Best Chainsaw Story

My hometown is White River where I was born in the corner bedroom in 1937. My mom was born there too but I’m not sure of the bedroom.

My grandfather George Depew came west with the CPR in the 1800’s and settled in White River where he was the agent and magistrate. From all accounts it was a wild time and I would have loved to be around in those days except that I would be dead by now and I’m in no hurry to be planted.

Since we grew up in a town where there were few laws and only one CPR policeman, we pretty much did what we pleased. When the first OPP constable came to town he was on foot and we all had half ton trucks. To make it worse, he was shot in the leg by Strawberry Joe who he was trying to arrest for making moonshine. This further slowed him down. My mom had my brother Larry and I in late in life after the first two and may account for us being the way we are. They were tired and let a few things slip.

I owned a Pioneer chainsaw when I was 19 yrs. and I have been using chainsaws to this day, almost every day. When we were on the run and had to quarter or dispose of a moose in a hurry we used the chainsaw. My friend, Rick was the fastest man alive with a knife and on a good day I can take the tartar off your teeth without touching the enamel. We had the process down to about 10-12 minutes. We always carried a round-mouthed shovel to bury the gut-bag because the ravens would appear in minutes and were a dead giveaway to the MNR flying overhead.

The game warden, although a friend, was always trying to catch us. He flew in near where we had portaged approximately 3 miles away and when he heard shooting, would call in the helicopter by radio. It was the best of times. We were on the run, traveled by night and took nothing for granted. When the conservation officer died, it was no fun anymore and we both have pretty much quit killing moose and I personally will never kill one again. They look at me when they are dying with those big eyes, as if to say “what did you do to me?”. Anyhow, this one time we had two moose down and had to move them at night. My partners left me in the bush and went out by canoe to bring in a truck on a nearby bush road. This operation had to be done at night. The chainsaw had been stashed near a clear-cut road and I thought everything was in order and pulled up under a spruce tree for a snooze. It would take about five hours for the boys to come in by the time they had portaged out and driven back form another direction. With your ear on the ground, you can hear a truck coming from a long distance. We got the moose loaded and went to the location of the hidden chainsaw. As you might know, darkness can play tricks on you when you are trying to find something at night. Did you know that colour blind people can see better at night? It didn’t help me and we finally gave up on it. It was around 5 a.m. and we had to get out of there. We never got back in there before freeze-up and the chainsaw would have to wait until spring.

About the middle of May, my cousin Cathy and I portaged in (5 portages) and since she loved to fish, I left her on the closest lake to where I could walk/run to the chainsaw location. It was a hot day. I took off my boots and put on my running shoes, stripped down to my underwear shorts and took off with my clothes under my arm. I was about 2 miles from the scene. I was running on a bush road which had clear cuts on both sides and as I approached the bottom of the hill where the chainsaw was stashed, I ran into what looked like an army of tree-planters of both sexes.

Since they had driven approximately 25 miles on bush roads to get there and to see a guy appear with no clothes on in a pair of running shoes, to put it kindly, was a bit novel. Maybe they thought I was Jesus returned!

The foreman and the gang approached me. I told them I was not looking for a job but was here to get my chainsaw, which I thought was pretty much right where they were standing. I asked them if they had seen it and more or less told them that if they had it and were not planning on telling me, it would go hard on them. The foreman said, “Honest man, we haven’t seen a chainsaw in here.”

I put my pants on and was leaning against the foreman’s tailgate, looking at a right angle into the bush. I was looking right at my chainsaw, it was like a miracle and although I am not a believer, I thought those people who see the Virgin Mary in a tree would be hard pressed to compete with this.

I said to the gang, “There it is right there”, went over and picked it up, took my pants off and headed up the hill with the saw under my arm.

They were still standing there watching my exit and at the top of the hill, I turned around and waved good-bye.

A few days later my cousin, Peggy, was at the laundromat in White River. The place was filled with tree planters and she struck up a conversation with them. They told her about this guy who appeared in the middle of nowhere, naked and looking for a chainsaw. “Oh,” she said. “That was just my cousin.”

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About the author: Brian Mealey was born in 1937 in White River, half way between the Sault and Thunder Bay. In those days travel was by CPR Rail, however canoe was and is his favourite mode of travel in the bush. Having been an intense hunter, fisherman and general bushman, he has learned to be a protector of all living things, particularly of moose. Most of his stories are drawn from his experiences travelling, working and playing in the Northern Ontario bush.