Cutting in warm weather
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RandyMac
Stiff Member
I cut in the heat a whole lot of time, from the infernos of wildfires, to a hell known as Yeager Creek.
Here is a bit from the book.
Randy! I opened one eye and saw my second at the door, he called again, louder RANDY!. I said what? fighting to urge to kill him. Then he spoke the magic words "Hey, the call just came in, we gotta roll" It was just after 1am, I still had PBR flowing in my blood, but the thought of fighting fire cut through that. I sat up, hmmmm only had to pull the boots on.
My second was a good man, he had the bus warmed up and the crew moving. I headed over to the shop to fetch the saws, we were going to Mendocinco, the load out was three 10-10s, two 660s and some other things, oh yeah, Homelites. Another 20 minutes and I was tearing through the warm night air, leaving a diesel smoke trail in our wake. 4 hours traveling south and we left the paved roads behind for log haul roads. I loved haul roads, the bus handled them well, power drifts were not unheard of. We could see the glow reflected off the convection column over the next ridge. As we topped the hill, we saw the fire, it was in old logged off land, with patches of remaining old growth. The fire was a hot one as we were in the second year of the great '70s drought. The Fire Camp was three tankers, two crew buses and a few pickups. We got our assignment from the Fire Boss and did the pre-fire ritual, which looked like a bar fight. We were a rowdy bunch, to get the blood flowing, well sometimes blood flowed. My guys knew their stuff and drew their tools.
The word was that we were cutting line in the forward edge, using an old skid trail and anchored off the haul road. It was warm, maybe upper 70s, dawn was soon enough, a faint hint of the day to come. We commenced, it was brush mostly, I hung back and let the 10-10s do their thing. It wasn't long before the Sun popped up, the temps rose quickly, by 7am, it was closing in on the high 80s. My first kill of the day was a big Fir log, maybe 60", I gnawed at it with the 660, breaking a beer induced sweat. 20 minutes later I tied into a DF snag, burning of course. That was pretty much the pattern for a few hours, bucking big DF logs and dumping snags. The 660 had a 48" bar, the usual 1/2" chain, it could cut almost anything. By noon, it was hot, really hot, the going was getting tough, the ground was steep, the brush was thick. The 10s were having hissy fits, boiling fuel, hard starting, yee old vapor lock. The 660 didn't care, yet, it's time was coming though. We took a meal break, thoughtfully provided by the Feds, who invited us to this party. We managed to waylay a couple of them, they "volunteered". We entered a logged off zone, it had been cut in the mid '60s, that meant lots of debris. I sent my second back for the other 660, there were logs on top of logs....I spent the next two hours bucking 12 foot holes through the leftovers, did I mention that it was hot? This is about the time things got, well, interesting. amazing what a little change in the breeze will do. We went from chasing the fire, to defending our line. We pulled out the stops. With my second saw happily bucking old crap, I went after the standing hazards, big hardwoods and DF snags. The 10s caught up after their nap, good thing too, cutting brush with a 660 was not all that much fun.
By late afternoon the heat and smoke was taking it's toll on us, we took a break. The 660 was getting temperamental, restarts were a touchy thing. Popping snapbacks, gouts of unburnt fuel, refusal to idle. Did I mention it was hot?
A patch of smoldering DF snags was tossing burning crap, can't have that now, could we? I grabbed one of the Feds, he had a piss-pump and his Federal thumb up his ass, time for him to earn his wages. I went after a 60" DF snag, burning nicely in places. As I started the undercut, I found it was hollow, and burning inside. The Fed drizzled a bit of water on it, with all the enthusiasm, as a guy with the clap, taking a leak. I get a wedge set in the backcut, had to give up on the Fed, worthless bastard couldn't pound a wedge to save his life, would probably hurt himself pounding his pud. Anyways, I was sawing one handed while tapping at the wedge easy like, the snag was fragile looking. So it was tap, look up, tap and look up. Yeah, and sure as ####, I tapped and looked up, just in time to catch a piece of burning bark, about the size of a dinner plate, right in the tinhat. Boy I'm telling you, that pissed me off! The Fed was stumbling around trying to tell me something, I hit him in the chest and knocked him down. I turned back to the snag and killed it. Only after that, did I figure out what the Fed was telling me. It was obvious enough, to someone not in a red rage. I had three rather deep lacerations, 18 stitches worth, the blood had flowed down my back, a startling contrast to the yellow Nomex. Did I quit working? Oh Hell no!
Here is a bit from the book.
Randy! I opened one eye and saw my second at the door, he called again, louder RANDY!. I said what? fighting to urge to kill him. Then he spoke the magic words "Hey, the call just came in, we gotta roll" It was just after 1am, I still had PBR flowing in my blood, but the thought of fighting fire cut through that. I sat up, hmmmm only had to pull the boots on.
My second was a good man, he had the bus warmed up and the crew moving. I headed over to the shop to fetch the saws, we were going to Mendocinco, the load out was three 10-10s, two 660s and some other things, oh yeah, Homelites. Another 20 minutes and I was tearing through the warm night air, leaving a diesel smoke trail in our wake. 4 hours traveling south and we left the paved roads behind for log haul roads. I loved haul roads, the bus handled them well, power drifts were not unheard of. We could see the glow reflected off the convection column over the next ridge. As we topped the hill, we saw the fire, it was in old logged off land, with patches of remaining old growth. The fire was a hot one as we were in the second year of the great '70s drought. The Fire Camp was three tankers, two crew buses and a few pickups. We got our assignment from the Fire Boss and did the pre-fire ritual, which looked like a bar fight. We were a rowdy bunch, to get the blood flowing, well sometimes blood flowed. My guys knew their stuff and drew their tools.
The word was that we were cutting line in the forward edge, using an old skid trail and anchored off the haul road. It was warm, maybe upper 70s, dawn was soon enough, a faint hint of the day to come. We commenced, it was brush mostly, I hung back and let the 10-10s do their thing. It wasn't long before the Sun popped up, the temps rose quickly, by 7am, it was closing in on the high 80s. My first kill of the day was a big Fir log, maybe 60", I gnawed at it with the 660, breaking a beer induced sweat. 20 minutes later I tied into a DF snag, burning of course. That was pretty much the pattern for a few hours, bucking big DF logs and dumping snags. The 660 had a 48" bar, the usual 1/2" chain, it could cut almost anything. By noon, it was hot, really hot, the going was getting tough, the ground was steep, the brush was thick. The 10s were having hissy fits, boiling fuel, hard starting, yee old vapor lock. The 660 didn't care, yet, it's time was coming though. We took a meal break, thoughtfully provided by the Feds, who invited us to this party. We managed to waylay a couple of them, they "volunteered". We entered a logged off zone, it had been cut in the mid '60s, that meant lots of debris. I sent my second back for the other 660, there were logs on top of logs....I spent the next two hours bucking 12 foot holes through the leftovers, did I mention that it was hot? This is about the time things got, well, interesting. amazing what a little change in the breeze will do. We went from chasing the fire, to defending our line. We pulled out the stops. With my second saw happily bucking old crap, I went after the standing hazards, big hardwoods and DF snags. The 10s caught up after their nap, good thing too, cutting brush with a 660 was not all that much fun.
By late afternoon the heat and smoke was taking it's toll on us, we took a break. The 660 was getting temperamental, restarts were a touchy thing. Popping snapbacks, gouts of unburnt fuel, refusal to idle. Did I mention it was hot?
A patch of smoldering DF snags was tossing burning crap, can't have that now, could we? I grabbed one of the Feds, he had a piss-pump and his Federal thumb up his ass, time for him to earn his wages. I went after a 60" DF snag, burning nicely in places. As I started the undercut, I found it was hollow, and burning inside. The Fed drizzled a bit of water on it, with all the enthusiasm, as a guy with the clap, taking a leak. I get a wedge set in the backcut, had to give up on the Fed, worthless bastard couldn't pound a wedge to save his life, would probably hurt himself pounding his pud. Anyways, I was sawing one handed while tapping at the wedge easy like, the snag was fragile looking. So it was tap, look up, tap and look up. Yeah, and sure as ####, I tapped and looked up, just in time to catch a piece of burning bark, about the size of a dinner plate, right in the tinhat. Boy I'm telling you, that pissed me off! The Fed was stumbling around trying to tell me something, I hit him in the chest and knocked him down. I turned back to the snag and killed it. Only after that, did I figure out what the Fed was telling me. It was obvious enough, to someone not in a red rage. I had three rather deep lacerations, 18 stitches worth, the blood had flowed down my back, a startling contrast to the yellow Nomex. Did I quit working? Oh Hell no!
logbutcher
Addicted to ArboristSite
You're crazy.:bang:
