During the long, wet winters of western Washington and Oregon, weather is always a consideration. Usually the culprit is rain, cold rain at that. The consistent snowfall is confined to the higher elevations of the Cascades. From time to time, arctic air will slip in from the northeast and bring snow to the low elevations. The temperatures usually climb above freezing within a day or two. But not always.
This is the account of one of my coldest days in the woods. It happened about 20 years ago when I lived in Portland. Interestingly, the forester featured in today's diary ended up working with me last summer, and thus made it into this diary written last October:
Deep Dark Woods, Episode One
One winter day in the early 1990s, I worked on a timber cruise (a cruise is an estimate of timber volumes and values) on land owned by the State of Washington. This particular tract of land is located southwest of Olympia and is known as the Capitol Forest. I was riding with a forester named Phil. Traveling the highways was no big deal, as the snow had not accumulated on the pavement near sea level. Once we turned onto the forest road system, it was a different story.
Large blocks of western timberland generally have one or more major access points. The mainline haul road is usually wide and well-maintained, often following a large creek. Side roads branch off the mainline road, following tributary creeks or ridges. These roads tend to gain elevation rather quickly, which is very important when it snows.
As Phil and I tracked up the main road, the amount of snow on the ground gradually increased. When we began to navigate the side roads, the snow depth changed abruptly. Instead of one inch, there was four inches, and then six. At first the road had tracks made by other vehicles. Then we came to a junction, and our road was an undisturbed bed of glistening snow.
We were still about two miles from our destination. We inched along in the snow, now close to a foot deep. About a mile in, we encountered a steep pitch. Phil made it about halfway up before the wheels lost traction and we began to slide sideways. He tried a second time, hoping that the packed snow would permit us to go farther. We only made it a few feet farther, and then began sliding towards the ditch. After a dicey retreat to the bottom, I suggested that we walk from there.
Phil would have nothing of the sort. He had four-wheel drive, and he planned to drive the entire distance. The third try was not a charm. On the way back downhill, we ended up in the ditch. We could either extricate ourselves now, or wait until we were done with the timber cruise. We both decided it was prudent to get out of the ditch and get the truck facing downhill, so that we would not have to worry all day about our situation. After a long day in the woods, the last thing you want to do is dig your vehicle out of a snowy ditch.
The snow was so deep that the truck could not go forward or backward. We had to move enough snow to create a clear path back to the road. We did not have a shovel, forcing us to improvise. A hardhat and a piece of thick cardboard became our snow-removal devices. We knelt in the snow and began digging. Within a few minutes the truck was free. Now we had another problem. The legs of our jeans were wet from contact with the ground. It was about 25 degrees, and a cold wind blew straight out of Canada.
We walked that mile in foot-deep snow. If you’ve never done such a thing, it’s harder than it sounds. You have to alter your gait so that you are not pushing big piles of snow forward with your feet. Eventually we arrived at the timber sale, tired but certainly not warm. As luck would have it, the timber was situated on a steep north-facing slope. The winter sun, low in the southern sky, did not reach the ground. But the north wind did!
All facets of the job are made more difficult in those conditions. First and foremost, you’re being paid to gather good information for a client who will bid tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars based on your data. No matter how much you are shivering, no matter how cold your metal instruments become, you cannot do sloppy work. I thought the day would never end. There were still wet spots on my blue jeans. The wind, made colder by the deep shadows, showed no mercy. Rocks and pieces of slick wood, hidden under the snow, caused me to slip and slide on the steep ground. My hands were constantly cold, because I had to enter information into a handheld data recorder. I could only wear thin gloves, which gave me little protection from the arctic wind.
I thought about those nature shows where a hapless, starving deer struggles through the cruel winter, eventually falling one final time and not getting up again. My fate was not quite so dire. Shortly before sunset, the last trees were measured and I met Phil at the road.
We still had the long walk back to the truck. At least it was downhill, and we could use the tracks we’d left on the way up.. They didn’t help much, but they did help. And thankfully the truck was out of the ditch, ready to roll. We turned the heater as high as it would go, and left it maximum for many miles.
Okay, it's your turn. If you have some cold-weather stories of your own to share, let's hear them!