Chase Kirby's friends kept sending text messages and kept asking him to leave.

It was early March, just a few days before the only football game of the season after the Wolves at Sany High School was blocked by the pandemic. But Chase, a 6-foot tall and 210-pound strong player who has served as a defensive end and linebacker, is not sure he wants to be there.

"They might feel sorry for me or something," he said. "I just don't like that atmosphere."

For the 18-year-old Chase, football is like a ticket to a different life, a future beyond the remote town of 3,100 people deep in the forests of northern California. He plans to play football at a community college and hopes to get the attention of a larger school.

But in early February, he worked shifts at the local sawmill at 5 a.m., rising before the sun, pulling and stacking freshly cut Douglas and white firs over and over again. This is hard and repetitive work. He likes it.

When a few pieces of wood got stuck, he was standing in front of the rotating conveyor belt. Just as the machine caught it, he caught one. He has no time to let go. In an instant, the machine grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

He let out a scream.

11 months ago, after the COVID-19 pandemic closed face-to-face courses, Chase casually completed his junior year, and then went to work for the summer vacation, building houses, erecting fences, and doing garden work—this kind of Manual labor keeps him in shape.

"Either hang out with my friends or make money," he said. "This is basically what everyone in this town does. Because of COVID, they decided to make money."

Weaverville is an ancient gold mining town located under the snow-covered granite peaks of the Trinity Alpine Wilderness, a four-hour drive north of San Francisco. The area is synonymous with forests, so that the Sany County Board of Supervisors formally criminalized killing Bigfoot last year-the legend of Bigfoot attracts the tourists that the area now depends on.

This is a beautiful land, where many people struggle. Before the pandemic, the poverty rate in Sany County was almost twice the national average. The population is decreasing. The economy is increasingly dependent on not relying on logging or mining—there has always been a certain mythical profession—but on cannabis cultivation.

The federal government owns more than 75% of the land in Trinity County, which is often a pain point here. For various reasons, the once prosperous timber industry was in trouble in the early 1990s: economic recession, technological changes, and timber logging restrictions imposed on federal land to protect the Northern Spotted Owl.

A generation ago, there were 28 sawmills in Sany County. Now, only Sanyihe Lumber Company where Chase works is left. The sawmill opened in 1947, just like many people here: the survivors.

In 2009, when long-term resident Jim French drove north, he saw a huge cloud of smoke rising in the direction of the mill. A welder’s torch set off a fire, and the place was razed to the ground. The Frenchman stopped the car on the side of the road and cried.

The retired principal of the Trinity Alpine Unified School District said the factory paid for the baseball and football uniforms of the Weaverville students. It gave scholarships. It helped establish a local performing arts center.

"Anytime the kid needs anything, go to the mill," French said, his voice crackling with excitement.

As for the fire, "It's like someone poured gasoline on your damn heart. But they rebuilt it. They stayed. They could have left us easily, but they have a heart for this place."

A heart for this place. The town and its school seemed to endure this way.

In the summer of 2018, Chase’s campus provided asylum for refugees in the deadly Carl Fire. The following summer, after the discovery of toxic black mold, the county closed Waverville Elementary School and Trinity High School. High school students are still studying in portable buildings, and the gymnasium where Chase, who was a college basketball player, once attended is still destroyed.

In August last year, during the pandemic, the students of Trinity High School returned to the classroom, but Chase started his senior study at home, studying independently. His mother provides home care for the elderly; he does not want to risk spreading the coronavirus to her and her clients.

But once again he hated working on the courses distributed in the paper bag. He missed the exercise. He returned to class in September, but it was difficult to catch up, especially in math.

Throughout California, youth sports are gone forever. The Weaverville football coach asked the boys to lift weights several times a week, just to give them something to do, said junior school coach Ryan Gogan.

Decline in performance. To be eligible to participate in the competition, students must have a GPA of at least 2.0 and have not failed any courses.

"For many people, sports is the only thing that allows them to focus on the classroom," the coach said. "For many of these students, this is terrible academically."

Chase’s former defensive coach Mike Garcia said, usually, “These kids need football more than football. Take it away from them? It’s hard to keep them motivated.”

"There is a blue-collar mentality here," added Garcia, who works as an electrical wiring engineer in the Trinity Utility District. "Children are athletes, they go to work in factories. They work with their own hands... When I watch these kids graduate, most people want to leave this small town and see what a big city is like. You sit down A few years later, many things came back."

In the 2019 season, the Wolves won one game and lost 9 games. Players and coaches hope that 2020 will be their chance to make a comeback. But the sports ban still exists, even if Chase’s coach “blowed up my phone” and told him that he hoped they could play again.

"They keep saying we will come back," Chase said. "September is here, and they said, this will happen in September. It doesn't. Then in October, I'm like-okay. November?"

In mid-October, when he turned 18, he made a decision: drop out of school.

He said that sports "basically the only reason I go to school, not my friend." "That's the whole reason I dropped out of school."

Chase started working at Burger King and plans to take his high school equivalency exam in the spring. He will save some money, hoping to go to Shasta College in Reading.

Then his father and brother and many others in the town started a job: a lumber factory. He started working in January.

On February 11, when Chase tried to remove the wood stuck on the conveyor belt, his shift came to an end. His hands were away from the belt, but when he grabbed one, the machine pulled back hard, hooked his fingers and pulled into his arm.

Chase struggled, twitching and pulling, as if fighting the biggest and most despicable offensive linebacker he had ever encountered in his life.

"When it pulled me in," he said, "I thought,'Well, I won't cry and die here.' ... I was screaming for help, but at the same time , I'm backing up again. I've been fighting the machine."

The other employees untied Chase's bloody arm. The device kept pulling him to his right shoulder, tearing his biceps, piercing his forearm, and breaking his humerus. He thought his hand was broken.

He said the only ambulance in the county arrived from Hayfork and took 45 minutes-30 miles south of the winding mountain road. Then drive another hour and drive east to Mercy Medical Center in Reading.

Dee Sanders, general manager of Trinity River Lumber, said that the area where Chase works has never had an accident.

"It's always hard to see anyone working for us get hurt," he said. "We just pray that he can recover and return to a normal life."

Had two operations. The doctor had to remove the sawdust from the wound. They removed 60% of his biceps. They put a metal plate and a stick on his arm. Chase said that he had been intubated, but he woke up in a panic on the operating table, unable to open his eyes and unable to move his body.

"I think I started crying," he said. "With a tear, they pulled the tube out of my throat. Then I don't remember anything. I think I just fell asleep."

Twelve days later, football training began again.

In March, as the coronavirus got more control, young athletes were once again allowed to compete in California. But the Trinity Wolves' long-range league, including schools three or four hours away, has cancelled this season. Therefore, they split their team into two halves. They will play by themselves and have a game to go home.

Before the game, head coach Scott Merryman said it would be bittersweet, playing again but without Chase.

Chase may be headstrong. They don’t always get along well, Merriman said, but “if he knows he’s right, he won’t be afraid to let you know. I respect that very much. I miss that very much.”

He learned of Chase's accident from his daughter who worked in the factory. Merriman felt the same way. Just over a year ago, he had his own wood-related death brush.

On November 4, 2019, when California Highway Patrol Merriman was driving east on Highway 299, a speeding vehicle passed by. Merriman turned to chase it.

A logging truck hit the driver's side of his patrol car at a speed of 47 miles per hour.

He had a traumatic brain injury, punctured his lungs in three places, tore his liver, and fractured his spine. However, over time, he returned to his coaching position.

During training, Merriman wore a thick sweatshirt because he now has four titanium ribs. Metal makes him feel cold.

High school counselor Jim Pindell also has a logging story to share.

When Pindell, 70, was in his 20s, he was engaged in logging. A colleague was cleaning the brush with a swinging blade, and it slipped from his hand. Pindel flew towards him waving his right hand. The blade cut half of it in the middle.

He almost bleeds to death. The doctor told his mother: "You told Jim to find a different job."

To this day, his fingers cannot move completely. He used to play the saxophone, but not anymore.

Now, Pindle visits Chase every few days. "We share war stories," he said. "I shared my own life with him, and he is like that.

"He is a survivor, that."

A few days before returning home, Chase was sitting in his wooded backyard near Mill Street, where the blackberry vines grew lush.

He wears a brace on his wrist. The skin on his right arm was crusted and pink. On the back of his arm, the suture stretched from his armpit to his elbow. Little by little, he made progress in trying to make his hand into a fist. The doctor told him that if he could not do this within a month, he would never be able to do it again.

"I should be dead," he said. "I really should have. It should pull me in, break my neck or break my arm or something. But I'm really lucky."

Now, as home approaches, Chase is wondering whether to show up.

"I feel a little emotional about this from time to time," he said. "But I'm a very strong person. It's just a strange feeling, because obviously I like my body. I'm always doing things, so I can't control a certain part of my body just... it doesn't feel right, you know?

"But I just stay awake...I will be myself, prove everyone is wrong, and try to make my full potential work again and do what people think I can't do."

He said that in May, he will take the high school equivalency test. From there, he was not sure what would happen. He is considering accepting a trade school and likes to work in construction, but it depends on the healing of his arms and hands.

On March 12, a 45-degree Friday night, the Trinity Wolves went home. One half wears red; the other one is white. Teammates, and opponents who were only one night away.

The family stopped on the dirt road and sat on the lawn chairs on the pickup truck bed. It usually can only stand in the stands, but its capacity is limited by social distance. However, this is not important to the overjoyed crowd.

"We just want to enjoy every moment today because they can see how fast things are taken from them," said Hetirup, who has two sons on the team. "I will cheer as loudly as possible to make up for the 10 games I should have cheered for. I am here to embarrass my children as much as possible."

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When the senior cheerleaders and football players were respected, the fans screamed and walked to the center of the field with their families. The royal family members who returned home rode on the track in a vintage car. The king and queen were crowned.

After the national anthem sounded, Chase and his girlfriend sneaked into the stands barely noticed. They took their seats at the far end of the stands.

But when the red team quarterback shot a touchdown to get a go-ahead victory, they sat next to their friends. Chase patted his good hand on the side of his leg and cheered.

COVID canceled their football season. So a school in rural California went home their way

Due to the coronavirus pandemic, the football season for rural California high schools was cancelled, but the town needs to go home to heal.

For reports and exclusive analysis by Bureau Chief John Myers, please get our California Political Newsletter.

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Hailey Branson-Potts is a subway reporter for the Los Angeles Times and joined the newspaper in 2011. She grew up in the small town of Perry, Oklahoma and graduated from the University of Oklahoma.

Mark E. Potts is a native of Enid, Oklahoma. He graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a master's degree in broadcast journalism.

Jason Almond is a professional photographer for the Los Angeles Times. He is a native of North Carolina and graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill with a bachelor's degree in media and journalism. His work as a photographer and videographer was recognized by the Hearst Journalism Award and the White House Press Photographers Association. And the University of North Carolina Media Association. As a freelance visual journalist, his work was published in many publications before joining The Times.

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