Tree-removal was one of the most physically demanding but satisfying aspects of my job. I’d never cut a tree with an axe until starting to work for the Forest Service. In August, 1983, Jim Kohman and I walked into Piute that first time and two days later, Kelly, the ranger stationed at the cabin, led us two neophytes up the Kirkwood Pass trail to clear trees that came down during the previous winter. With double-bit axes (wicked-sharp, very “manly” lumberjack tools) we removed almost a dozen trees blocking the path. It was quite a thrill—feeling the heavy, steel blade sink into the wood…big chips flying…heaving the cut logs off the trail tread. Working as a team, in the mountains. It was very rewarding work, our blistered hands being a badge of honor. ◦◦◦◦◦ Not surprisingly, there’s a lot more than brute force involved. In certain regards, tree removal is an art form. There are many subtle techniques and tricks. Later, I learned to use a crosscut saw. People, seeing one, inevitably will make the “misery whip” crack but a well-sharpened crosscut wielded by two people who know what they’re doing can cut through a log faster than a dull chainsaw. Then there’s the “peavey” (also called a cant-hook), a five-foot-long wooden-handled tool with spike tip and hinged, curved steel “hook” used for levering. With it, you can move incredibly heavy logs. ◦◦◦◦◦ Half way through my career, we purchased a four-foot single-person crosscut—teeth like a crosscut but with a regular saw’s handle plus a second, round handle mounted on the spine of the saw. With this tool I was able to cut logs up to three feet thick. ◦◦◦◦◦ So here are a couple of entries about two particularly “interesting” jobs.
9 Jun (Fri) ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode down to the roughs on the Eastside Trail to cut out that largish fallen tree. Packed the tools on Woody. For reasons unknown, Red was impossible today, flipping out at chipmunks, juncos, breeze-blown bushes, falling leaves, and combinations thereof. Really tedious. ◦◦◦◦◦ Fairly big job, that tree—about 22” [wide] but required just two cuts, not much limbing. Went on a quick exploration after finishing up, downriver a bit as far as that bedrock “island” in the gorge-y stretch. Climbed over to it on the now un-submerged log jam. Bouldered on fine granite over deep pools. Found a new plant, cute a little white-flowered Arabis (mustard family) growing in moss-filled cracks. ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode down to the crossing and headed up the Westside trail. Knocked out a fifty-foot reroute around the giant lodgepole that fell recently. No sense trying to cut it since the root-wad was right on the edge of the trail, impeding stock traffic. Removed two small trees and brushed out the new path. Done. ◦◦◦◦◦ Then, time for the big nasty. Namely, up on the hill, just past Fremont junction, a still-green lodgepole came down across a switchback. The trunk blocked the trail at chest height on the lower section then, above, the rest of the tree was more or less lying in the trail. Ick. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had to cut the blasted thing six times but will say this: the whole deal was a text-book ranger-style logging job. (Wish somebody had come along to witness the thrilling climax.) Six cuts with my 4-foot saw—all of them before limbing, for a change. First, cut the butt-end somewhat above the root-wad. This resulted in the rest of the tree lifting up and away from the trail, as intended. (Being off the ground made limbing much easier, which is why I left it.) Then the six-foot cut-out, which I wrestled off to the side, clearing this lower section. Midway along the trunk was this bulky “witch’s broom.” You see these things up in lodgepoles—localized cancer-like growths induced by a type of fungus, forming a single massive ball of densely packed needles. (Runaway growth, cancer-style.) This was a big one, several feet in diameter. Began by sawing off the 6”-wide limb it had taken over but the blade started to bind so left it for the time being. Two straightforward cuts, then limbed and rolled the heavy, wet rounds off the trail. The main trunk now lay across another fallen tree and it had rotated slightly when I made those two cuts, causing the bound kerf on that 6” limb to open a bit. So I finished cutting off the witch’s broom. And—Voilá! Hey presto!—the middle section of the trunk, twenty feet long and now limbless, rose gently up in the air. It was balanced—perfectly balanced—on an old limbless horizontal log this tree had fallen across and way laying on. I could now pivot it easily, literally with one finger. I’d sized the situation up at the start and specifically located my third cut at what looked like the balance point. And hit it dead…on…the money. Yes! So when I finished cutting off that witch’s broom limb the rest of the tree slowly swayed up to level and I was able to roll this maybe 900–1000 pound log across the firm ramp it’d fallen across. (!!!) This was a thing of great beauty, in its way. The physical feeling of moving—of rolling—this giant heavy object with my two gloved hands was…mostgratifying. ◦◦◦◦◦ Packed up tools and headed barnward. Woody, on his own, running to keep up. Red was now fine (as per usual once he’s homeward bound). Took my bath on the slabs below the cabin, frigid in the cold breeze with sizable snowbank just feet away. Enjoyed making acquaintance with this year’s crop of yearling deerlings loitering in the yard. So fine not to have bugs! They’ll be here soon enough! Like my ol’ gran’pappy used to say, “Nothing’s certain but death, taxes, and mosquitoes in July.” (Just made this up, haha.)
A month and a half later:
27 Jul (Thu) ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode up the Long Lakes trail and took out that horrible tangle of trees—a “domino effect” sichyashun. Big lodgepole snag toppled taking several young trees with it. Fell right smack down the trail, dang it. Why couldn’t you have just fallen into the lake? ◦◦◦◦◦ Worked diligent-hard for several hours in the hot sun and bugswarms. Got my daily exercise and more, that’s fer shur. Dozens of limbs cut and dragged off or heaved. Many cuts, from eight to twenty inches. Had to move bigger cut-outs using Blue Max. [My trusty peavey—christened by former supervisor Lorenzo, who always named things, for its blue-painted steel head.] Also, axed out many lodgepole saplings so’s I could roll logs far enough off the tread. More limbing. Stiff breeze blowing sawdust right into my face as I sawed. A hazardous job, this one, with much crawling under logs—logs bearing jagged pointy broken-limb staubs. And of course, as usual, nary a soul passed by while I slaved away. It’s uncanny how seldom people catch me when I’m working hard—almost never. Lost blood from five holes/gouges/slices in my tender flesh despite paying careful attention all the while. (Trees being whacked into pieces always find ways to get even—it’s The Law. No way to avoid it.) Gotta say, this was one of the nastiest dendro-tangles I’ve ever had to deal with all on my own. A real abortion. Did it all in one day using every trick and technique and tool to pull it off. ◦◦◦◦◦ Pretty spent after finishing up but took mandatory exploratory jaunt: first-ever visit to a nearby granite highpoint. Lots of bear sign thereabouts. Met with three fine trees arranged in a triangle, all three roughly 6’ DBH [Diameter-at-Breast-Height]. One, a stunning, barkless white pine snag (visible from the trail it turns out). Right next to it a stately, straight-trunked Sierra juniper. Just down-slope, another grand old white pine. ◦◦◦◦◦ Home, unloaded, and unsaddled by 7:00. Had picked up a load of seasoned limb-wood at the job—free firewood! A long, hard day of honest labor on the mountain. Took my bath with the sun full on me, right before it set, and at this moment I’m up in the hammock relaxing with last orange light just fading from the tip of Hawksbeak, horses and deerses grazing below. Amen.
→ no visitors → 6 trees (9 cuts total) → 2 w-bars cleaned → 7½ miles
Copied on page one of this volume of Piute Log:
Like a farmer or rancher, like anyone who works with plants or flesh, I invested more than time and sweat in the territory that was mine to oversee. In the days ahead, I staked my claim in my own blood and in my love for the earth it watered…. Motivation, responsibility, enthusiasm, dedication—were instilled in me by one Chief Warden with a few simple words: “Well, this is your district, and here’s your outfit. As long as you look after it, it’s yours to run.
Sid Marty, Men for the Mountains
©2022 Tim Forsell 21 Oct 2022
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