This pole is used in the Logging industry to manipulate logs in water. There is a spiked point and a hook shaped barb on one end. The pole is made of wood or aluminum.
The Mill Boss told me what my duties were at the log pond and then he was off to other matters. My purpose in life was to feed floating logs onto a conveyor chain, wherein they were conveyed into the mill for cutting. I stood on a floating pier and with my pole, remember the hook on the end, and directed the available logs up the ramp quite professionally. Well, it just so happened that eventually, I ran out of available logs. "Hum? What to do?" It becomes obvious that I will have to walk out on the floating logs and pole them over to the pier area.
This was not a problem. At Fresh Pond, California, the company my Dad previously worked for had a great millpond and I had walked the logs many times as a lark. I considered that experience made me quite competent for the task. The poling technique, I figured I could just develop. All of this turned out to be true. I was doing OK.
Now life shows us, on occasion, curve balls. Said curve balls began showing their ugly head immediately. Here is the scene. Young "Studly Cool breeze" (I was a legend in my own mind) is dancing around on the millpond using that Pike pole with deadly efficiency and herding those logs up that conveyor with dizzying speed and with flair. I was quite sure the girls passing by on Interstate 80 were maintaining control of their vehicles with only the greatest effort. In my mind, I had become a danger to public safety. That is how cool I was. I had to find a way to tone it down. (Stay with me here; tongue in cheek. :-))
As it turned out, the Mill Boss’s brother assisted me in this effort. I was out on the logs doing my thing, and I noticed the brother had fired up what was called the "966". This was the Caterpillar model number of the front end loader that the company used to unload the logging trucks that had hauled their loads in from the woods. He grabbed the entire load with the 966 and unceremoniously dumped it in the log pond. Two things happened here. One, it was pretty awesome to see a whole truckload of logs hitting that water. Second and entirely the opposite of awesome, the wave that was created proceeded to toss my, oblivious to the danger, Butt into the water. I use the term water loosely here. Millpond water can be described as runny black Jello with beetles, bugs, rotted foliage, and a host of other smelly and disagreeable ingredients. I got the whole treatment, head under Jello and all.
What emerged from that pond was not cool anymore. My appearance, you can well imagine. I swam or sort of pulled myself through the goop to the shore and emerged, with my pole, Ignominy was to be my lot today, because the brother and the truck driver were standing over by the truck and, by the vernacular, were “laughing their ass off”. This was a catastrophe. " Studly Cool breeze was gone. My co-workers were laughing at my expense, and to top it all off, the Mill Boss came out of the mill raising hell because there were no logs coming into the Mill. He took a look at me and, shook his head and turned around and left. I proceeded to get with it, but I wasn't cool anymore. Three days later, I did see some justice, The brother drove the 966 into the millpond. Completely submerged it. Now, I was “laughing my ass off.” That was awesome!
Continued in Part trois:
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