SHADES OF THE MONKEY WRENCH GANG
By
Charles Towne

For those of you who have never read the cult classic, ‘THE MONKEY WRENCH GANG’ by Edward Abbey, do yourself a favor and beg, borrow or hi-jack a copy, you’ll love it.

It has been some twenty years ago when I was hiking way back on a large parcel of state owned land one fine day. I had been watching a gray fox vixen and her two pups as they played near their den. Actually I should say the cubs were playing while mama slept. Suddenly she sprang to her feet, every fiber of her being alert.

I didn’t know what had disturbed her but it wasn’t long before I heard a truck engine heading in our direction. Mama fox and her babies vanished and as the truck drew nearer I did the same thing, hiding at the side of the road in a thick clump of palmetto scrub.

Soon the truck, a brand new, bright red Dodge pick up, hove into sight, drew closer and stopped no more than fifty feet from my hiding place.

Somewhat curious as to the purpose of the trucks being there I watched as two somewhat inebriated good old boys extricated themselves from the cab and stood there talking in hushed tones as they each popped open another beer.

The driver walked to the rear of the truck and dropped the tailgate and I watched in dismay as the two idiots began unloading used roofing materials, shingles and old tarpaper and throwing it into the underbrush at the side of the narrow dirt road.

I wanted to do something but what? I could say something and get a bullet for my troubles which didn’t really appeal all that much.

I determined to get the license plate number and just hunkered down there to await my opportunity.

After unloading their trash the men each popped a fresh tab and stood their admiring the beauty they were so intent on marring and then they began walking down the road. They stopped some distance from the truck to obviously answer an urgent call of nature bought on by all of that beer.

Then it was that I had a ‘MONKEY WRENCH GANG’ idea.

Moving as quietly as I could I approached the driver’s side of the truck, drew my trusty Randall knife and it was with some small amount of guilt I slit a tire. The second tire followed it’s mate’s hissing demise. Ready to run at a moments notice I was pleased to see the trashers walking further away.

Before I was done that truck was sitting on four flat tires.

I crept back into my hiding place and didn’t have long to wait before they returned to open another can and sit in the cab bonding as they guzzled their brew.

Soon the driver turned the key and that big motor revved, the clutch was slipped but sadly the truck was willing but it wasn’t going anyplace.

When they discovered the flat tires the air suddenly turned several shades of blue, I mean those boys could cuss.

Yes, their day was definitely off to a bad start and I was sitting there laughing so hard I was afraid they were going to hear me when suddenly their day went from gray to pitch black as a game warden’s four by four with two uniformed officers in it pulled around the bend in the road and approached the malefactors.

I would like to be able to say that the game wardens were nice but alas, they were not. Those two good old boys were soon sitting in the rear seat of that official green vehicle wearing handcuffs as they were being hauled away.

A couple days later I went back. The truck had been hauled away and there wasn’t a trace of the trash. Ah it is sweet when the law works for the land.

You ask, would I do the same thing today?

Well, let’s put it this way, I STILL HAVE A VERY SHARP KNIFE.

You have a nice day now ya hear. Chaz

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