63 Forest Lambert a Good Boss

Things turned out a lot better then I thought they would as Forest Lambert was still logging on the north side of Read and needed an extra hand so I was able to work for him for the rest of the summer.

The summer went by in a blur but I still remember when Forest had me put the pass chain around my butt to be hauled up the spar tree about sixty feet to readjust one of the buckle guys. Here I am swinging at the end of a quarter inch cable as Forest winds in the straw line and slowly pulls me up to where the guy wire is fastened. That was just the beginning as I now had to fasten my support rope around the tree, unhook the pass chain, and use my spurs to cling to the tree. This freed up the pass chain, which could now be used to pull slack on the buckle guy so I could reposition it. I breathed a sigh of relief when the job was finished and my feet were back on the ground.

I guess the neatest thing about that summer was when we finished up the logging show on Read Island and pulled the donkey down and onto a float where it was towed across White Pass to Maurelle Island.

A donkey is a very large machine with large drums and cables for hauling very heavy logs; it can quite easily pull itself along if its main line is attached to an immovable object such as a stump. It was amazing to watch Forest unloading the donkey, he finally found a place but it had no beach with at least a hundred feet to the bottom. One false move and the donkey was a goner. After attaching the main line to a solid stump Forest opened up the throttle and slowly but steadily the donkey moved off the float and across the water until its front skids finally reached solid ground. Here the challenge really began as the ground sloped up so steeply that the donkey was now, at a forty-five degree angle and it required a four-block purchase to move it at all. It was to steep to walk on, let alone operate, but Forest managed to do both. We all relaxed when at last the ground finally leveled off and the donkey was in its proper place.

Summer job’s are always fun, but the fun doesn’t start till after work, and not until a good shower and a “meal.” The part that was missing in this scenario was the “meal.” As I was my own cook, it meant peanut butter and jam sandwiches most every day and most every meal. Don’t get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with peanut butter sandwiches, but even too much sunshine will kill you. Before the summer was over I had the worst case of heartburn that I ever had in my life.

Forest had set up a ping-pong table in the bunkhouse where we could play table tennis till we dropped. The fifties was just the beginning of rock music and we used to listen to all the early rock tunes such as “Green Door,” “Sugartime,” and “April Love,” on the radio or the phonograph as we frantically played table tennis till all hours of the night. I mostly got beat, but I still thought it was the best part of the summer.

As all summers do, this one came to an end, but that summer’s experience left me very thankful to Forest and his family for the opportunity that they had given me, not just for the money I earned, but for their friendship and the positive mark that they left on my life. I will always be grateful to them.