At the end of each season of tree planting I am always able to look back upon my time in the bush and clearly identify the worst day that I had to endure. There is always one day which rises above the rest in terms of pain (physical, mental or otherwise), confusion, despair and simple bad luck. This job presents a multitude of challenges on a daily basis and on very special days these challenges morph and multiply into a perfect storm of unfortunate circumstance. There are still two and a half weeks left to go in the season and I know that I have already experienced my worst day of the season.
My worst day of the season started three years ago within shouting distance of the Chinchaga River to the west of High Level, Alberta. An area of spruce forest had been logged and was ready for scarification to prepare the land for tree planting. The dirty scarifying machine entered the block, perhaps having plowed a number of blocks already that day. Somewhere stuck to the belly of the machine was a seed of invasive grass catching a sneaky ride to its newest home. The machine hit a stump, jolted and the seed of grass was deposited in the freshly tilled soil of a hoe plow.
That year in a Tolko High Level office space, the individual(s) responsible for reforestation decided that this block was not to be planted while it was still fresh cut. Whether it was too logistically difficult, too costly or simply a matter of forgetfulness, the planting of this block was pushed back not just one but two summer seasons. During the first summer season the seed of grass germinated, grew to maturity and produced seed of its own which was spread around the block through the wind. The next summer season saw these seeds germinate, repeating the process and bringing this species of grass that much closer to total domination of the block. Sometime during the next winter the folks at Tolko decided that 2014 was the year that this "green" block and the ones surrounding it were finally to be planted.
About three weeks ago on the evening of our day off, our supervisors and crew bosses gathered in the mess tent to make plans for which crews would be sent to which blocks for the next day of work. While they studied maps and designed a plan of attack, I rose from my tent for the first time that evening to run to the shitters. My gut was not happy with me and the distress had roused me from my sleep. While I sat there and came to the slow realization that this pain was abnormal for my famously steel-lined gut, it was decided in the mess tent that my crew would be planting the grassy block down by the Chinchaga.
The process of being woken by intestinal distress and rushing off to the shitters was repeated twice more during the night. The unpleasantness of the pressure on my insides was matched by the irritation and itchiness caused by the clouds of mosquitoes who call the putrid confines of the shitter tents their home after the sun goes down. At 6:30AM I awoke, unrested and unsure of how much more my body had left to purge. I was also unsure of the cause of my troubles but I knew that I had never experienced anything quite like it.
I dressed, ate, stashed some baby wipes in a large ziplock bag and got onto the helicopter to fly out to the block. The fact that we were planting a green block left me feeling less than optimistic for the day. While they are higher paid due to their difficulty, green blocks are still a challenge at the best of times. Every year that the land is left unplanted is another year that herbaceous plant life (including invasive grasses...) and aspen suckers have to establish themselves. Aspen suckers are especially troubling. They grow a few feet each year and prefer the the same micro-sites as a tree planter. This multitude of plant life slows your progress and obscures your view of where your trees are. You can be planting a tree 12 inches from one that you've already planted and have absolutely no idea that it's there.
We landed at our destination and were "cut-in" to the land by our crew boss. I bagged up a box of trees, back-bagged my baby wipes and waded through the four foot tall aspens for my first line of trees. The land was not good. The green was thick and it obscured the exceptional amount of "slash" (discarded logs of various sizes produced as a byproduct of logging) which was strewn about the block. Towards the back of my piece was another obstacle: an uncommonly steep hill for the traditionally flat land around High Level. After my first box I was convinced that the land would be my biggest headache of the day rather than my gut.
I was very wrong. The land was rotten and slowed me down considerably. My gut was rotten and caused me to squat amongst the greenery and utilize my emergency baby wipes on three dangerously explosive occasions. But my biggest headache of the day presented itself innocuously enough during that first line of trees to the hill in the back of my piece; I sneezed.
I stopped to sneeze once during my first box of trees, twice during the second, four times during the third and on and on in this parabolic fashion until a few hours later I was stopping to sneeze almost every minute. I realized pretty quickly that the poofs of pollen erupting from the seed heads of the invasive grass were the culprit. I was nursing a sore shoulder and knew that the jolt of a sneeze could make it worse if my body was in the wrong position. To protect my shoulder, I had to stand up straight with perfect posture to ensure that I didn't sneeze my shoulder right out of place. As a piece rate worker, I'm concerned with shaving seconds off of minutes and tenths of seconds off of seconds. You can imagine my chagrin at having to stand up straight every minute to sneeze for three seconds.
The sneezing wasn't the worst symptom produced by the grass. The seed heads of the grass stood on long spikes that raised them three to four feet into the air; the perfect height to be rubbed against the face and neck of a tree planter who is bending down to perform his or her duty. A few hours into the day I was at the road bagging up more trees and my crew boss walked over to see how I was doing. As I mentioned the bad land, my intestinal issues, my sleep deprivation and my incessant sneezing, he took a step closer and bent his head a little closer to mine. "Are you allergic to something?" Unbeknownst to me, my face and neck had broken out in itchy red hives. Their itchiness only became apparent once I became aware that they existed. I wished he hadn't told me about them at all. I headed back into the land unsure of how I would make it through the day.
But somehow I did. I sneezed, itched, pooped, sweated and planted my way through ten hours of work. Did I mention that the bugs were terrible that day? Icing on the cake. When I saw Stephanie at the end of the day as we waited for our helicopter ride off the block, the look on her face gave me a good idea of what my face looked like. When we arrived back in camp I took a look in a mirror at the mangled remains of my face. Hive or bug bite? Who's to say. My eyes were completely bloodshot from the allergic reaction and served to add to my terrifying appearance. A planter who saw me afterwards asked my crew boss if I had been hit with bear spray.
I popped a few Benadryl and headed to the showers hoping that my suffering might soon be over. I got under the water and noticed that the hives were not restricted to just my head and neck but were present to some degree over my entire body. The hot water felt nice on them. I cleaned my fingers and removed my contact lenses to try and give my eyes a bit of relief. I rubbed my eyes a bit once the contacts were out. "Don't rub your eyes!" said every mom ever. The first rub made my eyes itchier so I rubbed them again to make it stop. Hmmm..... This train of logic ended with me lying in my tent putting drop after drop of solution into my eyes and having to physically restrain myself from rubbing them. Like a bug bite, my eyes weren't itchy until I itched them, but they certainly were once I was done with them.
I returned to camp to eat dinner and had to explain my appearance to anyone who saw me. "Ahh man, you don't look so bad anymore. I heard you looked really bad before!" The Benadryl was doing its job and by the time I was done with dinner my symptoms had mostly subsided. I was left spent, physically and mentally, wondering whether or not I would still have to dash to the shitters in the night, but I still maintained my good humour. That was until, in a Bendryl induced haze, I put my boots down to dry by the fire and then noticed that they weren't there anymore. I hunted around camp for 20 minutes: picking up peoples boots, becoming increasingly frustrated, trying to think where they might be and cursing whoever it was who had moved them from their sacred spot in front of the fire. My good humour vanished entirely and I entered into one of my very rare but very real moments of mental darkness. All was not well until I looked again by the fire to see that my boots were right where I had left them. On top of everything, I now felt very stupid.
I returned to my tent and sighed, "What a day!", spread some creme on my face and neck, curled up in the sheets and went to bed. The day was over. Finally. The hives were nearly gone. I wasn't sneezing anymore. I didn't have to get up in the night to dash to the shitters. The worst day of the season was over and done with. Everything's downhill from here!! (Right?)
My worst day of the season started three years ago within shouting distance of the Chinchaga River to the west of High Level, Alberta. An area of spruce forest had been logged and was ready for scarification to prepare the land for tree planting. The dirty scarifying machine entered the block, perhaps having plowed a number of blocks already that day. Somewhere stuck to the belly of the machine was a seed of invasive grass catching a sneaky ride to its newest home. The machine hit a stump, jolted and the seed of grass was deposited in the freshly tilled soil of a hoe plow.
That year in a Tolko High Level office space, the individual(s) responsible for reforestation decided that this block was not to be planted while it was still fresh cut. Whether it was too logistically difficult, too costly or simply a matter of forgetfulness, the planting of this block was pushed back not just one but two summer seasons. During the first summer season the seed of grass germinated, grew to maturity and produced seed of its own which was spread around the block through the wind. The next summer season saw these seeds germinate, repeating the process and bringing this species of grass that much closer to total domination of the block. Sometime during the next winter the folks at Tolko decided that 2014 was the year that this "green" block and the ones surrounding it were finally to be planted.
About three weeks ago on the evening of our day off, our supervisors and crew bosses gathered in the mess tent to make plans for which crews would be sent to which blocks for the next day of work. While they studied maps and designed a plan of attack, I rose from my tent for the first time that evening to run to the shitters. My gut was not happy with me and the distress had roused me from my sleep. While I sat there and came to the slow realization that this pain was abnormal for my famously steel-lined gut, it was decided in the mess tent that my crew would be planting the grassy block down by the Chinchaga.
The process of being woken by intestinal distress and rushing off to the shitters was repeated twice more during the night. The unpleasantness of the pressure on my insides was matched by the irritation and itchiness caused by the clouds of mosquitoes who call the putrid confines of the shitter tents their home after the sun goes down. At 6:30AM I awoke, unrested and unsure of how much more my body had left to purge. I was also unsure of the cause of my troubles but I knew that I had never experienced anything quite like it.
I dressed, ate, stashed some baby wipes in a large ziplock bag and got onto the helicopter to fly out to the block. The fact that we were planting a green block left me feeling less than optimistic for the day. While they are higher paid due to their difficulty, green blocks are still a challenge at the best of times. Every year that the land is left unplanted is another year that herbaceous plant life (including invasive grasses...) and aspen suckers have to establish themselves. Aspen suckers are especially troubling. They grow a few feet each year and prefer the the same micro-sites as a tree planter. This multitude of plant life slows your progress and obscures your view of where your trees are. You can be planting a tree 12 inches from one that you've already planted and have absolutely no idea that it's there.
We landed at our destination and were "cut-in" to the land by our crew boss. I bagged up a box of trees, back-bagged my baby wipes and waded through the four foot tall aspens for my first line of trees. The land was not good. The green was thick and it obscured the exceptional amount of "slash" (discarded logs of various sizes produced as a byproduct of logging) which was strewn about the block. Towards the back of my piece was another obstacle: an uncommonly steep hill for the traditionally flat land around High Level. After my first box I was convinced that the land would be my biggest headache of the day rather than my gut.
I was very wrong. The land was rotten and slowed me down considerably. My gut was rotten and caused me to squat amongst the greenery and utilize my emergency baby wipes on three dangerously explosive occasions. But my biggest headache of the day presented itself innocuously enough during that first line of trees to the hill in the back of my piece; I sneezed.
I stopped to sneeze once during my first box of trees, twice during the second, four times during the third and on and on in this parabolic fashion until a few hours later I was stopping to sneeze almost every minute. I realized pretty quickly that the poofs of pollen erupting from the seed heads of the invasive grass were the culprit. I was nursing a sore shoulder and knew that the jolt of a sneeze could make it worse if my body was in the wrong position. To protect my shoulder, I had to stand up straight with perfect posture to ensure that I didn't sneeze my shoulder right out of place. As a piece rate worker, I'm concerned with shaving seconds off of minutes and tenths of seconds off of seconds. You can imagine my chagrin at having to stand up straight every minute to sneeze for three seconds.
The sneezing wasn't the worst symptom produced by the grass. The seed heads of the grass stood on long spikes that raised them three to four feet into the air; the perfect height to be rubbed against the face and neck of a tree planter who is bending down to perform his or her duty. A few hours into the day I was at the road bagging up more trees and my crew boss walked over to see how I was doing. As I mentioned the bad land, my intestinal issues, my sleep deprivation and my incessant sneezing, he took a step closer and bent his head a little closer to mine. "Are you allergic to something?" Unbeknownst to me, my face and neck had broken out in itchy red hives. Their itchiness only became apparent once I became aware that they existed. I wished he hadn't told me about them at all. I headed back into the land unsure of how I would make it through the day.
But somehow I did. I sneezed, itched, pooped, sweated and planted my way through ten hours of work. Did I mention that the bugs were terrible that day? Icing on the cake. When I saw Stephanie at the end of the day as we waited for our helicopter ride off the block, the look on her face gave me a good idea of what my face looked like. When we arrived back in camp I took a look in a mirror at the mangled remains of my face. Hive or bug bite? Who's to say. My eyes were completely bloodshot from the allergic reaction and served to add to my terrifying appearance. A planter who saw me afterwards asked my crew boss if I had been hit with bear spray.
I popped a few Benadryl and headed to the showers hoping that my suffering might soon be over. I got under the water and noticed that the hives were not restricted to just my head and neck but were present to some degree over my entire body. The hot water felt nice on them. I cleaned my fingers and removed my contact lenses to try and give my eyes a bit of relief. I rubbed my eyes a bit once the contacts were out. "Don't rub your eyes!" said every mom ever. The first rub made my eyes itchier so I rubbed them again to make it stop. Hmmm..... This train of logic ended with me lying in my tent putting drop after drop of solution into my eyes and having to physically restrain myself from rubbing them. Like a bug bite, my eyes weren't itchy until I itched them, but they certainly were once I was done with them.
I returned to camp to eat dinner and had to explain my appearance to anyone who saw me. "Ahh man, you don't look so bad anymore. I heard you looked really bad before!" The Benadryl was doing its job and by the time I was done with dinner my symptoms had mostly subsided. I was left spent, physically and mentally, wondering whether or not I would still have to dash to the shitters in the night, but I still maintained my good humour. That was until, in a Bendryl induced haze, I put my boots down to dry by the fire and then noticed that they weren't there anymore. I hunted around camp for 20 minutes: picking up peoples boots, becoming increasingly frustrated, trying to think where they might be and cursing whoever it was who had moved them from their sacred spot in front of the fire. My good humour vanished entirely and I entered into one of my very rare but very real moments of mental darkness. All was not well until I looked again by the fire to see that my boots were right where I had left them. On top of everything, I now felt very stupid.
I returned to my tent and sighed, "What a day!", spread some creme on my face and neck, curled up in the sheets and went to bed. The day was over. Finally. The hives were nearly gone. I wasn't sneezing anymore. I didn't have to get up in the night to dash to the shitters. The worst day of the season was over and done with. Everything's downhill from here!! (Right?)
