One long horn whistle. 2, 3 seconds, then a pause. I know my Dad is walking following the line to the old growth tree that I put the reel behind. Several hundred feet above the site of the explosion. He walks calmly like he has done countless times over the past 35 years. Arriving at the tree he opens the ammo container holding the galvanometer and airhorn. From the long horn to the explosion is about 5 minutes.
Focus comes back to the moment, when the second horn whistle goes off. Two quick, short toots…an alarm. If you were close enough to my Dad you can hear him call “Fire in the hole”, for what would be the last time. I also yell…”blasting”. Then Letting the galvanometer charge he flipped the firing switch to set off the blast. “BOOM!”
The reel wires connected to a blasting cap or small charge inserted into the closest hole. Then connected via a network of prima cord to the remaining charges. This is a smaller blast, so only half sticks, each cut and inserted into pre drilled holes in boulders along the trail.
From my safety tree in the opposite direction from my Dad, I wait the right amount of beats then start the walk back towards the blast site like I have now countless times since I first learned to walk.
The air thick with dust, branches and broken rock strewn across the forest service road. One never fully knows what to expect after a blast, so you check quickly for hazards. Did the blast ignite fully? My Uncle guarding towards our trailers had stopped two people hiking up the trail, who walk through with a look of dazed excitement.
Trail work in the backcountry is difficult both mentally and physically. But that over the decades now has become one of our favorite parts of the work. Pushing through complex tasks or large and long and dull tasks, repeated thousands of times over months until the job is complete.
The smell of blasted granite brings me back to the moment. What I didn’t know then, this would be the last blast I would participate in with my Dad, Mom and Uncle since I participated in my first blast as a new born in 1983. The year was 2016 and our main customer, the US Forest Service had largely dried up their trail funds in our region. Making a blasting license more combursome then it was worth.
My parents were federal and state licensed blasters from 1979 to 2018. I miss that part of the business a lot.
Twin Oaks Est 1978 