The Secret Lake the Faller Showed Me

Logged Area Surrounding Black Lake

I have known a few fallers.  As a boy, a timber faller, his dented orange hard hat and red checked jacket, talked to my father at the truck window about the way the earth thumps when the big trunks land. They were big trunks in those days. I watched the man step off the road, over logs, up the bank. His friendly wave before picking up his saw.  The tattered ends of his jeans lifting and dropping on his high shafted boots as he stepped over debris and slash. Dad started the truck, and we headed on to the fishing hole.  I turned in my seat to watch one of the trees at the edge of the cut fall down hill. The springiness of it as it landed.

A faller, his nostrils full of wood dust and the smell of chain oil, feels the power of internal combustion attached to a flying chain of blades, the challenge and exhilaration of dropping large pillars of carbon, tons of wood - the neck stretching openness in the canopy for the blue sky  to step around in fractals between the remaining treetops.

Plug for the gender mold. The archetypal-larger-than-life-macho-logger.  Steel toed boots, the heavy fabric of faller chaps stained with oil, the saw jamming fabric shirt brown with sweat and dirt, the constant current of danger like an eel in a river, the constant numbness in the arms from vibration, the finger tips buzzing.


After the saw is snuffed into silence, after the foam removed from ears, after the sky begins sucking away as much heat as the sun brings in, now low to the horizon - then he stops and ponders the beauty of the place, the funny way the cut opens the forest like an ancient story opens a deepness in the soul. The sweet smell of cut logs mixed with the minty crackle of gum. Good to end a day alive, and then go for a beer with the others in the warm loud span of laughter and forgetting.

A Fire Warden I met on a dusty logging road this summer on the hottest day of the year showed me a lake I could paddle on. His lake. One of his secret spots. He found it years ago when he was a faller. We sat in our vehicles, window to window talking about the changes in the forests - small contractors, more fatalities, a changing way of life. Companies from China securing fibre rights, converting mills to specialty products. And then, he said, he was married to a woman who was Chinese.

The walk to the lake was worth it, he told me, because he had saved a swath of old growth trees. The hillsides around the lake were covered in uniform carpet of new growth as I looked around after easing the canoe into the water from my shoulder.

The same familiar shortness of young trees. But along the edge of the water on one half of the lake a fringe of large trees. The faller's gift. He had asked the timber boss if they could be saved. The saws were already wining their way down the hill overlooking the lake, the trucks hauling away the big cellulose tubes. The boss said no, then a few days later, called back, "OK," he said, "The rest won't be cut." Sort of a miracle.

I paddled and admired the stand of old growth. At the south end of the lake, I tied the boat and walked in the shallow water.

The air was hazy with smoke from distant forest fires. The wind had been blowing earlier but had dropped. The shade of the massive trees seemed to provide an oasis from the heat and smoke.  The pattern of wave splash along the rocks.

They are rugged. They curse and spit and compete and joke. The rough company of men.  The guys who gave me a ride when I locked my keys in my Tracker a few years ago looked at me reluctantly from their Silverado LT 4X4. Working hard not to call me an idiot to my face. In the woods, regardless of how stupid someone is, you help him out.

Almost all the lakes I wish were protected, I accessed from the edge of a logging road. The patchwork quilt of cuts visible from space, and me disappearing like the speckles on a trout's back after you let it go.

on the hillside
a logger steps from log to log
hot saw swinging

What

In September of 2007 I purchased a new canoe from Placid Boatworks.

The large fibreglass and wood canoe I inherited from my father, and still own, would not be sufficient for what I wanted.

I needed to be able to carry a canoe, by myself, to and from a variety of small bodies of water; some with minimal or no easy put ins.

After much research I decided that the Spitfire (pictured above) was the best canoe for the task. Light (22 lbs), strong (graphite and Kevlar construction), and maneuverable it is also a beauty to behold.

Here are a few of the reasons I chose the Spitfire:

• Placid Boatworks' quality is well known and their response to my inquiries and requests were prompt. They delivered my boat clear across the country with a minimum of hassle and confusion.


• No other canoe company that I researched produces a canoe this light with a gel coat and two tone hull - white bottom to hide scratches, tinted transparent clear coat sides for good looks and abrasion resistance.


• The canoe is virtually maintenance-free; the seat and gunwales are carbon composites as well as the hull.


• The design is attractive, the seat is comfortable, and the performance on the water consistent.


• Local retailers and large canoe manufacturers proved to be unwilling or unable to help me find the boat I needed. Retailers were more interested in selling me a kayak and those that did try to help confessed that their suppliers would not be able to get me a boat for months. Placid Boatworks delivered my canoe in under a month.

I plan to purchase a second canoe so that family and friends can accompany me on some trips, and this boat I hope to purchase locally. At the moment I am waiting to try the Wenonah Wilderness canoe which is new for 2008. I also hope to travel to the mainland to try out several of Clipper’s boats.

I am also considering small tandum canoes as an option for my second boat.

My vehicle is a 1999 Geo Tracker outfitted with a Thule rack. This little fuel efficient, no frills, 4x4 has taken me on many miles of back roads and over some truly impressive washouts. What a shame that there is no small 4x4 like this being sold in North America today. How can we satisfactorily enjoy the wilderness with carbon spewing monster SUV’s?

This shot is taken on the road to Lacy Lake.