Chapter 37

Karen

“Lessee ... ropes, ladder rack, chainsaw, mix, bar oil, handyman jack, slick, shovel, bucket of sand, drawknife, whetstone, clothes, tipi and liner, stakes lacing pins, hemp rope, liner rope and mallet.” I touched each item while reading off Hairy’s checklist.

Then MY list, “Rifles, Hawken and .36 cal in blanket cases, two pistols... 53 cal and .36. Possibles bag with regalia, pouch with flints, leather and powder, both horns, can of 3f and one of 4, yard of pillow ticking, bear grease, touch hole picks. One hunting box with pans, pots, utensils, tin cup, firestarter, candle lanterns and some canned goods.”

Then the List of Needed but Didn’t Have. “Box ... case? of C-Rations, MRE’s, mattress, drop cloth, willow lazy-back chairs, three buffalo robes, only three, grass whip and dry firewood ... cherry from the dead tree in the garden,” Smells so good I thought, “And the roll of artificial lawn with the pole notches.” So, it’s not authentic ... smoothes out stray rocks.

I knew I’d be adding to the needed list after the shoot.

“Whoops ... forgot. Fly rod, reel, flies extra line.” The fly rod has it’s own side rack. “Knife and hawk. Girl ... you’ll forget your ass.”

The pole cut was down Cutler Creek, at the old Tie Pond, right on the Tongue River. The Lodgepole pines were thick down there and needed thinning. Some stands had poles fifty feet long and three inches across at the butt. A stand like that might have a hundred trees in the swing of an axe ... tight ... like a putting green but trees. Dangerous fire timber. Time and past to thin ‘em out.

The road is not easy. Three quarters of the way down there’s a tilted slab of exposed bedrock that’s about 60 feet long and tilted at about 20 degrees ... down. There’s a creek at the bottom ... waaay down there. It’s particularly nasty in the wet.

It was dry.

At the bottom there was the remains of the old sawmill town ... very active between 1891 and 1910 when the fire came through. Yeah ... it had burned out the entire valley ... that’s the reason the pines were so thick ... fire seeded.

After giving the chain a lick and a promise with a chain file, I gassed up the Echo with 40 to one mix and made sure the bar oil was full. I took the saw and an empty Miller beer can into the trees. I picked my spot ... set down the saw and went back for the shovel and bucket of sand.

I don’t care how good the spark arrester is on the Echo ... accidents happen.

One more trip back to the truck ... my Smith Indian backpack firepump. Hairy bought us two for the Jeep and two for the Dodge. They never left the vehicles ... we never used the water for ANY REASON except a fire ... or so Hairy said.

“The house has extinguishers ... we don’t need these,” he said.

I carted that pump whenever we had a fire in the tipi ... and never used it.

More than once our camp was inspected by Forest Rangers and they approved our pumps.

The beer can? Stand facing a selected lodgepole pine ... hands straight out, grasp the tree with both hands locking your interlaced fingers together ... if your thumb knuckles ... the ones behind your nails ... line up ... that tree will be three inches across at the measured spot ... peeled of bark and thirty feet long. A beer can is the right size.

Cut a bunch, chain the butts together and snake them out with the truck winch ... the Dodge has two ... one in front and one in the bed. The Jeep has only one.

Peel them however ... shovel, drawknife or slick. I can peel five in an hour with the knife. Toss ‘em up on the ladder rack and go get some more. Three tags ... issued with the permit ... are good for 60 poles.

Shit! Forgot the dome tent ... write that down. I slept under the tarp. In two days I had 60 poles ... and I can promise you ... the rangers counted. Fifty seven straight piles and 3 “interesting” ones.

“So you can find your lodge in a big gathering.” Another Hairyism.

Peeling poles? The best way is seated straddle the pole with the butts away from you ... peel, turning the pole to get all the bark ... the thin inner bark turns brown so make sure you take a thin sliver of wood. Slide the pole up towards the butt and peel some more. Hairy left about three feet of green at the tips.

“Needles falling on the cover is good luck,” he said.

After making sure the cook fire was DEADOUT ... I drove that damn road out. Sixty wet poles are heavy and the Dodge is tall enough to sit up under. Tilty! We made it.

It takes two weeks to dry poles at the cabin ... the area is well watered and always dampish ... but I was headed across the mountain to near Cody. Cody and its environs are in a rain shadow. Poles take two days ... three if you don’t care if they crack ... to dry. Five days and they don’t weigh much more than seven pounds each ... if that. Down in the Red Desert Hairy has had poles dry out to four pounds ... thirty feet long.