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I couldn't have a puppy , mum and dad said no.

When I was in school I only had one pair of shoes and no gym shoes. I would have to play in my socks
and boy it was hard to stand up! By the time summer came the shoes were worn out and I had to wait
till the next school year for shoes. My feet were like leather but sometimes I would get a stone bruise , very
painful!

Story time.  I grew up on 80 acres in an area called "Big Trees," the last house on the Mount Si road, North Bend, Washington. Needless to say, logging country.
Thanks to a kid named "Poncho," I began washing log trucks for his father’s logging company, Trail Timber. At 16, I quit school and asked Poncho’s dad for a job. He looked at me, cigar dangling from his mouth, and asked, "What size shoes you wear?"  I said, “13." He went to the back of the shop and returned with a pair of size 13 cork boots (a tall, laced boot with spiked soles). The next morning (5 am?), I was off to the Seattle Watershed.
On day one, I met Harold Hern. The Boss. Strong, smart, a little loud, and very impressionable. Tim Kennedy and Leonard Eadus (?) were my…teachers: a baptism of fire. The next outfit was  Bill Breymeyer Logging where I met Bill McCracken. I really liked that guy. He watched a four foot diameter tree roll over the top of me. Survived. At 17, I found myself on the Olympic Peninsula logging for Earnie Nielsen. Whew. I believe we got 38 off highway loads in one day. Big. Wood. At 18, I flew in the cockpit of an Alaska Airlines 737 from Seattle to Ketchikan. Thank you, Captain Duane Tibbles.  A Grumman Goose ( amphib)  took me to Prince of Wales island, the mecca for logging. That plane later crashed, killing some of my crew. At 19, I was working for John Schnabel in Haines, Alaska (logging/sawmill). I remember the day he gave me a 10 cent an hour raise. It felt good. I’ll never forget that. In Haines, I met a unique man, a hard man, named Ted Smith. Old school for sure. A logger.
Schnabel sent a plane load of guys to the sawmill in Wrangell, for recon, but it crashed. Rip Ken Risher. In Sitka, i met Arthur Mannix, who talked about moving to Talkeetna , because it was close to Denali, and he wanted to climb it. Later on , he moved there and climbed it multiple times. I think once with his wife. And. So did i. With my wife , and all four kids, over the years. Many expeditions as a mountain guide. Coach Jim North saw it coming. He never called me by my name. He referred to me as "mountain boy."
This picture brings me back to the beginning. A few core people who hired me, taught me, and were good to me. Yet, not one of them ever knew the impression they made on me. They were all  characters. I suppose  the person I am today is largely due to Poncho Forrister and his father, Sam Forrister, who obviously hired me knowing I was only age 16 doing the world’s most dangerous job, or at least one of them. Harold, Tim, Bill, Duane, John, Ted, and others. Is Peanut still alive?? Most of these men are gone, and I too, nearly got killed a million times. Close. Calls. I fell out of a 50 foot tail tree. Tim blew seven whistles for a dead guy. But I woke up and worked the rest of the day with a broken leg and a broken back. I went back to Alaska, cut the cast off, and went back to work. Sam and Harold would have been proud.

WOW! What can I say to this life story. I love it and it's quite an impressive life! Tell us more, Thanks!

Story time.  I grew up on 80 acres in an area called "Big Trees," the last house on the Mount Si road, North Bend, Washington. Needless to say, logging country.
Thanks to a kid named "Poncho," I began washing log trucks for his father’s logging company, Trail Timber. At 16, I quit school and asked Poncho’s dad for a job. He looked at me, cigar dangling from his mouth, and asked, "What size shoes you wear?"  I said, “13." He went to the back of the shop and returned with a pair of size 13 cork boots (a tall, laced boot with spiked soles). The next morning (5 am?), I was off to the Seattle Watershed.
On day one, I met Harold Hern. The Boss. Strong, smart, a little loud, and very impressionable. Tim Kennedy and Leonard Eadus (?) were my…teachers: a baptism of fire. The next outfit was  Bill Breymeyer Logging where I met Bill McCracken. I really liked that guy. He watched a four foot diameter tree roll over the top of me. Survived. At 17, I found myself on the Olympic Peninsula logging for Earnie Nielsen. Whew. I believe we got 38 off highway loads in one day. Big. Wood. At 18, I flew in the cockpit of an Alaska Airlines 737 from Seattle to Ketchikan. Thank you, Captain Duane Tibbles.  A Grumman Goose ( amphib)  took me to Prince of Wales island, the mecca for logging. That plane later crashed, killing some of my crew. At 19, I was working for John Schnabel in Haines, Alaska (logging/sawmill). I remember the day he gave me a 10 cent an hour raise. It felt good. I’ll never forget that. In Haines, I met a unique man, a hard man, named Ted Smith. Old school for sure. A logger.
Schnabel sent a plane load of guys to the sawmill in Wrangell, for recon, but it crashed. Rip Ken Risher. In Sitka, i met Arthur Mannix, who talked about moving to Talkeetna , because it was close to Denali, and he wanted to climb it. Later on , he moved there and climbed it multiple times. I think once with his wife. And. So did i. With my wife , and all four kids, over the years. Many expeditions as a mountain guide. Coach Jim North saw it coming. He never called me by my name. He referred to me as "mountain boy."
This picture brings me back to the beginning. A few core people who hired me, taught me, and were good to me. Yet, not one of them ever knew the impression they made on me. They were all  characters. I suppose  the person I am today is largely due to Poncho Forrister and his father, Sam Forrister, who obviously hired me knowing I was only age 16 doing the world’s most dangerous job, or at least one of them. Harold, Tim, Bill, Duane, John, Ted, and others. Is Peanut still alive?? Most of these men are gone, and I too, nearly got killed a million times. Close. Calls. I fell out of a 50 foot tail tree. Tim blew seven whistles for a dead guy. But I woke up and worked the rest of the day with a broken leg and a broken back. I went back to Alaska, cut the cast off, and went back to work. Sam and Harold would have been proud.

Awaiting To Here Cowface

Still drawing a blank. I'd rather hear another story from you and Pete. I like them. Thanks

Well, this is embarrassing... My mind went totally blank. Story coming when I can remember aagaaini'

Sounds good cowface!

Ever drunk post? ...I had a story trying to remember

DAng... I am drawing a blank... and I had such a great story too!