Riding the Bobcat (or How I Conquered My Fear of Heights... sort of) 


I knew that at some point, I'd have to get up a ladder, but it ended up being far more exciting than that. 

I found early in the day that I was good up to about six rungs which I thought was pretty impressive until I saw Jake on the ninth. We were finishing up the wooden facing on the tin workshop from a couple of weeks before, but this time, it was just Jake and me--no Orest and no avoiding heights.

We started around 10am and worked for eight hours. To be honest, though, I really don't recall much of what we did. It was the standard measuring, sawing, nailing, driving screws kind of stuff, but a lot of the sawing involved the table saw. I hate the table saw. I now understand how people lose fingers to saws. The mitre saw is fine--perfectly safe by comparison--as is the circular saw. The table saw just wants to eat your fingers. Fortunately, all fingers remained intact.

So as I began to gain confidence on the ladder (realising, of course, my six rung limit), Jake decided to test my newly discovered bravado. There was an old-style header that had to go across the top of the garage. The header was rough wood and probably weighed about 100 pounds. The garage, unfortunately, was one of those extra tall, RV sorts, so the header actually had to be screwed in about 24 feet up. I suggested that we use the Bobcat that Gord, the client, owns. Jake thought it was a good idea and nominated me to go up on it. I figured that was only fair seeing as it was my idea in the first place, but as Gord pulled up and I started lying wooden boards across the forks (it's the forklift model, you see), I started having some serious second thoughts. Jake, being a decent guy, told me not to worry about it--that he'd go up. That was fine with me, especially seeing as it had started to rain.

But moments later, something weird happened; I had a vision. I could see myself later that evening, sitting in front of the TV, racked with regret because I'd taken the easy way out. I knew I would absolutely hate myself for having avoided an opportunity to face my fear (even though I'd been clambering up and down the ladder a lot of the day). It was like I was staring in the face of a pivotal moment in my life and about to turn my back on it. I just couldn't let this happen.

The next thing I knew, I heard myself saying, "no Jake, I'll go up." A wicked smile spread across his face, and his eyes went kind of wild... the way I imagine he looks after he's grazed a deer and is tracking it through the woods... maybe bending down to dip his hand in drops of blood, licking his fingers, and saying something like, "we've got him. I can taste his fear." He asked me if I was sure, and I hesitated.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll go up. Not a problem." It was really starting to rain so, again, my inclination was to just say "okay". But again, the vision.

"Nope. Jake, I want to go up. Let me go up. I've got to face this."

That same crazed look again but this time with more excitement. "Okay then, killer. Get on up there!"

We talked about how it was going to happen, and what I needed to do. Jake had built a brace and mounted it at the far side of the garage. We were to ease one side of the 100 pound header into the brace, and send me up with the other side, armed with a drill to drive nine inch screws into it. I laid a few more planks of scrap lumber across the forks, put the end of the header on it, and squatted down towards the back of the forks. The next thing I knew, I was on my way up.

It was exhilarating at first... even kind of fun. I was about 16 feet off the ground staring at the top of this garage with one end of a 100 pound header in my hand. Hoisting it up and positioning it, especially in the rain, wasn't easy. I slid the header around like a pro, though, and had it lined up within seconds. All I had to do now, was to bend over and grab the drill that was sitting on the planks...

Of course, with all of the wrestling I had to do with the header, some of the planks had separated; I could see right through them to the ground about 16 feet below. I suddenly had one of those horrible moments of realisation--realising what I was doing, where I was, just how many things could possibly go wrong, and what the likely outcome would be: me plummeting to the ground and spending the next three months in a body cast.

Now, I have a personal policy never to put myself in a position where my well-being relies on some sort of technology or device. Yes, I realise that would eliminate flying and driving right off the bat. I'm talking more about, for instance, skydiving. I don't trust those little strings or a piece of silk enough to put my life in their hands. Bungee jumping is definitely out; I don't even trust bungee cords to hold my luggage to the roof. Scuba diving, also not generally supported by my policy. Sailing? Sailing's good. See, barring some sort of cataclysmic storm, your boat's going to float. I guess it's a passive-active sort of thing: I'm not going to actively do something that will require a device to keep me from being killed, but I'm okay with a situation that has some kind of "safety equilibrium" where something active and/or external needs to come into play and disrupt the safety balance. I think this is just common sense. I also call it the "Chicken Shit Gene".

Well looking at the hard ground from 16 feet in the air between a handful of wooden planks wasn't filling me with that "safety balance" feeling, and I nearly froze. I had to continue holding the header in place while I squatted down to grab the drill. I started shaking, and I suddenly wondered if I could even go through with it. I reminded myself just to focus only on what was in front of me: if you can forget where you are, it's just like being at ground level--nothing special. Of course, if you forget where you are, you might just take a step to the left or right and find yourself on ground level in a hurry.

In the end, I managed it. I was lowered back to ground level, hopped off the Bobcat, and Jake gave me a high five and "good job". About a half an hour later, we were finished with the job and it was Miller Time... literally. Gord offered us Miller Genuine Draft, and oh, you can bet I went for it... a few, actually. At the end of the day, I was pretty pleased with myself--for not taking the easy way out and for managing to control my fear and get the job done. That should be enough self-satisfaction for the next year or so, though. I mean, I wouldn't want to be a show-off.

The following day, I was back at Terry's "Double D Ranch" to finish up the painting... only there was a change of plans. As soon as I got there, Terry said, "Okay, you'll be cutting down trees on the back 40 today, eh."

"I thought I was supposed to finish up the painting on the wagon."

"Nope," he said. "You'll do that another day, eh. Today, we're cutting down spruces, eh." The guy says "eh" more often than... uh... Fonzie. (I know; that's more of an "aaaay".)

"I can only stay until noon, you know." This was true; Wendy was supposed to work at half-past one, so I had to leave.

"Oh, okay. Not a problem eh," he said, "not a problem. You'll come back on Friday..."

"I can't come back on Friday," I said. "I'm leaving for L.A. next Tuesday and have a few things to do before I leave." There was something about the way he said "you'll come back" that really irked me. There was something else he said later that really rubbed me the wrong way, too. There were two of us working: a guy called Cam working the chain saw (thank god... I certainly don't fancy that--where the table saw wants to eat your fingers, the chain saw wants to take off your leg), and me picking up the fallen branches and other bits of tree Cam had hacked up. I would pile the branches into the loader or "bucket" part of the tractor while Terry sat on the tractor and watched... and I kid you not, this is what he said:

"Yeah they wanted $150 an hour to cut these down, eh. Why should I pay that when I can do it myself, eh?" ... or hire a pair of schmucks and pay them $10 apiece to do it for him! I mentioned this to Cam later while Terry was off doing something else, and he just shrugged and said, "that's Terry for you." Pretty galling if you ask me.

So I never finished the painting and don't know if I will. The next time I'm there, I expect it will be with Jake to build a deck--that's what I hear, anyway.

And then that night was pool league--8 ball. I don't know how it went because, as the day progressed, I started feeling worse and worse and by the time I got to the pool hall, I knew I was coming down with a flu. I left before the first match was even over, was in bed at 10 o'clock, and slept until 11 the next morning--13 hours!

It looks like the camping trip for the weekend is off. I can't say I'm upset about that. I'm now hoping that I feel well enough to go to Gord's big blow out bash on Saturday night. Maybe I'll even take another ride on the Bobcat!

... but speaking of "blow out", my inwards are creaking like the bowels of an old ship. Better run. 

Posted: Fri - August 25, 2006 at 03:09 PM          

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