Our dreams of a lakeside camp evaporated, much like the water in the lake itself. But we had riders and 150 horses to think about and they would soon be riding in and expecting to see the mangers standing and filled with hay. And water for their horses. Water? It turned out that we had a ‘dry’ camp. The only water available was going to be the remains of the lake and it was located a couple of hundred yards away from the manger line. Too far!
Luckily, we had a Marine Corps Liaison officer with us. Groups like ours weren’t allowed to simply wander about the base unescorted, and so we asked him what he could do for us? The Marines quickly came to our rescue with ‘water buffaloes’, large trailers with water tanks on them and as many as we needed. And each came with a jeep and a Marine to make certain they were replaced as soon as they ran dry.
And since they had selected Privates to deliver this water, they would stand at attention and call us ‘Sir’ every time we spoke to them. Fun! After a week on the ride, there was finally someone lower than us on the social scale.
Earlier in this blog, I wrote about the spring vacations I would take each year and spend a week working as a wrangler on a trail ride. The DeAnza Trail Caballeros was the name of the group and there were always 150 riders and horses. Plus, 7 wranglers and assorted cooks and bottle washers. And the route always took us somewhere into the deserts of Southern California.
One of those years had us scheduled to visit CampPendleton as we trekked in from the desert side of this huge Marine Corps base. I had been told that we would enjoy a few nights camping out on the beach and after a couple of days of horse babysitting in the desert; that sounded just right!
Like all well made plans, this one came to an end rather quickly. As soon as we entered the base, we were told that the Marines were using the beach for amphibious assault training and we were going to have to go elsewhere. We were given an escort and told to follow that jeep to our campsite.
We were within smelling distance of the beach when the jeep stopped and told us that our camp for the night was just a right turn and a few miles away. The driver of the jeep handed Judy, our head wrangler, a map and headed back where he had come from. We all studied the map which showed us camping near a lake? OK, not the ocean, but a lake would be nice. Now all we had to do was get there. The right turn that had been mentioned was a jeep trail down into a dry wash, up again and then another jeep trail along the side of a steep mountain.
Jeep trails are just dandy for jeeps. But I was driving a 10 wheeler, a hay truck, fully loaded. And we had our 24’ box truck, plus a couple of pickups with horse trailers attached. And since the hay truck was the slowest when loaded, I was going to be the last one to cross the wash and up the hill.
So I sat and waited while watching the others, hoping to pick up some knowledge of the best route through the wash. Yikes! It was scary… as one after another, the vehicles came close to wrecking. I watched as the box truck came up on one side, teetering, and then fell back onto its wheels. Safe.
The other drivers walked back to tell me how to do it. I volunteered to let them show me instead. None fell for it. The only real good advice I got was to not slow down, no matter what. Pedal to the floor, get into second gear, if I could, before I hit the opposite side of the wash and then make a hard right at the top. More speed and don’t look down while traversing the side of the hill.
Off the edge I went; 15 tons of hay swaying and scaring the heck out of me as the truck rolled and pitched. I double clutched and got it into second about halfway across the wash and then accelerated for the narrow trail ahead.
“Turn hard right at the top” was my mantra and as soon as the front wheels cleared the top I spun the wheel and felt the load pulling me over to the left. It was one of those slow motion moments. I remember watching the faces of the other wranglers as they stood nearby to watch my attempt. They were all grinning! Jerks!
Then, with a crash, I was back on level ground for a moment and heading for the side of the hill…just as planned. The side hill climb was a piece of cake after the crossing and I relaxed. A few more minutes and I was around the mountain and looking at our camp site and a mud puddle. The lake.
After a few hiccups, we were soon sailing along, panels flying up onto the building on a regular basis and making the schedule work. The real puzzle would come later when we reached a level where our ‘dinosaurs’ wouldn’t work any longer. And for that work we would need a large crane, but it had to be mobile. The city wasn’t going to allow us to block off this important street for more than 4 hours at a time, and a ‘crawler’ type of crane with a fixed boom length would require just that much time to get ready for the first hoist. I would need a very tall self-propelled hydraulic crane. And a very expensive one at that.
After some discussion with the general contractor, we figured out a way to have that same crane hoist material for the roofer and HVAC contractor; that would ease the burden by splitting the cost 3 ways. But it would mean that I would have to wait until those other contractors were ready. In the meantime, I arranged for our 15 ton Link-Belt hydro to be delivered from our warehouse in Reno. It only had a 125’ of boom on it, but it would help.
The Link-Belt was an odd piece of equipment; it had been purchased to hoist panels at our Lake Tahoe Harvey’s project because it was an all terrain crane, the kind with the really big tires! It had to work in snow and ice and those tires were perfect for that. But there was no snow or ice in Sacramento and the tires became a liability as they couldn’t be driven more than 25 mph and must be rested (cooled off) every ten miles. Our office and yard were about 10 miles away and it was a slow drive every morning.
A memory; we had a crane operator but I would sometimes operate it when he was busy doing something else. (We used him as general labor at times) And when it came time to send the crane back to Reno, a truck with a lowboy trailer arrived and it became my job to get the crane onto the trailer. Well, those big tires hung over the trailer by about six inches on each side. This left about 2’ of tire still on the trailer, but each time I went to drive on the ramp, I would look down and see nothing but air beneath the tire on my side. Yikes! And I would quickly back away. The poor truck driver kept signaling me that all was fine, that I was doing it right, but without being able to see the right side of the trailer; my senses kept telling me that I was heading for a fall. And I would back off…about 6 times in a row before I decided to close my eyes and go for it. Very embarrassing!
