I started working for BCFP Ltd, Renfrew Logging Division, in September of 1976. While most of the years I worked in the industry were as a Warehouseman/Buyer, I first started on the forestry crew with BCFP. Planting trees, (bare root and mattock back then) power-saw spacing, plantation cleaning and a few other tasks kept the crew busy throughout the year.
The Foreman of the crew was a Scottish trained forester named Frank White and I learned a tremendous amount about trees and forestry in a very short time from him. He was always good about answering questions and he was a very good teacher and straight up with you when you started. You were there for eight hours pay and in exchange Frank wanted eight hours work, minus the normal breaks of course. And he showed you the proper way to plant, the safe and proper way to space plantations, how to clean and care for your saw and a host of things most beginners needed to know.
I was 31 and one of the older guys on the crew plus I’d already served three years in the Canadian Navy and worked in mills and logging camps for eight years after that, mostly in a supervisory position, so I was responsible. I listened, I learned and I was able to work along at whatever pace the crew went at because I was also a surfer and in pretty good shape from that.
One morning I arrived at the forestry shack, where we mustered every day before heading out to whatever job we were on, to discover one of the several bears that lived around the camp had made a mess by tipping over the garbage can and spreading stuff all over. I put my gloves on and cleaned up the mess then went in and started putting my caulks on.
The rest of the crew arrived and away we went, heading out to Pandora for another day of planting, my least favorite job. It had been a long dry summer leading into fall and planting in dry ground was no fun at all, being both hot and dusty. We arrived at our planting site and started to gear up when up rolled one of the Divisional foresters in his pickup.
He motioned me over then told me to gather my lunch and gear and jump in.
We were off to go cruising for “plus” trees, specifically Western Hemlock.
I was surprised he’d chosen me for this as I was very junior on the crew, but he told me he’d been parked back in the yard when I came upon the bear mess and cleaned it up and he liked the idea I’d just done it on personal initiative, so that’s why he chose me.
He also told me what we would be doing and where we would be hiking to and why we were doing it in the first place. He’d been waiting three years for Hemmingsen Creek to get low enough that it could be easily crossed with all the gear we would be packing and today was the day.
Eventually we arrived at an old landing site that was ¼ mile or so from the creek canyon. Turns out we had to clamber down a near vertical cliff on our side, rock-hop across the creek then climb back out up the other side. The other side was all virgin old growth mixed species forest, as pristine and beautiful an area as one could hope to see.
The forester, Dave Reid, showed me how to run the brightly colored flagging tape we used to mark our trail through the buttonhole in my vest, so it was always handy when it was needed, plus he reminded me to be as careful as possible with the .22 cal. rifle with the four power scope I was carrying, to be used to shoot down scions from the chosen trees.
As we started hiking towards our goal, an area that had blown down in a big storm some 80 years earlier, Dave explained what to look for in choosing a “plus” tree.
Sensibly enough, it must stand out amongst its peers and not have a site advantage or little competition. The stem should be straight and the branches should start higher up than on other trees nearby. In short, all other things being equal, a “plus” tree should exhibit superior characteristics favorable to its use by man.
Nearly two hours after we started our hike the forest became noticeably different, changing from a landscape dominated by huge trees, ranging in size from four to ten feet in diameter, to a forest of clearly smaller trees.
Dave announced we were now at the edge of the area we sought and showed me how to flag out a “doorway,” so we would know where we were in relation to the whole. We then set out traversing across the side-hill in a patterned method to discover the outside perimeter of the area and do a quick inventory of what was there.
The area was several hectares in size, carpeted with many large moss covered logs, most half rotted and each serving as a nursery. The standing trees were all virtually the same size, about 22” to 24” and mostly Hemlock. These were the survivors from what had been a fierce windstorm many years earlier and had been discovered by early timber cruisers.
It didn’t take long to find a few trees that fell into the criteria sought and soon we were taking turns plinking away at the top growing scions of the chosen trees with the .22 rifle.
We knocked down a good collection which we stuffed in our backpacks.
These would go to the lab at one of the company sites around Victoria for analysis and if found worthwhile then a cone picking expedition would follow.
Cones were picked two ways then, by hand by workers strapped to a helicopter or by a basket contraption that was lowered over the top of the tree and dropped down as far as it would go. When it was lifted back up sharp cutting edges on the internal conical shaped part would strip off small branches and cones. Seeds extracted from the cones would be grown out and some years later planting crews would plant stock from that tree, even though the parent tree was still standing elsewhere, many miles away.
Then we used an increment borer to bore into the tree, clear to the heart, whereupon we extracted a pencil-like core sample that gave a good look at the growth history of the tree.
Hemlocks are very tolerant and can survive for long periods under the canopy of much larger trees, as was the case here. You’ll see them as whippy thin “saplings” in mature forests.
Even though they get very little sunlight and have to compete against huge root systems for water and nourishment, they hang in there, waiting for their chance.
Looking at the cores you could easily see how tightly compacted their growth rings were during the early and hard years of life, struggling under the canopy of giants.
Suddenly there was a huge leap in the thickness of the rings, signaling when the big trees blew down and the whippy Hemlocks released.
Clearly we could read where the released trees attained a size where they started competing with each other for light and water and food. The rings got smaller as the trees got older and more closely packed together.
For me it was a good education and gave a clear living lesson of how our west coast forests have lived and died, each contributing to the soil buildup, for the past 10,000 years or so.
Generation after generation with many changing dominant species is the story of our great western forests, once one gets into the history of them, and I’ve always found our local history interesting.
The hike out was uneventful and I felt energized from what I had learned that day so it didn’t seem a burden either.
Safely back at the pickup we loaded up the gear and headed in.
A couple of days later it rained very hard as one of the early autumn storms battered the coast. I was stoked because the storm brought surf with it, but a little bit sad too, as I had seriously considered going back into that area with a camera to take pictures of some of the big trees still there, but with the rain came a much higher flowing creek and I never did go back.
I’ll never forget how insignificant I felt amongst so many big trees however, and how much respect I developed for those who were good enough and brave enough to fall trees that size.
When I stand next to a 10’ plus diameter tree and look up I simply have no idea how I would ever get it down safely, even though I’ve felled trees to three feet thick or so.
Those big guys require knowledge I don’t have.
My hat’s off to those who do have the know-how though.
No doubt about that.
Take care.
The Foreman of the crew was a Scottish trained forester named Frank White and I learned a tremendous amount about trees and forestry in a very short time from him. He was always good about answering questions and he was a very good teacher and straight up with you when you started. You were there for eight hours pay and in exchange Frank wanted eight hours work, minus the normal breaks of course. And he showed you the proper way to plant, the safe and proper way to space plantations, how to clean and care for your saw and a host of things most beginners needed to know.
I was 31 and one of the older guys on the crew plus I’d already served three years in the Canadian Navy and worked in mills and logging camps for eight years after that, mostly in a supervisory position, so I was responsible. I listened, I learned and I was able to work along at whatever pace the crew went at because I was also a surfer and in pretty good shape from that.
One morning I arrived at the forestry shack, where we mustered every day before heading out to whatever job we were on, to discover one of the several bears that lived around the camp had made a mess by tipping over the garbage can and spreading stuff all over. I put my gloves on and cleaned up the mess then went in and started putting my caulks on.
The rest of the crew arrived and away we went, heading out to Pandora for another day of planting, my least favorite job. It had been a long dry summer leading into fall and planting in dry ground was no fun at all, being both hot and dusty. We arrived at our planting site and started to gear up when up rolled one of the Divisional foresters in his pickup.
He motioned me over then told me to gather my lunch and gear and jump in.
We were off to go cruising for “plus” trees, specifically Western Hemlock.
I was surprised he’d chosen me for this as I was very junior on the crew, but he told me he’d been parked back in the yard when I came upon the bear mess and cleaned it up and he liked the idea I’d just done it on personal initiative, so that’s why he chose me.
He also told me what we would be doing and where we would be hiking to and why we were doing it in the first place. He’d been waiting three years for Hemmingsen Creek to get low enough that it could be easily crossed with all the gear we would be packing and today was the day.
Eventually we arrived at an old landing site that was ¼ mile or so from the creek canyon. Turns out we had to clamber down a near vertical cliff on our side, rock-hop across the creek then climb back out up the other side. The other side was all virgin old growth mixed species forest, as pristine and beautiful an area as one could hope to see.
The forester, Dave Reid, showed me how to run the brightly colored flagging tape we used to mark our trail through the buttonhole in my vest, so it was always handy when it was needed, plus he reminded me to be as careful as possible with the .22 cal. rifle with the four power scope I was carrying, to be used to shoot down scions from the chosen trees.
As we started hiking towards our goal, an area that had blown down in a big storm some 80 years earlier, Dave explained what to look for in choosing a “plus” tree.
Sensibly enough, it must stand out amongst its peers and not have a site advantage or little competition. The stem should be straight and the branches should start higher up than on other trees nearby. In short, all other things being equal, a “plus” tree should exhibit superior characteristics favorable to its use by man.
Nearly two hours after we started our hike the forest became noticeably different, changing from a landscape dominated by huge trees, ranging in size from four to ten feet in diameter, to a forest of clearly smaller trees.
Dave announced we were now at the edge of the area we sought and showed me how to flag out a “doorway,” so we would know where we were in relation to the whole. We then set out traversing across the side-hill in a patterned method to discover the outside perimeter of the area and do a quick inventory of what was there.
The area was several hectares in size, carpeted with many large moss covered logs, most half rotted and each serving as a nursery. The standing trees were all virtually the same size, about 22” to 24” and mostly Hemlock. These were the survivors from what had been a fierce windstorm many years earlier and had been discovered by early timber cruisers.
It didn’t take long to find a few trees that fell into the criteria sought and soon we were taking turns plinking away at the top growing scions of the chosen trees with the .22 rifle.
We knocked down a good collection which we stuffed in our backpacks.
These would go to the lab at one of the company sites around Victoria for analysis and if found worthwhile then a cone picking expedition would follow.
Cones were picked two ways then, by hand by workers strapped to a helicopter or by a basket contraption that was lowered over the top of the tree and dropped down as far as it would go. When it was lifted back up sharp cutting edges on the internal conical shaped part would strip off small branches and cones. Seeds extracted from the cones would be grown out and some years later planting crews would plant stock from that tree, even though the parent tree was still standing elsewhere, many miles away.
Then we used an increment borer to bore into the tree, clear to the heart, whereupon we extracted a pencil-like core sample that gave a good look at the growth history of the tree.
Hemlocks are very tolerant and can survive for long periods under the canopy of much larger trees, as was the case here. You’ll see them as whippy thin “saplings” in mature forests.
Even though they get very little sunlight and have to compete against huge root systems for water and nourishment, they hang in there, waiting for their chance.
Looking at the cores you could easily see how tightly compacted their growth rings were during the early and hard years of life, struggling under the canopy of giants.
Suddenly there was a huge leap in the thickness of the rings, signaling when the big trees blew down and the whippy Hemlocks released.
Clearly we could read where the released trees attained a size where they started competing with each other for light and water and food. The rings got smaller as the trees got older and more closely packed together.
For me it was a good education and gave a clear living lesson of how our west coast forests have lived and died, each contributing to the soil buildup, for the past 10,000 years or so.
Generation after generation with many changing dominant species is the story of our great western forests, once one gets into the history of them, and I’ve always found our local history interesting.
The hike out was uneventful and I felt energized from what I had learned that day so it didn’t seem a burden either.
Safely back at the pickup we loaded up the gear and headed in.
A couple of days later it rained very hard as one of the early autumn storms battered the coast. I was stoked because the storm brought surf with it, but a little bit sad too, as I had seriously considered going back into that area with a camera to take pictures of some of the big trees still there, but with the rain came a much higher flowing creek and I never did go back.
I’ll never forget how insignificant I felt amongst so many big trees however, and how much respect I developed for those who were good enough and brave enough to fall trees that size.
When I stand next to a 10’ plus diameter tree and look up I simply have no idea how I would ever get it down safely, even though I’ve felled trees to three feet thick or so.
Those big guys require knowledge I don’t have.
My hat’s off to those who do have the know-how though.
No doubt about that.
Take care.
