Deep Woods

If you have ever been up in the hills of California around the Sierras near Truckee, there are some deep woods.  As a younger man, I used to be employed by lumber camps.  That’s where I met Jim Northrupt, another malcontent from the San Joaquin Valley tired of working on his father’s large alfalfa farm near Tracy.  

We were just kids back from the war in the Pacific and suddenly the world wasn’t as large as it had been when we left.  We were in the same unit, Jim and I.  We saw a lot of our buddies get chewed up and spit out by that war.  We swore when we got home, we’d find our own way in the world which just so happened to lead us to these deep woods.

Beck, my quarter horse has been over this terrain many times as I chose to live my life up here in the high country, just a stone throw from where  the Donner Party got stranded in that awful winter so many years ago.  It was easier to live up here where all the lumber companies set up logging camps rather than travel up here during logging season.

Back when Jim and I first came up here, most of the camps were clear cutting all of the trees in the foothills, because the demand was so high.  No one looking across this valley back then would ever think we’d run out of trees, but we damn near did.

Beck moves along the path, his heavy foot shoed in sturdy iron I smithed myself a while back, is the only sound you can hear as we move north. We know how to get there.  We’ve been there many times up on that small lake nestled in the jagged rocks. I built the cabin myself.  It’s a single room shack with a dirt floor, but when the dawn breaks over those peaks, the real California gold splashes across the sky.  There isn’t anything like it, that’s for sure.

Right about now, I can hear the Truckee River rushing over the rocks.  I look forward to hearing that sound, because I know we are getting closer.  

“You two boys about ready to get to cutting?” Mr. Forbes asked as he stroked his bearded chin. 

“Flapjacks are the best I have ever had.” Jim patted his side as he put the last forkful in his mouth.

“Got the north ridge all staked out.” Forbes said as he drew a healthy breath in.  

“Kind of steep up there, ain’t it?” Jim squinted at the foreman.

“Sure, there has been some concern, but it’s virgin territory.” Forbes coughed.  The morning air was cool and damp in the high country, but most of us got used to it pretty quick.  Forbes was from Sacramento which was a bit hotter at times. “Grab a couple of sharp axes and a good saw.  I’ve got a crew who will be hauling water up there in an hour.”

I gazed at the north slope and could see the steepness of the terrain. If we fell a good amount, we could clear a path to the river, but it would take a lot of work. Already the sun threatened to bake us a bit when we were exposed on that ridge.  

“We can knock ‘em down, alright.” Jim puffed out his chest.

“I know, Mr. Northrupt, you and your partner Jake Hescock are my two best cutters.” He laughed as he gave Jim a hard slap on his back. 

An hour later we were on the ridge.  It was worse than it appear while we were still in the camp.

“Whadda think?” Jim said as he nearly twisted his ankle in the gravel.  Even with heavy boots, the rocks could present quite an obstacle. “Should we start at the top?”

“If them trees starts to fall, there won’t be a clear path.” I pointed out.

“Not a problem.” Jim pulled the ax from his shoulder. “I say we start right here.” 

He drew back his ax and struck the thick pine with a mighty blow.  Both of us were in the best shape of our lives.  After surviving the Imperial Japanese army banzai charges night after night, we had come to believe that we were invincible.  As the years passed, we found out that this was not the case, but during that summer of 1949, we felt like Greek Gods. 

“Careful boy.” I pulled on Beck’s reins, “You know how this part can get tricky.” 

Beck nodded his head as if he actually understood what I was saying.  Perhaps he did.  Sometimes I just don’t give him enough credit. 

Most of the trees are second generation since we spent a lot of time clear cutting the previous generation.  Sometime around 1970, folks began to pitch a fit about the damage we were doing to our natural resources.  Those Hippies began squawking and got the attention of our government leaders who started making restrictions about which trees we could cut down and which trees we couldn’t.  Most of the time they would start putting metal spikes in the trunks that would rip apart our chainsaws, sometimes sending pieces into a few of our crew.  Ain’t nothing worse than seeing a man nearly cut in half by his own chainsaw.

Nothing got Jim Northrupt angrier than knowing the dang Hippies was sabotaging our trees. 

Deep woods was the only sanctuary I longed for. Out there was the only place that made sense to me.  I drove into Yuba City once for supplies, but the traffic was twice as bad as I remember.  I could see the Feather River and the levees they put to keep it from flowing over its banks every spring when it rained.  After May, there wasn’t a drop of rain to be seen anywhere as the grass turned brown from the sun that baked it into a brown colored fire trap.

Of all the things I feared when I was cutting timber, fire was the worst.  Unless you have lived through a firestorm, you have no idea how dangerous a fire can be. If I had a choice between facing a charging Japanese infantry and a fire, I’d take my chances with the Japanese infantry every time.  

I had to go to town to get some supplies for this trip. Had to get some muslin and rope from one of those hardware stores that has gotten too big to be of any use anymore.  The lady was nice as she could be, but I could see she wasn’t really understanding what exactly I needed for this journey into the deep woods.

This is a special trip, that’s all I can say and I must make sure it all goes well.  

It is mid-July which means we have to be careful what we do when we are out here.  Just two rocks coming together can start a spark that would bring flames roaring through these canyons.  It is nearly impossible to get fire equipment up these steep gravel roads full of switchback through these hills.  C-141’s can’t bring enough retardant up here.  No sir, we’d be cooked before they could dump their first load.  

“Never knew this waterfall was here.” Jim stripped down to his skivvies. 

“Great fishing.” I pulled off my shirt.

“Sure could use some cool water after that afternoon we had on the ridge.” He toed the water.

“I come up here a lot when the heat starts getting a little much.” I dove into the greenish black water near the waterfall. 

“This place doesn’t seem like it would ever get hot.” Jim laughed as he followed me into the water. 

For almost an hour we splashed around in the water, taking turns standing under the falls that spit a steady stream of cool refreshing water down upon our heads.

“I love the deep woods.” Jim declared after clearing the water out of his mouth and nose.

“This is the best place on earth.” I followed, “It’s special.  Like the garden he gave to Adam and Eve.” 

“You ain’t lying.” Jim climbed up on the bank of the river. 

Memories are like the gold folks were searching for back in 1849. It did not take as long as either Jim or I thought it would before all of the thick rich forests began to disappear and by 1990 most of the lumber jobs had dried up.  It takes over thirty years for a sapling to turn into a nice size tree and many of the forests became nothing but grasslands when all was said and done.  There are a few places that were spared, but for the most part these unlimited timberlands weren't. 

I patted Beck on the hackles and checked my straps to make sure the load was secure.  Sometimes traveling over rough terrain can loosen the straps spilling the load all over the mountain side.  I did not want that to happen. Not on this trip.  

The Truckee River was already barely a trickle in some places, but that sweet scent of pine still filled my lungs with each breath I took.  I remember how John Muir fought with everything he had to keep them from damming up the Hetch-Hetchy so folks in San Francisco had plenty of water to drink.  There are times when I am wandering these hills, I see a shadow that’s not supposed to be there and I know his ghost is out there somewhere still grieving for what we lost. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am a lumberjack, not a conservationist, but still as a citizen of these deep woods, I feel a loss whenever they send some guy up here in a yellow hardhat and vest.  Sometimes I feel the urge to chase him off with a couple of blasts of my shotgun into the air.  

When you walk through the deep woods, you can hear the voices of the Old Ones whispering through the trees on a summer breeze.  It’s like they are having conversations.  The creatures who call these trees home join in the chatter until everyone has their say.  I listen to their voices and try to understand what it is they are saying.  

But this journey is a personal one.  This time the reason for me being here is my own.  

“Hey Jake.” Jim called to me, “Come give me a hand with this saw.”

I grabbed the vacant handle and together we saw the trunk, “Did you ever think that these pines feel pain like we do?”

“I sure as heck hope not.” He laughed as the trunk began to groan from the weight of its own branches, “I reckon this would be unbearable.” 

“Well, there is sap in these things.” I watch the tree tauter before gravity takes hold, bringing it to the ground with a thunderous roar. 

“I reckon.” He nods.

“And we are taking the life so kids have paper to do their homework on.” I walk over to the fallen tree.

“Figure one day maybe we’ll get a little smarter and we won’t need trees.” He put his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. “This is a good one.  Might become the mast of some rich man’s sailing boat.” 

“Maybe.” I looked at the fallen tree. “Sure was a lot more beautiful as a tree than some old mast for some rich man’s boat.” 

“Yeah, but as long as the rich man is rich, he will always have a say on what tree is cut down.” Jim caught his breath.

“I suppose.” I mused, “Just don’t seem right.” 

“Jake, ain’t never gonna be right.” Jim shook his head, “If you’re looking for things to be fair, this ain’t the place you’re gonna find it.” 

He was right.  He was so right.  Beck stumbled a bit on one of the high stones on the path.

“Easy boy.” I took hold of his reins. “Let’s take a break.” 

I sat with my back against a Ponderosa tree with its alligator bark and took a sip from my canteen. I poured water from a large gourd and let Beck have some, too. There was a breeze as we were in the high country that was cool and refreshing.  Sunlight flitted through the leaves of the deciduous trees and pine needles that laid shadow patterns on the ground. “Another hour and we will be at the destination.”

I glanced at the load on Beck’s back wrapped in muslin and strapped tightly around his belly.  I knew by now the weight was starting to get to him, but I also knew how important it was to get it there before sundown.  From where the sun was winking at me through the trees, I figured it was around three o’clock in the afternoon.  We had plenty of daylight left, but twilight always seemed to come quicker to the high country.  

Before resuming our journey, I checked the straps to make sure they were secure.  My fingers told me they were tight and as the shadows seemed to be getting longer, I figured it was time for us to be moving on again. 

By the time we got to Butcher’s Canyon three days after the fire starter, I will never forget the look on Jim’s face.  Having very expressive dark eyes, there was little doubt what was running through his mind as he looked at the charred remains left behind.

“Carelessness.” He muttered. 

“More of an accident.” Forbes echoed. 

“No sir, if them folks hadn’t started that campfire in the first place…”

“Nothing we can do about it now, Jim.” I patted him on the shoulder.

“Balderdash.” He meant to use a stronger word, but it was all he had at that moment, “Lost a week’s worth of work.” 

“Yeah, that we did.  I guess we can all go home.” Forbes removed his leather gloves.

“What am I gonna feed my family?” He threw his gloves on the ground. 

“Nothing we can do about it now.” I sighed.

I walked back to the bus that had brought us here, but Jim could not take his eyes off the charred remains of a once lush forest.  Tears ran down his ash covered cheeks leaving small streaks in the ash. 

A few weeks ago while we were playing checkers at the retirement community he shuffled himself off to after his wife died of cancer, he reminded me of that fire and how we were almost trapped by the flames that ripped through the trees like a freight train.  

“You remember?” He asked as he double jumped me.

“Of course, I do.” I shook my head in futility.  If I beat him once at checkers, I would have felt as if I had won the World Series.  

“Carelessness.” He mumbled.

“Jim, that was almost forty years ago.” I shook my head.

“Some things aren’t easy to forgive.” He jumped a couple more of my pieces to win. 

When they called me a few days later to tell me James Northrupt had passed away peacefully while watching Jeopardy, I told them I would collect the remains.

“Are you a funeral director?” Mr. Bishop, the program director at the retirement community asked.

“Nope, but I have his last will and testament which specifically states what to do with his remains.” I sat there waving the document to fan myself off.

So here we are at Crown Peak Lake, which isn’t much of a lake, but there are a lot of trees here surrounding the muddy hole.  It was an afterthought of the Truckee River, but the view up here is spectacular.  My cabin is just on the other side of the lake so Beck and I are basically home.  With a shovel I had placed at the site before trekking downhill to get James Lawton Northrupt’s remains, so I could lay him to rest at the place he requested in his final will and testament.

I dig into the rocky dirt with the shovel.  I figure I will finish just about twilight. I have removed the muslin wrapped remains of my life-long friend from Beck’s back.  Beck is feasting on some dried oats, a reward for a job well done.

Once I feel the hold is deep enough so the varmints in the area will leave him to rest in peace, I drag his body into the hole, remove my hat and bow my head in a short prayer before burying James Northrupt in the deep woods just as he requested.