DECEMBER 9, 2020 – As I departed city life for country life, my wife said, “Be sure you always have your phone and that it’s charged.” She knows I spend lots of time working in the woods, where there are a million ways to get into trouble, many exceedingly dumb. In addition to taking the (charged) phone, I don a bright orange hunting vest to make it easier for . . . a search party.
Recently, I nearly got myself into one bind by trying to avoid another.
A solid, fallen oak nearly a foot in diameter crosses one of the trails. The tree lies off the ground several inches and creates an obstacle for hikers. I decided it was time to cut out a section to make the trail more passable. Our chainsaw needs an overhaul, and besides, chainsaws scare me. I have experience but working with a chainsaw alone out in the woods on icy, uneven ground and at odd cutting angles can create trouble in a nano-second. Besides, there’s nothing that rivals a chainsaw in disturbing the very quietude I seek and enjoy in the woods. Thus, my saw of choice is a standard, 20-inch bowsaw.
In cutting any sizable log, you have to be mindful of physics. If you get things wrong, the partially cut log will bind on your saw. The weightier the log, the bigger the bind.
There are three main ways to avoid “the bind.” First is to undercut. That’s difficult, however, if access is limited. Second is to notch the log—cutting out wedge-shaped sections of the log, much as beaver do when felling a tree. This method, however, requires much more cutting than a straight cut. The third way? Don’t saw at all.
There are refined methods, of course, such as sawing as deep as possible through the sides of the log, reducing the amount of undercutting and overcutting required. And there’s the unrefined method: after you’ve overcut, undercut, and side cut the log as far as you dare before “the bind” occurs, jump hard on top of the log. The added force might finish the job.
After sawing like crazy on all sides of the log, I went for the jump. At the very moment my steel-toed leather boots left the slope above the log, I realized that despite my college degree, I was officially dumb. A chipmunk watching close by certain realized it and scurried for cover. When my feet slid off the log (which, by the way, didn’t budge), they pretended to be attached to skis. In a split second, I caught up with myself and executed a couple of flashy turns on the icy incline below the log. Miraculously, I came to a stand-up stop.
I then knew I’d dodged the situation where a search party would definitely be grateful that as dumb as I was, at least I’d been smart enough first to don that bright orange vest.
Stay tuned for, “The Art and Science of Felling a Tree.” . . . Or not.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
