Everytime I stop at Camp 18, I shed a tear. You see, I'm a third generation logger. My grandpa and great uncles were partners with Simon Benson in the Deep River Logging Co. - logging with the Shay (steam) locomotives. To pay my expenses in college, I set chokers (among other jobs) for Santiam and Willamette National Lumber Co., - they merged to create Willamette Ind.
My bosses in logging were head 'n shoulders above any of my bosses in two Fortune 500 firms in heavy industry. If you've never chowed down in a logging cookhouse, you haven't lived. If you haven't seen sunup on a logging show in the PNW...I feel sorry for you. I'm one of the lucky ones who get to attend an old loggers picnic each September hosted by Gordon and his wife.
All of us old geezers are 70 and up. I feel more comfortable at a table at Camp 18 than I do at any fine restaurant in Portland or Seattle. The atmospere at Camp 18 is not found anywhere else in Oregon or Washington and I doubt if anyplace like it exists in the Redwood country of California. I suggest a ride on your crew truck (crummy) to chow down at Camp 18 - while you're enjoying a plate of hotcakes, listen for the cry of a camp robber (jay)...the sing of a cross-cut saw as it's pulled through a Doug fir...then walk off those calories to view the logging equipment.
So what, if it's raining...that's part of the logging atmosphere.
Ex-logger living in Beaverton
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