Why Don’t You Cry Yourself A River Then Build Yourself A Bridge So You Can Get Over It?

Why Don’t You Cry Yourself A River Then Build Yourself A Bridge So You Can Get Over It?
By Mark Dostal

…which is exactly what we did. Except that it was the heavens that were crying. The rainfall of which was engorging a spring flow creating a lengthy mud pit right across the trail of the beautiful Welcome Creek Wilderness. So it wasn’t exactly a river, but It was certainly a threat to the clean, nice boots of many a would be gatherer of Welcome Creek’s upper huckleberry fields. But building a bridge in the mud is no easy matter (unless you just throw a plank down and call it good, but that wouldn’t allow for the finesse and skill that team Raw Dogs has spent the summer cultivating through chainsawing and rockwork). So before we could begin constructing the bridge we needed to dredge a passable waterway through the mud. Six inches down and many buckets of mud later, gravel was found causing much rejoicing among the muckraker (me). For now the substantial trickle of water could flow steadily downward instead of seeping across the trail. Meanwhile, up on the slippery hills above, the crew was adjusting to the slower but more zen method of felling trees with crosscuts and axes. Not quite as fast as the chainsaw, but all the more satisfaction when the tree comes toppling down.
Now it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a logistical problem moving tree segments downhill. After all, they’re big, heavy, and slippery and gravity is working in your favor. But gravity, it seems, is still the greatest enemy of man. In moving the logs down hill there are some very important considerations one must…consider. If the log gets moving too fast, it’s liable to get away from you and go rocketing past the bridge foundation landing far below its intended destination. This would be followed by much muttering of discontent among the crew as they would now have to haul it back up a hill that is equivalent to a Slip ‘n Slide hung at a 45 degree angle. Not fun. Not easy. Not worth it. There also exists the possibility of the perfect log ending up smashing itself into worthlessness or plummeting off those random little cliffs that seem to come out of nowhere when very important objects (like Kenny’s shoe or Max’s glove) decide to be dropped. So the slow descent is the best option. It sounds easy enough. Three or four people take some rope and a solid stick and rig up a decent harness for the long. Then just nudge it along a little bit at a time and reign it back when it starts to move to quickly. But in reality it plays out like walking a bear. It dictates where it will go and you thank god when it’s over.
After the tree segments are down, it’s time to take the draw knives to them. Then comes flattening of the tops and the cutting out of notches of the trees. But not before measuring. And re-measuring. Then telling your crew you messed up both sets of measurements, but it’s ok because we’re going to re-measure, and this time damnit, it’s going to work. But let’s measure that again just to be sure. Then, somehow, as it all starts fitting into place, it actually all fits into place. Not just loosely, but tightly. So tight in fact that the ten inch nails you were given become an afterthought. A satisfying topping on this bridge sundae.

Marc Dostal
Christian's crew
Western Wildlands