Found Some Writings...

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Hillbilly22 just stands there, with a dismal cast to his face, he had completely, throughly and without a doubt, stuck his little Huskie in that wretched Pine. A feeble attempt to extract the saw, resulted in creaking sounds from the AV mounts. Hillbilly22 swallowed his pride, along with a half pound of Redman and hauled off to find help. The first guy he ran across seemed like a nice guy, his name was GASoline71, Gas said "sure little fella, we'll give it a try". Back at the wretched Pine, they found that Chipmonks had left their opinion of the procedings, in the form of small pellets and a decapitated starter rope. GASoline71 laughed so hard, he lost one of the last remaining buttons on his overhauls. "well" says Gas, "not a problem, nope, no big deal, we'll having you sawing twigs again in a jiffy" With that GASoline71 drags up a big old Homelite, so old, so worn, you had to squint just right to make out the tag numbers. With his total enthusiasium, GASoline71 got right to it, 20 to 25 pulls later, the old red saw responds with a brain buzzing, ear killing blast of noise and smoke. Commencing on the job at hand, GASoline71 hoists 35 pounds of ancient mankiller to the tree, breaking wind with the effort involved. Soon the chips were falling, like butterflies after orchard spraying, the Homelite gnawed slowly through the wretched Pine, Hillbilly22's hopes were high. Then, spray of bright orange sparks were emitted on the far side, GASoline71 seeing Hillbilly22's mouth fly open, just winked, gave him a sideways grin and said "All normal mange, everything is just fine". More sparks, with a tooth crackin', grating sound, the top of the Pine tumbles from the stump, the Husky is free, but not unscathed. Hillbilly22, looks at what is left of his saw, the Homelite had chawed through most of the bar, some of the muffler and left a jagged notch on the top handle. "No need to thank me, I'm glad I could help" GASoline71 strides away, leaving a trail of Payday wrappers and Dr. Pepper cans in his wake.
 
“For Chrissake Marsh… why don’t you hit the wedges with your purse?” Jack bellowed over the sound of the big McCulloch. “Hit the damn wedges!!!”

“I’m givin’ it everything I’ve got!” Marsh hollered back.

The geardrive came to an idle as Jack paused to check his gun. Marsh stopped pounding wedges as well. He stooped over and rested with his hands on his knees. The White Ox gloves were wet with sweat. He thought to himself, why in the hell he was blessed with so many sweat glands on his lower arms and wrists? Makes grippin’ an axe damn near impossible in this heat. Sweat was dripping off his nose as well. Every so often a drop would hit his lip. “Yuck, salty water.” He said out loud.

“What?” Said Jack.

“Nothin’” was Marsh’s retort.

Jack pulled the pack of Pall Mall’s from his shirt and lit one up. He made a gesture towards Marsh with the pack. “No thanks,” Marsh said, “After this ##### is on the ground.”

Jack eyeballed the progress with the wedges. He knew Marsh was poundin’ the livin’ hell out of them. For cryin’ out loud, the man was damn near beat from the 90 degree heat, and a lot of axe swingin’. “Ya know Marsh; we should have set the ####in’ jacks before we even tried to wedge this mother.”

Marsh stood straight and nodded in approval. The wedges were lifting, but Marsh had to hit them hard with every swing. There was so much tonnage workin’ against them, the wedges were almost useless. Marsh stuck the axe in the spar and headed for the 450. Checked the fuel and oil, and topped off both tanks. Marsh lit the saw off, and started boring the hole for the jacks to sit. He had to be careful as the tree already had a face cut and a back cut about one third finished. If he knocked out any of the wedges, the big Doug could come back. Not pretty.

As Marsh was boring out the jack hole, Jack walked to the front of the Big Doug. Reached his hand up in the face and checked his work from an hour earlier. Stood back and took a long drag off of the cigarette. Slowly exhaled, and cussed himself for not setting the jacks earlier. “This mother ####er would be on the ground, if we weren’t in such a damn hurry.” He said aloud. Marsh couldn’t hear him piss and moan as the saw was drowning him out. “Why do we hurry? It’s damn foolish. Guess we’ll never know.”

Jack heard Marsh shut the 450 down. The jack hole was finished. He walked around the Doug, and grabbed the gunny sack with the jacks in it. Heavy bastards, he thought to himself. He heaved them up into the damn near perfect hole that Marsh had made. Then he noticed one of the hydraulic lines for one of the jacks was leaking. “What the ####.” Jack said.

“What now?” Marsh asked.

“Did you see this leakin’ son of a ##### when you grabbed it from the truck?” Jack snarled at Marsh.

“They were in the sack Jack. I couldn’t see ‘em. They’ve been in that sack for damn near two years. This is the first job we’ve needed them on in a long time. So don’t give me any bull#### about leaky jacks.” Marsh snapped back. “By the way, they’re your ####in’ jacks.”
 
RandyMac said:
Hillbilly22 just stands there, with a dismal cast to his face, he had completely, throughly and without a doubt, stuck his little Huskie in that wretched Pine. A feeble attempt to extract the saw, resulted in creaking sounds from the AV mounts. Hillbilly22 swallowed his pride, along with a half pound of Redman and hauled off to find help. The first guy he ran across seemed like a nice guy, his name was GASoline71, Gas said "sure little fella, we'll give it a try". Back at the wretched Pine, they found that Chipmonks had left their opinion of the procedings, in the form of small pellets and a decapitated starter rope. GASoline71 laughed so hard, he lost one of the last remaining buttons on his overhauls. "well" says Gas, "not a problem, nope, no big deal, we'll having you sawing twigs again in a jiffy" With that GASoline71 drags up a big old Homelite, so old, so worn, you had to squint just right to make out the tag numbers. With his total enthusiasium, GASoline71 got right to it, 20 to 25 pulls later, the old red saw responds with a brain buzzing, ear killing blast of noise and smoke. Commencing on the job at hand, GASoline71 hoists 35 pounds of ancient mankiller to the tree, breaking wind with the effort involved. Soon the chips were falling, like butterflies after orchard spraying, the Homelite gnawed slowly through the wretched Pine, Hillbilly22's hopes were high. Then, spray of bright orange sparks were emitted on the far side, GASoline71 seeing Hillbilly22's mouth fly open, just winked, gave him a sideways grin and said "All normal mange, everything is just fine". More sparks, with a tooth crackin', grating sound, the top of the Pine tumbles from the stump, the Husky is free, but not unscathed. Hillbilly22, looks at what is left of his saw, the Homelite had chawed through most of the bar, some of the muffler and left a jagged notch on the top handle. "No need to thank me, I'm glad I could help" GASoline71 strides away, leaving a trail of Payday wrappers and Dr. Pepper cans in his wake.
Click to expand...

LMAO! Damn your good Randy! You really are! that was awseome.
 
RandyMac said:
Hah ha ha
I'm thinking of a story with slowp making cedar chip cookies for Gologit.
Click to expand...

man, it aint nothin to pick up a phone and call one of those publishers......or send them some material. Shoot, the only stuff I could write about would be ol chain gang memories. Nothin as cool as what yall write about.
 
Good writing. I don't know how you found the time to write Gary. If I wasn't working, on watch, or standing in the chow line all I wanted to was hit the fart sack. In fact, I got called before the Capt for not writing my Mom enough:D
 
Joe46 said:
Good writing. I don't know how you found the time to write Gary. If I wasn't working, on watch, or standing in the chow line all I wanted to was hit the fart sack. In fact, I got called before the Capt for not writing my Mom enough:D
Click to expand...

HAHA... the chaplain would walk down the chow line every so many days and ask all the cats when the last time they wrote a loved one. Everybody lied... because you knew if you didn't tell him you wrote home at least with in a week... you'd be pulled out of line and given a sermon. :laugh:

I would mostly write short bursts of what ever came out. Sometimes a paragraph or two... or maybe a page or two. Usually layin on my gut in my rack after tapps. :)

Gary
 
In the midst of all the bellyachin’ the big 890 stalls out while sittin’ in the back cut waiting to eat more wood. “####.” Jack says, and lights another cigarette. He walks around the stump of the huge Douglas Fir and comes to the powerhead that is hanging about chest high. The bar is buried to the dog. All 50” of it. So he attempts to start the big saw while it sits sideways in the wood. He thinks to himself that this is the only time he has ever felt grateful for a right hand start McCulloch. Since the starter was on the down side. He chuckles to himself, and gives the cord a yank.

He can’t get his footing on the steep sidehill. So it limits how hard he can pull on the starter cord. Yanks it again. The big saw burbles, and pops a few times and stalls out. Yank, yank, yank… Now Jack is getting pissed. But he swallows a bit of the anger, put out the just lit cigarette in the gnarly bark of the big Doug and then he sweet talks the big yellow mammoth and pets its flywheel housing with his gloved hand. Marsh starts to laugh. “Ya gots to give ‘em some love now and again Marsh.” Jack says through that toothy grin of his. Yank. Yank… now there are drips of fuel comin’ out of the muffler.

“Well apparently that one don’t love you none.” Marsh chuckles.

Yank… the saw burbles again, and starts to stall out. But jack is quick on the throttle. He feathers the throttle on the damn near flooded beast and keeps it alive. It roars, and whitish blue smoke fills the hot air around the base of the tree. With his hand still on the throttle, Jack turns and eyeballs Marsh. “#### you!” he yells with a smile.

Marsh smiles back and give Jack the finger.
 
Thanks for sharing Gary. You have my attention, and I cant wait to read the rest.

RandyMac said:
Hillbilly22 just stands there, with a dismal cast to his face, he had completely, throughly and without a doubt, stuck his little Huskie in that wretched Pine. A feeble attempt to extract the saw, resulted in creaking sounds from the AV mounts. Hillbilly22 swallowed his pride, along with a half pound of Redman and hauled off to find help. The first guy he ran across seemed like a nice guy, his name was GASoline71, Gas said "sure little fella, we'll give it a try". Back at the wretched Pine, they found that Chipmonks had left their opinion of the procedings, in the form of small pellets and a decapitated starter rope. GASoline71 laughed so hard, he lost one of the last remaining buttons on his overhauls. "well" says Gas, "not a problem, nope, no big deal, we'll having you sawing twigs again in a jiffy" With that GASoline71 drags up a big old Homelite, so old, so worn, you had to squint just right to make out the tag numbers. With his total enthusiasium, GASoline71 got right to it, 20 to 25 pulls later, the old red saw responds with a brain buzzing, ear killing blast of noise and smoke. Commencing on the job at hand, GASoline71 hoists 35 pounds of ancient mankiller to the tree, breaking wind with the effort involved. Soon the chips were falling, like butterflies after orchard spraying, the Homelite gnawed slowly through the wretched Pine, Hillbilly22's hopes were high. Then, spray of bright orange sparks were emitted on the far side, GASoline71 seeing Hillbilly22's mouth fly open, just winked, gave him a sideways grin and said "All normal mange, everything is just fine". More sparks, with a tooth crackin', grating sound, the top of the Pine tumbles from the stump, the Husky is free, but not unscathed. Hillbilly22, looks at what is left of his saw, the Homelite had chawed through most of the bar, some of the muffler and left a jagged notch on the top handle. "No need to thank me, I'm glad I could help" GASoline71 strides away, leaving a trail of Payday wrappers and Dr. Pepper cans in his wake.
Click to expand...

I detect a hint of Dr. Seuss. The way it is written it reminds me of The Cat in the Hat. Have we found the real Dr. Seuss?
 
Leaking jack hoses lol.
Why is it that every time you have brand new sharp corks the pressured up jack hose always winds up under your feet.
I was wondering if they had some old iron Duffs but I have never seen any with hoses.
 
There was a twin ram jack that they guys used in the units I was in way back when. It had one hydraulic hose from a pump that split into 2 hoses, and then those went in to the 2 rams. It was a big ol' honkin' single pump with that thing. Maybe it was a custom made deal... not sure. :)

Gary
 

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