Never ending job. This end of the bridge has nice new planks on it, but up there on the level part, those boards are a mess. Nodding to do but replace the suckers. To that end I journeyed way up into the woods, up to the top of the mountain, to Dave Barton's property, an old gold mine on 60 acres of timber, where he has his portable sawmill.

There's Dave, waiting for me at the bunkhouse, the building where the miners lived when the gold mine was working way back when. A two story building with six rooms on the second floor.

Living room and the kitchen

Clancy, Dave's pal, here to help out on the sawmill, with Dave, getting prepared

Troubles with the sawmill. Sucker won't start. They tore the carburetor apart, cleaned it all out, reassembled, now shoot a little starting fluid to her and then pull the rope. And pull the rope. And pull the rope some more. Fuck it. We'll load up some planks already cut.

The three caballeros

Loaded, time to hit the road, and I am being generous to call the track up out of the mine a road.

The planks I brought home, about a third of the amount needed, I painted both sides and they await their destiny: replacements for the decrepit plywood, round poles and rotting two by six boards that have served us well for so many years. There's a change in the weather, there's a change in the bridge, and about time, too.