funny. Kirby Jacobson was dozing in the back seat & I was riding in front, and out of boredom idly pulled open the seat belt latch and let it snap shut. Instantly Kirby was awake and leaning over the seat going "Beer?" "Beer?". I guess it sounded like a pop-top. anyway, he was disappointed.
We rode in two 4-door crew cab pickups, catch as catch can, no assigned seating. This worked pretty well till a windy day, a front seat passenger with a passion for Copenhagen and a crabby back seat passenger who liked having his window open.
Ever time the chewer spit the guy in back had it blown into his face, and the chewer didn't quit till he was told that even if it cost him his job, the back-seat guy was going to bust his jaw for him.
The funny sequel happened a few days later when the Copen-spitter, sitting in back this time, decided to empty a load out the window - and forgot it was rolled up! He got a lot of static over that, beside a faceful of his own slobber and the job of cleaning the truck.
We saw a lot of game on the trips in and out from the thinning areas - muleys, whitetails, bear, fox, and moose. No elk though, and no Grizzly.
A few times guys brought rifles along, with the understanding that if they shot any game, they had the day off without pay. Times were freeer then...
TBC
Several of us carpooled, and one fine day the guy we were riding with got fired.
Like a lot of folks, he took his anger out on the car and the road, traveling fast and cutting things closer than he should. He missed turning south at the Blue Moon so we flew over to the US-93 junction. The driver - also named Jim - came very, very, close to a head-on when he tried to pass a car and misjudged the traffic and the scare got him to slow down. But it was VERY close...
Another car-pooling incident that sticks in memory was funny. Kirby Jacobson was dozing in the back seat & I was riding in front, and out of boredom idly pulled open the seat belt latch and let it snap shut. Instantly Kirby was awake and leaning over the seat going "Beer?" "Beer?". I guess it sounded like a pop-top. anyway, he was disappointed.
We rode in two 4-door crew cab pickups, catch as catch can, no assigned seating. This worked pretty well till a windy day, a front seat passenger with a passion for Copenhagen and a crabby back seat passenger who liked having his window open.
Ever time the chewer spit the guy in back had it blown into his face, and the chewer didn't quit till he was told that even if it cost him his job, the back-seat guy was going to bust his jaw for him.
The funny sequel happened a few days later when the Copen-spitter, sitting in back this time, decided to empty a load out the window - and forgot it was rolled up! He got a lot of static over that, beside a faceful of his own slobber and the job of cleaning the truck.
We saw a lot of game on the trips in and out from the thinning areas - muleys, whitetails, bear, fox, and moose. No elk though, and no Grizzly.
A few times guys brought rifles along, with the understanding that if they shot any game, they had the day off without pay. Times were freeer then...
TBC
| HOM: Thinner | for everyone |
I guess it is a bit of serendipity that thinning thins the thinner.
(Hmm, so if you become a treehugger, you "Repent, and thin no more!"???)
Sorry - that sorta slipped out. Anyway, carrying a saw, a gallon of fuel, a quart of blade oil, file, plug tool, fire extinguisher, water and yourself around was great exercise. We almost always started thinning from the bottom of a project, and as the work advanced the climb to the top got longer and sometimes harder.
All those trees that were felled had to be climbed over to get to and from the truck and the work, though sometimes the foremen would clear out a central path up to speed things up. One of my more enlightening moments was when I was in the midst of clambering over the nearly waist deep layer of stuff we had cut down and thinking how impassable it made the slope when I looked up and saw a BIG bull moose.
He was in the woods and moving at a fast trot, and when he hit the thinning area he never slowed down, crossing it diagonally from bottom to top - those long legs unerringly carried him through the downed stuff like it was open road. I was envious!
Heat was always an enemy too, and we took salt tabs like they were vitamins. The occasional rainy day wasn't much help - you either ignored the rain and got soaked or wore rain gear and got soaked - from sweat!
Hot weather also brought the yellow jackets and little sweat bees out in droves. It wasn't unusual to see a sawyer suddenly take off at a run from the tree he had been cutting and working elsewhere till the nest he had cut into settled back down or he had used the fire extinguisher to kill the hornets.
I forgot to mention travel time. We would meet at the old District Office in Columbia Falls at 0700, and the hour travel time from the office to the work area was unpaid - our day officially started at 0800. To balance this, we would knock off at 1600 and travel at USFS expense for the hour back out to C. Falls, arriving at 1700.
There were some hazards & nuisances on the job. Dead snags standing in the area were a real hazard, though not common. These widowmakers had a bad habit of falling for no known reason and with no warning - even Vic got hit by them twice in his career.
(Vic. Struck and terribly hurt buy a snag in the early 1960's, he fought his way to recovery and went back into the woods. He worked as a sawyer till he was at an age when most logger had long retired, but finally decided to call it quits.
He announced that this particular day was his last one, and that he was hanging up his saw at noon. Noon came, and he decided to cut one last tree, and he was bucking it up when a snag behind him fell and crushed him again. Irony.)
Misjudging the lean of a tree or a slight gust of wind could cause your saw blade to get pinched in the cut. If the tree was small enough or you had good leverage you could muscle the trunk back till you could slip your saw out, but sometimes you had to go get someone else and have them saw the tree off a bit higher so you could get your saw out. This backfired on me once - I was helping the next guy free his saw, but I goofed someway and the log slipped off the stump onto his saw, bending the blade and breaking the handle. My bad!
Cutting the trees off at the very-low height the job called for meant sometimes hitting a rock, and that meant stopping to sharpen the chain, one job I never mastered.
I have already mention the hazard of trees whose trajectory you miscalculate and that hang up in other trees. Sometimes you could muscle them loose, sometimes you could knock them loose with another tree, sometimes you had to cut their trunks in half. Cutting a trunk that was suspended at the ends and hanging free in the middle meant cutting from the bottom side of the trunk so that as it settled the kerf would open and not squeeze the blade as it would if you cut from the top. It made for interesting logistics!
Another nasty habit out-of-plumb trees had was splitting vertically when you had them half cut. The split would start on the inside edge of your cut and run up the trunk for 5 to 10 feet, then the tree would hinge on the top of the split and the butt would kick back. The resulting stump looked like a barber chair and this is what gave the event the name of "barberchair". If you were in the wrong spot the damage from the kick-back could be serious, which is why you always stood to the side of the tree you were cutting if you could.
TBC
(Hmm, so if you become a treehugger, you "Repent, and thin no more!"???)
Sorry - that sorta slipped out. Anyway, carrying a saw, a gallon of fuel, a quart of blade oil, file, plug tool, fire extinguisher, water and yourself around was great exercise. We almost always started thinning from the bottom of a project, and as the work advanced the climb to the top got longer and sometimes harder.
All those trees that were felled had to be climbed over to get to and from the truck and the work, though sometimes the foremen would clear out a central path up to speed things up. One of my more enlightening moments was when I was in the midst of clambering over the nearly waist deep layer of stuff we had cut down and thinking how impassable it made the slope when I looked up and saw a BIG bull moose.
He was in the woods and moving at a fast trot, and when he hit the thinning area he never slowed down, crossing it diagonally from bottom to top - those long legs unerringly carried him through the downed stuff like it was open road. I was envious!
Heat was always an enemy too, and we took salt tabs like they were vitamins. The occasional rainy day wasn't much help - you either ignored the rain and got soaked or wore rain gear and got soaked - from sweat!
Hot weather also brought the yellow jackets and little sweat bees out in droves. It wasn't unusual to see a sawyer suddenly take off at a run from the tree he had been cutting and working elsewhere till the nest he had cut into settled back down or he had used the fire extinguisher to kill the hornets.
I forgot to mention travel time. We would meet at the old District Office in Columbia Falls at 0700, and the hour travel time from the office to the work area was unpaid - our day officially started at 0800. To balance this, we would knock off at 1600 and travel at USFS expense for the hour back out to C. Falls, arriving at 1700.
There were some hazards & nuisances on the job. Dead snags standing in the area were a real hazard, though not common. These widowmakers had a bad habit of falling for no known reason and with no warning - even Vic got hit by them twice in his career.
(Vic. Struck and terribly hurt buy a snag in the early 1960's, he fought his way to recovery and went back into the woods. He worked as a sawyer till he was at an age when most logger had long retired, but finally decided to call it quits.
He announced that this particular day was his last one, and that he was hanging up his saw at noon. Noon came, and he decided to cut one last tree, and he was bucking it up when a snag behind him fell and crushed him again. Irony.)
Misjudging the lean of a tree or a slight gust of wind could cause your saw blade to get pinched in the cut. If the tree was small enough or you had good leverage you could muscle the trunk back till you could slip your saw out, but sometimes you had to go get someone else and have them saw the tree off a bit higher so you could get your saw out. This backfired on me once - I was helping the next guy free his saw, but I goofed someway and the log slipped off the stump onto his saw, bending the blade and breaking the handle. My bad!
Cutting the trees off at the very-low height the job called for meant sometimes hitting a rock, and that meant stopping to sharpen the chain, one job I never mastered.
I have already mention the hazard of trees whose trajectory you miscalculate and that hang up in other trees. Sometimes you could muscle them loose, sometimes you could knock them loose with another tree, sometimes you had to cut their trunks in half. Cutting a trunk that was suspended at the ends and hanging free in the middle meant cutting from the bottom side of the trunk so that as it settled the kerf would open and not squeeze the blade as it would if you cut from the top. It made for interesting logistics!
Another nasty habit out-of-plumb trees had was splitting vertically when you had them half cut. The split would start on the inside edge of your cut and run up the trunk for 5 to 10 feet, then the tree would hinge on the top of the split and the butt would kick back. The resulting stump looked like a barber chair and this is what gave the event the name of "barberchair". If you were in the wrong spot the damage from the kick-back could be serious, which is why you always stood to the side of the tree you were cutting if you could.
TBC
| HOM: Larry & Pat | for everyone |
1964?
When the flood first hit, Pat, myself, Del Hutton and Red Rogers were in a car pool to go back and forth to Big Creek. We left on a Sunday evening just when all hell broke loose. The section of road just south of the station slid into the river and we were all stranded there till that section of road could be pioneered in and rebuilt.
For the first few days all we--all of us--did was snag garbage cans that came floating by the station office. Every day around noon a Marine flying banana would fly real close to the river checking it out. Then when the water went down Pat and I took off for the brush checking roads and bridges. That summer went by real fast. Joe Pomievich was the Forest Supervisor then and he tried to get me detailed to Spotted Bear for trail repair but our boss said no that he had me humping it there at Glacier View. Pat and I would leave right after breakfast, in the morning, and not get back till last call at summer-time.
Well, we spent most of that summer on flood damage repair--like cleaning debris from under bridges. We had two Gyppo loggers--the Herzog brothers and their self-loader following us around like a couple of puppy dogs. They were the ones that I mentioned earlier about our cheating on our green slip sales. We treated them good and they did like-wise.
The younger of the two finally moved over to White Sulphur and I used him on almost of my dozer piling contracts there. Pat and I traveled every road on the district that summer cleaning out culverts and using the Herzogs to clear out logs and stuff from under bridges. I have run across some colored slides of all of the 4 of us in action on some of the bridges.
Did I mention that Bill Anderson was our cook?
When ever we were late for meals he would stand over us and his stub of a cigar would move from side to side in his mouth and that was a warning sign that we were in trouble. We all had our SPOTS at the table and ABSOLUTELY, ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING AT MEALTIME. I got in trouble only once and that was enough. It was alright to ask for the spuds or whatnot but that was it. I sat next to Vance Conn and Pat sat next to me. Whenever we had steaks for supper Bill would put a little bowl of steak drippin's right next to me and Vance's plates 'cause he knew we liked to slop the drippin's. The rest of the crew thought we were gross but damn that was good with Bill's homemade bread dunked in that stuff.
I don't know if you knew or not but Hank Hays had replaced Harold Howard when Harold took a transfer to Alaska.
The first time I met Hank was when we had all gotten out of the brush from laying out that Cyclone Lake timber sale and I was setting in the office plotting out a cutting and this voice from just behind me said "Do you think you know what you are doing?" I whirled around and here was Hank standing there in a FS suit and tie looking really serious. Later he and I went up Coal Creek on a little show-me trip for me to show him around and he asked me all sorts of questions. I found out later on that he made some damn fine wine.
Did I ever tell you about our camp up at Cyclone Lake. Well, there was me, Fred Young, Pat, Dick Lukes and Bob Wynecoop. There were two tents tied together. The front one was the office/chow hall and the back was where we had our bags. One night, unbeknownst to all of us a big bull moose stopped by to see what we were and he stuck his head in the tent-BAAAAAAAAAD mistake. Well that scared the beegaysus out of him and he reared back and of course his big rack got hung up in the tent. Then he panicked and took off backwards-with our cooking fly and our bedroom-off through the brush. There were 4 green inchworms hauling ass back in the opposite direction off into the brush. After it was all over all we could do was lay there on the ground and laugh our butts off. We spent the rest of the day and part of the day after that going out through the brush gathering up our camp. The worst part of it was-that damn moose hung around us for several days.
I just thought of this story so as time goes on be prepared for more. I was just reading your articles that I sent you and when you mentioned Henry Hays, it rang a bell.
This is one for the books. Pat and I were sent, by Red Rogers, to a small smoke chaser fire one day. Pat, in his careful cunning, had a smoke chase map that dated from the 1920's or 30's with him. He like that map as it showed place names that had been forgotten over time. When he called in our location to Red, the creek name that he used was "Kinney-mikki Creek". Of course that did not show on Red's big district map and that threw him in a tizzy/frenzy trying to find it. When Pat and I got back, there was Red tapping his foot and saying "Where in the Hell is Kinni-mikki creek. So ol Pat digs out his ancient smoke chaser map and showed Red.
Well, since then, I think that name is now back on the maps for the North Fork but am not certain. About all I can say about Pat is that you had to be thinking about 4 jumps ahead of him every day and getting up a wee bit earlier than he would every day to be able to stay with him. I do not think that there was ever a time that I was able to outsmart him.
The day that Pat died, I was going to go to town to visit with him as I had called the day before to see if he would be home so that we could set down and reminisce so was very sad when he passed. I didn't get to say goodbye.
When the flood first hit, Pat, myself, Del Hutton and Red Rogers were in a car pool to go back and forth to Big Creek. We left on a Sunday evening just when all hell broke loose. The section of road just south of the station slid into the river and we were all stranded there till that section of road could be pioneered in and rebuilt.
For the first few days all we--all of us--did was snag garbage cans that came floating by the station office. Every day around noon a Marine flying banana would fly real close to the river checking it out. Then when the water went down Pat and I took off for the brush checking roads and bridges. That summer went by real fast. Joe Pomievich was the Forest Supervisor then and he tried to get me detailed to Spotted Bear for trail repair but our boss said no that he had me humping it there at Glacier View. Pat and I would leave right after breakfast, in the morning, and not get back till last call at summer-time.
Well, we spent most of that summer on flood damage repair--like cleaning debris from under bridges. We had two Gyppo loggers--the Herzog brothers and their self-loader following us around like a couple of puppy dogs. They were the ones that I mentioned earlier about our cheating on our green slip sales. We treated them good and they did like-wise.
The younger of the two finally moved over to White Sulphur and I used him on almost of my dozer piling contracts there. Pat and I traveled every road on the district that summer cleaning out culverts and using the Herzogs to clear out logs and stuff from under bridges. I have run across some colored slides of all of the 4 of us in action on some of the bridges.
Did I mention that Bill Anderson was our cook?
When ever we were late for meals he would stand over us and his stub of a cigar would move from side to side in his mouth and that was a warning sign that we were in trouble. We all had our SPOTS at the table and ABSOLUTELY, ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING AT MEALTIME. I got in trouble only once and that was enough. It was alright to ask for the spuds or whatnot but that was it. I sat next to Vance Conn and Pat sat next to me. Whenever we had steaks for supper Bill would put a little bowl of steak drippin's right next to me and Vance's plates 'cause he knew we liked to slop the drippin's. The rest of the crew thought we were gross but damn that was good with Bill's homemade bread dunked in that stuff.
I don't know if you knew or not but Hank Hays had replaced Harold Howard when Harold took a transfer to Alaska.
The first time I met Hank was when we had all gotten out of the brush from laying out that Cyclone Lake timber sale and I was setting in the office plotting out a cutting and this voice from just behind me said "Do you think you know what you are doing?" I whirled around and here was Hank standing there in a FS suit and tie looking really serious. Later he and I went up Coal Creek on a little show-me trip for me to show him around and he asked me all sorts of questions. I found out later on that he made some damn fine wine.
Did I ever tell you about our camp up at Cyclone Lake. Well, there was me, Fred Young, Pat, Dick Lukes and Bob Wynecoop. There were two tents tied together. The front one was the office/chow hall and the back was where we had our bags. One night, unbeknownst to all of us a big bull moose stopped by to see what we were and he stuck his head in the tent-BAAAAAAAAAD mistake. Well that scared the beegaysus out of him and he reared back and of course his big rack got hung up in the tent. Then he panicked and took off backwards-with our cooking fly and our bedroom-off through the brush. There were 4 green inchworms hauling ass back in the opposite direction off into the brush. After it was all over all we could do was lay there on the ground and laugh our butts off. We spent the rest of the day and part of the day after that going out through the brush gathering up our camp. The worst part of it was-that damn moose hung around us for several days.
I just thought of this story so as time goes on be prepared for more. I was just reading your articles that I sent you and when you mentioned Henry Hays, it rang a bell.
This is one for the books. Pat and I were sent, by Red Rogers, to a small smoke chaser fire one day. Pat, in his careful cunning, had a smoke chase map that dated from the 1920's or 30's with him. He like that map as it showed place names that had been forgotten over time. When he called in our location to Red, the creek name that he used was "Kinney-mikki Creek". Of course that did not show on Red's big district map and that threw him in a tizzy/frenzy trying to find it. When Pat and I got back, there was Red tapping his foot and saying "Where in the Hell is Kinni-mikki creek. So ol Pat digs out his ancient smoke chaser map and showed Red.
Well, since then, I think that name is now back on the maps for the North Fork but am not certain. About all I can say about Pat is that you had to be thinking about 4 jumps ahead of him every day and getting up a wee bit earlier than he would every day to be able to stay with him. I do not think that there was ever a time that I was able to outsmart him.
The day that Pat died, I was going to go to town to visit with him as I had called the day before to see if he would be home so that we could set down and reminisce so was very sad when he passed. I didn't get to say goodbye.
| HOM: Smokin' | for everyone |
This is a little out of order - more thinning info coming soon - but this just surfaced so I better put it down in writing now.
I guess it was a Sunday in August when Paul & I decided to go fishing.
We got our gear together and went down to Phillips' (Now Jellar's) where we kept the old 14' aluminum boat and 5.5hp Evinrude, hauled the stuff down the path I dug out of the bank, and were almost ready to go when Dad drove up.
He hopped out and told me I wasn't going fishing, and for explanation pointed north at the cloud of smoke towering out of the North Fork. Forest Fire, and the call had gone out to all the crews to report in.
(This, of course, was in the days when anybody who had boots & gloves and two arms and two legs was considered capable of fighting fire. No classes, no endurance tests, no selectivity, and little politically correct attention to safety. You were assumed to be responsible for your own safety.)
I went home, changed, grabbed my stuff and headed for Columbia Falls.
I got there after most of the crew did and they were already on the fire, so I rode up with and worked with a different crew and was introduced to a Pulaski and the art of digging fireline - 18" wide and all the way to mineral soil, and throw the dirt back onto the fire.
This was the era when getting the fire out was rated as a little more important than crew safety, so we were right at the edge of the fire in the middle of the heat and smoke. It made for interesting work; when a burning snag fell in front of you, you detoured the fireline around it and keep going.
They pulled us off the line at dusk and sent us to a fire camp they had set up nearby for a quick meal and a sleeping bag.
The most popular feature in the camp was Bill Anderson's kitchen area. Armys and firefighters need food to fuel exertion, and Bill supplied it with both quality & quantity even in camp.
He set a big old-fashioned tub up on rocks, built a fire under it, then dumped in water and a couple of pounds of coffee. He kept the temperature at a very low boil, and normal procedure was to just scoop out a cupful as you walked by. Hygenic, no. Efficient, yes. And nobody got sick from it. Or complained.
When the tub started getting low, Bill would add more water & more coffee to the existing brew, so as the days went by the coffee kept getting stronger and the level of the grounds kept getting closer to the surface. It jump-started my addiction!
The next morning, I had one of those serendipitous events that have made my life interesting.
I was heading for breakfast when I walked by the radio tent and one the guys from my crew was there so I stopped to visit for a minute.This is when Ike Weaver, the FNF radio man, asked me if I knew how to run a radio.
Being congenitally lazy, mildly dishonest and sensing an opportunity, I said I sure did. (LIE!) I instantly became the assistant radio operator! Since I was really interested in radio and really didn't like the fireline, I learned fast.
Motivation is the key to success at anything!
I spent time on other fires and firelines that summer, though. One evening Earl Fortine, another guy & I were put on a small fire that had been contained. We were relieving the regular crew and just patrolling the perimeter when a small tree about 50 yards outside the fireline and down the hill blazed up with a roar. We ran down, I started cutting off the burning limbs and the other two stomped them out on the ground. It only took a couple of minutes, but they were kind of exciting - the threat of having the fire take off again was a real spur.
All of this was good training for next summer, when a big chunk of the North Fork went up in the fire of 1967.
TBC
I guess it was a Sunday in August when Paul & I decided to go fishing.
We got our gear together and went down to Phillips' (Now Jellar's) where we kept the old 14' aluminum boat and 5.5hp Evinrude, hauled the stuff down the path I dug out of the bank, and were almost ready to go when Dad drove up.
He hopped out and told me I wasn't going fishing, and for explanation pointed north at the cloud of smoke towering out of the North Fork. Forest Fire, and the call had gone out to all the crews to report in.
(This, of course, was in the days when anybody who had boots & gloves and two arms and two legs was considered capable of fighting fire. No classes, no endurance tests, no selectivity, and little politically correct attention to safety. You were assumed to be responsible for your own safety.)
I went home, changed, grabbed my stuff and headed for Columbia Falls.
I got there after most of the crew did and they were already on the fire, so I rode up with and worked with a different crew and was introduced to a Pulaski and the art of digging fireline - 18" wide and all the way to mineral soil, and throw the dirt back onto the fire.
This was the era when getting the fire out was rated as a little more important than crew safety, so we were right at the edge of the fire in the middle of the heat and smoke. It made for interesting work; when a burning snag fell in front of you, you detoured the fireline around it and keep going.
They pulled us off the line at dusk and sent us to a fire camp they had set up nearby for a quick meal and a sleeping bag.
The most popular feature in the camp was Bill Anderson's kitchen area. Armys and firefighters need food to fuel exertion, and Bill supplied it with both quality & quantity even in camp.
He set a big old-fashioned tub up on rocks, built a fire under it, then dumped in water and a couple of pounds of coffee. He kept the temperature at a very low boil, and normal procedure was to just scoop out a cupful as you walked by. Hygenic, no. Efficient, yes. And nobody got sick from it. Or complained.
When the tub started getting low, Bill would add more water & more coffee to the existing brew, so as the days went by the coffee kept getting stronger and the level of the grounds kept getting closer to the surface. It jump-started my addiction!
The next morning, I had one of those serendipitous events that have made my life interesting.
I was heading for breakfast when I walked by the radio tent and one the guys from my crew was there so I stopped to visit for a minute.This is when Ike Weaver, the FNF radio man, asked me if I knew how to run a radio.
Being congenitally lazy, mildly dishonest and sensing an opportunity, I said I sure did. (LIE!) I instantly became the assistant radio operator! Since I was really interested in radio and really didn't like the fireline, I learned fast.
Motivation is the key to success at anything!
I spent time on other fires and firelines that summer, though. One evening Earl Fortine, another guy & I were put on a small fire that had been contained. We were relieving the regular crew and just patrolling the perimeter when a small tree about 50 yards outside the fireline and down the hill blazed up with a roar. We ran down, I started cutting off the burning limbs and the other two stomped them out on the ground. It only took a couple of minutes, but they were kind of exciting - the threat of having the fire take off again was a real spur.
All of this was good training for next summer, when a big chunk of the North Fork went up in the fire of 1967.
TBC
| HOM: Mo' Pat | for everyone |
Once again, from Larry O.
-------------
Another one that I just thought about was one that he pulled on me once but lots on other dummies. That was, when laying out a cutting unit he would say you go ahead and I'll meet you on the other side and if you get there first, you drive a stake and if I get there first, I'll pull it and then he would take off and leave you standing there wondering what in the hell just happened. You only fell for that once and it really made your face get red. He sure delighted in doing things like that.
--------------
Pat was a delightful guy. He & Caroline always shared the holidays with us, and even after Pat quit driving at night Dad would go and get them for the meal and then take them home.
I always had great respect for him.
TBC
-------------
Another one that I just thought about was one that he pulled on me once but lots on other dummies. That was, when laying out a cutting unit he would say you go ahead and I'll meet you on the other side and if you get there first, you drive a stake and if I get there first, I'll pull it and then he would take off and leave you standing there wondering what in the hell just happened. You only fell for that once and it really made your face get red. He sure delighted in doing things like that.
--------------
Pat was a delightful guy. He & Caroline always shared the holidays with us, and even after Pat quit driving at night Dad would go and get them for the meal and then take them home.
I always had great respect for him.
TBC
| HOM: USFS | for everyone |
OK, it's me again, one more Pat story, though.
At one time, Pat was noted for two things - a luxurious handlebar moustache and a penchant for practical jokes.
In the days when lookouts were taken up to their mountain tops by horseback and pack animal, most of their summer supply of food went up with them.
A buddy of Pat's had his food stock at Big Creek ready to be packed when Pat discovered it - and spent most of the night with razor blade and glue swapping the labels between all the cans.
This made for a summer of food-based "Russian Roulette" for Pat's friend in the lookout - open any two cans and hope one was a fruit and one a vegetable... It also gave him time to discover the culprit and plan revenge.
Pat was finishing up a lunch break by napping in a chair at Big Creek when his friend tiptoed in with a pair of scissors and removed half of Pat's pride-and-joy moustache...
..........................
Big Creek. Bill Anderson was cook there, and he was the master of his profession and his domain. I never saw him without an apron on and a well-chewed cigar in one corner of his mouth.
Bill had one iron-clad rule for meals - NO CONVERSATION! You could ask for something to be passed or for a refill, but that was it. I guess he had seen too many meals interrupted by arguments that evolved into fights, which made for a lot of extra waste & work for him as well as problems for the non-combatants.
Reaching in front of someone else was a no-no too, usually you got a swift jab from a fork in the hand of the person whose space you invaded.
..........................
Anyway, the fun-filled days as Pat's deputy ended. Hard hat, gloves, and a chainsaw were the tools from then on, Earl Fortine and Dick Gage were my new bosses, and I got introduced to a chainsaw and started learning how to cut trees down.
The chainsaws were fairly small ones using a "brush bar" or "bow bar" instead of the standard bar - the brush bars were an elliptical loop with an open center and were supposed to be faster than a standard bar for cutting smaller diameter wood.
After a fire, forests tend to grow back in a thick tangle sometimes so dense it was called dog hair, with many small trees competing for nutrients and sunlight. The TSI crew job was to go in and take out most of the trees, leaving fairly evenly spaced trees ten to fifteen feet apart that had room to grow. The felled trees were left to rot into the duff on the forest floor.
Obviously, most of the stuff we cut was pretty small, but some of it was was more than a foot or so through at the butt. Me, being me, managed to get into a few "situations".
The crew would line out along the bottom of the stand and cut uphill, with each person having a strip to work in. The first problem I had was leaving a tree I cut hanging in a tree in the neighbor's strip. This is a non-no! It is akin to a man-trap set to fall on someone. (There is a reason they are called "deadfalls".)
After I recovered from the discipline I got from the neighbor, I went on to other mistakes.
I cut a tree that went the wrong way and hung up in a tree on my strip. Okay. I went over a bit and cut another tree, planning that it would hit the hung tree and knock it loose so both would go down.Oops - it hung on the tree that I was trying to knock loose.
Okay, here we go - a bigger tree on the other side, one I maybe should leave, but it looks like it has the heft and vector to knock both the hung trees down.
Bet you saw this coming! IT HUNG TOO!
Three trees that have been cut off but are hanging on an uncut tree, swaying in the breeze, waiting to fall on someone.
It seemed like the only good solution was to drop the supporting tree and the only drawback was getting out of the way of the mess when it fell.
I did. I lived. For once in my life I was TOTALLY motivated to move fast. Luckily no one saw that little fiasco.
Then there was the day I was sawing on a steep pitch of hillside, slipped, and brought my knee up into the saw. I still have a scar from that...
My mouth earned me a few scars too. Dick Gage was built kind of stocky, and once he was describing the car he rebuilt as having a heavy rear end, and I asked him if he was referring to the car or himself. Bad move!
More TSI later.
TBC
At one time, Pat was noted for two things - a luxurious handlebar moustache and a penchant for practical jokes.
In the days when lookouts were taken up to their mountain tops by horseback and pack animal, most of their summer supply of food went up with them.
A buddy of Pat's had his food stock at Big Creek ready to be packed when Pat discovered it - and spent most of the night with razor blade and glue swapping the labels between all the cans.
This made for a summer of food-based "Russian Roulette" for Pat's friend in the lookout - open any two cans and hope one was a fruit and one a vegetable... It also gave him time to discover the culprit and plan revenge.
Pat was finishing up a lunch break by napping in a chair at Big Creek when his friend tiptoed in with a pair of scissors and removed half of Pat's pride-and-joy moustache...
..........................
Big Creek. Bill Anderson was cook there, and he was the master of his profession and his domain. I never saw him without an apron on and a well-chewed cigar in one corner of his mouth.
Bill had one iron-clad rule for meals - NO CONVERSATION! You could ask for something to be passed or for a refill, but that was it. I guess he had seen too many meals interrupted by arguments that evolved into fights, which made for a lot of extra waste & work for him as well as problems for the non-combatants.
Reaching in front of someone else was a no-no too, usually you got a swift jab from a fork in the hand of the person whose space you invaded.
..........................
Anyway, the fun-filled days as Pat's deputy ended. Hard hat, gloves, and a chainsaw were the tools from then on, Earl Fortine and Dick Gage were my new bosses, and I got introduced to a chainsaw and started learning how to cut trees down.
The chainsaws were fairly small ones using a "brush bar" or "bow bar" instead of the standard bar - the brush bars were an elliptical loop with an open center and were supposed to be faster than a standard bar for cutting smaller diameter wood.
After a fire, forests tend to grow back in a thick tangle sometimes so dense it was called dog hair, with many small trees competing for nutrients and sunlight. The TSI crew job was to go in and take out most of the trees, leaving fairly evenly spaced trees ten to fifteen feet apart that had room to grow. The felled trees were left to rot into the duff on the forest floor.
Obviously, most of the stuff we cut was pretty small, but some of it was was more than a foot or so through at the butt. Me, being me, managed to get into a few "situations".
The crew would line out along the bottom of the stand and cut uphill, with each person having a strip to work in. The first problem I had was leaving a tree I cut hanging in a tree in the neighbor's strip. This is a non-no! It is akin to a man-trap set to fall on someone. (There is a reason they are called "deadfalls".)
After I recovered from the discipline I got from the neighbor, I went on to other mistakes.
I cut a tree that went the wrong way and hung up in a tree on my strip. Okay. I went over a bit and cut another tree, planning that it would hit the hung tree and knock it loose so both would go down.Oops - it hung on the tree that I was trying to knock loose.
Okay, here we go - a bigger tree on the other side, one I maybe should leave, but it looks like it has the heft and vector to knock both the hung trees down.
Bet you saw this coming! IT HUNG TOO!
Three trees that have been cut off but are hanging on an uncut tree, swaying in the breeze, waiting to fall on someone.
It seemed like the only good solution was to drop the supporting tree and the only drawback was getting out of the way of the mess when it fell.
I did. I lived. For once in my life I was TOTALLY motivated to move fast. Luckily no one saw that little fiasco.
Then there was the day I was sawing on a steep pitch of hillside, slipped, and brought my knee up into the saw. I still have a scar from that...
My mouth earned me a few scars too. Dick Gage was built kind of stocky, and once he was describing the car he rebuilt as having a heavy rear end, and I asked him if he was referring to the car or himself. Bad move!
More TSI later.
TBC
| HOM: Cheating | for everyone |
This post is All Pat, compliments of Larry O'Connell, who worked with Pat much more than I did and has more stories of him, so, HEEEEEEERRE"S LARRY!!!!
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Well here we go with story number one.
He always used to tell me that when he had worked for the BPR (Bureau of Public Roads) that he had got the supervisor so mad at him for goofing off and messing things up that he would leave nasty little reminders along the survey routes.
So one day he and I were working on some Salvage Sales and we came upon a survey stake that had "POT" written on the top of it. Now normally you would look at that and think that meant "Point of Tangency" but not ol' Pat. Nope, he said that had been a note that was left by the Engineers and it was addressed to him and it meant "Piss on Taylor". That is story number one.
When he told these stories to folks that one glass eye would really twinkle. Like the times that we would come in from the field at the end of the day and the Timber Staff man (Jim Emerson-aka Slew-foot) would ask us how things went and Pat, with that twinkle, would tell him "Boy we really stuck a Fat Hog today." And poor ol' Jim would act like he would bite a chunk out of his desk.
Story Number three was when my cousin-Johnny Taylor's mother Edith worked in the TM section in the SO and she was always the one that would check over our "Green Slip" sales for errors and whatnot. Years later, before she passed away, she told me that she just knew that Pat and I were cheating on the prices we arrived at on our sales but could never catch us at it. So I told her that was simple. Pat and I knew who we were selling timber to and we would just arrive at a fair price and work backwards from there.
She threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed that was what she had figured but could never prove it and that now she could die happy and I guess that later that year she did.
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Now, I have some time again so here is the story about the "Frozen Lake Ding Ball"
Up on the North end of the Glacier View District lies Frozen Lake. The US/Canadian border line runs right through the middle of it. In this place there is a creature commonly referred to as the "Frozen Lake Ding Ball".. It is a rather smallish creature about the size of a rather large skunk or thereabouts. For a tail it has a rather long tail and at the end of this tail is a rather large cartilegiouns ball sort of like a volley ball or thereabouts. Now this animal is very particular in what it eats. It's favorite is the Grizzly bear. Now one would wonder how in the world can a creature of this small size feast on a beast the size of the grizzly bear. Well it is simple. The Ding Ball sets on branches overlooking trails with its tail curled up over its back. When a grizzly bear walks down the trail and under the branch, the Ding Ball swings its tail down and whaps the bear on the head and kills it and then has its feast. So-when hiking on trails in the Frozen Lake country BEWARE of the Frozen Lake Ding Ball lest you get whapped longside the haid and wind up for its lunch.
So ends the story of the Frozen Lake Dingball.
Here is another one and I, myself, have used this one on an unsuspecting soul who took it hook, line and sinker. It is about Elk turds. Yep-elk turds.. If one has ever taken notice while in the woods and finds a pile of droppings, look carefully at them. You will find some that are round on both ends and some that are pointed on one end. This is how you can tell the sex of the animals that dropped them. It is a very simple thing to do. The round on both ends ones are from the male of the species and the ones that are pointed on one end are the females of the species. Aw come on! Very simple, the ones that are pointed on one end are dropped from one hole higher. GOTCHA!!!!
A fact that I pulled this off happened on the Bitterroot some years later when I was training a young Junior Forester from California and his dad came to the Bitterroot for a visit. He actually was telling his dad to look for these samples so that they could tell what they were hunting for. When I found this out I almost crapped my britches from laffing.
You knew, of course, that deer and elk like to eat the tree flagging off trees didn't you? Well they like to eat that flagging as then each little turd comes out neatly wrapped in different colors of cellophane. ANOTHER GOTCHA!! HAR, HAR, HAR! Thanks Pat.
Oh yes, I am on a roll now. Squeeker trees! Years ago the Forest Service paid a bounty on squeeker trees. Yep! For everyone a JF (Junior Forester) turned each pay-period, the Ranger would pay him 50 cents. That only worked once per JF and when they found out how stupid it made them look they never did it again! Thanks again Pat!
One more and then I have other things to do. This involves the infamous "Rock Worms" that live up the North Fork. In the spring after runoff and snow-melt, we used to drive the logging roads and check things out such as slides, blowdown and whatnot. The slides and road erosion, Pat told me, was caused by "Rock Worm" damage. Oh really said I being stupid. Oh yes said he. These rock worms burrow in the rocks as evidenced by the little channels made in the rocks. They would eat all winter and then the rocks would be so weakened by their insatiable hunger that it would cause the rocks to disintegrate and thus causing all the slides and damage to the roads. If you don't believe this, just look at some Argelite sometime when you are out and about and you will see some of these little channels that Pat was talking about. Of course this is all a bunch of malarkey but when Pat Taylor told this to a young innocent young forester, they usually believed it-just once.
Enjoy!
TBC
---------------------
Well here we go with story number one.
He always used to tell me that when he had worked for the BPR (Bureau of Public Roads) that he had got the supervisor so mad at him for goofing off and messing things up that he would leave nasty little reminders along the survey routes.
So one day he and I were working on some Salvage Sales and we came upon a survey stake that had "POT" written on the top of it. Now normally you would look at that and think that meant "Point of Tangency" but not ol' Pat. Nope, he said that had been a note that was left by the Engineers and it was addressed to him and it meant "Piss on Taylor". That is story number one.
When he told these stories to folks that one glass eye would really twinkle. Like the times that we would come in from the field at the end of the day and the Timber Staff man (Jim Emerson-aka Slew-foot) would ask us how things went and Pat, with that twinkle, would tell him "Boy we really stuck a Fat Hog today." And poor ol' Jim would act like he would bite a chunk out of his desk.
Story Number three was when my cousin-Johnny Taylor's mother Edith worked in the TM section in the SO and she was always the one that would check over our "Green Slip" sales for errors and whatnot. Years later, before she passed away, she told me that she just knew that Pat and I were cheating on the prices we arrived at on our sales but could never catch us at it. So I told her that was simple. Pat and I knew who we were selling timber to and we would just arrive at a fair price and work backwards from there.
She threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed that was what she had figured but could never prove it and that now she could die happy and I guess that later that year she did.
-----------------------
Now, I have some time again so here is the story about the "Frozen Lake Ding Ball"
Up on the North end of the Glacier View District lies Frozen Lake. The US/Canadian border line runs right through the middle of it. In this place there is a creature commonly referred to as the "Frozen Lake Ding Ball".. It is a rather smallish creature about the size of a rather large skunk or thereabouts. For a tail it has a rather long tail and at the end of this tail is a rather large cartilegiouns ball sort of like a volley ball or thereabouts. Now this animal is very particular in what it eats. It's favorite is the Grizzly bear. Now one would wonder how in the world can a creature of this small size feast on a beast the size of the grizzly bear. Well it is simple. The Ding Ball sets on branches overlooking trails with its tail curled up over its back. When a grizzly bear walks down the trail and under the branch, the Ding Ball swings its tail down and whaps the bear on the head and kills it and then has its feast. So-when hiking on trails in the Frozen Lake country BEWARE of the Frozen Lake Ding Ball lest you get whapped longside the haid and wind up for its lunch.
So ends the story of the Frozen Lake Dingball.
Here is another one and I, myself, have used this one on an unsuspecting soul who took it hook, line and sinker. It is about Elk turds. Yep-elk turds.. If one has ever taken notice while in the woods and finds a pile of droppings, look carefully at them. You will find some that are round on both ends and some that are pointed on one end. This is how you can tell the sex of the animals that dropped them. It is a very simple thing to do. The round on both ends ones are from the male of the species and the ones that are pointed on one end are the females of the species. Aw come on! Very simple, the ones that are pointed on one end are dropped from one hole higher. GOTCHA!!!!
A fact that I pulled this off happened on the Bitterroot some years later when I was training a young Junior Forester from California and his dad came to the Bitterroot for a visit. He actually was telling his dad to look for these samples so that they could tell what they were hunting for. When I found this out I almost crapped my britches from laffing.
You knew, of course, that deer and elk like to eat the tree flagging off trees didn't you? Well they like to eat that flagging as then each little turd comes out neatly wrapped in different colors of cellophane. ANOTHER GOTCHA!! HAR, HAR, HAR! Thanks Pat.
Oh yes, I am on a roll now. Squeeker trees! Years ago the Forest Service paid a bounty on squeeker trees. Yep! For everyone a JF (Junior Forester) turned each pay-period, the Ranger would pay him 50 cents. That only worked once per JF and when they found out how stupid it made them look they never did it again! Thanks again Pat!
One more and then I have other things to do. This involves the infamous "Rock Worms" that live up the North Fork. In the spring after runoff and snow-melt, we used to drive the logging roads and check things out such as slides, blowdown and whatnot. The slides and road erosion, Pat told me, was caused by "Rock Worm" damage. Oh really said I being stupid. Oh yes said he. These rock worms burrow in the rocks as evidenced by the little channels made in the rocks. They would eat all winter and then the rocks would be so weakened by their insatiable hunger that it would cause the rocks to disintegrate and thus causing all the slides and damage to the roads. If you don't believe this, just look at some Argelite sometime when you are out and about and you will see some of these little channels that Pat was talking about. Of course this is all a bunch of malarkey but when Pat Taylor told this to a young innocent young forester, they usually believed it-just once.
Enjoy!
TBC
| HOM: Career Change | for everyone |
This is when my uncle Pat Taylor stepped into the "father" role.
Pat was a career forester and was pushing the thirty-year mark then. His more active days were behind him and he was doing "Deputy Dog" campground maintenance in what was then the Glacier View ranger district in the North Fork.
Like many of my friends, I had applied for a USFS job for the summer, but had not been hired, and Pat knew it..
He called one day, had Mom put me on the phone, and then told me if I wanted a job to meet him at the employment office in Kalispell the next morning.
When I put the pieces together later I found out that Pat was quite a schemer.
He picked me up at the employment office in a USFS pickup, took me up to the ranger station in Columbia falls and ran me through the paperwork, then loaded me into the truck to start his rounds with him.
His job involved visiting every campsite in the district, picking up garbage, restocking firewood, checking toilets and cleaning & resupplying them as needed.
He took great delight in giving me the grand tour and introducing me to people - I still remember meeting Jack Brown, the district engineer!
We met his truck up on a side rode and stopped to visit, and Pat's introduction was along the lines of "Jim, this is Jack Brown, you know, brown like horseshit."
I knew that Pat had quite a sense of quiet humor - working with him introduced me to his other side. More on that later.
My career as "Deputy Deputy Dog" didn't last very long. Hank Hays, the district ranger, called Pat in so he could meet the helper, and when he saw me things sort of erupted. He told Pat I was not what the job called for - it required a younger kid - and he told Pat to find a new helper because he was transferring me to the Timber Stand Improvement (Thinning!) crew immediately.
I felt bad about Pat getting in trouble till we left the office and he let the grin he had been hiding take over. When I watched "The A Team" years later and the famous "I love it when a plan comes together!" line, I always flashed back to uncle Pat and that moment. He never admitted it in so many words, but events went exactly as he hoped they would.
TBC
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