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

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Sam,
There were plenty of other trees that I should have let stand, such a waste in some cases. I remember the last one I cut as a pro, it wasn't wasted, I got the entire tree to a 16" top, and still I wish it was still standing.
 
Sam,
There were plenty of other trees that I should have let stand, such a waste in some cases. I remember the last one I cut as a pro, it wasn't wasted, I got the entire tree to a 16" top, and still I wish it was still standing.

You can't ask for much more that a 16 top in big wood, but I know what you mean. Some just look better vertical than horizontal and may have been meant to be as such - Sam
 
Thanks for sharing those memories and thoughts Randy - they are terrific. It is wonderful to hear about the days of the OG logging, and of the men who worked day in day out, come hail or shine. I really like the stories about your mentor Ray, and his big old Homelite 900G. He sounds like one hell of a guy.

I look forward to hearing more from your memoirs / spider web!

Thanks again,

Chris.
 
Thanks again for the support

There is and will be more, I have begun serious work. The Dead of Night calls to me, I can hear it through the ringing in my ears.

On an old road, left to it's own, a lone fig tree stands, grapes at it's base, all that is left, of what was. The stream bed, buried in flood gravel, follows the road until it escapes up the hill. I sat in that fig's shade, listening to the rustle of big leaves, as the convected air roamed by. The old Chevy pick-up, resting, rusting, awaiting the twisted ordeal of a switchbacked climb. It's block cracked, freely exchanging oil to water, water to oil, creating a smell of mungy brown foam. That scent, bringing to mind, the Fatherly admonishments to "check the Goddammed thing before you burn the Sonofa##### up" With a sigh born of dilligence, it's life fluids topped, the starter winds in it's ever diminishing life, the big six sputters, a dense blue cloud drifts downstream. The last of the flat, safe road ends at the displaced Cemetary, second gear lugging, a straining torture of 27 switchbacks crafted from wagon ruts, paved inadequately, beaten by ages of logging truck summers and 100" winters. Windy Nip, Panther gap, Low Saddle, pioneer nameplaces hear the grinding rattle of our passage. Quick wary glances monitor temp gauge, all that can be shared with the road's attention. Shale slides covet the banks, culvert failures narrow the path, rocks lay where they land, overgrown Tanoak trees cause tunnels against the sky. The top of the ridge is gained, another respite for us. The view is far, the hill falls steeply from both sides, shimmering breezes carrying the spicy essence of plants burnt by summer's excess. No comfort here, the shade went through a distant headrig, framing for another's shelter. More switchbacks, steeper here, first gear holding against the singed smell of brakes. The face has changed, trees gave way to Tanoak brush, then thinned to Poison-oak clumps, a wan, tired grass clings to the hard soil. The Valley appears, but our goal is the farside, a hill beneath a jagged range. The smell of river damp willows, the planked rumble and thump over the Mattole, a quick turn, a blessed stop. Ears singing, legs wobble releasing tension, tired hands grip a cold, foaming reward, rinsing away traces of the passage.
 
No comfort here, the shade went through a distant headrig, framing for another's shelter.

Beautiful writing, all of it. This sentence above is simply amazing: the enormous amount of information it conveys, essentially the entire physical and psychological process of getting lumber to the market, is shared with us in about a dozen very well chosen words. Awesome.
 
Ah, some measure of sucess, thank you Gary. Gologit will recognize the road.

I first wrote a dark tale, that sprang unintended onto the page. Too much to share at this point, I did however save it for later.

Hell of a story man. Wish I could have been around then. Only Old Growth I fell in the Matole country was some High elevation old growth fir with limbs bigger than most trees in Montany! I did get some nice second growth redwood there, but still, I remember driving by many a large stump in envy of the "old boys" that manufactured them!
 
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When I started falling on the Olympic Peninsula in the mid 70"s I had the privilege of working with some old time fallers. I must admit that some of them had probably forgotten more than I ever learned.Like many of the other posters there were some trees I didn't enjoy felling, but it was my job, you did it and moved on to the next one.Will probably never meet you Randy, but if you write a book I'll read it!
 
Today's Dead of Night had to do with some of the crazy #### my brother and I got into. My relationship with my brother is more than complex, he is my twin, that's right, there are two of us roaming the planet. At any rate, there was nothing we won't tackle together, often enough we would glom onto something that no sane person would contemplate, which was just fine with us, we were certified ####ing nuts. Besides all the woods madness, there were other aspects, ever had a fight with someone your exact equal? Oh and the termoil caused by females, that eventually moved us apart, seperate but parallel courses. We got into all kinds of trouble, bar fights, gun fights, car wrecks, three day binges...........never spent a minute in jail. The Wild West existed for us.
I have some old Super 16 film that was taken by a friend, who was either an idiot or brave enough to stay put and keep filming. My brother and I mowed through a dozen pretty good sized OG DF, while one of us was sawing the under cut, the other one was starting the back cut. We switched off on the next one, we cut them like they were going to come after us, it turned into a slaughter, as a tree started to tilt, we went for the next one. We turned a nice little grove into jackstrawed chaos, it took about an hour. later that day, we were both banned for life from the Sawblade.
 
Today's Dead of Night had to do with some of the crazy #### my brother and I got into. My relationship with my brother is more than complex, he is my twin, that's right, there are two of us roaming the planet. At any rate, there was nothing we won't tackle together, often enough we would glom onto something that no sane person would contemplate, which was just fine with us, we were certified ####ing nuts. Besides all the woods madness, there were other aspects, ever had a fight with someone your exact equal? Oh and the termoil caused by females, that eventually moved us apart, seperate but parallel courses. We got into all kinds of trouble, bar fights, gun fights, car wrecks, three day binges...........never spent a minute in jail. The Wild West existed for us.
I have some old Super 16 film that was taken by a friend, who was either an idiot or brave enough to stay put and keep filming. My brother and I mowed through a dozen pretty good sized OG DF, while one of us was sawing the under cut, the other one was starting the back cut. We switched off on the next one, we cut them like they were going to come after us, it turned into a slaughter, as a tree started to tilt, we went for the next one. We turned a nice little grove into jackstrawed chaos, it took about an hour. later that day, we were both banned for life from the Sawblade.

Facinating. That explains a few things. Is H.R. your brother? Been meaning to ask you that for a while. I knew you'd "worked together, but didn't know for sure if you were related. That'd make sense, as he has his own writing ability as well...


Gunfights???:confused:


I hope to see that 'jackstraw chaos' film someday...:cheers:
 
Your writing yet again makes me feel like I'm sitting at the kiddie's table. I love it man, if the book ever happens, I'm definitely grabbing it as soon as it comes.
 

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