Nostalgia

Well, I don't remember exactly where I left off, so I'll just pick a spot. (imagining life timeline on table in front of self, close eyes, stabs a spot.)
Okay, so my finger landed on the October spectrum, so I guess I'll go from there.
As was stated in my last blog, I was working in south central Wyoming. I just got home to CO last Friday. I enjoyed many different tasks at this job, unfortunately as enjoyable as they were they aren't too interesting. I did everything from putting up snow fence to driving around in places I shouldn't in vehicles that shouldn't be there, to having a snowball fight with a porcupine.
That's kind of a good story. So, back in mid September, my supervisor and I were over at the A Bar A dude ranch, another subsidiary of the Big Creek Ranch conglomeration clearing an irrigation ditch. He got the D5 bulldozer, I got the chainsaw. My duty was to hike to the headgate of this ditch (that cut across the side of a mountain, for some reason) and clear out all the brush, trees, stumps, logs and such that might impede the ditch water flow. Ben (my supervisor) tells me to check the headgate to see if it is stuck shut and needs oil and grease, or if it is okay. It was rusted pretty damn well shut, and as much as I yanked and pushed and cussed at it, it stayed shut. So I told Ben, but at the end of the day we were both so hot and wet and tired, neither of us remembered to go back and fix the problem. Fast forward another month and a half, to the middle of November. It is almost Thanksgiving, it is a Saturday morning, and I'm only scheduled to work half a day. I felt a cold coming on, but despite the fact there was only two feet of snow on the ground, it was a warm day. Ben looks at me and says "Why don't you drive over and grease that headgate?" I didn't disagree. It seemed like a good idea at the time. So, I drive the eight miles of icy highway, then eight miles of muddy/icy driveway into the A Bar A. (google it, it's a pretty dang cool place.) The main roads were plowed, but the road I needed to drive was another 4 miles of unplowed, deep, fresh snow. I put the truck in 4 and hit the snowbank as hard as I could. I almost ended up in the creek, but luckily I caught a rut that straightened me out and kept me right side up. Once I got going, it wasn't much problem. I did however, have to stop a mile short of the gate that let me into the area that I was headed to. Armed with cowboy boots, a slightly insulated Carhartt vest, no gloves, a 3 foot prybar, a tube of axle grease and an oilcan, I began my crawl into the hills. It wasn't bad, at first. I, however, hadn't planned on the fact that the sun now had sunk so low that it never touched the north side of the mountain. Within five minutes, I was so cold my hands didn't work, and i had broken through the ice into the mud and my feet were soaking wet. Determined, however, to finish my task, I kept hiking. The trail had disappeared under the blanket of snow, and the game trails followed terrain I had absolutely no chance of traversing. So, I stumbled along through the frosty willows, sniffling and smacking my hands together, swearing at myself for not coming better prepared. The snow kept getting deeper, and it was halfway up my thigh when I saw a problem: I almost ran headfirst into a porcupine sitting in a willow. Unfortunately, this porcupine was directly in my path, and my only other options were to try my luck at falling down the steep mountainside to my left until I reached the creek (still unfrozen) or backtrack and find a way across the semi-frozen ditch. If you've ever dealt with a porcupine, or even know the slightest bit about them, you know they're a pain. You can't run them over or they'll pop a tire, you can't kick them or you'll pop your leg, and you can't get close to them in general, especially when they're right at eye level. So, I yelled at it. I threw snowballs at it. I poked it with my crowbar, now covered in ice. It merely turned its back and hunched over, forcing me to fall down the mountain. I gathered up my things, took a deep breath and jumped, hoping the snow was deep enough to soften my fall. I skidded and slipped down the slope, managing to keep my balance. New observation told me that I now had to hop across a halfway frozen creek to get back to where I was going. There was one gap in the otherwise solid wall of willows across the creek. I jumped as hard as I could, but still landed awkwardly on the ice and fell flat on my back, the ice cracking under me. I gathered up my dignity and crawled to the bank. I looked up to cuss at the porcupine, and the little prick was nowhere to be found. go figure. I'm tired of typing, but I'll think of a few more stories soon enough.