By Barking Tree – Mendocino Country Environmentalist, August 1, 1990
July 18, Osprey Grove near Highway 128, Navarro. We were all riding on the high of the previous day, feeling confident that we could again shut down L-P’s rape of the land. I too was feeling cocksure not only because I was going to Osprey Grove a second day in a row but also because I designated myself as radio person on the action. The link to the outside world. To say the least I was walkie talkie cocky. Moving into the grove before dawn, I turned to the east and saw a crescent moon hanging on the horizon. Our journey began into the darkness.
The day before we were fifty strong. This day we were only nineteen. We quietly moved across fields single file, stopping to listen to the distant cats driving onto the site. We held our breath and crouched low in preparation for what lay before us. We all quickly ducked under L-P’s pink ribbon designating their THP boundary and moved down the road. Someone in the front spotted a flashlight ahead and we were then sure that L-P was prepared to deal with us radical activists.
Our group split up, into groups of four and five. Matt and I quickly got off the skid road hiding in a grove of fallen trees. I stashed myself in the hollow of a horizontal log and Matt found a space inside a standing tree.
I felt safe from being spotted so I asserted my self-appointed position as radio person and attempted to reach our temporary base camp. We had agreed on Channel 27. Lisa and I talked long enough to switch to channel 30. From then on I didn’t feel safe enough to whisper so I cut myself from the outside world.
The silent radio was made up for by the sounds of the forest. Clucks, clicks, chirps and whistles. Hoots from what I later realized were owls. Birds of all sorts were chanting their creation songs, being greeted by the break of day. The symphonic orchestration of morning calls was interrupted by a high-pitched whine buzzing in my ear. Mosquitos, dozens of them, hovered around me in eager anticipation.
A high-pitched horse voice rose above the whining din, “You cocksuckers!” Get out of this forest. I see you under that brush you motherfucker! Get out!!” It was the familiar (from the day before) rapture of the L-P forester Lee Susan, across the grove. Above me on the skid road I heard heavy steps running up and down the road. Two people from our group rushed by me. I was not curious or daring enough to see who was chasing them. Moments later I heard more heavy footsteps and panting. I looked up and saw a dark curly haired man. He stooped down out of sight and then was up again. I then watched as he threw two large rocks, baseball style, at me, thought to myself, “holy shit this guy is trying to kill me.” After two missed shots, landing only steps away, he was gone. I was frightened, helpless, but surprisingly calm. I kept asking myself when the police would get there so that they could arrest us radical activists. I was never so eager to see the boys in blue. Above me on the skid road I heard many more heavy footsteps. I sat there and watched as large rocks were hurled from the road, aimed at people from our group. I was completely helpless. If I made the slightest noise, even the snap of a twig, I would have been found. So I sat there holding my breath.
The mosquitos came now in great numbers. It was a beggar’s banquet and I had no desire to be the host. The second round with these vampirous creatures was even more unpleasant. This time they were twice and large and twice as hungry. There was no place to run.
The heavy feet pounding up and down the skid road persisted. Obscenities and rocks were being delivered at a steady pace.
A man from our group was standing on the other side of the gully. I could clearly see the blood streaming down his face. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Those rock throwers could have killed him! The bleeding man began a heated argument with two so-called “foresters” Lee Susan and Jack Sweeley above me on the skid road about the technicalities of cutting old growth in Osprey Grove, All I could focus in on was the blood on his face. Their argument was interrupted by the whining chain saw.
The two “foresters” informed all of us that we were in a dangerous area and we needed to get out if we didn’t want a tree to come crashing down on us. I couldn’t and still can’t believe they began cutting with nineteen people in the grove. I was not going to challenge the men’s warning so I quickly got up and with Matt got the hell out of there. I frantically got in touch with the outside world to tell them to get the police in the grove to protect our group from rocks and falling trees.
I was and still am disgusted at the blatant disregard for life, both human and redwood. It was yet another example of the violence done unto peaceful eco-activists.