Woodsman
Page 5
Many days of winter pass and my pile of coppice poles grows. The small side shoots keep the kettle boiling on the small brash fire that keeps me company throughout the winter days in the woods. Many days are still, some wet and windy, and many are crisp, clear and bright. On these mornings in the magic of a Sussex woodland, there is nowhere better on this earth to spend your day.
17 January
Glorious morning – stepped out to be greeted by a hoar frost. The trees were glistening as if embroidered with miniature icicles, the landscape was still, silent and magical. As I reached the copse my fire site stood out as it alone was clear of frost. Faint, occasional wisps of smoke were enough to let me know there was life in the embers. I stirred the embers with a stick and they responded with a reassuring red glow. I added some more twigs, put the kettle on top and then began to work on my bill hook with a Japanese stone …
With the smaller poles cut and sorted, it is time to fell the larger stems. Removing the smaller poles has created more space and made a safer working area. Felling the larger stems is also about not creating a tangle of poles, so it is important to thoroughly sned up each pole after felling, and think carefully about felling directions and extraction routes. There are a number of different felling cuts that are designed for trees growing straight, leaning forwards and leaning backwards. All of these are best learnt with proper instruction and one should not undertake any chainsaw felling work without having passed the appropriate felling modules.
Before beginning to fell the larger trees, I have already selected a chestnut to grow on as a standard, not for timber in this case but for nut production. A few carefully chosen standards, whose branches will stand above the coppice, will help produce good nut crops while the coppice is regenerating.
I cannot help but be annually amazed by the variety of re-growth from sweet chestnut coppice. This management system, which produces a yield of sustainable timber whilst increasing biodiversity and enabling livelihoods, is one of the best models of sustainability that Homo sapiens has created. Despite this amazing model, we still have thousands of acres of derelict coppice in the United Kingdom that would clearly benefit from management and re-coppicing. In order to provide materials for building and fuel to keep us warm, a sustainable yield of timber will need to form a large part of any future plans.
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When I first wanted to get some experience of coppicing, getting access to woodlands to gain that experience was very difficult. Some colleges held coppicing modules, but from talking with students these were rarely for more than a couple of days of actual practical work. There were volunteer opportunities available with conservation groups and wildlife trusts where some experience could be gained, but to get one-to-one with an under-woodsman was highly unlikely. The lack of desire to share knowledge appeared to come from a generation whose craft was their livelihood; if they shared it with another, they seemed to feel threatened by the competition that a new generation might bring. I clearly remember visiting a hurdle maker on a few occasions who was always happy to stop and chat but would never pick up a tool in my company. I’ve heard many similar stories. Sadly, it seems there are some old woodsmen who would rather take their knowledge to the grave than pass it on.
Fortunately, much of this has now changed, and the woodsmen of the new generation are keen to share knowledge and see the next generation coming through. There are some good apprenticeship schemes available, and a few more woodsmen are beginning to take on trainees on a one-to-one basis. Networking groups, such as regional coppice groups, offer opportunities to meet like-minded people, and keep abreast of news and information within the industry.
I remember clearly the first-ever meeting of the Sussex and Surrey Coppice Group, which we held at the Hollist Arms in Lodsworth. To this day I am still uncertain as to how the news of the meeting travelled as widely as it did, but the evening was memorable, to say the least. I had helped Linda Glynn of the Wessex Coppice Group to organise the meeting, she had sent messages out and we were expecting between 10 to 15 people. Nick Kennard, the landlord of the Hollist Arms, had offered us the snug – a cosy room with a log fire, ideal for a woodsmen’s meeting. However, it wasn’t long before the snug was full and the bar was filling up, too. Quite literally, characters were coming out from the woods to see what it was all about. Nick offered us the restaurant, and with the pub packed with woodland folk we began the meeting. Not long after it commenced, a character who resembled Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings appeared, with a twisted, carved staff, a long, forked beard, and sparkling eyes that lay beneath his thatch of hair. Never again did we receive such a turnout at a meeting, and I’ve not come across many of those characters since. I can only presume that they melted back into the Sussex woods and carried on with life as usual.
I helped with the launch of the Hampshire Coppice Group and the Dorset Coppice Group, and believe that with a voice and a place to network, coppice woodlands and their workers stand a better chance of active management and viable livelihoods, as we approach challenging times ahead. Coppice woodlands may be our most sustainable woodland resource, but there are many other woodland types and management strategies in the woods surrounding Prickly Nut Wood.
There is an area of woodland to the north of Prickly Nut Wood that I look after. It is what is referred to in forestry terms as a ‘PAWS’ – a plantation on an ancient woodland site. There was a period during the early 1970s when it became popular to plant-up ancient woodland with fast-growing coniferous species. The reason was purely financial. Many broadleaved ancient woodlands were seen as low value, and by planting a fast-growing coniferous species an ancient woodland could provide a return within the lifetime of the landowner. This was a major departure from the way high forest had previously been managed in the UK. Timber plantations have been grown over long rotations – oak is often grown for 120 to 150 years before felling – so the norm was that you would be planting trees for your grandchildren and harvesting what your grandparents had planted for you. This process ensured a yield of timber was sustained for at least the next two generations. High forest management has always worked in long rotations. Planting trees that you know will supply timber for your grandchildren’s generation is a positive way of ensuring future generations have the necessary resources, although alternative silvicultural techniques, such as continuous cover forestry, can also supply a sustainable yield of timber for future generations whilst taking better care of woodland soils and biodiversity.
Ancient woodlands often contain a unique mixture of plant species that have established over hundreds of years, living in conjunction with one another. The planting of a fast-growing coniferous species can have a major impact on these delicate woodland systems, and the denser the shade created, the quicker the ground flora dies out through lack of light. The soils may contain dormant seed that can regenerate many of the plant species, but the sooner the shade is removed the better the chance of recovery. The planting of coniferous plantations on ancient woodland sites commenced for purely short-term economic reasons, and nature was sidelined for economic gain. I’m not against the planting of coniferous species but appropriate land, such as agricultural cereal land, would be far preferable. In addition, there are plenty of other options for improving the economic viability of ancient woodlands, which I hope will become clearer as you read on.
I remember my first visit to the PAWS I now look after. It was a spring morning and I was drawn to the mass of bluebells thick beneath its coniferous canopy; wood spurge and the sparkle of wood anemone completed the picture. What was fortunate with this PAWS was that the coniferous species was European larch (Larix decidua). Larch is a deciduous conifer and loses its needles in the autumn in a similar manner to the way a broad-leafed tree loses its leaves. This, of course, allows light in and enables the ancient woodland flora to continue to flourish. Over time the larch needles may over-acidify the soil, but that is unlikely in one cycle of larch planting. This is one situation where allowing th
e plantation to grow on into a valuable crop would seem to be the sensible option over the fast removal of all the trees in the plantation.
However, it is back to assessment and surveying before I can make such a decision. The ground flora needs a professional survey, and for that I was lucky enough to have the Sussex Botanical Society and its interest in woodlands. Such organisations are responsible for so many of our detailed records of our ground flora and, working as a group, they can cross-reference between themselves if there is any dispute over species. The information they record gives me a benchmark of the current diversity of ground flora. A further survey in 10 to 15 years time should help to judge whether my management strategies are helping to increase or decrease biodiversity.
Although plantation forestry – both coniferous and deciduous – has been the main commercial silvicultural system in the UK for a number of years, I have never felt comfortable with the end result being a clear fell. Clear felling a plantation can have dramatic effects for the wildlife and there is a notable risk of soil erosion on sloping hillsides. The water table naturally rises after a clear fell and what was once a mature woodland can often look like a battle zone.
Continuous cover forestry is a better alternative to clear fell plantation forestry. The principles behind continuous cover forestry involve keeping the canopy predominantly intact and only removing clumps of trees, thereby opening up the forest floor to the light in a similar manner that would occur if a tree or trees blew over or died in an unmanaged woodland. The light reaching the forest floor then allows for natural regeneration or planting to take place. This method of forestry avoids the risk of soil erosion but does incur the need for more precise felling to avoid damaging younger growing trees and can make extraction to a ride more difficult. However, by using horses or appropriate extraction equipment – and by bringing the sawmill to the log rather than taking the log to the sawmill – these potential problems can be overcome. Existing plantations can be converted to continuous cover forestry by selective felling and re-planting of small areas, and allowing a more mixed-species woodland to develop. A continuous cover forest should contain a range of different ages and species of trees, and over time should build up a diverse flora and fauna.
Much of my work at Prickly Nut Wood and the surrounding woodlands I manage has involved derelict coppice restoration. The importance of coppice woodlands has inspired me to get more derelict woodland restored so it is able to provide useful poles once again. Restoring derelict coppice can be a hard and laborious process, but standing back and overseeing the fresh new re-growth from a newly restored, once-derelict coppice gives a lot of job satisfaction to a woodsman.
5 January
Finished the last of the hazel today. And it feels like a moment of celebration, a breakthrough in what has been a challenge of disentangling awkward stems that have grown high into the canopy, searching for light. As we chopped the last of the hazel brash for the fire and sat down to enjoy lunch, we all knew we had reached a milestone. Even our lunch today was more elaborate than usual: baked potatoes with olive oil and tamari, and tender squirrels slow-cooked in the fire embers, wrapped in foil with a little olive oil, garlic and rosemary. A fine cooking method for younger squirrels. Our conversation moved onto felling the birch, ash and chestnut. Nick and Kris, having just gained their chainsaw certificates, seemed naturally eager to get felling. The extra sawing will be most welcome.
We cut five acres of derelict coppice that winter and spent many a good lunchtime eating well from the brash-fire embers and contemplating the old map with local names, which called this piece of woodland ‘Dirty Gate’. The ride naturally led to what would seem a sensible place for a gate to enter the field beyond. Near to that entrance the stream widens out and crosses the ride, and it is a place that naturally becomes muddy and might invoke the name ‘Dirty Gate’. We also surmised that it might have been a popular place for young lovers to meet and that its name may have been coined from this. The cottage at Oaklands in view of Dirty Gate was once an ale house and no doubt was a frequent haunt of coppice and farm workers, for whom a stroll up to the woodland may have been a popular pastime.
Coppice woodlands are full of history and the stories of those who have worked them. One common theme I’ve both heard of and come across in real life is the literal meaning of ‘hanging up your boots’. It seems to be a tradition that coppice workers will leave their boots in the last area (cant) that they cut. I found a good, sturdy pair of leather boots beneath a coppice stool left to slowly disintegrate. I wonder which usually lasts longer: the retired coppice worker or his boots? And I wonder which cant I will leave my boots in. I don’t plan to retire from cutting coppice and it is a way of life, not a job, but no doubt one day I’ll know it’s my last cant, and I shall leave my boots there and join the path of others before me.
Tools of the trade often appear in the copse. I once found a small bill hook wedged into a fork in a chestnut stem, and different forms of cleaving break to help with splitting chestnut appear all over the woods. These can be wooden rails nailed or lashed to trees with notches cut out of them, so that they resemble wooden teeth. I’ve also found a metal equivalent – an old Allen scythe blade fixed to a tree with a rail above that made a simple yet effective cleaving break. There were also the unwanted signs of previous coppice workers, the rusty cans and plastic bottles of chainsaw oil that are found in many woods. I cannot understand the mentality of enjoying the beauty of coppicing an ancient woodland and then littering it with cans rather than taking responsibility and carrying them out.
Old car tyres are often found. Sadly, I can only imagine they were brought into the woodland for starting fires. The woods are full of dry kindling even when it has been raining, and the pollution from burning a car tyre is particularly unpleasant. Other common finds are sheets of corrugated iron. These are often brought in to heat up over a fire and warm frozen rods on a cold morning. The warming process frees up the fibres and allows the rod to become flexible again. Warming rods this way is popular with hurdle makers in hazel copses. The saying ‘Leave only your footprints’ is as relevant today as it was when it was first hailed.
Each year I cut a cant of coppice and now after 20 years it seems so natural a part of my life I cannot imagine a winter without the experience. It is during these winter months that so many ideas germinate as I fell materials that will be used throughout the following year to construct and make the products of my trade.
When I first started felling coppice, to begin with I naturally took the path well trodden when it came to adding value and making produce. I also needed to learn the basic craft skills that would enable me to use my imagination to create some new and unique markets.
A pole cut from the coppice has an initial value – if I point one end it becomes a fence post, and therefore a product. If I split it in half (cleave it), it becomes two posts and I am beginning to add value to the coppice I have cut. My early lessons in adding value were both lessons in learning about the nature of the wood I was working with and the basic economics of sustaining a livelihood from a coppiced woodland.
I clearly remember cleaving my first pole. It was a chestnut stem about 6 foot long and 6 inches in diameter, and I cleft it using two axe heads. I started at the thin end and found the very centre of the pole. When sweet chestnut first grows from the coppice stool it is not round; the first year of growth is star shaped. When you look at the very centre of the end grain of a chestnut pole, you will see a tiny star in the middle. The star is what I aim to split into two with the axe head. I remember, as I swung the maul, the first engagement of the steel penetrating the chestnut. It felt easier than I imagined and the second swing brought further satisfaction as the axe had embedded itself into the end of the pole and a distinct split opened up in front of it. After the third strike the split was far enough in front of the wedge (axe head) to place a second axe head into the opening split and drive that one with the maul. Soon the pattern of putting one wedge
in front of the other and driving the split from one end of the pole to the other became an almost automatic process. A couple more strikes and the pole parted to form a mirrored pair of half rounds. The first glimpse of the inner figure of that sweet chestnut pole was like a moment of alchemy. From a round, bark-covered pole I had unearthed the most beautiful, honey-coloured pattern of wood, which emitted a sweet, nostalgic perfume. It cried out for me to run my hand across its naked, riven face. I was the first to see this beautiful sight in its virginal glory. I had never seen such purity in a piece of wood. I had witnessed the birth of a plank and I had been the midwife.
With the pleasure of each end result, I cleaved feverishly through pole after pole. Each pole was a lesson. I learned how to work around the knots and how the straightness of the grain dictated the ease with which each pole cleaved. The ones that ran out before the split had completed the length of the pole were lessons, and I would conduct my own post-mortem into the causes of any run-out. This process produced an abundance of fence posts but above all began my learning process into the nature of sweet chestnut.
As I have mentioned, sweet or Spanish chestnut was brought to Britain by the Romans, adapted well, and is now regarded amongst foresters as an honorary native. It was planted in abundance in the mid-1800s to create poles for hop gardens to help fuel the English desire for beer and also to create material for fencing. The south-east, the main hop-growing region in the country, became home to acres of sweet chestnut coppice. There now stands about 18,000 hectares of sweet chestnut coppice, the majority in Sussex, Surrey and Kent, an abundant resource managed by past generations to leave us with a wealth of useful poles to adapt to our needs in the 21st century. To those who planted these vibrant coppices, I am eternally grateful.