My training for being a first class Wood Whore started in my prepubescent years when my Father would ask me if I would like to take the guns into the woods for and afternoon of shooting. My eyes would gloss over and I would have envisions myself laying on top of a cache of ammo plinking at distant targets until my trigger finger was sore, and my eyes were tired from looking into the distance through iron sights.
An enthusiastic, "Yes !" was all that ever escaped my lips. What young boy would ever pass up the chance to wield a weapon for sport or pleasure. I was excited to say the least.
The next morning, before dawn, my Father would fix us breakfast while the rest of the family slept. It was ritualistic in a way, then he would pack us a sandwich and an apple each, and pour the rest of the coffee he made for himself into a thermos.
We would drive far into the woods, along roads he had traveled many times before, but they were all a mystery to me. My excitement would grow deeper the farther we traveled into the woods.
"Are we getting close?" I would ask.
"Not much further." Dad would reply.
"Oh boy I can't wait!", I would say in jubilation.
Just before dawn we would reach out final destination. A logging landing that was high above the morning fog that looked like cotton candy filling the valleys below. Dad would pour a cup of coffee and we would listen to the radio until it got light enough to shoot. I was parking in the passenger seat quietly loading each clip with ammo anticipating the damage I was going to inflict on some innocent can, or better yet glass bottle.
Dad would finish up his coffee and say, "Welp, we better get to it before someone else shows up."
I had no idea what he was talking about, unless he was talking about someone else shooting our bottles. That wasn't going to happen I had waited to long for this, so I bail out the passenger door with ammo clips in hand.
I ask, "Do you want me to go out and set up the targets?"
Dad, as he reached into the back of the pick-up bed pulling out a chain-saw said, "Sure as soon as we fill up the truck with wood."
My heart sank. I looked at him in disbelief and said, "But I thought we were going to shoots guns."
Dad would reply, "We are son, as soon as we cut a cord of this fir that is staked here so nicely for us."
Anger welled inside of me, because I knew the time it would take to cut a cord of wood they day would be gone.
I'd show him, I would split and stack that wood so fast into the truck there would be plenty of time to shoot through a brick (500 rounds) of ammo.
Of course there was never enough time to shoot all the ammo, because we had to get home to unload the wood, and So it began.
So, now let me show you the classic signs of your typical Wood Whore so you may avoid getting caught up in the maniacal ways.
1. Note the over abundance of wood. (steer clear of this area it only will lead to work)
2. Trailers are good, if you see more than two you are in Wood Whore territory.
3. Rented equipment. (never a good sign)
4. Slave labor (this was me as a prepubescent teen)
Steer clear of these people as they will devour your weekend.
In the above picture you will see the aforementioned "Dad" and my prepubesent teen that I now use as Slave Labor to do my bidding. The inventory in the back ground is 2 cords of split oak and 11 units of fir peeler cores (the remanat of making plywood in the Northwest) The oak is the equivalent of depleated uranium in the wood burning game, you have to have a hard wood in the mix it burns hot and really slow. Lastly, look out for the non-human companion. Every Wood Whore has one, and they hold these companions truer to their hearts than they do you. Mine is named "Jim", because Marlin Perkins had a "Jim" and who else better to lead your crew than someone as reliable a Jim T. Kirk.
So I hope you take some valuable tips away from this for making sure your weekend is a relaxing one. Steer clear of Wood Whores, as for your regular steet whores, I think your safe with those for making your weekend enjoyable.
~Pleasant Hill Billy~
