The folks at Stihl probably don’t mean it to be, but this little book sent chills down my spine.

Page by page, I learned more about the many ways a chain saw can get you. When I was done, I wondered why they didn’t condense 45 pages to warnings. They could do with a single sheet: Use this device and it will kill you.

The manual came into my hands after I became a landowner in Grant County. After we bought the property, I started assessing what we would need to manage this plot up on the Middle Fork of the John Day River.

Let me confess something right now. By mailing address, I’m a city boy from The Valley. By inclination, I’m a wanna-be country boy. And I know next to nothing about real country living.

So just about everything we’re doing on what we’ve called the Boulder Creek Ranch is a learning experience. I’m happy the place is so remote, so there aren’t many witnesses to the stumbles and screw-ups.

That’s true of this chain-saw business.

Never in my life had I run a chain saw, and hardly knew what was needed for the place. JB offered his authoritative opinion, and I opted for a 24-inch saw bought in John Day.

That’s when I cracked open the manual for the first time. Even the cover reads like a movie teaser: “Improper use can cause serious or fatal injury,” and “This saw is capable of severe kickback.”

I could hardly wait to turn the page.

They start off with a page headlined, “Some important Safety Precautions.” The exclamation points in triangles that screamed, “Warning!” didn’t stop for the next 49 pages.

One warning said don’t use the saw with one hand. No kidding. The manual shows a start-up process that really takes three hands. The photo shows one hand on the starter cord, one hand on the chain break, and then a foot to hold the thing to the ground.

OK, no one-handed operation. Check. Don’t cut rock. Hmm. Seems obvious enough. No rock cutting. Check.

By the time I got done glancing at every paragraph with the “Warning!” headline, I was ready to put the chain saw in the shop and leave it be. I mean, who but the most daredevil woodsman would ignore 49 pages of warnings and start up this beast?

What didn’t help was talking to other friends. Ever realize how many people you know have chain-saw stories? Most of them went something like: “Oh, yeah, my uncle was cutting brush once and the saw bucked and got him in the knee.”

It’s like going to a Halloween horror movie and then having the neighbor tell you how his aunt was murdered in her sleep years ago by a madman.

Finally, I decided I had to give the saw a try. My wife had been asking kindly, but proddingly, when I was going to put this thing to use.

I hauled the saw up to Scotta’s Meadow, on an upper bench, to tidy up some downed trees. I was going to give myself a fair chance at surviving. I strapped on the saw chaps I saw hanging in JD Rents. I pushed on the goggles, pulled on the manly work gloves, and then stared at the saw.

I took a deep breath, yanked the thing to life, and was ready to cut. I decided falling timber wasn’t a good place to start. Neither was tackling a 20-inch downed tree. Then I spied some spindly little pines that had burned and toppled over.

A chain saw doesn’t take long to go through a three-inch limb. Ha! I was in control. I was a logger. I grew braver by the cut – up to a six-inch piece, and then 10 inches and finally a foot thick. Chips were flying. Wood was dropping. And all those warnings were just ghosts in the back of my mind.

Then, on about the ninth cut, the chain came off the bar and flopped harmlessly against my glove. I shut the saw off and just looked at it. How could this be?

Back in the ranch shop, I dragged out the Stihl Halloween novel to see how to re-mount the chain. I followed the pictures step by step, but the manual doesn’t say how to bolster your confidence.

Once I got everything back together, I was pretty sure I had it right. Nothing seemed loose. But then little snippets of horror scenes played in my mind. What if the chain wasn’t on right and I shredded the guts of the machine when I started it again? Worse yet, what if I started it up and the chain flew off and chewed through something precious – like my arm.

Knowing the limits of my mechanical skills, I decided not to chance it. I hauled the saw into town and had Robert take a look at it. “Well, yes, it’s mounted OK, but a little loose. But look at the teeth – some of these have been dinged up.”

To be honest, I couldn t see anything but a few sawdust chips. Robert worked the chain through a grinder to get it back into wood-cutting shape. Then he showed me some tips on running the thing. He acted like it was routine for a rube to walk in with a chain saw who should never have had one in the first place.

He showed me how to adjust the chain tension. He showed me how to gauge that enough oil was getting on the bar. He recommended dumping the fuel and starting over.

“How you doing on oil?” he asked.

Oil? For what?

He pointed out the oil reservoir that had escaped my notice. Fortunately, enough was left to keep from wrecking the thing. I guess I was so blinded by the “Warning!” messages I overlooked the page on oil levels.

Back at the ranch, I fired up the saw and went at the wood with the same unease. But soon I was carving up logs and feeling pretty secure.

Then on a trip through Vernonian, I watched a logger carve a chair out of a log in moments. He wielded his 36-inch bar like a kitchen knife. I was especially impressed when he ran the bar nose through the log. That, according to the manual, was a big no-no.

Afterward, I asked him how he’d come to do that.

Twenty-five years in the woods, he said. He must have sensed I was pondering giving it a try myself, for he quickly added, “I don’t recommend it.”

I’ll take his advice for now; so there are no log chairs at the Boulder Creek Ranch. But there’s plenty of firewood to keep me warm this winter as I await Stihl’s next thriller.