Log Towing

By the time the golden maple leaves began to fall, we had a floating dock in place for Chiron and preliminary architectural drawings for a new home on Middle Rendezvous Island. We tramped over our twenty acres with Cesar, the architect/builder, to find appropriate cedar trees for the landing piers and entry posts. Cesar ticked off the requirements… The trees must be about 16” in diameter, straight, and not taper too much. It would be best if most of the lower limbs were absent. And we must be able to get the trees out easily by cutting them into 7 to 10-foot sections on the site.

A week later, when the first tree was felled, I felt like I was the executioner, or the judge condemning a tree to die. Having grown up in a logging community, that probably sounds pretty silly, but it was not an act that we took lightly. I quietly thanked the tree, and we all moved a safe distance away as the chainsaw began to rip into the cedar’s tender bark. It took awhile before I could see movement at the top of the tree, wavering slightly and then in slow motion, a long slow sigh as it fell heavily to the ground. Two days later we were ready for the next step… log towing.


LOG TOWING
Morningstar’s Journal
11 September 1998

This morning began with a clash of attitudes toward the arrival of morning. I like morning. I am cheerful – at my best in the morning hours. I like to get up, have something to eat, enjoy a cup of coffee, and ease into the new day. Bob is not a morning person. And this morning, before I had even begun to drink my coffee, Bob launches into his need to make immediate decisions for the day - right now - so he can schedule things like turning on the generator, taking a shower, shaving… make plans to go into Campbell River. All my buttons are pushed and I finally say “Okay. Okay. Do whatever you want.”

Then we hear voices. Cesar and his wife Lee pull up along side our sailboat. They explain that they’ve started work on our cedar tree - the one that had been felled earlier in the week “Can you come over with your skiff and tow a couple of the sections? We’ll take care of the one we’ve just limbed, but we can’t limb the other two because they are in the water and it would take a long time for us to tow them. We thought you might want to do that.” Bob turns to me, a big smile on his face, “Better get your clothes on. We’ve got some log towing to do.” I leave my untouched coffee behind, exchange my nightgown for jeans, a flannel shirt and Tevas. We jump into Dragonfly and start the engine.

As we near the two tree sections floating in the water, Bob begins to sing, “Jingle bells, jingle bells, dashing all the way.” They do look a lot like giant Christmas trees. We don’t have far to tow the logs - that is if we could do it in a straight line - but it doesn’t work that way. We discover that floating trees tend to have a mind of their own, especially if they haven’t been limbed, and when Bob steers our Boston Whaler left, the tree limbs push us right! We learn to maneuver the boat in small increments - forward - reverse - compensate - keep the towline out of the prop. Like drunken sailors, the boat, the tree, and we slowly zigzag our way into Drew Passage and around Bear Skull Island. What started out as a lark ends up being a test of our patience and the endurance of the new 50 hp Honda engine.

Several hours later we have successfully towed the two tree sections into our bay and close to the shoreline. Lee and Cesar are on shore and are able to pull one section onto the beach for us. The other will have to wait for high tide at 11 pm. At 10:30 pm Bob and I row ashore in our dinghy. I hold a flashlight while Bob cinches up the securing lines on the first two logs and then we slog our way through bone-chilling tide water, across boulders and under the crudely-constructed lumber platforms. We arrive at the third tree section, the one that needs to be pulled higher onto the beach. We look at it, and at each other. “This is crazy! What are we doing out here in the middle of the night pulling in logs? Is this what people our age do in their retirement years?” We look at our wet pant legs, glance up at the nighttime sky filled with stars, and over to Chiron with one light glowing softly in the darkness… and we laugh. Yeah, this is good.

Together Bob and I pull in the log and secure it well above the high water line. As we return, the flashlight beam reveals tiny salamanders that come out only at night, and the sea shines with bioluminescence as we row back to Chiron. The schedule that had seemed so important in the morning failed to materialize as it met head-on with the realities of island time. Is there a lesson to be learned here? Do I hear Lao Tzu saying... don’t take this business of life so seriously - forget any idea of control - just go with the flow? Hmmmm. (Excerpt from A WINTER PASSAGE)
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