On a clear, cold November day, Tyler Stock '06 stands in the woods and looks up. Then he looks down. The tall pine he is studying has to be cut, and he's got to figure out how to do it. Late-afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, pooling on the forest floor. From the landing site, a quarter mile back, Stock can hear the sounds of his classmates at work as they start the engines on the logging truck and the giant skidder. The forestry technology major scans the surrounding trees, considers his options and grabs his chainsaw. The machine sputters and whines, then settles into a steady, high-pitched buzz as Stock prepares to make his first cut.
"Remember, you want to lay it down with the big end toward the machine," shouts Jake Bronnenberg '04, straining to be heard above the noise. He gestures toward the skidder just visible now as it moves through the forest, a bright orange monster, tires churning, chains clanking. Bronnenberg, who graduated with a forest technology degree from UNH's Thompson School, works full time in the woods now, running a logging business with his dad. But on Wednesday afternoons he returns to his alma mater and heads into the field as a teaching assistant for Don Quigley '76, '78G, professor of forest technology. Today the class is working on the Woodman Research Farm in Durham.
Stock is back-cutting now, on the other side of the trunk, slicing in toward the center to meet the notch he created at the front. Minutes later, as he stops his saw and steps back, the 70-foot pine is already in motion, sweeping downward, snapping branches from every tree in its path. The old giant hits the ground with thundering force and, for a split second, the whole forest shudders with the impact.
"Forestry," Quigley says, "is about making hard decisions relative to trees—which ones to keep, which ones to get rid of, which ones to sell. It's always been that way, and that's what our program is about." What's different these days, notes Quigley, who has been watching the industry closely for the past three decades, are the tools used to make decisions in the woods—and the issues surrounding the forests. "There's more science, more economics and more cultural issues to consider," says Quigley. "As society has started to realize the value of our forests, the decisions have gotten harder. There's more at stake."
QUIGLEY STRIDES THROUGH the woods, his lumberjack frame clad in a plaid flannel shirt, blue jeans and bright orange hardhat. He pauses to talk with Stock about felling the pine, then watches as the skidder inches into position. Emmett Bean '06, another forest technology major is at the controls, trying to gauge the best way to make a straight line out of the woods so as to avoid snagging the unwieldy cargo he'll be dragging behind him—and damaging the remaining trees.
Quigley knows that expert logging techniques come only with practice. Which is precisely what students get in this 36-acre open-air classroom, plus instruction on how to manage a forest sustainably so that it produces for generations. The land where the students work includes a series of demonstration sites, each one an example of a different set of decisions that might be made by a landowner. What they're working on today, Quigley explains, is called a shelter wood. They'll leave one third of the canopy standing, just enough to allow the right amount of sunlight to penetrate and regenerate the pine forest below. Across the trail is a group selection site, where trees have been removed in clusters of eight or 10 to promote quick growth in the light-filled openings. Other sites include a clear-cut, an improvement thinning, and a control site, where the forest will be left to regenerate on its own.
"Don does everything he can to make the experience authentic," says Steve Eisenhaure '93, '04, '06G, who returned to UNH for a degree in forest technology from the Thompson School after getting a bachelor's degree in business. Today, Eisenhaure works as UNH's woodlands manager and also assists Quigley with forestry labs. "I talk with students as a land manager or forester," he says, "telling them the final goal of the site where they'll be working. I explain about marking trees to be cut with an eye to maintaining the value of the trees we leave behind." And he talks about long-term vision. "When you start cutting, you're doing something somebody 120 years later is going to see and, hopefully, is going to say, 'Oh, wow. That's nice. Someone did a good job here.'"
This passion for the forest is one characteristic Quigley has noticed again and again in his students. "There's something deep in their experience that brings them here," he says. "Maybe there are family ties to the industry or they have rural roots. Maybe an experience, like Eagle Scouts, pushed them in this direction." These are students with a real love of the land. "They love the thrill of what's over the next hill."
Quigley's own passion for the forest was sparked growing up in Pennsylvania during hunting and fishing weekends with his dad. Later, in Vietnam, Quigley rappelled out of helicopters, chainsaw in hand, and chopped down trees to create landing zones for rescue missions. After his tour of duty, Quigley headed for UNH, where he got a forestry degree. Today, he lives just a couple of miles from his university office, on 44 acres of forested land, much of which he manages as an award-winning tree farm. When he has a chance, there's nothing he likes better than getting out there and swinging an axe to split firewood.
"Before there were farms, there were men with axes," Quigley likes to say. "In the order of things, the forests were first." That's part of what fascinates him about the forest industry—it's so old. "In New Hampshire, we have 350 years of these roots." The industry has been the economy's backbone since the state was founded. And it still is, coming in right behind tourism and the computer industry. "Actually, we like to say it holds first and third place," says Sean Sullivan of the New Hampshire Timberland Owners Association, arguing that the state's forests, which cover 84 percent of the landscape, are largely responsible for the tourism industry's success. "When people vacation here, they're not coming to go to Disney World, they're coming to hike our mountains and enjoy our lakes. They're coming for our trees."
Clearly something has worked, Quigley points out, citing private ownership as the key to the region's landscape. "New England forests are a model of sustainability," he says. UNH forestry students are being trained, then, for an industry that's as critical to our economic survival now as it was centuries ago. And they are part of an ongoing tradition of sustainability and stewardship, of care for the land.
HUNTER CARBEE '90, '93 started cutting trees for a living when he was in his early 20s. For 10 years he worked as a logger, heading into the woods every day with his chain saw. He loved his job—the beauty of the woods, the physical challenge, the solitude. And then, one day, it was over. At 10 in the morning on May 9, 1988, a 60-foot black birch hit him from behind, pinning him to the ground and crushing his pelvis. "I never saw it coming," says Carbee, who knows four loggers who have been killed by falling trees. "I should be dead, too," he says. "Or at least paralyzed." Carbee was lucky. The accident happened close to a road. His two buddies managed to cut him free and get him into the back of a pick-up truck. By 1 p.m., he was in surgery. For three days he hovered between life and death, gradually stabilizing and beginning the long road to recovery.
Nine months after the accident, leaning on a cane, Carbee enrolled in UNH's Thompson School, the first step to a new career. "The T-School taught me how to be an on-the-ground forester," says Carbee, who for months couldn't sit down for more than 30 minutes at a stretch before the pain became unbearable. He knew he couldn't cut trees anymore. So instead he learned to find boundary lines, lay out timber sales, and identify tree species.
When he finished his two-year degree in the Thompson School, Carbee kept going, earning a four-year forest resources degree from UNH's College of Life Sciences and Agriculture. There, he gained a background in forest economics and policy that taught him how to evaluate the big picture. "When you're working with a number of goals—recreation, water protection, timber management, wildlife—you have to think about how to balance everything. It comes right down to the individual tree, when you're deciding whether it stays or whether it goes."
The minute he graduated, Carbee went to work as a forester, returning to the woods he loves and walking miles each day as he marked boundaries and trees. The walking was part of his ongoing rehabilitation, preventing the severe arthritis doctors predicted would eventually set in. When he later took a job as program director for the New Hampshire Timberland Owners Association, Carbee became famous for his logger safety classes. The presentations he gave always included the facts—that logging is the second most dangerous occupation, ahead of fire fighting, coal mining, and high-rise construction. Only commercial fishing ranks higher. When Carbee told his own story, the roomful of loggers, many of them cocky and sure of themselves, always fell silent. "By the time I was finished, you could hear a pin drop," says Carbee, chuckling.
Today, 20 years after graduating, Carbee works as a wood buyer for two wood-fired co-generation power plants in New Hampshire. It's a niche he predicts will take off as the cost of oil and gas continue to rise. It's also proof, says Carbee, of the changing shape of the forestry industry. "When I was logging, this market wasn't even available," he says. "Back then, you mostly 'cut the best and left the rest.' This new market means you can use the diseased, malformed trees, leaving the stronger ones to grow. It's an excellent tool in terms of managing a forest."
Shifting markets—from the opening of new wood-fire energy plants to the closing of paper mills—aren't the only recent changes facing the industry. Just a generation ago, says Carbee, logging was still primarily a chainsaw and skidder operation. "It was all hard manual labor," he says. These days, it's highly technical. "We have machines that cut the tree and machines that limb the tree. We work in small two- or three-man crews. Everyone runs more than one machine. It's all very efficient." But—good news for graduates—Carbee sees no reduction in the need for labor. "The job market is great right now," he says.
Ironically, the UNH forestry programs are small at the moment, reflecting a current downswing in forestry programs across the country. "There's a real perception out there that forestry is a flannel-shirt-and-suspenders, knuckle-dragging sort of thing," says Mark Ducey, associate professor and forestry program coordinator in the department of natural resources. "Well, yes, lots of us wear flannel shirts—they're comfortable." But, there's also this new high-tech side to forestry. Any student who's good at those things can walk into a really good job. It's a great time to be a forestry major."
Jen Weimer '02, '04 is one of those recent high-tech forestry alums. Like Carbee, she continued with the four-year program after graduating from the Thompson School. "The two programs work really well together," says Weimer, who is one of two forest health specialists with New Hampshire's Division of Forests and Lands. (The other is Kyle Lombard '87, '90.)
Weimer already had a bachelor's degree in art and photography when she enrolled at UNH at age 27. Now, instead of photographing the woods, she's helping to save them, flying over the state, mapping insect damage from the air. She uses high-tech tools like a GIS computer-mapping program that incorporates multiple layers of data, including stream locations, road systems and ownership information. "We make our own layer about pest damage we see and then put all the layers together to determine where the hot spots are and what needs to be done."
A recent survey indicates 111,000 acres of damage from the forest tent caterpillar, which defoliates oaks and sugar maple. "We haven't had this much damage since the gypsy moth outbreaks in the 1980s," says Weimar. Her career began, she says, simply with a love of the outdoors. "But the more I look at it, the more I realize that what I'm doing has real purpose. You feel that you're doing something good."
"SINGLE BUCKERS, HERE'S your start," yells Quigley. The professor-turned-emcee is standing in a dirt parking lot just off UNH's Spinney Lane. It is a Saturday morning and the annual intercollegiate woodsmen competition is underway. Russell Orzechowki '08 steps in front of a giant pine log, sap still oozing from the freshly cut ends. His six-foot bucksaw, just like ones used more than a century ago to fell trees, is poised, glinting in the morning sun. "Timers ready?" shouts Quigley. "Competitors ready? Three. Two. One. Go!" Orzechowski is instantly in motion, pushing and pulling his blade in long fluid motions, without a single "snag." In 19 seconds—his best time ever—Orzechowski has sliced straight through the 18-inch log, lopping a piece off the end and winning the event.
"Nicely done," shouts a voice from the crowd. Turns out it's Orzechowski's father, Peter '77, who has come to cheer for his son. Standing next to Peter is his dad, Russell's grandfather, Stanley '50. While they've never been professional loggers, the family has done plenty of chopping and splitting through the years to feed the wood fires that help to heat their home. And Peter himself competed on the UNH woodsmen team a generation ago, when he was a student.
As for Russell, who is captain of this year's team, he likes being part of a tradition that goes beyond even his own family. "People used to work every day with these tools," he says. "Trying it, you really appreciate how difficult it is."
Students on the woodsmen team mill timber for their competitions and practices right on campus at the university's vintage sawmill, which has played an important role in the school's forestry programs since its construction in 1960. Today, the mill, with its upcoming renovations, has become a sort of tangible metaphor for the changes underway in the industry.
One hundred years ago forestry was an incredibly wasteful industry, according to Sarah Smith '78, a specialist with the UNH Cooperative Extension. "Now every dollar mill owners spend goes to improve the utilization of every tree." Bark, sawdust and chips—it all used to be considered waste. These days, bark is highly valued for mulch, sawdust goes to wood energy plants and chips go to pulp mills. Among other upgrades, UNH's renovated mill will include a new band saw. The thinner blade will produce less waste, which means more timber—about12 percent more board feet—can be milled from each log. "This means a better use of the resource," says Quigley, "which means, ultimately, fewer trees need to be cut."
Better use of resources means more than an improved bottom line for sawmills fighting to survive in a competitive industry. With development pressures ever on the rise (New Hampshire's population almost doubled in size in just 10 years to 2.5 million in 2000) careful land use planning is critical—and the need for well-trained foresters has never been greater. "People no longer feel a connection to the land," says Sean Sullivan of the timberland owners' association. The days of working in the woods with bucksaw and axe are gone forever—and the tradition of passing land on from one generation to the next is dwindling, too, as children move away. New Hampshire alone loses about 17,500 acres of forestland every year, according to the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests.
Good foresters—people with a knowledge of today's high-tech tools, a commitment to sustainability, and an understanding of the historical importance of the land and the complexity inherent in its many valuable uses—can help change that trend. They can help people to view forestland as a forester does, as a living money market fund that, if carefully managed, can provide a source of income through the years as trees are selectively cut and harvested. "Our studies show that if landowners hold onto their land, rather than selling out to developers," says Sullivan, "they can, in the long run, make more money. But people need to be educated to view their land differently."
Within the tourism, land protection and forestry industries there are promising signs of change, as awareness grows that these constituencies are not at odds with one another; rather they share a common goal of maintaining a forest landscape. These days, when land is set aside for protection, it's likely that parts of it will actually be managed for timber.
"Our forestry alums can make a huge difference just in the little things they do every day in their jobs," says Ducey, who likes to point out that lots of people are willing to chop down trees. But foresters are the ones who take the long view, so that we have all the things that go with a well-managed forest: good drinking water, wildlife habitat, recreational resources.
ONE AFTERNOON AS he is winding up his work in the woods, Jake Bronnenberg pauses to examine a small black birch, about four inches in diameter. Growing around it is a cluster of fluttering hemlocks, trees so fragile-looking they seem almost inconsequential. But the hemlocks, Bronnenberg explains, protect the birch simply by shading it from the sun, preventing the sprouting of buds along the trunk. Eventually, the tree will grow into a good veneer tree, without any knots, highly valuable and ready for harvest.
Forestry students learn something of the ways of Mother Nature, gaining respect for the mystery of the land and the things that grow out of it. They know that their livelihood, more than most, will be tied, literally, to a precious natural resource—one they themselves will have a role in protecting. With this knowledge, comes a sort of long-term vision—an understanding that a well-managed forest, full of trees that grow straight and true, takes a long, long time to come to fruition. Forestry students, then, perhaps more than most, will be inclined to leave their impact on the world with this same awareness: that what they do with their careers, and the decisions they make along the way, will matter for a very long time to come.
Question: What has 3,800 acres spread across 28 different properties with miles of trails open to the public? Answer: The University of New Hampshire. The university's woodlands and natural areas, many of them heavily forested, may be one of the best-kept secrets in the state. But Steve Eisenhaure '93, '04, '06G, UNH's woodlands manager, hopes that'll change. "I want people to get out and use them," he says. "These are great properties."
While UNH's woodland areas provide valuable acreage for education and research, these lands also help to fulfill the university's outreach mission, providing open space for public use. Properties with maintained trails can be used for hiking, mountain biking, cross-country skiing, snowmobiling and more.
Some properties are close to UNH and well known, like College Woods and Foss Farm in Durham, and Mendum's Pond in Barrington. Farther afield, West Rattlesnake Mountain on Squam Lake offers "an awesome overlook of the lake," says Eisenhaure. The lake's Five Finger Point peninsula also includes a scenic trail. The Bearcamp River property in Ossippee is another of Eisenhaure's favorites.
Some areas, like the nearly 500-acre Lovell River property, are primarily managed for timber, research and wildlife, rather than for recreation. "The overall purpose," says Eisenhauere, "is to manage our forests sustainably. The money we make on harvesting goes directly into maintaining trails for public use on our other properties."
For more information, call (603) 862-3951, e-mail woodlands@unh.edu or visit http://www.unh.edu/woodlands/ index.html.