THE MILLENIUM GROVE TREESITTING BLOCKADE ACTION
From June 3, 1985 arrival at the site to the Freddies' failed cherrypicker attack on July 20, 1985
Transcribed from a handwritten logbook of the action kept by Ron Huber.

Sunday. June 3, 1985. Stayed overnight at the site after dragging all our junk around a tree covered knoll--exhausting work, but done more quickly than I thought possible-- eight folks humping the plywood platforms, water vessels, duffel bags guitar (yes, my guitar: I shall compose many a tune up there, as well as feast time and again on the thick Yes songbook) Also my library.

Then we were there, Binko, Fir Ron, Lon McKoivy, Mitch, Valerie, Yukiko, Tim, Kim.

Kim took me and Binko as far as he entrusted his vehicle to go, then the sound of rock tapping his oil pan dissuaded him from going deeper. We set off by foot, them Tim's truck hoved into view, we climbed aboard, Yukiko in front, I standing on the back like a charioteer, and we got to a point 1/4 mile from or less from Unit # 9. Lon's VW already there, empty, so we hopped from the truck, joining Val and Wenatchee and Binko, and initiating a walk through the forested knoll stright south to camp.

Despite my misgivings about my abilities to locate the timber sale unit without getting lost, I succeeded; we ended up right at the end of the logging road so recently and rudely soved into this virgin stand.

Another trip over to car and back to # 9, and we make a smokey fire to inhibit mosquitoes Everyone feels good, but tired from the exertino and the long day and before long, after a canned chicken and stale bagel repast, we go to our seperate sleeping areas; I in the clearcut, the others in the forest. Deep sleep ensues, I awaken only when a wet mist sprinkles my face from early morning fog clouds.

The land here is heartbreakingly beautiful: delicate tracery of mosses over the fallen logs slowly reabsorbing into thre Forest. Heartbreaking both because the tree stand a scant 1/8 mile away is dead, slaughtered a week ago my Willammette Industries raiders, who intend to wreak the same havoc here; and heartbreakingly beautiful to see and as yet only barely understand, the marvelous Gaia-ic organism we are proposing to enter a symbiosis wsith, defending the tree fromthe Willies and gaining...what? from the Tree People...Perchance the fateful dream last spring is true and I may now demand a boon fromthe Green Lady. Such a boon will be the key to interspecies landuage/communication likeSigmund eating the dragon's heart and learning the tongues of the wild creatures....I shall ask, what folly to not try.....As Christophe sez, man's nature is to reach out boldly, dying is nothing.

Nearing noon, midmorn anyway, and soon we must practice. Twenty feet in a tree, see if all have everything needed to set up camp in the heights. I've built a more or less workable stove for my sterno cans, so hot coffee will be possible...what a blessing.

Sunday June 23, 1985, late afternoon. Sunny clear day. An arrow finally over the apprpriate bough in Budworm's tree the Wenatchee Twins (mike and val) go off in their direction...I? Watered, packed, fed, ready to go, willing to stay and pay.

Later. SHAKTI! Val takes to the air, spin twisting a rachet into a great old Doug fir, out on the eastern edge of Unit 6! Yes, Force Ecotopia has determine the best defense to be offense and has expanded its control to remaining stand in Unit Six.

Mitch Friedman bolts up precipitously while Lon's and Makoivy's backs are turned & gets in a minor (so far) trouble.

Now he hooks belly to bough, hangs suspended. Lon shouts, I start coming over, meet him partway, we and Wenatchee go racing over, but he's okay...soon my turn. the wind soars overhead, steady sussuration.

Hateful yellow stapled on stickers: 'Boundary: Clearcut. _____sale. Unit number ______...This sign faces the clearcut.'

Monday. June 24, 1985 In the tree. The Register Guard zoids are here, friendly types shooting pictures and taking words. (They printed a fine story, with a photo of Mitch in his tree)

"So the flowering creativity of Life wove its web face to face with the shallow." -Olias.

Wednesday June 26, 1985 morning. The Treeship Ygdrassil set forth upon its journey, amid the curious eyes of the porcelain press, bedecked with banner: (CLOSED: NO LOGGING) and an American flag, my countenance popping out from time to time, bandanna over mouth and nose, yelllow hardhat tilted rakishly to one side. They liked it, I guess, Roselle on the ground leading KEZI and KOIN television crews over the woody hills like a good promoter, throwing me tips about sticking to the basic issues. wilderness, oldest trees in Oregon, wildlife habitat.

I sit in the damnably hot but good hammock, too gripped by muscle tension to up op to the branch, besides the video droids were here, hadda show theater. By the time it was over it was late and I was so tired I could barely come down, smashed my sweet guitar, dead of a broken neck by god, dropped it in a fatigue-fog, so sad.

Couple freddies came by earlier. I chose anonymity, didn't respond to their quries as Wenatchee walked them around, tree to tree, I kept covered with a blanket. Long day and the last 1/2 hour spent scarily prussik-knotting my way down the rope, my 8-ring gone. Sweating, dangling fifty feet in the air, while Sarge watched silently. I finally made it, collapsed, dragged myself over to the campfire circle, rapped with a woman from Berkeley by way of Santa Cruz, very Amazonian with daggers and good comic books.

Wednesday June 26, 1985 10:30 am, third day of our aerial occupation. I must find Wenatchee, get my platform up in the sky before the press comes (or Freddies or Willies, they supposed to be grading the road today), no sign yet, but.....

Thursday June 27, 1985. I've just spent my first night in the tree canopy, after an agonizing climb. I got up here, exhaustedly attached my platform, got on, all this time barely daring to look around or down, just concentrating on the tasks at hand, got some supplies sent up in the furry knapsack and duffel, then other stuff, but damn! the first load: sleeping bag, guitar, hammock and blue bag, got stuck 2/3 of the way up. Hammock hopelessly snagged on a nail.

After much swearing all around, I agreed with much trepidation to climb down to the snag "en rappelle", tie the junk onto the rope, unsnag it, and then, while the grounded Lon held equipment away from snaggy trees, I would jumar back up. Jumars look like stapleguns, but slip on to the rope and let you rise in two foot increments. I didn't want to do this, didn't think I'd do it, but I DID IT. Long scary jumar up and arrived back on my platform scared, gasping, shaken, but successfully aloft.

The night comes on, I carefully unpacked my (Roselle's) sleeping bag, slid in. Could only zip it partway as I stayed buckled in harness.

Friday June 28, 1985 morn. ZAM! a rosy cheeked EF!er (coppish-loooking to me) brings great news -- my article on Mike Jakubal's pioneering ascent is on the cover of the Earth First! journal. Lawyer Monteith is officially gonna open up a spotted owl lawsuit for ONRC - they got hold of some money San Francisco Chronicle - we are on the front page! Roselle coming, he sez.

Wenatchee, Rhody Dendron and Steve Binko sit in the sun and jaw and read the EF! Journal. I don't wanna come down, get queasy/uneasy at the thought of everybody on the ground at once during Freddie working hours. Naw, I sit up here with my property and stonily gaze across the slice of planet visible from up here.

Dennis and Wenaatchee are out on recon. I sent them up to FR 230 to investigate the activity (pickup trucks) going on up there. Turns outto be tourists going to the Gordon Lakes.

Saturday June 29, 1985 Noon. Another night, brief sheriff game, but the Linn County sheriffs couldn't find us in the lengthening dusk, so they departed. Wenatchee and Valerie down in boredom, they zipped back up when Joe Becker brought word of the impending approach of the cops, then down he went again! To my amazement; I wouldn't go down on the ground when cops have been sighted, for at least five hours!

McKivy left last night "for the weekend", uh huh, with Roselle to Corvallis. Now Val and Wenatchee do the same... With Mitch already gone, that leaves me and Lon, who's worried over reports that the Sinkyone appropriations bill passed in the California legislature, but faces a veto by Republican governor Deukmajian. Lon hits the road; if a veto happens, the loggers out that way'll start cutting real quick, so he'll have to intervene in the flesh...

That leaves me...can't leave if I'm the only one left aloft....pissed off at the overall laxity of our affinity group.

Fierce winds whip the forest, sending my frail craft straining against the air.

Saturday June 29, 1985 evening. A couple visitors, then another. All short hairs...my god have the short hairs taken over our encampment? I'm skeptical but t'would be a mighty copification if.

Monday July 1, 1985 morning. Joe becker and I are awakened by a low rumbling sound in the distance. Its a bulldozer, we are sure... We scamper our stuff together, take shits, Lon appears, heads down to the scene to take stock. Wenatchee comes up breathlessly, outraged demands to know what we're going to do. I say, "Nothing" he snaps Fuck you!" and storms off toward the sound.

Joe Becker and I heat a large tin of tomato sauce-drenched sardines. Had a cuppa mud, gobble food and clean up the camp some...

Lon comes back, tells me to get up my tree, they're heading for it...I leap to my feet, what about our great shining banner, gloriously white ten foot letters on sheer plastic gossamer: "LIFE"? NO TIME, MUST CLIMB.I jog down towards the sound, which sure enough is coming from near my tree! I spill out the rest of my coffee and run through the woods. Get there. The dozer is working away beneath my tree!

I greet Sarge, Joe gets the jumars. Toke up, roar, leap up and meet Norman the ground guy, he's okay, just met Wenatchee so things could be edgy...Val's up her tree. I suit up, the dozer takes the giant 1000 year old log next to my tree and shoves it rudely out of the way. My old pal the log! Norman says they'll clear a path right to my tree to get the road all the way through as they were supposed to do last fall when the rains came.

So I hooked up prussiks, but didn't need them; Joe Becker came along with the Jumars, and then Lon helped me set them up, then in a fit of nervous excitation, I climbed, while the dozer snorted and pushed and the ground trembled. I went up in a half down or so pitches.

UP AGAIN! and the dozer pushes the road up past the loaded deck, then the dozer coming back.

Now a young Willie appears, dark round glasses over his eyes, green suspenders, they're still hooking logs out - its late morning and I am alie with the adventure and the sheer theatricality of our play. Myth time!

Our road blockage is opened. All comes in a rush of events. Walky talkies seem fucked, all are in trees but Joe?

Dozer humps up another load, driver and foreman locked in ancient eyeballing game, steely glint of fifty year old eyes.

Now the cops, for Wenatchee and Joe who'll block the dozers from the road rehabilitation zone. Two Linn County sheriffs are here, blocking the road; they stay by their vehicle.

The dozer zonks on, I've got stoned...I'm talking to Joe, he's lovely if he's reasonable, protests politely as needed.

The sheriff's deputies go by, someone calls my name and I turn slightly, give my identity away? It must be Thurman and Co, but they've gone to "get" Wenatchee and Joe. Joe'll walk probably, but not Wenatchee I bet.

So, now it becomes Demand Time:
1. Suspension of all tree cutting in the GordonMeadows region of southern watershed of the South Santiam, pending civil taks Force to determine oldest trees
2. Further review of whole Santiam region with a two year moratorium on clearcutting in presently roaded areas in Santiam and a complete moratorium on roadbuilding in roadless areas, including Gordon Meadows, Jumpoff Joe, Browder Ridge, Echo Mountain, Pyramids, Middle Santiam.
3. Basic topsoil conservation measures must be taken on freshly cutover areas.

Lon is back, Says they've been transplanting plants into clearcut-over Unit 9, no arrests (fight for another day). The cars gotta move to main road, so they will move'em to FS 230 there's a turnout above the stream.

Asks Lon, we consider it, out then they go, I toss them keys and my flare gun, Joe's back with Lon, says one of them will give us a copy of the Register Guard editorial.

Deputies and freddies below me, the others decide to split. They depart, Val, far across the timber sale, and I, are with the Forces of the State alone....The dozer thunders as the cops and Freds hang out in the sun on a fine day in the forest. They're all young, 2 cops, a young Willy, Carla, some other Freds. Abruptly the Freddies leave in a team.

Deputy Ives is back with Sarge (Steve Binko) to pick up his kit. He bellowing stuff, finally it works out like they wanta take Binko and his gear out of the closure.

OK...Wenatchee wants my vehicle but then Lon decides to pack it in and leave, taking Wenatchee with him in the Red Rabbit to find Roselle and yell at him for not showing up. The day wears on, puctuated by the bulldozer's endless whining and groaning. Wish the SOB would leave.

Early evening. The dozer driver brings his beast out to where the pickup is parked, idles. Mckivy and a fellow from Washington are now here. Joe joins them, Val and I query them from our trees and a shamanic woman burns sage beneath us to wash out the bad spirits, and sweet grass to bless us with good spirit. She has buried a tiny crystal in the roots of my tree. Evening passes slowly in the heat of the long long sundown. I quaff Swiss Miss and relax.

Tuesday July 2, 1985. So this is a closure: dull roaring dozer around a bend in the road through the old forest, and Rhody and I flying through time on our platforms.

Once a freddie truck rolls up. Green pickup with white tool box. The plumpish mid 30s blond freddie, balding on top slightly, and a local contractor and his fat wife drive into Unit 9 for a while and then park below me. Don't talk to me, just consult notes, discuss turnouts-to-be, then leave, the Freddie stealing one quick look at me before driving off.

The Earth troops reassemble below.....Lon...others. Its late afternoon. Charles is here too! McKivy of course, and Rhody/Valerie Wade has been indicating she's heading for splitsville, too, and suddenly confortably/uncomfortably I realize, they're all leaving.

Until resupply, tis my night HOME ALONE, the last ecologist staying bravely to the lonely end.

I give them a press release, "Permanent Blockade in Santiam" tell Charles and Lon that it MUST go out to any/everyone...at least my car is gone, that problem out of my mind...

Now the evening is limpid; orchestral nocturne, avian arias, truck droning soft in great distance.

July 3, 1985 morning. A fresh scheme has percolated through my brain--run strong lines from my platform to all the trees within the ropes' reach, such that if the trees are cut the tautened rope will tear down my platform, killing me...or if other trees in between were cut and fell across these grapple lines, same thing.

Now need ropes...the banner ropes?

A lovely family of birds visited this morning, two adults, two fledglings, that just learned to fly, hopping about my canopy, picking off the abundant inchworms that live up in the trees, cheery sparkling eyes black as anthracite in white faces. Gray body, the size and shape of pigeons or english sparrows. The young still had gray face plumage. They scampered around my branch, peering at me. Taking brief glides from one twig to another.

Mid Morning. Dull noisy dozer, after mucking about all day near the runoff 1/2 mile away, it clanks up into view, rounds the bank and comes below me, followed by Norman in his brown pickup. Dozer halts in new log deck turnout. Truck pauses, then enters Unit 9.

I watch, fascinated and repelled as the dozer drags some young trees off to the new log deck, then savagely scrapes away ten centuries of topsoil into a heap, squashing the living humus into unusable hardpan beneath its many ton weight. I curse the ignorant possibly innocent people below, spit on the dozer as its passes below repeatedly. ....Where's gang of A?....

I yell down to the downycheeked lad who sets choker cable for the dozer driver asking what time it is, point at my wrist. He gapes, shows his similarly bare wrist, shakes head. I ask him when gravel will hit this road. He shrugs helplessly, points to dozer, which snorts along beneath me, tearing out more topsoil and packing the road.

July 3, 1985 Late Afternoon. Dozer shut off somewhere down the spur. Earlier I could hear a skyline yarder bleeping its horn. Decide to go down and search for lost items in the lower foliage beneath me, rapelling to within about 20 feet of the ground, watching and listening carefully. Not daring to go any lower for fear of freddie ambush a la Mike Jakubal. I retrieve my comb and several other items then return up on prussiks. Dozer starts up again.

Wenatchee shows up, we talk, he speaks of Earth First House, bringing me the Register Guard editorial. I get to work preparing a reply, by nightfall, I've completed several pages.

A car parks on 230, whistles. I whistle back, an hour later they whistle again, and they're on their way up. Literally up! For El Marone, scourge of the arboricultural world, ascends in the pitch dark after lining his rope up. Spanky Vicious, Sid's companion, awaits below.

El Marone comes up and we talk, eat Spanky's cake.

He rises now, using a belt round the tree and climbing with spike shoes, purpose being to raise our banner LIFE from the tree in the middle of the clearcut Already he's level with me. Just heard a sound up toward the old campsite. Freddies? Nah.

July 4, 1985. Afternoon. Suddenly comes Maggie and friend, Mark Becker and wife, they join Spanky Vicious and her beau, El Marone. Wenatchee's there too. The three had put up a giant LIFE banner that proved far too flimsy, plus the white painted-on letters started flaking off as the wind whipped the plastic about

Miserable mess: it occupied lots of time and sweat and we worried El Marone, trickster though he is, might go get caught in a tree thirty feet up and have to stay the night or worse.

There they were, and they set up more banners, having stripped away the flimsy one. Up rose an American Flag, a Closed-No Logging banner, and Earth First! banner, Laughing and happy, Mark and wife lolled near the cars, having toted a crate of supplies out of the exclusion zone.

All was well, a pleasant 4th of July summer day and....

ZAP! A Linn County sheriff's deputy appears, having skulked around from around the corner. All seven draw around him in a watchful absorbed half circle. He has the audacity, Chris Ives, deputy, does, to warn everyone not to leave or he'd bring out the cuffs!

He gestured and jigged about with nervousness, dressed like a boy scout and I watched from aote through binoculars, taping my sispicoins aubt what was happening.

Mark calls up, "Well, what should we do, Ron?" I'm secure in my nest, I say, Walk! I don't think he's going to shoot anyone for leaving the area. This apparently discomfited Deputy Ives, and when Becker went to his car door, the deputy ordered them to accompany him to HIS car, down the road away from our little event. I shouted taking y'all away is his step toward reducing you to prisoners! But they went, all seven, around the bend to his Blazer.

A while later, I call over to them "What's it like being arrested?", for a new recruit had appeared, an elf who came cautiously through the woods. He hadn't believed me at first, so I yelled my query to them and a couple of them called back. He got convinced then, split back out of the closure; he's been my CB companion since then.

Well, the cop finally took 'em all away, after backing all the way around the loop to go phtograph the Beckermobile. Then gone.

The busted ones come the next evening briefly; Becker got his car, Maggie and the editor showed, we joshed over the radio.

Saturday, July 6th a long slow day; smoked all my weed save what I've dropped or otherwise lost. Wrote another press release--will it reach the press? Why do I doubt it?

Anyway, slow impatient day: last night was the "big meeting" in corv about the whole scene and I expected the folks back, Wenatchee at least and it took him until 7 pm to get here.

Grrrr! I want some rope, dope and hope, necessarily in that order.

Well, got none of the above. Ric Bailey dropped off Wenatchee and sped off. Wenatchee doesn't touch herb, he's got no rope; the others are hanging out aroudn home base.

Sunday July 7, 1985 Bailey is going to come by today with reporters from KEZI, etc. I'm working on a show for them...wrote a piee to read, now to get my visuals in order. Joe and Wenatchee are here.

Midday. A US forest Service fire truck, green with tank and hoose on back growls up to beneath ame and then goes back downhill. A face, eyeglassed, peers out fo the passenger window and sez "Hey!" softly to his companion then then roll on down and out of sight.

Early afternoon. Wenatchee has driffted off to a forward observer position., Jow Becker ot of the closure contemplates a new poster for himself when he finally ascends. Now a car rolls up deposits someone whenatchee talks to whoever it is...are they coming up?

TV interview KEZI a few minutes agom went well, I think, I managing to make some major points and unearth my mad proposal that Willamette drat this and pyramid and middle asantiam timber sales for another roaded or second growth area. that may exist within Wilammet national Forest. How'll it be handled? Can't wait to hear about it,

RB seems to think I've done well, that's praise indeed!

Monday July 8, 1985. Linn County deputy comes up around mid day, prowls and splits; by then my press release was gone via Wenatchee's caspable hands. A letter off to Donna, too!

The deputy prowled and split, nosing to the top of Unit 9 and back down, slowly, barely a pause then back out. Cutter is finally up a tree, then he discovered the potency of being aerial. He stayed over night aboard Rhody's platform. Tuesday morning came, full of promise of viditors, but I, I have to say no one showed till post-noon. The EF! wagon drove up to the lower parking area on 2044, stopped briefly, then moved up the hill toward road 230 then halted. Minutes passed, I could glass it through the forest foliage, and then unbelieveably it moved on down and out of siight and hasn't returned since.

Oh yes, Deputy Dave up again,m silent as a snake with a billedcap on and khakis. I rolled over and suddenly there he was, peering up at me. He and I chatted TV proposal, Co trips, (monitoring) and no smoking! I said I had some chew, he nodded, tapped his chest pocket in fellow-tobacco-chewer affirmation.

He burned me, though; he got the No Smokies sign board and presumably the other one too and a number of papers and leaflets...What? I was plesed he had set my yes songbook on a log for me, but though I told Deputy Freeman he could leave the "trash" he'd collected (above named papers), he politely declined, saying he wanted them as souvenirs!. So gone, and its a sad passing' the stop smokey sign (Smokey Bear with a circle slash superimposed) that once graced the Cathedral Forest Action Group's office.

But Wenatchee shot some pictures of it I believe, when KEZI was about, so ...MAKE MORE.\

Sunset happened, an event so fine I watched it through flipping fingers, cutting the light intensty by strokeing much out, but will my retinas object?...through I'd just heard a cardoor shut...I know I did, so let's listen...avian arias a capella...so splendid...

July 10, 1985 Wednesday morning. Awakened by a Willy pick up truck arriving, followed by a crummy, two 4X4s (Jimmys!) and a sheriff wagon. I'm the only one up. I shouted for Joe to go get help! They all get out of their rigs. Carla, Christiansen,a stumpy grizzled fellow, foreman of 4 loggers. More freddies.

Picture taking. I start taking out rope and am now fastened to three trees. told 'em six, gotta do more! Flip them off. "That one's for you, Carla,"

They are cutting trees near Valerie's tree, and I must secure my tree's neighbors! Earth First!...

Wenatchee's tree just fell. Dern! That's the second platform that's been cut from under him because he left his tree.. The freds and cops go look at it. I think they're doing Val's tree next....Damn!

(Drawing of five people on ground watching Valery's tree fall)

Val's tree down! I bullyrag the fallers, ask where a good bar is. Sweet Home, they say, try the Bohemian Club, but don't tell them where' I'm from. I say shit, when ya gotta kick ass, yuh gotta...Chide them for cutting Val's tree, cutting down a lady's tree aint that chivalrous y'know. They laugh, say now she can "get some cock"; I tell 'em mine's big enough to reach over there across the clearing to where her platform was.

The freds got three duffels and 2 platforms so far. They watch tamely as another forest giant hits the ground.

Hours later. They've cut down the American flag (Boo! I yelled.) and display it around the trucks. The day wears on. Its 7 pm, still no ground support...pissed, shocked and saddened by today's activities.

Where did Joe go? Thirteen hours ago he left. No sign of any help...Gads, today would have been a photographer's dream....I bellowing defiance at the freds, the platform swinging crazily as one of the trees it is tied to gets cut down, until the rope parts...Then the fucker started in on MY tree, after chuckling "You had your chance."

I hit my now-useless secondary position, one foot in the hammock, crushing my H2O container, one boot on the platform. Heart pounding, I can see him at work: tall lanky blond guy with an aluminum helmet. I yell at Dale Wilson, freddie, who stands but a few yards away from the cutter, and make the throat-cut sign then point at the faller--the message is clear, especially as I have an arm cocked with a glass coffee jar full of peanuts and corn nuts and raisins in it-- that sucker don't stop, he dies.

Wilson does nothing, just watches. The other fellers already stopped; its 1 pm -- logging over for the day! Well I don't toss the jar, for the faller has walked off. He bucks my freshly fallen neighbor then walks stiffly, self consciously to the truck, saw on his shoulder.

Monday morning July 11, 1985. Poor JR! we got him up the tree late last night but his nerve abandoned him and he required a dust-off around midnight.

July 12, 1985 Friday, and I get awakened by some friendly chaps who tell me they're gonna be gravelling the road pretty soon, so be forewarned. We all laugh, they split. I heat some coffee and drink it while reading the Earth First! Journal.

Eldon, foreman of the roadbuilder crew, comes by for a chat; he sez the 'bull block' of the spar tower'll be right in my face! Good. I can screw the thing up, mebbe. Eldon wants an Earth First! hat, saays he'll trade for a STIHL chainsaw hat. Hmmm...guess so. Told him to tell the truckers I can talk to them on channel 14, he says he'll tell 'em.

One hour later, a willy wagon parks in the bottom of the U shaped road through the clearcut. They're putting in stakes to guide the gravel trucks. Nasty young jerks, but fuck'em. MB and McIvy are here! Bastards gotta stop and eat breakfast out of sight and I was feeling frustrated, anxious about the upcoming spar tower-raising.

Ah, but McIvy cuts the slash like the ecoguerilla he wants to be; he brings a massive jolt of both food and materials.

"For Immediate Relief" a freudian slip of "for immediate release" I'm frightened a bit; a small part of my mind would be glad to trade places with another tree sitter.

July 20, 1985. Saturday morning. Tension cracks the air, as the Earth First!ers bring heavy cable and the famed "Stop the US Forest Service. Save old growth. Earth First!" banner. Mary Beth sews a chunk of rebar into the bottom of the banner. Joe walks about, Lon and El Madrone prepare for EM's ascent with spus and belt. I am the eye in the sky.

Problem. Lon's spurs are unfamiliar to El Marone. He wants to reject them, Lon fixes them up and gives him a new chunk of strapping to go round the tree. I shit and fling the bag into the clearcut across the road from me.

Ten minutes later EM climbs like a woodpecker, and I have an end of the steel cable around my branch, tied to climbing rope.

EM is remarkably passing a huge dead branch stub. HGe climbs so well, like an acrobat. I'd never do that stuff.

EM's ready uncomfortable in Lon's spurs. Lon attaches the cable to a come-along , to his climbing rope. They zing upward and EM (Scott) is ready, in pain from the new spurs slowly rounds the tree with the cable and begins hauling the banner/cable upward. No camera, nauturally, but I sketch the scene. An airplane cometh soon...

Now its up, EM rapelling down in relief. The banner's up! EM down but for the last few feet: stuck? No, Lon goes to help him. He shrugs off assistance, no. Lon went to get a strap. This is silly, mutters EM, "stuck" four feet from the ground. Now he's down. MB and Utah guy, who were sentrying the road from outside the closure, start back to camp. The sun has risen.

July 20, 1985. ATTACKED! The Freddies spring a new one on us, grunting a cherry picker up here! The big yellow and white machine was driven to below my tree.

Christensen was there with a couple cronies; Deputies Chris Ives and Big Red, Dave Freeman, Ranger Dick Olsen, and a three man logging crew.

All the veteran EF!ers are gone... Dael a visitor from Maryland, incapable of reaching car, same with Fanny.

Christenson comes up and in an attempted authoritarian voice, orders me to come down NOW. His voice cracked slightly, ruining his delivery.

Any way, all stand around, I franticly putting on my shoes...pulling up ropes onto platform, looking for my etriers...My God, I HAVE NONE. I can't climb higher without them...

They all shot pictures and then decided to jockey in the big yellow and white cherrypicker back in, crunching over the boughs and back up against the log below.

Well then he came up, a bearded fellow with sunglasses, young, billed cap. He rose to within eight feet. We looked at each other. I standing over him on the end of my platform. We grinned at each other and then his grin passed away; he was fully extended!

"Sorry guy" I said to him, but there wasn't much else he COULD do... so back down he went, and I joshed them all, taking a swig of Southern Comfort, to the delight of the crew. The feds warned of increased fire hazard, and ordered our camp to go. So Dael, somewhat intimidated by the cops, began to lug stuff about. The truck locked its tower down and grumbled back down the road. The crew's pickup split, then a deputy. "We're going now," they said.

I hooted after them "Better luck next time!"

July 20, 1985 Mid afternoon. Christenson and Dick Olsen run a tape measure from the base of my tree to the end of their tape. Christensen dons a survey tool, announces I'm 80 feet up!

I offer them a deal: I'll buy the tree for whatever price if Willamette rescind the contract and let me buy it. The two of them actually listen.One says the trees probably no good as a peeler, what with all those spikes fucking up the grain. Asked them what it was worth, they pondered a bit and said with all that rot and all probably no more than $250 bucks. Two hundred and fifty? I said, "Shit, I'll take it!" Told them to tell Willamette Industries' CEO Swindell I'd pay cash...told them I'd name d the tree the Swindells Tree in honor of the dearly departed father of the CEO.

They split, bid me a good day...before they left we were talking about who long the tree would last what with the girdling of Yggdrasil the logger had done on Wednesday. Just a year? Christenson said about a hundred years. Well, shit, good enough for me!

July 20, 1985 Late afternoon. Deputy Ives pulls up, parks below in the fiercely hot clearcut. He keeps his motor on, windows shut: air conditioner running. Wenatchee arrives so does the CB and girl, Joe, Lee.

END OF DIARY ENTRIES.

End.

Ron Huber transcription from paper diary.