The Wanapum Team Later That Summer

Later in the summer I was moved again to another crew.  

The crew chief was Nick.  

Our mutual worst nightmares had been realized.  

The difference was that by this time I knew what I was doing.  

The first thing that happened after getting out of the crummy was a virtual replay of the first moments of my first day.  

The difference was I knew enough that even Nick’s mumbling couldn’t keep me from knowing what he wanted me to do.  

So I set off – again it was “go over to that hill…” - to do it.  

I was supposed to go to the hill, find a place where Nick could get a clear shot and pound a hub in the ground.  

Once that was done I was supposed to put a “tack” (a specialized tack with a robust pointed staff and a bulbous head with a dimple in it; the dimple was to establish the center of the tack) in the hub.  

Then I was supposed to put a “target” (a two by two piece of thick paper with a four quadrant red and white checkerboard printed on it) on my plum bob string (a heavy piece of bronze shaped like a rocket nose cone suspended by a heavy-duty piece of twine). 

Then I was supposed to center the plum bob on the tack so Nick could shoot an angle.  

I did all that, and did it fairly quickly, cleanly and efficiently.  

I was going to show Nick.  

As I was giving him the shot, he started yelling something.  

And his tone was really unpleasant. 

I could hear him, but I couldn’t understand him.  

Nick could mumble really loudly.  

Something just snapped.  

I dropped the plum bob, came off the hill and started walking rapidly, and yelling as I walked, toward Nick's hill.  

When I reached the bottom of the rise that Nick occupied, I stopped, looked up at him, shook my fist and said, “you son of a bitch, what do you want.  

Why don’t you learn to talk? 

I can’t understand a thing you are saying.”  

Then I continued up the rise, not to be cowed, to Nick, fully expecting to be fired.  

Instead, he said calmly and clearly “please put the target a little higher on the string.”  

I went back to the hill, picked up my plum bob, put the target higher on the string, and Nick got his shot.  

We became really good friends from that moment.  

I never would have guessed what I had needed to do.  

Anger sometimes shows the way where reason is at a complete loss.