After high school, my parents moved from Orange to San Diego County. That meant that I had to abandon my main source of income, the lawn route I had built up during high school. I had no money and could not afford college, so I took a job in construction. I soon discovered that I had a talent for working on big dirt-moving heavy equipment. Moving dirt paid much better than cutting grass.
I quickly realized how dangerous operating heavy equipment environment could be. No worries, I was young, energetic and wanted the money.
I needed to be independent - with a job and a place of my own.
After a few years, my skills were good, I was nearly fearless, and I was in demand and could choose the company I wanted to work with. I was especially skilled at finish grade work, but there were times when the owners would send me to special jobs: rebuilding landslides - fallen house pad embankments in the backyards, finishing house pads in isolated areas, building mountain roads, carving out firefighting trails, pushing large earth-movers to fill their 30 plus cubic yard buckets. But the worst was pushing over trees, especially eucalyptus.
Most operators just wouldn’t do these jobs. They required calm and automatic operator movements. As a young gun, my boss would send me to difficult and sometimes dangerous jobs. I was skilled enough to handle many. Maybe not all. But it didn’t matter in this case. I was better than the boss operating large bulldozers and I didn’t mind taking risks.
The morning phone call from the boss sent me to a nearly isolated area full of trees. The CAT arrived nearly at the same time as we were exchanged ‘good mornings.’
It was a Caterpillar D-9H, the largest and most powerful made at that time. It weighed over 50 tons and had an engine powerful enough to move it. ……. It was loud, screaming loud. The tracks were even louder…….
The beast was hauled from site-to-site on large, low profile trailer called a ‘low boy.’
“Holy shit,” I thought, “That is a huge monster.” I had been driving the smaller D-8s. But, I was game for anything. The CAT control levers were standardized.
As the truck driver was off-loading it, my boss gave me instructions for the day; push over every tree on the 40-acre property and finish it by the time the “low boy” returned at 6:00 pm.
Not an easy task. Several trees were on a steep slope that led down to a ten foot drop-off, right into the back yard of an abandoned house. Some of the other trees were the largest I had ever seen; a challenge for the D-9, even with its size and power.
I had no problem with pushing trees over, but with eucalyptus, it’s difficult and dangerous. They are heavily laden with water and the huge branches are brittle and snap off easily. Especially when being toppled by a bulldozer’s force.
“By the way,” my boss said, “don’t lose a track doing this. If you hear a track pin come loose, stop and check it, then park the dozer on a level spot so we can repair it.”
I walked with him toward the tractor. “Anything else I should know?” I asked.
“Just one other thing,” he said, “The neutral position needs adjustment, so be sure it’s really in neutral before getting off when the engine is running. Use the safety lever.” The safety lever holds the transmission shifter in neutral to prevent inadvertent engagement.
“What about the house?” I asked, “knock it down, as well?”
“Nope, you can leave it alone. The owners are thinking of moving it, but I doubt that it’s possible since the house pad is too small to maneuver it off in one piece.”
“Oh, and another thing. I suggest you try to get those trees off that steep slope, first. Then go after all the lower trees. And, good luck with that big guy.” He was referring to the one huge eucalyptus tree in the center of the property.
With the boss heading back to his truck, and the low-boy pulling out, I climbed onto the D-9. “Shit, this is a big tractor.”
I dreaded going after the trees on the hill. First, because I hadn’t driven the this huge D-9. Second, because I needed to get a feel for the friction levers.
Turning a dozer is accomplished by pulling friction levers, releasing a clutch, and applying brakes. To turn left, you pull the left lever toward yourself, and then push the left brake. That allows the right track to continue moving and the result is a left turn. Simple. After a while, it ‘s automatic. And it better be if you want to survive as an operator.
However, the speed of the engine is controlled by a "decelerator” pedal. Pushing down on it reduces fuel to the engine. It’s a convenient feature, which reduces leg fatigue by not having to push the pedal all day long. Simple once you get used to it.
I knocked down a couple trees on my way to the long steep slope where the old house was located. No problem for this huge beast. I knew it was a matter of easing up to the tree, making contact, then start pushing. The higher the blade, the more the leverage.
I chose to crawl up the slope on the right side of the house, then cut across diagonally up the slope behind the house. As I started passing the house, I could see the 10-foot vertical drop down to the short back yard. It was all loose dirt; something that wouldn’t get approved in present day construction permitting. The house was at least fifty years old.
I had to make sure I was well above that drop off to avoid toppling the dozer.
As I passed the house, I realized that the steep hill was covered with 3-foot-tall weeds and lots of large rocks. Two-foot-sized large rocks. There was no way to see what type of terrain or other obstacles were in front of me.
“No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just lower the huge dozer blade in front and skim the ground as I go. The large rocks will roll toward the left and down the slope.” And they did.
I continued traveling in a diagonal direction up the hill, toward the two trees I needed to knock down, which meant the left side of the bulldozer was on the downhill side.
Pushing the decelerator, I stopped the dozer to get a look at where I was on the hill and how to get down from it. Something I always did.
I estimated that the two trees were exactly above the house. Once I pushed them over, I would turn downward, keeping the left side of the dozer toward the bottom of the hill and proceed to the other side of the house. No problem. A simple and good plan.
I took my foot off the decelerator and proceeded upward. Rocks were rolling to the left. My approach was good. The tumbleweeds were being pushed together and eventually rolling left, as well.
Then it happened.
When I am within 15 feet of the trees, the right side of the wide blade digs up a large rock, which goes under the right track. I don’t see it in time.
The right track lurches upward.
“No!” I yell out loud. I can feel a sudden surge of adrenaline.
I am suddenly as scared I can ever be; shit-level scared.
This kind of tractor is not designed to be on a severe slope and has a max-tilt angle of about 45 degrees.
I am close to that maximum 45 degrees and can feel it! The only thing preventing a quick rollover is the large side arm connecting the frame to the blade.
The right track is in the air. The left track is on its own left edge, making an unnerving screeching metal sound.
Then, the dozer starts to overturn!
“F……!” I scream.
Without thinking, I pull hard on the left friction lever which puts the left track in neutral and I start moving quickly in reverse!
At the same time, the large rock under the right track must have moved again, because as I am moving backward, the dozer is pushed into a hard-left spin. A
violent left.
Bang !
The dozer’s right track lands on the hard ground, but it’s still in drive. More left spin!
In a split second, I am facing downhill.
In another second, the dozer is swinging more to the left and the right track is suddenly on the downhill side. The view of the house disappears into my right peripheral vision as the CAT continues its leftward turn.
My right foot is nowhere near the decelerator to slow the engine! All the jerky movements keep me off balance.
The right track keeps crawling. The leftward momentum continues......shit……
I was nearly completing a full 360 and was pointing uphill, again.
“But how?!” my mind is racing, “Dozers don’t turn this fast!”
Shit. I am on a slab of granite! Less traction! And, I am sliding!
Instinct reactions place the dozer in reverse. Right friction, right brake! Right track locks. Left track in reverse!
The dozer falls backward faster.
“I have to get the dozer pointed back downhill in order to survive the fall off the backyard drop off!” I think.
I can see the house, again, to my left….and I am still sliding toward it! In my reflexes to turn the CAT around, I had lost awareness of how close I am.
“In a few seconds, I am going to flip this thing over!” my inner brain is in a panic.
Left friction, left brake, transmission in drive!
“Keep turning you bastard!” I say loudly.
Still at full throttle, the blade continues to the left.
Instinctively, I lower the blade.
I am running out of dirt under me. The 10 foot drop off to the pad is right there! Shit. Too close for me to stop!
Finally, the CAT is nearly facing downhill.
Fifty tons of iron speeding toward the drop off and the house below! My mind prepares for a death roll.
The large blade cuts into the ground about 7 feet before the drop off. The tracks stiffen but do not slow down.
A wave of dirt and rock goes flying.
By pure luck, or the dozer’s guardian angel, the dirt in front of the blade fills the bottom of the drop off and makes a small, but usable, ramp!
In a second, the huge beast crosses the 10 feet of distance to the house and goes crashing into the living room.
BAM !
The blade disappears into the house. The front of the dozer follows it.
I pull the left friction, smash down on the left brake, and press down on the decelerator. Full stop.
“Damn,” I said, “I can’t believe I didn’t roll this bitch,” and breathed in a lung full of dust and started coughing…..
“Now what?” I whisper to myself.
I looked back at the notch I had carved through the top of the drop off. Then, I looked up the hill at the trees, and at all the scars the dozer had made coming down.
I had to get back up there.
I put the dozer into reverse and started backing out of the house. I pulled the right friction and brake, lifted the blade, and backed away from the house in a reverse right.
Then, I heard that dreadful screech and snap that a track link makes when the track pin comes loose. Shit.
I quickly released the right friction and stopped the dozer. I was nearly on a flat surface. I needed to confirm if a track was coming loose. Since I was turning right in reverse, it had to be the left one. The moving track.
I put the dozer into neutral and set the shift guard.
I got off the running dozer and started my inspection of the outside track links. All was good on the outside. It had to be an inner pin of the track. That meant crawling under the dozer.
I got under the ripper bar in the rear of the dozer, took off my hard hat, and started crawling on my belly. Normally, there is plenty of room, but there was a lot of dirt to navigate over.
I made my way about eight feet under the dozer, close to the left track. I couldn’t see any track pin out of place.
“Good. I can keep working,” I thought.
Suddenly, the tracks stiffened as the transmission slips into reverse! Damn! The motor is in idle, but it has lots of torque and the tractor starts moving backward. No! I get scared shitless, immediately.
I push at the dirt, trying to move backward fast enough to outrun the tractor. It is a narrow escape path, between moving track and dirt.
“I am crawling fast,” I thought. But, my brain screams, “Crawl faster!”
I have to keep my left foot and leg from getting too close to the reversing track.
If even my pants get under the track, I won’t be able to get free and the blade will crush me.
The track links normally make a horrendous screeching noise, but I had never been that close to a moving track and under a powerful diesel CAT motor. It was screaming loud!
Although, it probably took ten seconds to crawl out, it felt like an eternity! I finally got back far enough to get to my knees and perform a tuck-and-roll to the left.
I was free!
The tractor kept moving backward.
When I got to my feet, I realized that there was no obstacle behind the tractor that would stop it. I had to risk climbing aboard the moving track and getting into the cabin.
A track is basically a large bicycle chain with large metal pads bolted onto it, each pad with a tall four inch “cleat” to grip the dirt.
My leap onto the track had to be between each cleat. The track was suspended by two rollers with the track curving downward from the large front wheel, then up over the roller, then down, then up over the second roller, then down again before climbing up and over the huge rear sprocket.
And the noise was nearly deafening. The powerful engine with its blower was loud enough to ruin anyone’s hearing. Add to that the screeching of unlubricated tracks. It was an overwhelmingly loud orchestra of horror, moving backward without control.
My adrenaline was pumping so much that I had to take a moment to calm down and do this right. A bad approach to a moving track could mean a broken leg, or worse. There were plenty of stories.
I step up on the blade arm. It is wide and long. Plenty of room to stand there, but it is moving! The edge of the tracks grab my pant leg and I panick and jump off.
The tracks are moving too fast to calculate easily where to put my first step.
The CAT is nearing the end of the pad. I have to commit to getting up before it gets to the end and continue on to uneven ground. Once there, it will be impossible to climb over moving tracks.
I jump back onto the arm and without thinking too much, take the next step onto the moving left track.
“Shit, this is crazy!” I think.
Time slows down to the longest few seconds. I grasp the huge roll cage handle and finally climb onto the chair. With automatic motions, I apply the brake.
Done! The beast is subdued.
“I can’t believe I got away with all that,” I say to myself. Whew.
“I’ll never do that again.”
The day wasn’t over. I had to continue with pushing over trees. After a few dozen are pushed over, I got the confidence to climb back up the hill and knock down the outlier trees. The trees that brought on the CAT dance.
“ Back in business,” I said to myself. I looked down at the smashed house and thought about the excuse I would give me boss. I study my filthy shirt and pants and wonder how I can explain that as well.
After pushing over all of the remaining small and medium sized trees, came the last and most difficult tree. It was huge. Wide and tall.
I parked the dozer in front of it and climbed down to size up the tree. Of course, I put the blade and ripper bar down to prevent another session of run-away-CAT.
“Damn,” I said out loud as I looked at the big tree. Then, looked at the CAT. It was huge as well.
“Okay, God damn it. Let’s do this mudder fucker.” I climb back onto the CAT.
“Let’s dance,” I mutter.
I creep up to the base of the tree, make contact, and push. Nothing. Not even a tremble. The powerful tracks spin. Nothing.
I need leverage.
I back the CAT up a distance and start pushing dirt. I decide to build a ramp. It has to be packed dirt, so I only push up a few inches at a time.
“ Holy shit,” I say to myself, “ this beast can move dirt!” It doesn’t take long to build a long ramp at about eight feet of height.
“That should be enough.” I say to myself as I look down. I sat at about fifteen feet higher than the ground.
I ease up to the tree. I have to keep the beast in the center of the ramp. Falling off would mean landing the CAT on its side.
I lift the huge blade up to nearly its maximum height and make gentle contact with the tree. Then, start a push and drift of the CAT’s power to move the tree forward and backward. It is working. I can see that the tree is resisting the adverse movement but can’t keep ahold of the ground its roots have seized over the years.
Forward and backward. Each time a little more of movement distance, it seems.
Forward and backward. Accelerate and decelerate the motor.
The top of the tree has to be moving several feet each time. The weight of the upper tree is moving in my favor.
Forward and backward. Accelerate and decelerate the motor.
With a quick glance that all good operators have, I can see that my boss is driving onto the site. My concentration is focused on the tree and my position on the ramp. This has to look ridiculous.
Forward and backward.
Then, for some unknown reason, I freeze internally and put the CAT in neutral automatically.
“No.” my brain screams.
I jump up onto the seat, simultaneously putting the transmission in neutral. No time to decelerate the engine.
BAM !!
Large tree branches, eight inches in diameter, crash down from the treetop, right where my legs were. The brittle branches had broken off in the movement of the tree. The dirt on them and lose leaves cover me in a cloud. No need to find an explanation of where the dirt came from.
My boss is walking toward me, then running. “Mark!” he shouts, arms waving, “Mark!”
I am waving my arms as well, trying to clear the cloud of dust from in front of me. The dust overwhelms me and I start coughing violently. From a distance, I’m sure it looked as if I was hurt.
When I can see through the cloud, I yell out to my approaching boss.
“Chainsaw!”
He can’t hear me, but he can see that I am sitting on the tank behind the seat.
“Are you alright?” he shouts. I can’t hear him.
“Bring the chainsaw!” I repeat.
“Are you alright?” he repeats.
The revving CAT engine does not allow us to hear each other, but as the cloud dissipates, we both realize that I am alright and that we need the chainsaw.
An hour later, the tree limbs are cleared.
“How the hell did you avoid getting killed by those branches?” my boss said. “you are a lucky fellow.”
“I know,” thinking back to the previous day’s events.
“Say, could you stand over there and let me know if any more branches break off,” I suggest. I point to a safe area where he should be able to see the movements of the tree and if it was going to fall.
I get back into the CAT seat and start the pushing strategy, again.
Forward and backward.
Forward and backward.
Within another half dozen movements, I can sense that the roots were breaking. The tree is going to fall, but not without resistance.
Suddenly, the tree trunk distance from the large blade grew. I can’t reach it anymore.
I apply brakes and quickly shift the CAT into reverse.
“Shit,” I think, I have got to move back.
Then, the huge root ball emerges out of the end of my ramp and grabs the large blade from the bottom.
I am being dragged forward ! Another chance for a death roll….
The bosses’ arms are waving, pointing for me to get back. Any more waving and he can take off like a bird.
I pull the lever to raise the large blade upward.
The tracks are grinding back in reverse, chewing the dirt forward as the strong CAT tries to get free from the huge root system that is pulling it forward.
It must have looked like a large elephant being pulled over a cliff by its trunk (no pun intended).
The tree continues to fall forward.
The CAT keeps grinding away at the dirt ramp.
My mind gets ready for a death roll. “Shit,” I say again.
I can register that the tree was falling at an increasing rate.
My boss stops flying and holds his mouth open watching this impossible situation. The slow-motion death of a tree and my efforts not to destroy the CAT.
Snap! The massive root breaks and I am free!
I hold the CAT still on the ramp, sizing up the victory and watching the smiles coming from the boss as he shakes his head in disbelief.
The low-boy arrives to collect the CAT. We are done for the day.
“You look filthy, but do you want to go get a beer?” my boss offers.
“Sure, it’s Miller time.”
