Tip Toeing Through The Timber Harvest—

Doing Nature’s Forestry

With Chainsaws And Trucks

By Kendra Bobowick

Black birch and red oak shadows smudged forester Gerard Milne’s cheeks, slipping to his shoulders and dropping back to the ground as he crossed a cluttered Upper Paugussett State Forest floor. His boots left impressions in the thawing ground.

Wrapping a tape measure around a tulip poplar, Mr Milne noted the circumference. After a quick measurement he glanced around the grove filled mostly with tulip poplar that grew naturally after a clear-cut in 1984. He had experimentally planted black walnut seeds then, but found only two that survived amid the poplar’s natural regeneration.

Thinking back 25 years, he recalls a timber harvest and clear-cut on that site prompting the long-ago complaint: “It looked horrible.” Mr Milne revised that opinion last week to “pretty darn good,” as he peered at a quarter-century of growth.

Stepping across the same stones and springtime streams of groundwater where trees now grew from seeds dropped in 1984, he arrived again at a recent clear-cut area of fallen trees. Debris cluttered the sloping land divided by 300-year-old stonewalls. This tract of forestland was recently opened to loggers to clear away trees marked for removal.

“We have just started a timber harvest,” he said during a walk in the woods on March 16. It is regular forest maintenance, similar to what would happen naturally, he said.

The forest clears itself of ailing wood. “Some trees grow better and choke out the weaker ones that fall and open the forest floor to light.” A timber harvest, in some spots a clear-cut, is a similar process. “We’re mimicking nature,” Mr Milne explained. The difference, however, is selecting the trees coming down. “We’re deciding,” he said, rather than Mother Nature.

From within the more than 790 acres of the Upper Paugussett State Forest he turned at the sound of a chainsaw — grumbling at idle, then whining as it sunk into wood.

Reaching up to move aside a low-reaching branch, Mr Milne crossed the gravel pressed into mud that formed a logging route. Rounding a stand of cedars, he headed closer to the sound echoing against a crop of jagged boulders. Soon, the few early spring birds replaced the drone.

The burnt scent of heated motor oil clinging to the small engine filled a clearing around Henry Gundlach. Overalls filled with sawdust and a beard flecked with woodchips, he smiled as Mr Milne approached. With his chainsaws parked on an open tailgate Mr Gundlach talked about the day’s work. “Okay so far,” he offered, with one surprise. “I saw a bobcat.”

The bigger trees that he dropped lay waiting for the skidder to drag them out. A few feet away sat the heavy machine with tires reaching shoulder height and wearing chains. Already in the forest for several weeks, he anticipated roughly one more month’s work. Although he was not with his father at the moment, Mr Gundlach’s son Justin is on the job with him. Lumber will go either to residents who purchase and pick up unsplit cords, or to J&J Log and Lumber Corporation, a sawmill that will cut and use the lumber.

Back to the road and stepping across muddied ruts left by truck tires, Mr Milne heard another grumbling sound. Humming steadily and growing louder, the pitch of low gear accompanied a distant truck that barely fit along the wooded trail. Creeping across the soft ground on its way to pick up the larger trees was a long, open-back cargo truck.

The Forest And The Trees

Within the more than 1,800 acres of the Upper and Lower Paugussett State Forest land is a story for a forester to tell.

“One good hurricane would wipe all of this out,” said Mr Milne, referring to the mature trees in the forest. Explaining a few reasons for the ongoing timber harvest, which deems a clear-cut in several spots, he said, “You want a variety of age classes. The younger trees are less susceptible …” The harvest “maintains the forest. All one age is not good for the species.” Identifying the diseased, or densely clustered or crooked trees to cut, he anticipates that more light reaches the forest floor.

“It encourages growth,” he said. Twenty-five years ago Mr Milne had witnessed a clear-cut area, where he stood last week inspecting the now 25-year-old trees, and the overall harvested area nearby. “Forestry doesn’t happen over night. In the age of instant coffee, instant messages, you have to be patient.”

Once again hikers will see logs down in the Upper Paugussett. Pointing from one feature to another indicating a split trunk, insect damage, blights, Mr Milne identifies species. Shading his eyes and glancing upward, he pointed to one tree marked for removal. “I’m taking out that birch to give room to a sugar maple,” he said, pointing to another nearby tree. “I have a soft spot for the sugar maples.” The maples can grow in the shade of other trees, but clearing their vicinity is a benefit. “They’ll really take off.”

Noting the roughly 1,800 acres of state forest in town, Mr Mile observed, “Newtown is lucky.” Recounting the conservation-minded residents from years ago who campaigned for the state’s Paugussett Forest purchase, he said, “There really were some far-sighted individuals.”

The acres now filled with trees, trickling streams, and wildlife are also crisscrossed by a feature out of place in the woods. Stonewalls line much of the terrain. According to a forest history, the early 1700s settlers cleared the land for agriculture. Recalling one feature of the state forest, he explained, “Many are located along rivers or lakes.”

Where Paugussett Indians once tread, clumps of cedar are evidence of the old pastures left behind by settlers. With an eye toward the sun reaching through to the understory, Mr Milne pointed toward a sign — out of place deep in the woods. It read, “Please pardon our appearance as the forest undergoes remodeling. Call 860-379-7085 with questions.”