Riding The Whirlwind
By
Darrel Bird
Copyright 2011 by Darrel Bird
This E-book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Riding The Whirlwind
Part One
Paul Gilford was a failure. He was shy so he failed to make friends with girls, he failed to make his Dad proud and so he never heard the words ‘I love you’ from his Dad, he dropped out of high school, he failed at that, he did get his G.E.D, join the service and manage to get an honorable discharge after three full years and go to college, but he knew in his heart he had really failed at that too. Paul Gilford got good at failing, if he wasn’t good at anything else, he was good at that.
He got married and had children, and tried to start a start a T.V. business following college, but he failed at that too when he got down in his back and couldn’t open the store. He failed at jobs, not because he couldn’t do anything he put his mind too, but because he was driven to fail, so he would quit them and move on.
Finally he moved his family to a quaint little community near Oregon’s Columbia River.
It was a beautiful little community with friendly neighbors, surrounded with forest, mountains and water, a little slice of heaven that was the very ends of the world for Paul Gilford, because Paul Gilford was a failure. He had skills a plenty, but there was no work for Paul Gilford in or near the small town of Mist, Oregon.
The black filthy clouds of depression would roll in like a sudden thunderstorm and they would roll over him and roll him under, suddenly, and without mercy, with the stunning force of a locomotive, disemboweling him, gutting him, raping him.
Paul kept failing and backing up, lunging at life again and again, until Mist was where he had backed too, A tiny town with a two churches, a filling station and a half assed grocery store.
He had ‘Got saved’ a few years back, but he figured there weren’t no way he would succeed at that, he did the best he could, but he figured he would fail God too, after all, if he couldn’t please his Dad, he sure as hell couldn’t please God now could he?
The church had gotten to selling ©Amway to each other and some folks talked him into going to a sales meeting in Astoria. He drove his Ford clunker down there chasing after some tiny bit of hope and before the meeting was over he saw the blankness in the eyes of the believer and knew they didn’t have squat but a bunch of hot air, there just weren’t no money in it.
On his way back depression hit him like a ton of bricks, he ripped his tie off and the buttons of his suit coat and that fueled the rage that was building. The clouds of depression kindled a rage and frustration and out of the core of that, a rage began at him self so complete in its destroying power that it became blacker than the inside of hell and hate and self loathing consumed him in its entirety.
There was a long straight stretch of road that ended in a curve with a rock face falling down to the road and he decided to end it all on that rock face. He gave the old Ford the gas when he hit the straight stretch, but all the old Ford would get up to was ninety, he ran it up all she would go and his plan was to just jerk the wheel which would take him head on into the rock face… done. When he got to the rock face his hand would not steer that car at that rock cliff, a power greater than his rage kept the car going straight and he could not bend that wheel! For three seconds he did not own his own two hands. He went squealing around the turn not doing anything except take a few dollars worth of rubber off the tires.
He pulled into a turn out and killed the engine and there he cried out his frustration, he beat his head on the steering wheel because he couldn’t even kill himself.
He drove the old Ford on home and walked in the door of the two story rented house, his suit coat torn open and a scratch across his chest from his own finger nails, his white shirt stained with blood, he said nothing to his wife as he climbed the stairs to bed, and she knew better to question him. When he got that way it was best to leave him be, and safer too.
He was at the one pump filling station the next morning as Ron Nash pulled up in his old Chevy pick-up.
“Get any work yet Paul?”
“Nah. You got any?”
Ron Nash was a logger, a simple man who did hard work snaking trees out of the North Western forests.
“I hear Ryder is looking for a choker setter, why don’t you scoot on down to their office today before someone else gets it?”
“I have never set chokers Ron, I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“If Ryder takes a liking to you, they’ll show you.” He shot a stream of brown tobacco juice at a bug crawling on the gas pump and missed.
“Ok, I’ll go down and see him, and thanks Ron.”
“Its ok, I know what it is to try to feed a family. See you at church this Sunday?”
“I don’t know, I might.” The depression had rolled on leaving its dregs of emptiness, hopelessness and frustration.
Ron spat another stream and hit the bug, contemplated his aim for a minute then cranked his truck and drove off. The bug scratched and slid down the gas pump as it struggled for traction in the spit.
Paul pulled in to the Ryder logging office and yard, which was a trailer, set on concrete blocks out at the edge of town and looked around at the logging trucks sitting idle. Grass and weeds were doing their best at reclaiming cast off equipment.
The loggers had been hit hard by the economy, government regulations and the tree huggers who wanted to stop them from logging. City slickers from Portland and San Francisco who had never done a days work in their entire life went around the country yelling about the spotted owl and chaining them selves to tree’s. He knew nothing about logging accept to avoid the logging trucks entering the highway with their loads, but he knew if he didn’t get substantial work they would be on the move again with even less than they had gotten there with, which was nothing but what a broken down station wagon could carry.
Paul hated the cities, only the most desperate of circumstances could drive him to them and he was afraid of cities like Los Angeles. He shuddered to think of where they might end up as he opened the door to the Ryder logging operations office.
Ryder himself was sitting at a beat up desk piled with papers, maps and coffee cups, a grizzled man of about 60, his bearded and wrinkled face told of the years in the weather.
“Well close the damned door, we got enough skeeters in here already.”
“Yes sir.” Paul closed the door gently behind him and approached Ryder’s desk, the door creaking back open behind him.
“You have to slam it. I been meaning to get it fixed.” Bill Ryder had been saying that for fifteen years.
“What can I do for you son?”
“Ron Nash said you were looking for a choker setter.”
“Can you set chokers? You don’t look like a logger to me.”
“No sir, I’m not a logger, but I’m willing to work.”
“Setting chokers is hard work son, it ain’t no place for a panty waist up there. I had a good choker setter and he up and moved to Idaho. The son of a bitch left without a word.”
“Well sir, I’m willing to work if you will give me a shot. I need this job.”
“Family man Huh?”
“Yes sir.”
Ryder pursed his tobacco stained lips and leaned back in his chair, “You say you know Ron Nash and he put you up to coming out here?”
“Yes sir, he belongs to my church group.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Yes sir, he is.
”
“Well…if he sent you I’m going to give you a try, you be here at 4 in the morning and the boys will take you on up there. The pay is fourteen an hour.”
“Go out there and find old Ed Brubaker, he’s out there working on that red rig and tell him I said get you fixed up with some cloths and a hard hat and my name ain’t sir, its Bill, now get on outta here.”
“Yes sir.”
Paul turned to go, “And slam that damned door behind you!”
Paul slammed the door which didn’t latch and he slammed it a second time. He looked around at the trucks until he spotted a red rig with a couple legs sticking out from underneath the rig.
He walked over to the truck, the legs weren’t moving and he wondered if something was wrong, he gently tapped a booted foot and the leg jerked.
A man with a wrinkled bearded face covered with grease crawled out from under the rig.
“What the hell you want sonny?” He wiped tobacco juice off his mouth with a dirty sleeve.
“I’m the new choker setter, Bill said to tell you to get me some cloths and a hard hat.”
“The new choker setter you say? The old man must be getting desperate. Ok, I’ll see what we can round up.” He stood up wiping his hands on his greasy pants.
“You ever worked in the woods boy?”
“No sir, I haven’t.”
“Well you cain’t were tight clothing out there, you got any money?”
“No.”
“Hmmm… you look about my size, lets go down to my house and we’ll fix you up with something, but you’ll have to give it back when you get paid.”
He walked over to a nearby pickup, “Come on and get in.”
They drove down to a little shack about a quarter mile down the road and pulled into what passed for a driveway, the yard was cluttered with over grown weeds and junk, Ed pulled the truck around to the back of the house. The back door hung loosely on worn hinges; a dog of questionable breed rose up from near the door and ambled over to greet them.
“Get out of the way Clyde, go hunt something you lazy peckerwood, gowan now!”
The dog paid no attention as Ed limped toward the door.
Clyde followed them in to a room with a washer and dryer and general mayhem, the place smelled of soiled clothing, rotten meat and other unidentified smells which made Paul want to hold his nose.
A soiled set of work clothes hung on a hanger off a rusty nail on the back wall. The hickory shirt looked like it had seen better days; the legs of the pants were ripped in two places.
“These have been hanging here a while, Bill says I cain’t go back out in the woods no more, gettin’ to long in the tooth.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice at Clyde as Clyde nimbly ducked and the tobacco juice hit the floor. “You mights well have them, hell, you don’t even have to pay me back.”
Paul held the shirt and pants up to him, he thought they would fit, Ed took a hard hat off another nail and handed that to him. “You can adjust the band to fit. It’ll do.”
“Put your feet in these corks so I can tell if they fit” Paul took his shoes off and pull the spiked boot’s on, they felt a tiny bit sloppy, “They feel a slight bit to large.”
“That’s what you want, you don’t want them too tight, they fit.”
“I appreciate this Mr. Brubaker. I’ll pay you for them when I get paid.”
“No sweat kid, just go out there and do a good job for Bill and he’ll treat you right, you sluff off out there, he’ll kick your ass off the job so fast it’ll make your head swim.”
“I aim to do the best I can.”
“I know you will son.” He clapped him on the back. “Now come on, I got to get back to the yard.”
Thirty minutes later Paul pulled into the drive of the old two story rented farm house. He walked into the kitchen where his wife Sue was preparing dinner. He had the clothes hung over his shoulder still on the hanger. He walked up behind her and slapped her on the fanny. She turned and looked up at him surprised; he hadn’t done that in a long time.
He smiled down at her and kissed her on the lips. “I got a job today.”
“Ug… What in the world is that smell?”
“These. My new clothes.”
“Good grief Paul. Where on earth did you get those things?”
“Ed Brubaker gave them to me to work in the woods, I got a job setting chokers for Ryder logging at fourteen an hour.”
“Oh my! Oh that’s such wonderful news honey, an answer to prayers. Here, give them to me and I’ll wash them up, they stink.”
Paul sat down at the kitchen table they had gotten at a garage sale for five bucks; it was worth at least twenty he figured. He heard the clunk of the washer lid in the wash room which was just off the kitchen.
She came back in and sat down, pouring him a cup of coffee out of a gold colored carafe, another garage sale item. Sue was an avid garage sale’er, if they wanted a quarter she paid them a dime. Where ever they landed she quickly furnished whatever house they lived in off garage sales. She had put a sticker on the back bumper of the Ford station wagon, ‘We brake for garage sales’ and if she saw one she sure as hell slammed on the brakes which resulted in numerous near misses.
Paul stared at her pretty face, remembering when he had snagged her off a school bus line in her home town of Modesto California, she was seventeen and he was twenty one. Her parents threw a fit, but they were married one month later.
She sat there and turned her cup in her hands, just staring at the coffee, “Paul, the kids love this place, they love the schools and they love the church, we have to make a go of it here for their sakes if not for ours.”
“Where are the kids anyhow?”
“They’re over at the Hanks house playing with their children, listen to me Paul, God has told me we aren’t going to move from here, the owner of this house has agreed to sell it to us on a contract even lower than the rent payments, I signed the papers today, but they need your signature.”
He looked at her pretty face and there were tears in the corner of her eyes, “Sue, you know damned well God don’t talk to people, those Pentecostals down at the church have twisted your mind. I like them, but they got weird ways and I don’t want you ending up like that.”
“Please watch your mouth Paul, and I’m telling you God spoke to me. You can believe it or not, but we aren’t moving from here Paul!”
He could sense a fight coming, so he let it slide. He hated arguing with her, it made them both end up feeling like stink, and besides, she always won the argument and left him feeling like it was always his fault, no matter what the case was.
“Ok Sue, I’ll do the best I can.”
“I know you will Paul, what’s a choker setter anyhow?”
“They set chokers…like this!” He grabbed her around the waist and sqweezed hard, she laughed. “Then they kiss the tree like this!” He kissed her gently.
“I love you Sue.”
The next morning Paul arrived at the Ryder logging truck yard at 3:30, he yawned in the cold air and rubbed his hands together to warm them.
Eight men were gathered in front of Ryder’s Office when he walked up swinging his lunch pail.
Ryder greeted him, introduced him and spat a stream of tobacco juice hitting him on his shoe, “This here is Paul, the new choker setter, you guys are going to have to train him, and if I hear of any of you harassing him instead of training him, I’ll fire you and give him your job, is that clear?”
The men nodded their heads staring at Paul, sizing him up, “Why couldn’t you find an experienced hand Bill, you got to go robbing the cradle for hands these days?”
“Shut up Carl and you rascals get the hell out of here and get on up there and get me some logs.”
He turned around, climbed the steps of the trailer and slammed the door making the whole trailer vibrate.
“The boss is in a good mood as usual. Lets go boys. You come with me Paul.” The crew leader turned to his pickup and the me
n piled onto another pickup.
Paul got in the warm cab with the crew leader, “My name is Hardy Johnson, you listen to me and me only, I’ll make a choker setter out of you, if you work hard, we’ll get along, if you sluff off, I’ll send you back, is that clear?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
“Just call me Hardy, I’m a working man.”
Paul was silent as the truck came to the turn off where they entered a log road. An iron gate barred the road, and the crew leader slid the pickup in front of the gate, jumped out and unlocked it and swung it open, the other pickup followed them through.
It was just getting light when they rolled up to a yarder machine standing squat at the edge of a steep mountain side, it’s crane lifted in the morning air. The gravel crunched as the other pick up pulled in behind them.
The men grabbed chain saws off the back of the pickup and with lunch bucket in one hand and a chain saw in the other, they walked down to the yarder.
The crew leader looked at Paul, “Bob here is the yarder operator, he can’t see directly below the yarder, so the first thing you got to learn is to stay clear of this machine. When it turns it turns fast and it’ll eat you alive boy. Is that clear?”
Paul looked up at the machine and shook his head, “Now Carl there will take you down and show you how to set a few chokers, it ain’t rocket science, so the main thing you have to learn is to set the choker and get clear of it, and the yarder will drag the trees up the hill. Got that?” Paul shook his head again.
“Ok Carl, take him on down there and set a few with him, then let him have at it. Lets get the job done.”
Carl didn’t seem any too happy, but he said nothing as they left the grade and went down the steep mountain side to where a tangle of trees and stumps lay in the early morning shadows.
Paul heard the diesel engines starter wine and then awake with a chuff as he worked his way through the tangle of brush behind Carl. A few minutes later he was sweating as Carl showed him how to wrap the thick steel cables around the trees a few feet back from the ends and hook it.
After a few chokes were set Carl looked at him and spat at a tree, “Now you try it by yourself.”
His muscles strained as he yanked at the heavy steal cable of the choker and wrapped it around two trees and hooked the eye of the cable.
“Now get clear, get clear.”
He jumped back, falling over another log behind him and head first down in the brush. The yarder yanked on the trees and they started on their way up the hill.
Carl laughed, “I forgot to tell you to look behind you.” As Paul scrabbled upright hanging onto a tree limb, a fresh cut on his faces where a broken tree branch had dug into his skin.
“You got to look where ever you’re going down here boy and don’t you forget it.”
By the time the day was through every muscle in his body ached and he wondered if he would last another day.
He went to bed that night at six, waking up at nine with pain racking his joints.
The next morning as they gathered round at the front of the trailer Bill Ryder came out with his coffee cup in his hand, “We done pretty good yesterday having a new choker setter, but we need to do better today. How do you feel Paul?”
“I feel like I been kicked and stomped, but I’m here.”
“He’s a real hoot owl’er now Bill. Hell, he beat Carl at settin’ chokers. We got us a real wall banger.” The men laughed.
“Shut up Fred, and you characters get on outa my sight! Now git!”
“If it wasn’t for his personality he’d be a real ladies man.”
“Ok, cut the crap and lets go!” the crew leader turned toward his truck, he looked at Paul, “Don’t forget yer nose bag hoss, yer gonna to need to eat before the day is through.”
Paul ran back to his car to get his lunch bucket and thermos, he had instructed Sue to put more food in, he cursed himself for almost leaving it behind.
The crew leader slid to a stop just as he was shutting the door to the car, “Get in here stud and lets get moving.” He opened the door of the pickup and jumped in the already moving vehicle.
Three days later he his muscles began to adapt themselves to the work and three weeks later he was getting nimble at walking the felled logs and fastening the sliding bell hook.
The crew leader watched him with approval from the landing, Paul was making a good choker setter.
Part two