avalancher
Arboristsite Raconteur
Like my other post, this is a long one.I tried to condense it somewhat where I could.
Old Spuds
Over the years, I have been rather fortunate in having some really bad luck. Fortunate you say?Well, it all depends on your point of view. Most folks enjoy a good bit of good luck, and miss out on the trials that all point out what an adventure life can be.My case in point.
Several years ago, I was fortunate enough to team up with an elderly gentleman by the name of Logan Hudspeth, or Spuds as we called him.He was long in years, and even longer hair but I didnt mind.He kind of reminded me of the mongrel that I used to have as a boy.When I think about it, even slurped from a can much in the same way.
Old Spuds was notorious for many things, but the most important was his skill in chainsaw art.Wether it was firewood or carving, he knew it all and i was desperate to glean what I could from him before the 16 liters of coke that he drank each and every day finally managed to disolve the old man.
We set out on a bright summer day, headed to a patch of hickory growing on a hill that needed to be thinned. I was thrilled to go along, thinking that finally I had attained a stature in life that Spuds thought I was worthy of his company. Spuds assured me otherwise, he was glad to have me along for one reason and one reason only.He figured with my bad luck I was sure to be on the receiving end of things if something went wrong on that steep hillside, allowing him a clean get away.Never the less, I was glad to be along.
The stand of trees was large, over 5 acres, and the landowner basically wanted every hickory gone and leave the oak. Sounded pretty simple really.
We set about our task, starting with the trees closest to the top. Fate was already starting to wind up its spring, and I had no idea.
I picked out a nice tree, tall with little brush and began my cut, Spuds decided to stay upwind and head along the draw,picking out his own tree to knock down.He set his gas can and spare saw down between the two of us and began his cut.
I had made my cut so that the tree would fall to my right, alongside the hill making it easier to winch up the hill to the truck, with Spuds cutting to my left.As my tree began to fall, I stopped my saw and looked up into the canopy to ensure that my tree was falling in the direction that I wanted. It was only then that I spotted the problem.
The entire area was heavy with vines, some as thick as your wrist, and the tree's canopy was heavy with em.Watching the tree slowly start to make its way down convinced me that this whole scenario was going from good to real bad as quick as you can wink.I waved over to Spuds, but he was rather busy himself with his cut and didnt see what was coming.
My tree continued its path, tightening the vines securing my tree to his by the second, and just as his tree began to hinge, the vines snapped tight.Over came my tree, pulling his right along with it in my direction.I had long since made a run for it, but sadly his gas can and spare saw just didnt have the energy to pick themselves up and make a run for it as well.
Now, in reality, a smashed saw and gas can should really be enough bad luck for anyone for the day, but I believe in being thorough. After Spuds recovered himself enough to go look, and to drum up some curse words that I had never heard in my Naval career, he made his way over to the tree to examine what was left of his saw.
Like I said, that really should have been enough for anyone, but it was obvious that Spuds had no idea as to how capable my luck is.As he bent over to peer under the branches, the raccoon that had ridden the tree down made his appearance, and made his run for it.
I really think the old man should have considered a career in dancing really. He jumped up, did a little jig or two, and gracefully fell over backward over the main stem of the tree. After that, it really looked like a garage sale unfolding itself as he rolled end over end down that hill.Pocket knives, tobacco pouch, and other unidentified things flew in the air as he made his way down the hill.I was rather proud of the old man really, he managed to miss each and every one of those trees on the way down.Actually, the whole thing was rather interesting to watch, after you get over the fact that an old man can travel that fast.
I was rather reluctant to go down and check on the old man, after all I knew he was going to blame me for the whole thing.The curse words streaming up the hill told me that he was still alive, but probably the little worse for wear.But being the kind hearted soul that I am, I decided to throw caution to the wind and investigate.
Down at the bottom, the old man was still trying to figure out what had happened, why he was soaking wet, and his arm wouldnt move.I assured him that he hadnt soiled himself, but the wetness was assuredly coming from the fact that he was sitting in a creek. I started explaining that a rabid coon had chased us, but sadly his memory came back at the last minute, and again I was baraged with a sampling of Americas finest cuss words.
I called for some help, assisted the local fire department load the old man up in an ambulance, and gathered up our tools. I eventually made my way to the local hospital to check on the old man, but I guess the incident was still rather troubling him.Instead of greeting me warmly like an old friend should, he just layed there on his bed, looking somewhat like Bill the Cat did when he had had a rough day.
To this day, we still cut wood together, but the old man has changed a good bit.He has a permanent look on his face, kind of reminds me of someone always worried about something.He was a real tendency to trip over things now while walking in the woods, but I have tried to get him to look where he is going, rather than up in the trees all the time.
Guess he is just getting old I guess.
Old Spuds
Over the years, I have been rather fortunate in having some really bad luck. Fortunate you say?Well, it all depends on your point of view. Most folks enjoy a good bit of good luck, and miss out on the trials that all point out what an adventure life can be.My case in point.
Several years ago, I was fortunate enough to team up with an elderly gentleman by the name of Logan Hudspeth, or Spuds as we called him.He was long in years, and even longer hair but I didnt mind.He kind of reminded me of the mongrel that I used to have as a boy.When I think about it, even slurped from a can much in the same way.
Old Spuds was notorious for many things, but the most important was his skill in chainsaw art.Wether it was firewood or carving, he knew it all and i was desperate to glean what I could from him before the 16 liters of coke that he drank each and every day finally managed to disolve the old man.
We set out on a bright summer day, headed to a patch of hickory growing on a hill that needed to be thinned. I was thrilled to go along, thinking that finally I had attained a stature in life that Spuds thought I was worthy of his company. Spuds assured me otherwise, he was glad to have me along for one reason and one reason only.He figured with my bad luck I was sure to be on the receiving end of things if something went wrong on that steep hillside, allowing him a clean get away.Never the less, I was glad to be along.
The stand of trees was large, over 5 acres, and the landowner basically wanted every hickory gone and leave the oak. Sounded pretty simple really.
We set about our task, starting with the trees closest to the top. Fate was already starting to wind up its spring, and I had no idea.
I picked out a nice tree, tall with little brush and began my cut, Spuds decided to stay upwind and head along the draw,picking out his own tree to knock down.He set his gas can and spare saw down between the two of us and began his cut.
I had made my cut so that the tree would fall to my right, alongside the hill making it easier to winch up the hill to the truck, with Spuds cutting to my left.As my tree began to fall, I stopped my saw and looked up into the canopy to ensure that my tree was falling in the direction that I wanted. It was only then that I spotted the problem.
The entire area was heavy with vines, some as thick as your wrist, and the tree's canopy was heavy with em.Watching the tree slowly start to make its way down convinced me that this whole scenario was going from good to real bad as quick as you can wink.I waved over to Spuds, but he was rather busy himself with his cut and didnt see what was coming.
My tree continued its path, tightening the vines securing my tree to his by the second, and just as his tree began to hinge, the vines snapped tight.Over came my tree, pulling his right along with it in my direction.I had long since made a run for it, but sadly his gas can and spare saw just didnt have the energy to pick themselves up and make a run for it as well.
Now, in reality, a smashed saw and gas can should really be enough bad luck for anyone for the day, but I believe in being thorough. After Spuds recovered himself enough to go look, and to drum up some curse words that I had never heard in my Naval career, he made his way over to the tree to examine what was left of his saw.
Like I said, that really should have been enough for anyone, but it was obvious that Spuds had no idea as to how capable my luck is.As he bent over to peer under the branches, the raccoon that had ridden the tree down made his appearance, and made his run for it.
I really think the old man should have considered a career in dancing really. He jumped up, did a little jig or two, and gracefully fell over backward over the main stem of the tree. After that, it really looked like a garage sale unfolding itself as he rolled end over end down that hill.Pocket knives, tobacco pouch, and other unidentified things flew in the air as he made his way down the hill.I was rather proud of the old man really, he managed to miss each and every one of those trees on the way down.Actually, the whole thing was rather interesting to watch, after you get over the fact that an old man can travel that fast.
I was rather reluctant to go down and check on the old man, after all I knew he was going to blame me for the whole thing.The curse words streaming up the hill told me that he was still alive, but probably the little worse for wear.But being the kind hearted soul that I am, I decided to throw caution to the wind and investigate.
Down at the bottom, the old man was still trying to figure out what had happened, why he was soaking wet, and his arm wouldnt move.I assured him that he hadnt soiled himself, but the wetness was assuredly coming from the fact that he was sitting in a creek. I started explaining that a rabid coon had chased us, but sadly his memory came back at the last minute, and again I was baraged with a sampling of Americas finest cuss words.
I called for some help, assisted the local fire department load the old man up in an ambulance, and gathered up our tools. I eventually made my way to the local hospital to check on the old man, but I guess the incident was still rather troubling him.Instead of greeting me warmly like an old friend should, he just layed there on his bed, looking somewhat like Bill the Cat did when he had had a rough day.
To this day, we still cut wood together, but the old man has changed a good bit.He has a permanent look on his face, kind of reminds me of someone always worried about something.He was a real tendency to trip over things now while walking in the woods, but I have tried to get him to look where he is going, rather than up in the trees all the time.
Guess he is just getting old I guess.
