The North Coast times-eagle., June 20, 2000, Page 13, Image 13

PAGE 13
In the old days, when you approached a lumber camp,
you began to feel the tempo, the intensity, the turmoil. It was
something like a war zone You could see loggers everywhere,
going somewhere, coming back.There were always locomotives,
moving, backing out, switching. You'd hear the sound of the
pop-off valves of escaping steam And the smells of crude oil.
There was always excitement there
They had the old highball days. You really traveled. One
tough, old hook tender told a new man: "We don't walk around
here. We don't run around here We fly." There were frequent
accidents — broken arms, broken hips, men just killed outright
The camp was a little company town. They had some
fellas that they called Wobblies, organizers * They tarred and
feathered them up here at Big Creek and made them walk nude
down the tracks. My mother remembers that. She was broken­
hearted about wXiat they did to those men.
UZho's they?
The company men who were afraid of losing their jobs
They had no protection, so they took it out on the Wobblies.
Old-timers used to talk about firings. They had three crews:
one working, one coming from the labor pool, and one going.
Work was tough. The methods weren't safe They were running
the men too hard, driving them, working them too long hours
and too many days. If the company didn't like you for one
reason or another, they fired you.
My dad was a union man. Today, all of us loggers
belong to the union My sister still has her union book at home
As a young girl, she was a waitress in the cookhouse It was a
large dining room. They rang the gong, and that was time to eat.
The food was good, and they ate heartily. You hardly saw a fat
logger in those days. They were all rawboned. It was very phys­
ical. The machinery has taken over so much of that today.
I can remember yet the fallers that were falling trees.
The saw, not a power saw, made a beautiful swish, swish,
swish, swish, a rhythm to it. These men had no shirts on, just
down to their wool underwear Each one with a big chew of
tobacco in his mouth One stopped and looked at his partner and
said: "Get off and let me ride for awhile." Meaning he was doing
all the work (Laugh)
Each man excelled in his own part. Your value as a
faller meant not only how much timber you could put down
but how much you could save. Long before the tree ever came
down, you would hear them holler: 'TIMMMBERRR.'" (He sings
it, and his voice fades to a last dying note) That call would go
down the hill and all through the canyons.
The timber is getting so much smaller now. Logging
can't be compared to what it was before. Something wild,
something beautiful, something free, it's gone. I've been on
the hills here and can see so far away, all this logged-off land.
It is almost impossible for me to comprehend that mere men
destroyed all this timber Every foot of that ground has been
stomped by men. What happened to all that timber? It's one
of the few things in the world that boggles my imagination.
Sure, some of the animals are dangerous to you.They
are after your life.They've crippled many guys and killed people.
They're wild in another way now.They’re wild from being pursued
by people in 4-wheel drives, campers. I don't kill anymore. I was
very young when I quit. When I'd kill something and watch it die
and look at the eyes, I knew I'd taken what attracted me in the
first place — a life What did I have but a carcass? And I wasn't
hungry.
I just quit killing because I took the beauty of the animal
— the deer or elk or bear. If it was a duck, I'd want to smooth the
feathers when it was dead and stiffened up, that it wouldn't look
obscene. The animals aren't wild anymore, just pursued.
We've just gone through a cow elk season, to thin
them out. The forestry department said there were too many,
too much damage to young trees. They were killing these elk
at a time w4ien it was an absolute disgrace The vegetation
was completely frozen out. The cows, heavy with calves, would
bunch up in the timber and lie there very still, conserving the
body fat and heat to get through this starving period. Yet the
hunters are out there pursuing them.
I have a little sanctuary down here, and I'd see big
beautiful honkers coming in. Canadian geese. They're free
"Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), which fought bloody
union wars organizing Pacific Northwest logging camps in the
first decades of the 20th century
TWIILGHT EAGLE SANCTUARY POSTER BY JOHN GULLEFF (1989)
I don't pinion them. To pinion a bird is like cutting off the leg
of a child to keep it from running around. It turns you off to see
them drop, a leg spinning, dangling on a thick piece of skin, shot
by hunters. Guns go out there and shoot too many There's no
time to pick 'em up. They're thrown away.
Before I die, I'd like to hear the howl of timber wolves
that used to exist here in our woods We have too damn many
hunters and no wolves. We need more cougars, less hunters
Bears are fair game too When a bear damages a tree,
what he actually does is set that tree to produce more seeds.
I've taken 10-foot stumps and found in the very center bear
marks that the tree may have received 500 years ago, just as
good as they are today So bears aren't all that bad We asked
the timber company how many goddamn bears will you allow?
I’m a believer that the animals and birds have some inherent
right to the land. The man can't say: "I own this. Everything else
off."
We had a ruckus with a pack of houndsmen over the
killing of bears. Killing 'em left and right. Hounds are worth
thousands of dollars, and the houndsmen are really well organ­
ized with a powerful lobby It was a fist fight Fortunately, I'm
able to take care of myself pretty well
There was a pickup truck with a bunch of guys in it As
I was walking to my truck, one of the fellows motioned me over
We'd had bad blood many times before He once knocked on
my mother's door and told her: "If any of your sons touches one
of my hounds, I'll kill every goddamn one of 'em." I saw him
again when he was found guilty of killing bears out of season
REQUIEM FOR KEWPIE
BY REX ZIAK
Bob Ziak's nephew RexZiak, who lives in Ilwaco, Washington, is an award-winning photographer
and has been instrumental in throwing light upon the part the north side of the Columbia River played in
the Lewis & Clark Expedition when it spent the winter of 1805-06 in the Pacific Northwest. He wrote and
delivered a eulogy to his uncle at Kewpie's funeral, August 22, 1990.
I was asked by my family to say a few words about
Kewpie It is difficult to do this because it is difficult to believe he
is dead. He had been here all my life and I naturally believed he
would be here for the rest of my life. As the years went by some
men got old, stooped over, and showed their age But Kewpie
seemed to age much slower At the age of 73 he was still strong
as a bull, wise as an owl and clever as a fox.
I am happy to see that so many friends could be here
However, I naturally think about all of Kewpie's friends who could
not attend. In the hills a black bear strips huckleberries from a
bush and mourns Kewpie's death. Over the Columbia River an
eagle teaches its young how to fish and mourns Kewpie's death
The geese that will return here from the north and seek refuge in
the Knappa Slough mourn Kewpie's death They know they have
lost their very best friend They realize that no one else will
defend them Kewpie spoke for the animals He was the voice of
the voiceless. The animals are crying because they know —
They know if a logger is killed the boss just hires another logger
When a lawyer drops dead you just find another lawyer When a
senator breathes his last you just elect another to take his place
But the animals know that no one here or anywhere else will
follow Kewpie After all, how many here would risk their lives for
the life of a bear? How many of us would dare confiscate the
guns from poachers ? There was only one Kewpie. and there will
be no more
Kewpie was a naturalist, a logger, a lover, a poet He
was a historian, an archeologist, an anthropologist and a story
teller He could do any of these as equally well as the other
But mostly Kewpie was a warrior A warrior in our society is
confusing When we hear of a warrior we naturally think of a
soldier But a soldier is not a warrior A soldier is sent into battle,
whereas a warrior seeks battle Kewpie was a warrior Perhaps
one of the last He was constantly in a fight He seemed to thrive
on conflict He fought with big timber companies He fought with
his neighbors He fought with poachers, trespassing teenagers
and industrialists He even fought with his own family He con­
stantly sought war We do not understand this We cannot
understand this Warriors do not live in this world with our ideals
and values
But Kewpie showed us what a fighter can do Kewpie
showed us the power of public opinion Kewpie showed us what
an individual can do In Kewpie's name, please keep up the fight
Speak up about injustices Speak out when you see some
wrong Defend nature and our environment That is what Kewpie
would have wanted us to do
We will all remember things about Kewpie It is unlikely
we will forget them Whether it was his deep voice, his poetic
words, his thick powerful hands or his animated stories, Kewpie
will live on
Outside the courthouse we almost came to blows This time, as
I drove up, he punched me nght in the face, through the window.
I piled out and was able to neutralize the fellow. I had him about
one foot apart, my face from his. He spat a mouthful of snoose
right in my face. Immediately, I changed the look of his mouth
with a good smash in the face He got back in the truck, and I've
had no trouble with him since.
I've been threatened, telephone calls to be killed. It was
so tense for a while that I had to carry a pistol Many times I'm
alone in the woods, running a big cai, miles back there. Hounds­
men are on these roads They're all equipped with knives, rifles.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to put a bullet through
my head over in some canyon
Sometimes people are hesitant to make a move, even
though they know it's right. I was walkin' up this road with a
company man Lo and behold, here were some beautiful big
bear tracks. She's in here, an old sow, probably got some cubs.
We can't let the houndsmen see her. They have a network: One
guy tells another, and down they come with their hounds. This
company man — he had about number 10 size shoes — was
goin' up the road, scuffin' out bear tracks (Laughs) He was
protectin' the bears when his job said get rid of 'em Innermost in
many men are subconscious desires they don't allow to surface.
I only express my thoughts to people who understand
what I'm talkin' about Many don't care, don't feel, but there are
surpnsing ones who vwll help I got a letter from a man w4io
works for a big lumber company It says: 'You stepped on my
toes many times. I'm ready to retire now. and I want you to know
I'm for you I don't care to let you know who I am because they'll
send me off to Sibena "
Many people's voices are stilled because of the position
they’re in I happen to be a single man, and it'll be pretty hard to
starve me (Laughs) So I can say what the hell I want When my
father died, I quit the woods and took an early retirement. I log
my own place
The chance to live my life out without being a rich man
is probably the greatest gift that any person could ever receive.
I have no feeling that I've ever been beaten or I’m a poor man.
I'm rich in many things I feel I have a responsibility w/iile I'm
on this earth to preserve some beauty and pass it on to the
next generation Because if I do not pass something on. these
children and the children's children will have a barren world.
I believe that only by being in the presence of beauty
and the great things in the world around us can man eventually
get the goddamn hatred of wanting to kill each other out of his
system We begin to understand that we’re only in this world
such a short time it's incredible we should spend these few years
hating and killing each other