Monongahela National Forest
West Virginia
July 1992
Another time in Dolly Sods as I am making my way up the trail a few days after a storm, I come upon a downed tree. A tall, muscularly chiseled woodsman is chopping through the log which is blocking the trail. He’s using an ax. His flannel shirt lay on a rock nearby. This guy? Clearly a lumberjack hero, swinging his ax.
“Looks like it will take some time,” I comment. “Why not a chainsaw?”
“Nope,” he says, as he stops momentarily to wipe his Hulk-like brow and chat.
“This is designated wilderness and no powered machines are permitted on the wilderness. Gotta do it by hand.”
I see no need for any further explanation as a young woman — I’m guessing his cowgirl girlfriend — sits on a nearby stump in her Daisy Duke shorts, watching his rippling muscles admiringly.
Where can I get me an ax?