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 Bullhead River (Excerpts)
 
(c) 1998, 2008 by Clete Goffard
 
Randy's Story : 1863
I.Randall Hode leaned on his ax and gazed at the ground, his attention attracted by anant climbing over a pine cone.He was one day past his twenty-fifth birthday, but that was his private knowledge. Noone here knew, or would have cared. He wondered if his parents were still alive, and if they were, if the date triggered any memory in them. He wouldn't have been concerned if it hadn't.He was a handsome young man; his pale blond hair was tied at the back of his headwith a piece of string. He wore a blue watch cap with a colored tassel, French style. Hekept his short beard and mustache neatly trimmed, and he insisted on a clean pair of stockings every day to keep his feet healthy. He was clean.His ax was a weapon to instill fear. Its ash handle was almost four feet long, and the blade was straight enough to rule paper, and ten inches wide. It was a pine man's ax, aswamper's ax, capable of cutting through a two inch branch in a single stroke. It was thekind of ax that could take off a man's foot or hand in one misguided swing.The little ant on the pine cone was a bad sign. The logging crew of the BullheadLumber and Manufacturing Company had been cutting logs for the past week that itcould not get out of the forest. A warm spell in early March had begun to melt off thesnow cover enough that the teams were no longer able to drag the big logs to the trail totake them to the river.Porlier, the foreman, had wanted to end the logging season; he was worried that hewould be called upon to perform an impossible task if snow did not come. Matt Manning,his boss, insisted that it almost always snowed in the first week of April and they wouldchance it for a week more. The logs might be gotten out next winter, but lying one theground for more than one summer would make the wood unusable as a result of insectdamage.Porlier countered that the warm weather was daily rotting the ice base of the trail, thathad been built up by daily use of the sprinkler sled, but Manning had replied that theyneeded the wood so they would risk the loss. Manning probably had it all figured out indollars and cents, one way or the other, Porlier told the loggers, but that was his job.Randy was jolted out of his woolgathering by a shout of "Timber!" and he looked upto see the big pine the choppers had been working on begin to totter. He didn't move. Hehad positioned himself expertly and it was a clean fall. The tree dropped with a swish of  boughs, a ground jarring thump, and the sound of cracking limbs. By the time he got to
 
the tree, the scalar was already there measuring off the trunk for cutting. Randy's job wasto cut the branches off the trunk and help cut the logs out.Most logging concerns were independent enterprises that just logged for the owner of the land. They marked the logs on the end with a die ax and sent them downstream on thespring log drive to a sawmill which counted the marked logs and paid the owner. Thelogs were generally twelve to sixteen feet in length, Randy knew, because builders spacedtheir studs on sixteen-inch centers.The Bullhead River outfit was a different kind of operation. They owned the trees,they hired their own crew to cut them down, they ran their own sawmill, and they hadtheir own factory. For making doors and windows, they figured the could use anythingthe saw could cut, so if they could get a six-foot log out of a tree, they would take it, andthey would take smaller than the usual diameter logs. They also harvested red,or Norway, pine when they came across it, and there was talk about taking tamarack, too, despite itsroughness.The premium quality wood, though, because of its white color, fine grain, and greenknots that didn't fall out when they dried, was highland white pine, otherwise known as pinus strobus.Randy and the other swamper had just about finished their work when Porlier camehustling up. He was a bandy-legged, barrel-chested lumberjack from the FrenchSettlement, whom everyone called by his last name, since he insisted he wasn't a"Mister," and he certainly refused to be called by his Christian name, Noie, as none of thelice-infested crew that worked for him were relatives.Any of the seventeen, or so, men who worked under him would have been boiling madif he thought he was seriously being accused of heaving head lice, for no lumberjack wasmore despised by his fellows that the "boomer" who showed up in camp with aninfestation of lice. They knew that Porlier was not being serious, because he had notolerance at all for head lice. His cure, with the full assistance of the camp cook Klotney,who really ran things in camp, would be to have the entire crew shave off their body hair with a straight razor and have them wash down the camp house with wood lye. Theywould do this naked, as their clothing boiled.The bottom falls out of the glass," announced Porlier, "We have one hell of a stormcoming. The cutting is finished!"Randy looked at the sky.He hadn't noticed that clouds were beginning to move in andthere was a breeze stirring.They finished cleaning up the logs, shouldered their axes, and walked back to camp.Porlier came in after a few minutes, mounted the cook's sleigh, and said to the assembledcrew, "The snow she will last no more than a day, two days. We work in the blizzard, wework in the dark. Eat your supper and get sleep,now." As if in response, a gust of wind buffeted them.They ate a supper of cold leftovers from the noontime meal in the woods which wasusually the main meal of the day. Some of them filled up on various kinds of pie whichKlotney, and his helper, "Cookie", had made to use up the dried fruit from the store at theend of the season. They cleaned their tools, wiping off the gummy buildup of pine pitchwith turpentine and rags and touched up the blades of the axes with a steel, or grindingthem, if necessary, on a pedal operated grind wheel. The axes would probably not be useduntil next season, though.
 
There were a few minutes to have a pipe, if they had tobacco, and then they crawledinto their bunks.The camp house, which usually was only used for one season as it was built where thelogging was to be done, was about twenty-five by fifty feet, and little more than a poleshed. This particular camp house was built more cheaply than most, for it used slabs,hauled in from the company's saws, pegged to posts, rather than being built of logs. Theroof was made from pole rafters or rejected two-by-fours, and covered with ship lappedrough pine boards to keep out the snow, and the cold. Crudely made bunk beds, threetiers high, ran around three sides of the interior of the building. On the fourth side was adoorway and Klotney's domain. Cooking was done over an open fire in one corner, andthere was a hole in the roof above it to let out the smoke.Down the open space in the center ran rough tables with benches. Here thelumberjacks had most of their their meals of bread (locally grown and ground on burr mills), beans which were either locally grown or shipped up from Green Bay, eggs if theywere lucky,and bacon which was usually smoked rather than salted in barrels.Bacon was easily available from frontier farmers who found hogs easier to raise thancattle which required a large amount of winter fodder, Pigs would eat all sort of rootvegetables, acorns, cattail roots, pumpkins, squash, and so on, and they produced their young in litters. Lard was a more digestible fat than tallow, and the meat was easilysmoked. Every frontier farm had a smoke house used also to preserve wild game and the plentiful fish.Porlier and a small crew had come up the previous October to build the camp houseand construct the skid ramps used to load the drays, the log sleds. They also laid out themain trails the drays were to use, making them as level as possible without excessiveshovel work. The rest of the logging crew came up in November. With careful planning,the logging season could be stretched to fifteen or sixteen weeks.Logging was done in the winter because hard ground and snow cover was needed toeasily drag the logs from the woods to the trail, and because the weight of a load of logs, perhaps thirty or forty tons, which a good team could pull, was much to heavy for theaxles and spokes of wooden wagon wheels. Instead, drays, were used that ran on an icecover several inches thick which were built up with a sprinkler-- basically a wooden barrel, with small holes in the bottom, mounted on the back of a sleigh.The Bullhead lumberjacks, most of them skilled at a specific job, were paid thirtydollars a month (the going rate) plus room and board--if you could call it that. They had plenty to eat and a dry place to sleep. These were not bad wages, for the time. It wastwice what a soldier at Bull Run had earned, and somewhat safer, although a good dealmore strenuous. The jacks were expected to work from dawn (when there was enoughlight to tell a pine from a hemlock, as the saying went) until dark.It was a job for a healthy, young man, and the jacks were mainly boys. They werefarm boys who found the long winters on a frontier farm boring and unproductive,drifters looking for a berth for the winter, the young marrieds who wanted money to buyland, and of course, the immigrants: odd-looking, bewildered, awkward young men withdrooping mustaches, who often dressed for heavy labor attired in hats, suits, and whiteshirts, and who spoke a bewildering babble of Norwegian, Swedish, German, andsprinklings of Italian, Russian, Czech and other languages many Americans had no ideaexisted. What they wanted was not a career, but money for land.
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