This week we split up into two groups, chainsaw and rigging. As a rigger, I help move heavy stuff from one place to another using simple machines and a crap load of mechanical advantage. Huge rocks and timber logs. Mathematic equations, tons of pounds, and all our human energy. On Wednesday, the riggers entered the field to build a snow-mobile bridge. Our objective was to move six telephone poles up the trail to the bridge. These hefty babes were 35 feet long, two feet in diameter, and 1000 pounds. Using two grip-hoists and a three block pulley system, we finished the job in eight hours. The site was wet and spongy; our boots sunk into the mud. Photos of rigging are coming, right now I only have chainsaw pics. So my photos don’t match the post, but whatevs.
Most of the time, dragging rocks on the ground leaves behind a trail of utter destruction. So in respect of Leave No Trace, sometimes we’ll set up a high line that lifts the rock into the air to move it. Watching a rock move through space gives me a weird feeling. There’s something not right about a floating rock. It defies gravity and logic.
We feel like we’ve known each other forever. We have intense games of knock-out that cause friendships to split, only to be made up later at bad movie night. We hang our axes and do laundry together; endure enchilada food babies and clog toilets together. Like a comfortable married couple who still know how to live it up. We are bruised and hurting, but nothing a few cold beers won’t fix. There’s a small store that sells last season six-packs for $3.95. We cleared the shelf together. We make up charade-type games to keep ourselves distracted when the internet withdrawal hurts extra bad. We want to get a crew tattoo, but we aren’t sure what is should be yet.
Early this week we found two “Wanted” posters hung up in the dining room. Each showed a picture of a man who escaped from the jail located an hour outside our camp. Both convicted murderers. The poster gave physical descriptions. One guy had “Mexico Forever” tattooed on his back. This guy killed a man, de-limbed him, and made his meat into hamburgers. That’s not a joke. Anyway, moral of the story is “Mexico Forever” is a potential crew tattoo. I would say that’s a joke but…naw, man.