The way out here

An angry beaver and another wood eater

By HUNTER HILL
Posted 3/28/23

I might or might not have mentioned in past articles that the house we currently reside in is subject to occasional basement flooding.

In the first few months we were here, there was a …

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The way out here

An angry beaver and another wood eater

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I might or might not have mentioned in past articles that the house we currently reside in is subject to occasional basement flooding.

In the first few months we were here, there was a particularly bad rain, which filled our basement with no less than three feet of standing water. Fairly impressive, but nothing short of disastrous for all my tools and other belongings, which had been stored there temporarily after the move. All in all, my losses were minimal, and nothing was of great personal value, not capable of being  replaced given time and money.

Ever since then, I have been finding mementos of damage or filth that were overlooked in one way or another. One item I thought I had addressed was my chainsaw. My wife had gotten it for me as a birthday present a few years ago, and I had had it tuned nicely after an initial fuel line leak.

Following the flood, I thought it was enough to dismantle the main components of the saw and dry it out. I had since put it back together, and that day I attempted to turn it over, with little time to commit to a full diagnostic. At that time, it still pulled and the engine was free. Thinking I would come back to it shortly and give it the full once-over, I had let it go.

Now in my moment of need, I returned to my chainsaw to use it to address a few trees that have fallen in our backyard over the winter.

As I picked up my saw, checked the oil and gas, and assumed my stance to pull-start it, I was suddenly stopped by the immobile nature of the machine. Again I tried to pull the cord, and again it refused to budge.

I conducted my usual perusal of the chain and performed other superficial checks, but soon realized something was bound deeper inside. I had no doubt it was that evil rainwater from seasons past, finally catching up to it.

Fortunately, I had the option of dropping it off with someone with more time and know-how available to them. The good folks at Honesdale Spreading happened to be on my way to work, and a mere half hour after they started in on it, they called me with the news.

My saw had indeed gotten water in the engine and the pistons were rusted stuck. In the bearing, there seemed to have been an accumulation of rust. With just a bit of penetrating oil and a heavy hand at the end of a wrench, they had freed up my saw and gotten it to start.

The verdict, though, was not yet complete. Having freed the saw, it was now functional, but with the rust permeating the motor and bearings, there were two options before me. Did I want to have them reconstruct the bearings to remove the rust, or simply take it as it was and either let the rust break the bearings or magically clear itself up from use?

Seeing as how Option A was the same price as a new saw, I opted to take the saw back and play the odds.

When I picked up the saw, the technician told me not to get my hopes high either way, and that it still sounded like a coffee grinder.

Yanking on the starter cord, my saw blazed to life, sounding angry like a resurrected beaver out for revenge.

I realized I had discovered my new name for the saw, for however long it decided to remain functional: the Angry Beaver.

When I brought it home, I still had plenty of work to do with the Angry Beaver, cleaning up dead branches from a fallen tree.

To aid me in that effort was a new toy, equally as angry, more because of its innate violence than because it was resurrected from the dead. Topping off the oil and gas, I kicked the wheel brakes of my new Harbor Freight wood chipper into place, and yanked the starter cord of this mighty mulcher.

With my branches cut and ready to feed into it, I started the first one slowly into the chute, not knowing how this machine would behave compared to others I’ve used. The moment the tip of the stick touched the inside choppers, the whole thing jerked from my hands and sucked down into the belly of the mechanism, spewing out the side as a pile of fine chips before I could even blink.

The way out here, we prefer that our tools don’t get broken or damaged, but it happens—and when it does, it’s thanks to handy locals to help get the everything working again. And when push comes to shove, I certainly enjoy getting my hands on new tools as well.

wood chipper, chainsaw, The Way Out Here

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