Page 12 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
I cross the yard, gathering up stray bits of timber and debris, stacking them in a corner for later. Then I decide to check the vehicles. That’s supposed to be Toby’s job, but the asshole managed to wriggle out of it.
We keep everything parked in what we call “the barn.” It’s not a barn at all—just a steel frame with a domed aluminum roof. No walls. We use it for temporary timber storage before hauling loads out. A few weeks ago, it was packed. Now, most of the timber’s gone, leaving plenty of space for our vehicles. The roof survived the storm intact, which is a relief.
We’ve got two battered, ten-year-old Ford F-150s for general use, plus the big boys: a forwarder, a skidder, a delimber, and a knuckleboom loader. Two heavy flatbeds, hauled by a range of tractors. And my favorite toy—the Honda FourTrax ATV, great fun on the right terrain. All of it falls under Toby’s department. When he bothers.
I walk the line, checking each vehicle. Looks okay. Debris piled against the wheels, a few scratches in the paint, but nothing major. Keys are often left in the ignition—though technically we’re not supposed to—because who’s going to steal them way out here?
I slide into one of the F-150s and turn the key. It roars to life on the first try. Say what you want about Toby, but—lazy as he is—he knows how to keep the fleet in shape. At least we’ve got a roadworthy truck ready, if the roads are clear. Which they ain’t.
That’s my next job.
There are three tracks in and out of camp. The main one is a two-lane asphalt road, shallow turns, low gradients—built for the big logging trucks. Then there’s a single-lane shortcut, steeper, not good for heavy loads, but fine for the pickups. Finally, there’s the forest trail—a network of dirt tracks we use for the tractors and our ATV when we’re working deep in the timber.
I check the main road first. If any route stands a chance of being open, it’s that one.
No such luck. Not five hundred yards down the hill, I run into a wall of destruction. Thirty or more big trees—Douglas fir, ponderosa pine, western hemlock—lying like scattered matchsticks. The hillside gave way too; several massive rocks have rolled into the road.
No one’s getting in or out that way for a while. Maybe our largest tractor can shift those boulders, but first we’d have to chainsaw a path through all that timber. Carefully, too. Just because a tree’s down doesn’t mean it’s safe.
In fact, most chainsaw accidents happen during cleanup, not felling. People think once the trunk’s on the ground, the danger’s over. Wrong. Limbs under tension can whip back without warning, trunks can roll, split, or spring. That’s why pros like me don’t just fire up the saw and dive in. We assess, we cut withprecision, and we use ropes and tackle when needed. That’s the difference between making it home alive and getting carried out in a body bag.
I try our sidetrack next, and it’s immediately clear this one’s in even worse shape than the main road. Being a narrow, single-lane cut through steep ground, the storm tore it apart. Trees are down the whole way, and with the slope working against us, the cleanup will be brutal. Weeks of work, maybe more, before this track is usable again.
That leaves the back route.
I head across the yard and start up the steep trail into the forest. On paper, this track should be the worst of the three—it’s higher elevation, narrower, not as well maintained, and it winds through untouched parts of the forest. It doesn’t lead anywhere useful except deeper into the mountain. Still, it’s got to be checked. We need a clear picture of the work ahead.
But I’ve got another reason for choosing this one last.
It’s where Southpaw led me last night—where I found her. She’d fallen from one of our old rope walkways strung in the canopy. I carried her out, banner and all, but the storm was screaming, rain blinding, and I needed to get her back safe. I didn’t have time to search for anything else she might’ve dropped. And she had to have been carrying more—no one treks into these woods with nothing.
I move slowly through the undergrowth, brushing aside broken limbs and wet brush, scanning the ground. After twenty paces, I spot it: a large black backpack, zipped tight. Feels half-empty, like it had been packed heavier before—maybe with the banner I peeled off her. I try to sling it over my shoulder, but it’s small. The label reads “Size S.” No kidding.
I keep searching for another fifteen minutes. Nothing else. I’m about ready to give it up when the sun breaks through the clouds for the first time all day. A thin beam slants downthrough the canopy, striking a patch of ground a few feet away. Something glints.
I walk over and stoop. Half-hidden in the grass lies a pair of wire cutters. Not the cheap kind either—industrial-grade, heavy-duty. I pick them up, turn them in my hand.
Strange.
They’re new but already rusted, like they were bought fresh and then left out in the rain. They’ve been lying here for days, maybe a week. Not from last night.
What the hell would she need these for?
I drop them into my pocket and head back.
Now I’ve got a decision to make.
If I take the backpack straight to Jack, he’ll give it back without question. The honorable thing, sure. But is it the smart thing? Poor bastard took one look at her asleep and went all soft. Thinks it’s love at first sight. He’s not to blame—Army life doesn’t exactly prepare a man for women—but still, he’s blinded.
Eric’s neutral—he hasn’t even met her yet.
Toby’s the opposite. He’ll screw anything that smiles at him. Always flirting, always chasing. He’s already circling this girl like a hound in heat. Trouble waiting to happen.
And me? I’m not saying she isn’t pretty—hell, she is. But we don’t know her. What we do know is that she trespassed onto our land with an anti-logging banner. That’s enemy action, plain and simple. No matter how sweet her smile is, she’s bad news. She needs watching.
So yeah, I feel justified in cracking open that backpack before handing it over. Better to know what we’re dealing with.
Truth is, she could be anyone. A lost hiker? Sure, it's possible. But why would she be up in our walkway? No, almost certainly she came here deliberately. Her banner tells us that much. Was she here just for the banner? Or could she have been sent here to cause even more mischief?
