Granger the Ranger

Bob Granger was a guy I knew in high school. Had a hard-on for the wilderness even in those early days. When the rest of the guys were getting wasted and getting laid, or at least hoping to, Granger was off on solitary nature hikes.

Granger's nickname was "Danger Granger," which was an exercise in irony, exercised by Granger's high school peers who by and large wouldn't have been able to define irony, but intuitively knew it when they made it up.

Danger Granger could be counted on to always buckle his seat-belt, never drink to excess, just say no to drugs, and file his income tax return on time.

Or so I thought.

I dropped out of high school. Bob "Danger Granger" naturally finished high school and went off to college, where he studied to become a Forestry Conservation Officer.

I totally lost track of Bob the Knob, till a chance encounter about ten years later in a small town in Northern Ontario. I was passing through on my way home from one of my many failed missions to make my fortune in the West. Stopped in at this little bar & grill place on the Trans Canada Highway.

I'd been driving 24 hours straight and finally succumbed to the craving for a pitcher of beer and a jumbo wing platter. Over there in the corner is a table of very rowdy locals, six or so pitchers of beer on the tables in front of them. Seemed every one of them was telling a story at the same time. In the midst of this maelstrom of beer and bullshit I saw...

Danger Granger? No! It couldn't be!

Well fuck me!

Yup, it was little Bob the Knob, Danger Granger. But now he was Danger Granger the Forest Ranger.

Turns out he'd got a job with the Department of Lands and Forests after graduating from college. Worked his way up, and a couple years ago had been assigned to the 150,000 acre conservation area just up the road. He was the Big Dog in his own government sanctioned fiefdom.

Bob had come a long way. From the irony of "Danger Granger" he'd become a very knowledgeable afficianado of guns and motorcycles.

Me and Bob closed the place. Then he had his intern drive us out to his field office. Rustic shack in the woods. Rent free. Comes with the job.

We're barely in the door and set into our chairs in his little field kitchen, when he pulls a garbage bag out of the freezer. Opens it up and passes me a stalk of hemp.

Seems Granger the Forest Ranger is running a 150,000 acre grow op.

His official duties of watching out for poachers, checking hunting licences, and reporting forest fires leave a little time for some amateur horticulture.

Which he obviously excelled at.

After that I made a point of heading up north once in awhile to catch up with Granger the Ranger. We'd meet up in town for wings and beer. Then we'd head out to HQ for serious discussions on solving the problems of the world.

Until one fateful weekend when things went horribly wrong.

I accidentally burned down his field office.

The key word there is "accidentally" and I regret that Granger the Ranger has not come around to seeing the truth of the matter. He prefers to stew in bitterness.

It was me and Bob and a couple of his friends from town, and we'd been sitting around the Field Office having a few beers and sampling the previous season's wares. Somebody was taking way too much time in the bathroom.

I decided to take a whiz in the ash pail. Unfortunately this was just a couple of minutes after I'd filled the ash pail with hot coals out of the wood stove.

There ensued a cloud of smoke and steam that immediately filled the room, causing at least one of those present to panic and start running around in the smoke-filled room screaming for a fire extinguisher. In her panic she tripped over the ash pail, knocking it over and sending the contents all over the floor.

Long story short, there were still enough hot coals to start several small fires throughout the kitchen.

And it was really smokey.

And we were drunk and then some.

And Bob's field office burned to the ground.

And I haven't been invited back since.

But one has to put this sort of life lesson into perspective. In fact I believe there are several life lessons embedded in this story;

• have a plan B ready when pissing in the ash pail
• don't piss in the ash pail
• don't pre-judge your high school peers

Because as the Good Book tells ya, judge not, lest ye be judged.

And Danger Granger the Forest Ranger is just one high school peer deemed way short of the mark back in high school, who ended up way ahead of it twenty years later.