It's not greenies, as such, that I dislike. It's those idiots that seem to believe that their fanaticism excuses any sort of behaviour. Laws are meaningless because they shouldn't apply to people who despoil the environment.
And it seems to me that they have absolutely no concept of proper forest management and are blind to anything that might show them to be wrong. Would you believe that one of those bunches got some of what they called old growth forest protected from harvesting.
Twenty years later they were looking for beautiful forests to photograph for a new campaign. They found that their precious old growth protected forest was dying. Trees that could have been harvested were now all dying off. So they took photos of new growth forests that had been harvested and resewn, and claimed that those were what had protected. Lying swine.
In case you haven't guessed it, I'm a logger. I don't actually get out there with my little axe and chop trees down, but I am part of the industry. This particular day I was driving down an access road when I came around this bend and there were these three idiots chained across the road. Two men and a woman.
I pulled up and asked what the hell they thought they were doing.
It was the usual spiel. We were unrepentant degenerate despoilers of the forest and they were going to stop us.
"A forest is just a crop," I told them. "We reap the trees and resew. In twenty years we'll be back to reap the crop we sew today. Why don't you go and protest some farmer who's viciously clear-felling his field of wheat, putting a thousand mice and snakes out of their homes.
Or better yet, move to Queensland and protest the cane farmers. They actually set fire to their fields."
They insinuated that they didn't care about farmers or cane growers. They weren't despoiling the forest and putting cute little possums out of their homes. We were.
"I assume you have no keys," I said, nodding towards the padlocked chains.
"Deliberately didn't bring them with us, mate," said the oldest of the group. At thirty odd, you'd think that he'd have more sense.
I took out my mobile and rang base and explained the situation.
"You'll need to send someone up with bolt cutters," I told them. "May I humbly suggest that you send Curly Joe and his friend? Be warned that they'll probably have to do a search of these idiots first in case they have concealed keys."
I turned back to the greenies.
"It looks like it'll take a good half hour before the bolt cutters arrive and I'm stuck here until then. I'm sure you won't mind if I check to see if you've got the keys on you."
"You try and search me and I'll defend myself," snapped the leader. "I've got rights and you can't search me if I don't agree."
"About all you could do is kick me," I pointed out, "in which case I'd kick you back. You might like to look at the boots I'm wearing compared to your Nikes. Funny how it's always you that has rights, especially when you're busy denying other people theirs."
I checked out all his pockets, but no luck. He also took one look at my boots and decided not to kick me, though he did threaten to sue. A similar search on the second man had similar results. Now it was the woman's turn.
The woman was glaring at me as I approached her. She was young and quite pretty.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "You don't even look old enough to drive."
"I'm nineteen," she said defensively, "and don't you dare touch me."
"Sorry, honey, but I have to check for the keys. I checked the men and it would be sexual discrimination if I don't search you, too. You're not sexist, are you?"
She gave me a furious look but kept her mouth shut.
I did quick search of her pockets and found nothing. Then I looked at her consideringly. She was wearing a zip up jacket that I'd unzipped already. Under it she had a button-up shirt and slacks, both of which had pockets.
"I assume you won't want me dipping my hands into your shirt pockets and finding I'm feeling your boobs. Right?"
She nodded.
"Fair enough."
