Page 56 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
“Yes.”
“Good. Then we go around back.” He leads me to the opposite side of the trunk. “Here we make the back cut, just above the level of the notch. But we stop an inch short. That leaves a strip of uncut wood—the hinge—that controls the fall, guiding it down real smooth. Do it right, gravity does the rest.”
“Questions?”
I ask a couple of clarifiers, mostly to stall, but he answers them straight. Then it’s time. We put our helmets on and lower our visors and ear defenders.
With a single pull, Luke brings the saw snarling to life. The sound vibrates in my chest. He braces, checks the built-in level on his saw, and makes the notch—two precise cuts, clean and confident. Chips spray, the smell of fresh cedar rising sharp and raw.
We move around to the back. Luke checks alignment again, then begins the back cut, saw whining as it bites into the trunk. I watch like a hawk, adrenaline buzzing in my veins, half-expecting disaster even though I know he’s a pro.
Before the cut is complete, he pulls the saw out, snaps it off. The sudden silence is startling.
“Okay,” he says, lifting his visor. “We could use ropes or wedges if we wanted extra control, but gravity’s the easy way. Come here.”
I step up.
“Put your hand on the trunk. Give it a gentle push toward the notch.”
I do, and the tree feels different—alive, almost springy, like it’s holding its breath.
“Feel that? She’s ready.”
“Yeah, I feel it.”
“Good. Then why don’t you finish it? Do the back cut yourself.”
“What—me?” My voice cracks.
“Sure. Nothing to it. Visor down.”
I adjust my gear with hands that suddenly feel clumsy. Luke fires up the saw again, then holds it out.
Jesus, it’s heavy. I nearly drop it. He’d been tossing it around like it weighed nothing. To me, it feels like a sack of concrete. But I grit my teeth, adjust my grip, and take it.
Luke steadies me, one big hand guiding mine. Together, we ease the blade back into the cut.
"About another half inch is all it needs, okay, Eric?" I nod, lick my lips, concentrate on getting everything straight and accurate before I push down on the throttle.
The saw growls and comes alive with my command; the tree trembles.
“Okay,” Luke shouts over the engine. “That’s it—she’s going!”
Sure enough, as I pull the saw clear, the tree groans, falters, and begins to fall. It tips slowly at first, then gathers momentum until it crashes to the ground with a deep, echoing thud—exactly where we wanted it to land.
Luke grins and holds out a hand for a slap.
"Nice work, Eric. Your first tree. The next one, you can do the whole thing."
I smile up at him, pleased at the compliment, though I know he's at least partially blowing smoke. I'm also trembling with the excitement of the moment, and yes… I'm keen to try it again. If this is what it's like, felling a tiny young tree, what must it feel like to fell a huge old monster?
We get back to the lodge earlier than expected, so after a shower to freshen up, I grab my laptop and head out toward the picnic bench to continue my data entry. But as I round the corner, I slow to a halt—because Luna’s already there. She’s sitting with Southpaw curled at her feet, the wolf’s eyes half-closed as he basks in the late sunshine.
They must hear my footsteps, because both Luna and Southpaw glance up at the same time. Luna’s face lights with agenuine smile—one of those rare smiles that reaches the eyes. My chest tightens.
“Hi, Eric,” she says warmly. “Been out murdering trees, I hear.”
I freeze. Whatever confidence her smile gave me vanishes in an instant.
