| Straight
from the holler.
by "Buck" November 15, 2005 Well, there is an update to pass along to you on my deer stand saga. I have made the next move and returned to the scene of the crime and literally BUILT a stand. I don't particularly like this course of action because once it's there—you can't move it. I'm also averse to driving nails into a tree. Oh, I'm not worried about hurting the tree's feelings, I'm worried it might cost me money when we go to sell the timber and it's lost value because there's a nail in it. At any rate, I finished building the stand on Sunday—all but the latter. I have to return there this week and complete that task. I didn't have the proper materials for construction of the climbing apparatus. I also didn't have my digital camera—but when it's done, I'll snap a photo to show you the perch from which I intend to rain death on Bambi.
I'm not sure I mentioned this, but I found two other tree stands in the same patch of woods. Those were placed there without authorization. I told the landowner about them and he said nobody else had permission to be there. I removed the first one and sold it to a holler monster for $30. The second one was a bit trickier to get to. The thing had been placed 30-feet up in a tree and the pegs used to climb up to it were nothing short of impossible. The guy who put it there had to be a monkey. Sunday, I had my extension ladder there—and took advantage of the situation removing it from its lofty height. Somebody's gonna be royally pissed when the show up to bow hunt this week and find the tree empty. Good! Fuck em!
Procurement of the materials to build the stand was an adventure. I went to a sawmill way up the holler' near my home and met the owner. He was quite the character. I knocked on his door and was greeted by a very friendly fellow that looked like one of those guys who was so tough and rugged you could hit him with a car and he'd just laugh. He also talked like Billy Bob Thornton's character "Karl" in Sling Blade. This is roughly how our conversation went.
Me: "You the one owns that sawmill up the holler?"
Karl: "Unfortunately, uh-huh, You wanna buy it?"
Me: "Naw, I'm not in the market for a sawmill right now."
Karl: "Ah, come on—everybody needs a hobby."
Me: "Maybe some other time. I'm looking for some old scrap lumber to build a tree-stand, somebody said you might have some."
Karl: "Yeah, you may find some old boards up 'er in at pile."
I fully realize this doesn't have the same effect written, rather than spoken….but if you can only create the thought of Kaiser Blade Karl in your mind—you'll get the general idea.
We went up to the sawmill and he starts dragging out boards. And our conversation continues.
Me: "Ya'll don't seem to run this thing much."
Karl: "Nah, we just fool around here when it's rainin'. I'm a logger, that's what we do for fun most of the time."
Me: "Them's pretty long boards, (16 footers) I don't know if I can get them in my truck."
Karl: "Guess we can cut 'em."
Me: "You got a chain saw."
Karl. "No, we'll just break 'em."
Me: "Okay."
Karl: "I'm just bullshittin' I got a chainsaw."
He proceeds to bring out a chainsaw that looks like something out of a Paul Bunyan movie. As Jeff Kay would say it was ridiculously outsized. The cutting bar was longer than my arm and the thing weighed about 50 pounds. It was a monstrous machine. The boards are just thrown on the ground in a big pile. He cranked that bitch on one pull and sawed about 30 boards in about 3-seconds. It looked like somebody cutting through a stick of butter with a knife. The guy didn't even flinch with the thing. I was experiencing some severe Redneck envy at that point.
We loaded the boards and finished up our conversation with normal hillbilly conversation. He talked about living in that same spot his entire life, about the time he shot a trespasser, and about how he'd like to beat the shit out of some of those pussies in Washington D.C. I shook his mammoth hand, gave the appropriate hillbilly good-bye line…..
Me: " 'Preciatie-che…..let's go up the road…"
Karl: "Ah, better stick around."
Me: "Aw-right, ya'll come see us."
Karl: "Take 'er easy."
There's a side not to all of this that shook me to the very fiber of my being. I met the guy's son, about age 16 or 17….the kid talks with a lisp and dressed like a flaming queer. There's no way they're from the same gene pool. NO WAY I SAY.
Buck Out |
