If you dislike land rapists, such as big developers, big real estaters, gas and oil drillers, etc., then your first order of business is to read Edward Abbey’s THE MONKEY WRENCH GANG, twice. The first time you read for fun and pleasure; the second reading might be for tactics, as in a manual. For example, if you’ve had unpleasant dealings with utility companies “creating progress” in your area, for example building roads, drilling gas or oil wells, stripping coal, deep mining, etc. you know the feelings. The monkey wrenchers have an answer.
Note the advice of one of Abbey’s protagonists:
“Always pull up survey stakes. Anywhere you find them. Always. That’s the first goddamned general order in this monkey wrench business. Always pull up survey stakes.”
He should have added that you should always disguise the dirt from the stake hole, tamp it down, and disguise the scar, so the enemy cannot simply replace the stake. A further suggestion would be to move the survey stakes…perhaps enough that a lawsuit could be instituted against the environmental rapists.
According to a Cat operator I shared several lemonades with a few times, Karo syrup poured into the fuel tank of heavy machinery is enough to deadline the equipment for a thorough bit of maintenance.
“It’ll turn to solid carbon, that syrup, and seize the engine up tight. It makes a helluva mess of an engine. I’d suggest about three to four quarts per tankful.
“Now look, though,” he cautioned, his eyes glinting hard enough to stare open clam shells at a hundred yards, “if you did that to my own machine I’d come after you hard. But if it was a company machine or if they’d leased my machine, hell, I’d probably buy you a drink afterward!”
In the summer of 1978, about 150 angry farmers in Minnesota held a beer-and-hot-dog party to celebrate the coming of the “bolt weevils.” The party and the “weevils” cost a utility giant a quarter of a million dollars.
The farmers were fighting mad over the invasion of the huge utility conglomerates who were running their power towers and lines across the countryside, ruining farms and dairy operations. All legal and moral efforts to oppose this land rape failed. That’s when the “bolt weevils” came to the farmers’ rescue.
After beating off state police by using Wrist Rocket slingshots to fire ball bearings at patrol-car windows, the farmers brought out their wrenchs and cutting tools. Soon, after two of the 150-foot-tall, hundred-thousand-dollar transmission towers lay smashed on the ground, victims of the “bolt weevils.”
A dozen years ago, these farmers were staunch, conservative Americans, firmly behind “their” government, and they claim that the radicals of the sixties were right. That’s comforting, at last.
One farmer says, “The goddamn government’s playing red herring, bleating about Arab terrorists and weathermen and the underground. Hell, it’s the people — us, the little people — they better watch out for. We’re the revolutionaries, and we’re ready to fight.
“They may finish this power line and others, but the greedy, land-raping bastards will never keep it in operation. There’s not enough guards for that. And more people are coming around to our way.”
You could almost hear an echo of “All the power to the people,” with not hint of a pun.
A major gas company was ripping and raping all over the countryside, using the national need for natural gas as its excuse for avarice. One landowner whose livestock were distupted by the gas-drilling operation decided to get even, quietly.
Farmer Dale explained, “I knew a little bit about the state environmental regulations, so I decided to help the gas company violate as many of them as I could, even if it mean sacrificing a few things of my own.
“Late one evening, I kicked over the hose from their fuel tank and opened the valve. By morning, the result was nearly seven hundred gallons of diesel fuel in the stream below my place. It took members of the sportmen’s club about a mile downstream two hours to get state officials out there to the well site. Because of a phone call I’d made earlier, the local newspaper sent a reporter, too.
“Later that day, I dumped my barrel of old crankcase oil on the drilling access road, and you should have seen the foreman’s pickup when it hit that oil. He slammed through my cornfield. I acted really wild, raising hell about first polluting our stream, then wrecking my crops and spilling oil on the road. He was shook up to beat hell and blamed his own truckers for leaking oil. I billed their company for three-hundred dollars in damages, and he endorsed the bill for payment right there.”
Farmer Dale did some other things that week, like move and replace those “Underground Cable” markers used by the power and phone companies to mark buried wires. Naturally, the driller’s dozer tore up the real wires, creating further havoc. He sprayed weed killer on his own crops, within a hundred-yard radius of the gas well, then raised hell witht the state agricultural people. He submitted a bill for a thousand dollars for damaging his crops, although the gas company balked — at first.
“Finally I dumped some chemicals in my old well and had the water tested (he had had the water tested prior to the drilling, of course) by the county. They reported it had gotten polluted during the time the gas well was being drilled. I turned it all over to my attorney at this time.”
His attorney filed to have the drilling permit revoked and also to sue the company for huge damage settlements. The case was settled out of court, allowing the company to finish its rape, yet at a very high price, including unlimited free gas and a lot of cash for Farmer Dale.
Another combatant in the never-ending war between the land rapists and landowners or environmentalists borrowed the old OSS tire-spike idea, married it to the Malay gate of Indochinese fame, and put some heavy vehicles on the shelf for a while. Angered because the well drillers for a natural-gas company were filling their mammoth water-tank trucks from a trout stream that ran through his property, a landowner spiked their plans. He took a two-inch-thick piece of twelve-inch board and pounded five ten-inch housing spikes through it. The board was about eighteen inches long. He did the same thing to another board.
The ambush site was the deeply rutted pull-off spot the heavy water trucks used when they sucked thousands of gallons of good water from the clean stream. The giant trucks had callously dug deep ruts, which filled with water from their sloshing loads. Our combatant placed his spiked boards tips upward, into the ruts. He did this on a random schedule over a one-month period, disabling a total of seven trucks and finally forcing the land rapists and their trucks to another fill-up point.
As a postscript, he enjoyed this activity so much that he built dozens of the spike devices and became a traveling one-man hit squad, placing the traps whenever he saw evidence of the heavy water-tank trucks.
More Revenge Ideas
Rooters of the lost ark will appreciate this version of the Piltdown Man. It’s a creative way to harass those Land Rapists who antisemantically call themselves “developers.” You go to the work site when it is dark or otherwise onobserved. You bury some objects like arrowheads, odd pottery shards, human skulls snitched from a bio classroom, and other atifacts. The best way to proceed is to tip off some serious college kids who like to work on digs. Females are usually best for this role as they are more often true believers about this sort of “discovery.” Let these kids discover your “artifacts.” Hype the find through the local newspaper – especially smaller weeklies. Insist through the local historical society that moral and legal pressure be brought down on the developer to halt his operations until a scientific dig can verify the findings.
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