Fear no Tree

[Jimway]

'Fear no tree', that's what it says right there on the side of the chainsaw in green lettering. Right after that, in faded sharpie pen it says, 'or Bear'. There's a story behind these words. As some stories go and do, it has grown a small bit and improved in stature and now, when being retold, even if I do say so myself, is starting to scratch at legend status. We have got to go back a couple of years to the seventies or so. This was a time when there wasn't any enviornment to speak of. There wasn't any problems like the air getting thinner, or the ground getting harder, the night being darker,or the trees being taller, or gravity having approximatly doubled like nowadays. Believe it or not, back in those days, Old Jimway was known as Young Jimway or other names preceeded by the term 'Young', or sometimes 'Little'. Back then, Old Jim stood up straight, had dark brown hair, had vision like a hawk, a beard like ZZ-Top, and if you tapped him on the shoulder, it sounded alot like tapping a 12 inch Crescent wrench upon a 4 by 8 sheet of 1/2 inch high carbon plate steel. Now it sounds more like a sack of mashed potatoes, and hurts too. What's up with that. Out in the woods, a certain comradery develops among the participants. Often, some of the more colorful participants may become identified by a nickname like Gleamin Dave, ManMountain, JohnDeere, Outerlimits, Sphinxs( I called him Sphinxster every once in a while), The Mechanic, Puke, and the list could go on. Scrambling around the woods being what it is, or was, some of these guys aren't around but in spirit anymore.

 

[sim]

I'm not sure I want to know how Puke got his name.

 

[Jimway]

Sure ya do. Puke had stomach problems. When you are working on the strenuous side of things it is necessary to drink lots of stuff. I believe the hy-brow term is to "Keep ones self hydrated". Puke would regurgatate water on a regular basis on hot days. There wasn't much to him but he could run through the woods dragging cables like it was nothing. Eventually had some of his insides removed but he gained an uncontrollable urge to operate other peoples property, specifically four wheel drive vehicles. He ended up spending some time on the inside.

 

[sim]

Sure ya do. Puke had stomach problems. When you are working on the strenuous side of things it is necessary to drink lots of stuff. I believe the hy-brow term is to "Keep ones self hydrated". Puke would regurgatate water on a regular basis on hot days. There wasn't much to him but he could run through the woods dragging cables like it was nothing. Eventually had some of his insides removed but he gained an uncontrollable urge to operate other peoples property, specifically four wheel drive vehicles. He ended up spending some time on the inside.

Really?
I already said I didn't want to know.
Meant it.

 

[Jimway]

Gleamin Dave is a barrel chested sort of person with arms bigger than most folks legs. When Gleamin Dave sees something that he likes that is in good to better condition, he states that it is 'Gleamin', as in the first time he viewed my Checkmate, he crooned "Oh Maaan, this thing is Gleamin!" Among Gleamin Daves other many talents is the ability to turn a bad situation, worse. I can't stress enough the importance of either keeping one eye on him or keeping 100 yards or twice the length of the height of the trees that he is working on, between you or your truck or saw or lunchbox or water supply or fuel supply, spare chains, extra clothing, etc,etc. Gleamin Dave is quite affable and has a heart of gold where his friends are concerned. Due to his prodigious strength, I for one, would not relish being on his enemy list but in all fairness, I have rarely seen him say a bad word against anyone with the notable exception of myself during the 'Big Judy' episode. Fear no Tree is the name of the saw. It was the biggest model that the manufacturer produced. Back in the day, the idea was to get as many trees, 'Sticks' as they were sometimes called, 'on the ground', another descriptive term that could be unceremoniously applied to ones own self if they lost considerable concentration while working 'in the woods', sometimes followed by 'in the ground', if one zigs when one was supposed to zag. With a new large saw equipped with the latest razor sharp chain that had been further modified by hand with file and some high test premium fuel and some expensive two cycle blend, one was able to happily eat through the forest like it was 'buttah', er, butter. Once the trees were horizontal, they could be dragged, by cables, out, over, up, down, across, under, or through the countryside in bunches, sometimes known as a 'turn', and stored, 'cold decked', or maybe loaded onto a truck or railcar for the trip to the mill. Young Jim liked to have nice equipment and modified it for all out performance because a little extra production would mean a little extra paycheck for everyone and also some bragging rights as to who the "A" Team might be. It was not unknown for Young Jim to have several high performance saws 'Gleamin' in the back of his truck. Young Jim also liked to wear clean clothing every day, hence the moniker of Gentleman Jim was sometimes heard. Young Jim would also take other mens saws home and repair and modify them to extravagent levels. This was one of the ways that Young Jim was able to produce extra dollars to afford expensive new stuff. Every once in a while, guys that cut up the forest would get together and have a little playday where they would engage in some games like seeing who could skinny up a tree the fastest or try to stand up on a log that is floating in the water but spinning at about 10000 rpm, or cut through a chunk of tree with an axe or cut through a log with a chainsaw that has been modified suitably for the task. This is sometimes refered to as a 'Hot Saw Competition'. Fear no Tree had been conceived for just such an event an in fact, with the addition of a custom bar, chain, and expansion chamber exhaust, Fear no Tree was known to snag a trophy and cash prize on occasion. Fear no Tree was just as happy to have a regular bar, chain, and muffler installed, and go out and put in a days work.

 

[Jimway]

The fateful day started out like usual, at around 3:30 or so when one arose, showered up, got dressed, ate a huge breakfast, loaded fuel, oil, food, extra clothing, extra saw parts, extra saws, tools and ropes into the back of one's truck in a neat and organized heap. It was necessary to meet up with the rest of the crew to ride up in an old Dodge crew cab truck that the company provided for transportation. The company stated that there had to be 'limited impact' from the operation so we weren't allowed to drive several trucks to the site. I suspect that the company was trying to kill us off in a spectacular crash as the truck hurtled off some cliff. The truck brought new meaning to the term, 'piece of ****'. The truck had had a hard life, and it showed. All over. It had been down several 1000 foot drops, I'm sure of it. The salt air had been mischeiviously gnawing away at the trucks underpinnings for years. Peices of cardboard and pallets covered most of the gaping holes that had replaced that portion of the truck where there once had been floors. The one good thing about being able to see the ground going by under the truck as you looked down through where the floor used to be, was you could tell how fast you were headed for the ditch when the brakes quit working again as the speedometer had flown overboard long ago. Also, if you saw nothing but sky through the floorboard, you could quickly kick some of the cardboard out of your way and eject out through the hole to find as soft a place to land as possible, given the circumstances. In my defense, I had offered to take the truck home to do some repairs but had been gruffly rebuffed by 'The Boss', the guy that ran our crew. Since he had brown hair all over and longer ears than a regular horse, I called him Jack. I used his more complete name whenever he was out of earshot. He would spend most of the time easily living up to his nickname. I'm sure some of you have heard about 'Maypop' tires. You might not be aware of the Willpop Tire Company. No, it's true. The Willpop Tire Company made it's name by recapping Maypop Tires in a special patented process utilizing cedar smoke and o-zone. As you can imagine, the truck was equipped with Wilpops which made any trip, even just sitting in the truck while it was stationary, special.

 

[Jimway]

The site where we were attempting to 'thin out' was way up toward the clouds on the side of a perpendicular cliff wall of volcanic material. To reach the site, and also to retrieve the harvest, an interesting 'ride' in a rotary winged aircraft was employed. This 'aircraft' probably was one of the first ever made, and robustly too. You could tell that by the fact that numerous bullet wounds, crashes and an almost complete lack of maintainence had hardly slowed it down in all of its 100 years. We would drive up the mountain in a controlled crash in the Dodge to the landing and then be ferried up the cliff by a pretty much uncontrolled crash in the 'copter'. Just as we were about to crest the hill in the Dodge on the way to the landing, the right front Willpop tire let go with a sigh, immediatly wrapped itself around the front axle, and single handedly dragged the Dodge to a precarious stop right next to the edge of the sky that existed on the side of the road/mountain goat trail. The 'Boss', Jack***, felt it should be my duty to change the tire while the rest of the crew reposed within the Dodge, thereby protected from the light gale that was humerously blowing and raging about outside of the Dodge. I suspect that Jack liked to see me work because he was always finding stuff for me to do. As is my way, I suggested that the passengers exit the vehicle for safety's sake. "Nothing doing" was the reply. After jacking the truck and loosening the couple of lugnuts that were left where there should have been eight of them, I was having difficulty trying to remove the tire that was wrapped around the axle. Upon my report to Jack of the wrapped up axle, he ordered Gleamin Dave out to provide me some backup in that "You caint even change a tire". Knowing Gleamin Daves ability to take a bad situation and make it worse, I braced myself for calamity and held my breath. I raised my hand for permission to speak and said to Jack "May I make a suggestion?" "No, you may not" said Jack. I remember most of the crew in the Dodge was wearing a smug look upon thier faces. Gleamin Dave grabbed at the wrapped up tire and the truck slid backward a couple of inches. I puckered, and I wasn't even in the truck, thankfully. I can only imagine what it must have felt like from within the truck. As I looked down, the jack under the truck had attained a 45 degree list. "Stuck tighter than a" (insert colorful description of your own right here ) Said Gleamin Dave as he let go of the tire and stood up as he turned toward me and leaned back on the fender of the Dodge in preparation of lighting a smoke. "Wa,wa wa, WAIT" I said waving my hands in front of me, but alas, it was too late.

 

[Jimway]

I would like to try to settle a few contentious matters right here , concerning the trucks trip down the mountain. The first thing I noticed was the presence of some type of fluid leaking from where the Will Pop tire was wrapped around the axle. I'm guessing it was in fact brake fluid. The next thing was Gleamin Dave leaning on the front fender. Right after that the Will Pop was coming unwound from the axle. As soon as it did, the whole rim popped off from the truck. Thus liberated from the extra drag of a flat tire, the old Dodge exibited new found acceleration. It has been a bone of contention for many years, but what I said when I realized that the truck was 'going over', was "Oh my God". The lip readers from within the truck seem to think that I said "Oh my Saw". I guess it didn't help when I made a lucky grab at the saw as the truck went over and came up with the saw. The truck went down by the rear bumper which grabbed at a stump which caused the truck to stand up perpendicular on end from the rear bumper. the bed mounts could not stand the strain and the bed fell off upside down and landed and stuck upon the stump. With even more weight liberated from the truck, it went over on its roof with a stupendous crash. The cab minus a good portion of the fire wall but containing everyone but the "Boss, rolled a few more times and came to rest up against a boulder the size of a house. The frame with some of the front fenders, the steering column, and the "Boss" hanging stubbornly to the steering wheel, hurtled out of sight in a cloud of dust, dirt, steam, rust, sheet metal particles, and death groans. I shot Gleamin Dave a quick look out of the corner of my eye and he quickly stepped back, placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not gonna miss that guy at all" I said to Gleamin Dave and smiled. He shook his head no. The rest of the crew was crawling out of the wreckage and looked like they each had little volcanoes of anger erupting from the tops of their heads. As the crew showed off their new cuts, bruises, and contusions to one another, and generally 'walked it off ', I repeated my statement about not going to miss the "Boss", and added that I hadn't ever seen anyone drive a 64 Dodge 1 ton crew cab down through the woods that fast and felt that he was just showing off in bad taste. Everyone got a little chuckle out of that one and before long were adding to the happy banter. We walked the rest of the way to the landing pad which had been cleared by the pilot himself when he had made a 'hard landing', as he put it, just a few days before our arrival. Contrary to what one might think, I was not amused by this news. Detecting fresh bear tracks at the landing site and quickly deducing that 'Where there are fresh bear tracks, there are likely to be fresh bears' even went further to upset me. Gleamin Dave and I borrowed the pilots truck and returned to the crash site and recovered all of our equipment and even called out softly to see if the "Boss" was any where near. This statement should settle another bone of contention brought up by the "Boss" later on. Gleamin Dave and I returned with everyone's equipment except the boss, which further improved the mood, to find everyone looking at a puddle of oil under the copter. I had also brought back the battery from the Dodge to help jump start the copter as requested by the pilot, which further concerned me.

 

[Jimway]

As Gleamin Dave and I walked up, Outerlimits was telling the pilot "Ole Jimbo here is pretty handy at fixin stuff?" I was fairly sure that rotory winged aircraft were not part of my modus operandation. I looked down at bear tracks that were the size of a catchers mitt. The pilot thrust forward a pie tin with a few nuts, bolts, and washers contained in it. I noticed that there was no sealing washer on a large hose that protruded from the bottom of a pump looking thing where all of the oil looked to have been draining. There was a copper looking sealing washer about the right size in the pie tin. "You don't suppose that this washer goes right there?" I asked. "Lets try it" said the pilot excitedly. No oil came out when we loosened the hose. I was concerned. Quicker than you could say 'transmission's been runnin with no oil in it', that washer popped on and the hose was tight. "Where you 'spose' the rest of these bolts go?" I asked. "Don't know" said the pilot, "Nothing else is leaking more than usual" "Lets see if we can get her started or its going to be a short day" said the pilot as he handed me a fire extinguisher. He hooked up some cables to various batterys lying in the back of his truck and climbed up into the cab of the copter. "May I make a suggestion? I asked. "Sure" said the pilot happily with his head thrust out the door window. "I'm thinkin that maybe you should put some more oil back in where its been leakin out?" "Good call" said the pilot then he climbed back down and stuck his finger in the oil puddle and then started looking into these five gallon buckets of oil in the back of his truck. He stuck his finger into a blue bucket and held both fingers up to compare. "Looks about right" he says and grabs the bucket from the back of the truck. Sooner than you could say 'statistic', the pilot was back in the cab tryin to get it started. It cranked and cranked. Smoke came from the exhaust pipe and the battery cables too. Right down in front of the fuselage was this big radial engine. You could see it through all of the extra holes that had been blown into the outer skin for extra cooling. A couple of cylinders coughed to life with a huge flame blossom. Eventually a few more joined in. The machine shudderd and shook and smoked. Soon the blades began to turn. Much to my surprise, the pilot climbed down and ran over to where we were sheltered from the dust, dirt, and blowing pine needles being kicked up from the machine. "Aren't you afraid that it'll fly off without you?" I asked. "Nah, you have to rev the Hell out of it to get it off the ground" was his reply. "I'm gonna take her up and around a little bit to make sure that everything is working. If I make it back, I'll haul you fellas up so's you can get to cutting" smiled the pilot.

 

[bigsbetter]

I'm infatuated with chainsaws...this story is right up my alley.

 

[Jimway]

The chopper was produced by some guy named Sick Horsey, or something close to it. It was pretty tall so you could stand underneath the pilot's window when you were trying to yell at him or vice-versa. Trouble with that was all of them blades spinning around right above you and that big radial engine roaring away right down in front with it's exhaust pipes poking out on the left side of the nose spitting smoke and fire. I was kind of surprised when it returned and went into the hover about six inches off the ground while the pilot motioned us to climb aboard. It sounded much better now and my confidence climbed a little above zero. I climbed up the outside and plopped down in the seat next to the pilot. His hands and both feet were all in motion to keep the machine steady and each extremity moved in a small area of maybe three inches square, instinctively feeding in control movements, anticipating the movement of the machine before you could feel anything at all. The end product was that the machine felt steady as a rock under his control even though it was in the hover, just off of the ground, in a windstorm. Even though his left foot was busy working the tail rotor, he was able to use his left leg to put sideways pressure on a lever that sticks up from the floor that has a twist throttle on it. As we headed for the cliff, I pointed rather excitedly toward it since it pretty much filled the windscreen ahead of us and was getting bigger by the moment. "No worries" yelled the pilot. "We got ta get in close to the cliff to catch the 'elevator', yells the pilot. "Elevator?" I yell back. My voice sounded kind of high pitched to me, 'must be the altitude', I think to myself. "Yeah", "Were workin right at the altitude limit of this here aircraft" says the pilot. "If We can catch the updraft right next to the cliff, we shouldn't have no trouble at all makin it over the top". The word 'shouldn't' sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. My confidence began to slip once more. So did my breath, all the way up. As we pounded up the cliff, the pilot radioed to base about the 'Boss's' poor driving habits and suggested a search party be scared up to try to locate him. "They don't seem too concerned about him" yelled the pilot to me. "Asked how you fellas was though" he added with a chuckle.

 

[Jimway]

Right before we reached the landing ledge area, I could tell we were fresh out of lift. We were about two feet short of getting the landing gear up onto the ledge. "Might have to throw some stuff overboard" yelled the pilot. "Too bad the 'Boss' aint here" I yelled back. The pilot smiled but said "No, I'm serious". The crew tossed some fuel containers over to the ledge as the pilot brought the tail end of the craft around. Thus liberated of a few pounds, the pilot was able to scratch his way onto the ledge and roll forward. After removing some pucker factor from between me and the material covering the seat that I was sitting on, I climbed down from the craft and would have givin Mother Earth a quick peck on the cheek if no one else had been watching. As soon as we were out of the craft, the pilot brought her up enough that you can walk under the machine and hook up a cable that is used to carry the logs back down the cliff to a landing area where the logs are loaded upon trucks for transport. As you might imagine, crawling in the downwash from the rotor, under a machine that is at or near full throttle, to hook up a cable, comunicating with hand signals only, to the pilot who is hanging as far out from his door as prudently possible, to try to see you, makes for some memorable times. The pilot can drop the cable if any thing goes wrong, which can and does lead to some real excitment as a few tons of logs come down with a cable whipping around like the whip in an Indiana Jones Movie. It's some of the most dangerous work I've ever done. Incidentally, when a machine is runnin at full throttle in real moist air without being connected to the ground (grounded), it can build up a big static charge, and you don't want to be the one that makes the connection between the aircraft and the earth, let me tell you. Now right about here, it might be a good time to talk about bearness, which is similar to business, which is what a bear will 'get down to' if you, say, destroy his home or something like that. Now Checkmate Owners know a lot about bareness, (You guys know who I'm talkin about) but bareness and bearness are two quite different things. Although a bear will usually be bare, I think you all will recognize the importance of keeping one's distance from a bear as opposed to a bare. Bears come in a lot of sizes and shapes. some of them aren't very big. Some of them are. In point of fact, the bear known as the Coast Brown Bear, is the biggest, and don't let OG tell you any different. I think them scientific types have named it Urses Slashus Horibilis Gigantis Chompus Downus. Depending on what they are eating, the Coast Bear can get upwards of 1500 pounds and stand over 8 feet tall. They are a Top of the Food Chain type of personality, and well known to be poor negotiaters. I have bearness experience from an early age. Bareness came a little later. I've had respect for bears ever since I was very young and witnessed a stump transform into a large coastal brown bear right before my very own ever widening eyes and it chased me all of the way back home. Later on that very summer, the stump, er , bear returned while I was being smothered slowly by darkness while sleeping outdoors. I was able to reach a very high pitch with voice back then with a message announcing the bears presence. I found that at the apex of the scream, I was able to levitate all of the way back to the house without touching the grass once. The lower portion pitch of the messege awoke most of the town, the higher pitch portion awoke most dogs in that part of the county. After that, much of the small town had a terrible time differentiating between a boy's 'Fear' of, and a 'Respect' for, a bear. Perhaps some of you also harbor respect for large hairy critters with huge teeth and claws.

 

[Jimway]

My how times change. Used to be that a man ran through the woods cutting down all kinds of stuff. Now they have come up with a machine that grabs the tree, cuts it off at it's base, strips the branches off and cuts it to length, and loads it on the transport truck if you can get it close enough to the machine out in the woods. The only time they need a guy now is when the ground gets really steep. Such was the site where the bear, or 'BEAR', popped up. Ground was so steep you had to lie down to stand up. The landing ledge was at the bottom of a half funnel shaped canyon that had been posted 'off limits' by the local mountain goats. The trees grew at such an angle that they were basicly laying down and when you lopped them off, they meerly slid off down the cliff toward the ledge. Seeing big fresh bear tracks early in the morning had set me on edge. As the afternoon rolled on, and no bear was sighted, we all felt a sense of relief. Honestly, with all of the commotion going on, that old bear was probably in the next county. After all, nothing could sleep through big saws roaring, trees crashing down, signal horns beeping, and a World War One helicopter comming and going every few minutes, right? As the afternoon passed, the bear was foremost in our conversations, but began to age. Soon it was over a hundred years old, gray haired, arthritic, toothless, clawless, blind, and maybe deaf too. Shoot, those tracks could be weeks old maybe. The 'Boss' showed up on the copter after extricating himself from way down in the canyon down below. He was with the Owner of the logging company. He was in an accusatory mood and even less pleasant than usual. The Owner seemed honestly glad to see us but kept frowning when the 'Boss' berated us. I think the Owner noticed that the days output was better than usual because the 'Boss' had been absent most of the day. The last tree to come down was right by the edge of the ledge. It had been topped and had had rigging attached to it to remove trees below as we worked our way toward the top. I suggested leaving it until morning, just in case we found a need for it while cleaning up. The 'Boss', as usual, explained why my suggestions were less than adequate on several levels. All of the crew was getting ready to board the chopper that was on it's way to transport us down off the mountain, which was going to be a treat in that the 'Boss' usually made us walk back to the truck and drive out. I grabbed up my saw and walked toward the tree.

 

[Jimway]

The saw is a massaged chunk of aluminum with a hand made 'full circle' stroked crankshaft. It's a reed valve model with hand made reeds and intake plenum with twin carbs sporting velocity stacks. It has 'sock' type air filters. Muffler has been enlarged and is modified for flow. Ignition system is custom high output with timing being fully adjustable versus original fixed timing. Flywheel is turned down and fitted with plastic cooling fins for aggressive air flow. Crankcase is filled in to fit tight to crankshaft, "stuffed", we called it. Cylinder is hand fit to top of piston, 'squish' we called it. A compression release is fitted for starting purposes. Its got a little hand filing here and there on the piston and ports. Its been bored and chromed in the cylinder department ( no replacement for displacement). I've got a selection of old open sprocket tip bars for it with a few razor sharp hand filed chains. Centrifugal clutch has been modified to achieve a higher idle speed to help keep engine from 'loading up' at idle. Chain is direct drive. Engine will howl like a banshee but has incredible torque and you can really lean on it while cutting without bogging. She'll throw shavings like confetti on the up cut when you file down the depth gauges on the chain. Fire it up with 'intent to cut' in the woods, and the trees just shake. Now the owner had been frowning when the 'Boss' was yelling and screaming at us and had asked the 'boss' to step over to the side of the landing ledge for a " word or two with you". The 'boss' threw down his orange metal hard hat right there on the ground. I stopped and looked back at the crew, and a smile slowly spread from ear to ear. I held up my left hand with fingers tight together with palm facing right and fingers pointed up toward the sky and then mimicked a tree falling over by slowly moving my left hand to a vertical position with palm down and fingers pointing right. I pointed at the 'boss's' hard hat and made a slashing motion across my throat. The crew looked on with enthusiasm and elbowed one another. I shot a quick glimpse toward the 'boss' and the Owner. The 'boss' had his back toward me. His hands were flailing about as he spoke with the Owner. The Owner had his arms crossed and wore an ominous frown. I suspected that this might be the last tree that I harvested for this show and lined up the cut with care. As the tree began to lean I pulled the saw and made a few more hits on the wedges and then ran toward the crew chuckling like a kid who had just put a snake in the teachers desk. Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, the tree fell and hit the ground with a huge ground shaking thud. The ground had a rise in between the base of the tree and the 'boss's' hardhat so that as the tree hit the ground, it smacked down upon the hardhat and then kind of flipped up into the air and began to roll toward the edge of the ledge. "Well, how do you feel about that?" I asked the crew. "You got lucky" was one reply. "No way" I responded. "That was skill" I added. "That was so lucky" said another unbeliever. "Say Jim", said Outerlimits, well known for reciting movie lines from out of nowhere, "That's a bad outfit". "No way" said the unbeliever again. "WAY" I said beginning to become somewhat heated. "Way" said Gleamin Dave, "That drop was gleamin". I was happy to see someone take my side, and for some reason I said "Way", "Jim Way". That's how the whole Jimway thing got started. While this ultra intelligent conversation was going on we were watching the tree bounce over the side. "My hat?" said the 'boss'. The Owner put his right fingers to his lips and quickly turned away for a moment. I saw him smile and his shoulders shook for a moment. presently he turned back around and looked like he had tears in his eyes. The 'boss' made purposeful strides straight in my direction. I set down the saw and sensed that a scrap was going to ensue.

 

[Jimway]

As the tree went crashing over the side of the ledge, its massive base hit up against a huge old growth cedar stump that stuck up out of the ground about six or eight feet. The stump was knocked over in a cloud of dust to reveal the hollowed out interior. A bear, or better yet, 'The Bear', poked his head up and said "Huh?" The tree crashed off down the mountain. The bear watched in disbelief. The bear looked around at his stump and said "Oh no, just look at my house!" For my part, I looked at the bear with disbelief. This bear looked really big. I stated as much, preceeded by a couple of descriptive adjectives. The bear looked suspiciously like most of the bears that had chased and haunted me throughout my youth, if not all of them. Presently, time began to slow down. The bear looked around and kept repeating "My house", in a sorrowful tone. They say that bears have bad eyesight. I have evidence to refute that statement. The bear picked me out from a hundred yards or so. "Did you do this to my house?" said the bear in an accusatory tone. The crew began backing up. The bear walked out of what was left of his home and swore a few oaths at me. He pawed at the ground and then put his massive front feet upon the stump and pushed it up and down a few times. This type of bear behaviour should be known to humans as a 'bad sign'. Although time had slowed down for me, it hadn't for most of the crew as they began to distance themselves from me. They say that bears are stupid. I can refute that too. That bear took one look at me standing there with a guilty look and quickly deduced that I was responsible for his house damage. "You did this" said the bear with a snarl. "I'm going to hurt you" said the bear with conviction. They say that bears are slow. Once again, I have evidence to the contrary. The bear was the size of a lifted Toyota 4x4 pickup, and powerd by a 32 valve v8, possibly supercharged, versus an anemic 4 cylinder. He definetly was an all wheel drive model. The bear, muscles rippling, covered the hundred yards almost faster than I could pick up the saw and get it started. Both breath and blood had drained out of me. Luckily, I had recently visited the portable facilities, or there could have been some embarrassment on my part. It did look like there was going to be some emBEARassment, or at least a-BEAR-on the ass-ment, on my parts, if you know what I mean. I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and held up the saw while giving the saw a handfull of throttle.

 

[Jimway]

I was expecting a bone crushing, knockdown, dragout scuff. It didn't come. I opened my right eye ever so little and peeked through the squinty slit. The 'boss' was standing frozen in mid stride to my right at about eleven o'clock. He wore an expectant smile that was slowly draining away. On my immediate right was my groundman, mumbling something about a death in a valley, or a valley of death, or something like that. In front of me stood the bear, just out of reach of the saw. Somewhere behind me, Gleamin Dave was running off while expending his whole supply of swear words.This was a serious breach of etticut and I planned to bring it up if I lived through this. The view, of the bear, from a hundred yards had been uncomfortable. The view from a few feet was unbearable.(heh heh) The bear was in his glorius prime. Unlike some bears that are scrawny and dirty and dusty, this fellow had a golden glow about him as he shook his massive head back and forth. He slashed his paw at the ground and big clumps of dirt flew toward the 'boss'. Then the bear stood up and did a great impression of a Godzilla bellow. He looked down at me with those black eyes and I looked up at him with my white eyes, and we had a moment in time. I could plainly see my reflection in his big black lifeless eyes. It was a tombstone sticking up out of the ground that said RIP on it. My faithful groundman, who was standing by my side, now remembered that he was packing his 44 and pulled it out of it's holster faster than Doc Holiday ever did, but then tried to hand it to me. I had my hands full of saw and couldn't see myself setting down the saw even for a split second. "Shmumpf ta bumpf" I said quietly out of the right side of my tightly drawn mouth.

 

[bigsbetter]

Come on Jimway.....since you started this thread I've listed and sold my Stihl 039 Chainsaw on Ebay and Spent twice as much on a 'Pro' model saw. You're really inspiring me!

 

[Jimway]

Hey Bigs, I'm covertly modifying a Stihl 045 super for an upcoming contest. A little port work and some muffler mods and it should run like a scalded cat. If I can help with a saw let me know. Lots of saws out here in the great NorthWest. got 30 or 40 of em in the garage right now. Thinkin about a garage sale.

 

[bigsbetter]

Hey Bigs, I'm covertly modifying a Stihl 045 super for an upcoming contest. A little port work and some muffler mods and it should run like a scalded cat. If I can help with a saw let me know. Lots of saws out here in the great NorthWest. got 30 or 40 of em in the garage right now. Thinkin about a garage sale.

Sounds great Jim. I'd love to see a picture of all your saws laying around. I just bought a sweet 036 Pro that is basically 'brand new'. I dont think its been run but maybe 1 time. I wanted an 036 Pro because I don't care for the anti-vibs on the new 362 series saws....feels too 'spongy' when cutt'n. "Shmumpf ta bumpf"

 

[Jimway]

The saw in my hands spooled down to idle. There we stood face to face, my groundman, myself, and the bear. I held the saw like it was a sword out in front of me pointing directly at the bear, my throttle finger at the ready. "Shoot the bear" I said to my groundsman. I would later christen him 'Cold bold Callahan with his silver 44' for he raised up his right hand and aimed at the bear. 'Click' went the gun, right next to my right ear, as my groundman, later known as Callahan, had taken up a position just astern and to starboard of my position. (Figured I better put some boat stuff in here somewhere before I get thrown off the forum) Time had nearly come to a stand still. I looked into the bears eyes. My look said "You and I are gonna scrap right here and right now." "You might even get the better of me, but you are going to wear the scars from this encounter for the rest of your life." I then saw my reflection in the bears eyes. I was a Butterball turkey steaming on a dinner plate. 'Click' went the handgun again as 'Callahan' fully cocked it. When we later reconstructed the event, we came to the unanamous decision that the bear had been shot at before. He seemed to recognize the sound of a 44 magnum wheel gun being cocked. He turned inside out and set out for the edge of the cliff, right toward the Owner who stood there with his hands on his hips. In between the Owner and the bear stood the 'boss' who was able to put up his hands out in front of him in a feeble attempt to stop the bear or ward him off, before the bear ran over him. Now the Owner excudes such confidence and authority that the bear angled off away from the Owner toward the cliff. The sound of a 44 magnum going off right next to one's ear is remarkable. The sound of a 44 going off had the effect of greatly speeding up the bears progress so that he speed shifted into 3rd, 4th, and even overdrive. I'm pretty sure that the bullets merely bounced off of him if they hit him at all. 'Callahan' calmly reloaded the gun while intently looking at the edge of the ledge for any sign of the bears return. I shut down the saw and set it down. "And don't come back, Ever!" I said with emphisis, to the bear, who was out of sight. The Owner looked at me and shook his head with a smile. I turned around and looked at the rest of the crew standing back there and they were speechless and pale. They say that an encounter like that will permenantly turn your hair grey but that is just an old wives tale. Most of the grey was gone even before the shakes went away. There was only just a little grey right around the ears that stayed on afterwards. We had to talk rather loud because our ears were ringing. I stuck out my hand and 'Callahan' and I shook hands. "Pretty good shootin, Tex" I said to him. "Whew" is all he said and slowly shook his head back and forth. "It'll be fine" I said to him with a grin and flipped my thumb toward the 'boss' who was lying in a dusty heap, "You look way better than he does" The chopper roared into view and swooped in for a landing. The pilot jumped out and ran over excitedly, "Holy blank, you guys gotta see the size of this bear that is runnin down the hill!" "We did" I said. "All of us". I pointed to the 'boss' there on the ground and added, "Some of us more than others"

Post script: I just remembered the name of the guy that cobbled together the chopper, it wasn't sick horsey, it was Sikorskey.