Tree-planting was not something I had ever considered doing until the day my boyfriend and I found ourselves unemployed at the same time. In April of 1986 Dennis** had just graduated from university with a bunch of letters after his name and I just quit a job I hated. A college friend had told us about how she and her partner had been tree-planting for a few seasons, making such a great pay package that they were able to get on the property ladder in Victoria. All this sounded excellent so we got all the information, made a quick phone call to the Silviculture company, and we were hired.
We headed north to Terrace from our home in Victoria, buying the essentials required for living on the land for a prolonged period of time. A large canvas tent that could sleep a family of 6, two tree-planting bags and a couple of shovels were all tossed into the car
As Dennis and I traveled through B.C, we chatted about how we thought this plan of ours would play out. We really didn't know anything about tree-planting except what our friends had told us. It was damn hard work, you would work in all weather conditions and it was piece work. Dennis was an avid outdoors person and had pretty much done everything from rock climbing to cross country running. I however had a talent for matching my shoes and purse with an outfit and could not so much as run for the bus. Things looked good for him, but honestly I was pretty nervous at my prospects on this adventure.
We were being honest with ourselves, this was totally about the money. There was no grandiose plan of planting a new forest single handed. No we needed money and then the plan was to head to Europe. We would backpack and hitchhike until we ended up on Crete. Once on Crete we would take it from there and live in a cave or something....
We finally arrived at the camp, Dennis had navigated the most dangerous logging roads of our lives. The camp site had been logged and was situated by a river so we at least had water. I had seen logging sites before I had just never thought of living on one. We set about getting our tent up and organized what would be our new summer home. The other planters were arriving as well, most with their trucks converted in to a movable home, others had tents like us.
The seasoned veterans gave us "Rookies" planting tips and what to wear to our new job. Interesting was the concept of "what to wear" we were putting trees in the ground, why on earth did we need to care about what to wear?
The harsh reality was starting to settle in, this was truly roughing it. No toilets, a homemade shower and sleeping on the ground. But at least someone would cook our meals.
In the morning I headed down to the mess tent loaded up on breakfast and made my lunch to take in to the field. Then got on to what was called a Crummy. The Crummy took us out to the planting blocks dropping the veterans off first, then finally us, the Greenhorns. Once I got to what would be my block I was given the run down on how things were done. I was so totally overwhelmed with the sight before me, I had not even grasped the planting instructions.
Laid out in front of me was utter destruction. I had never seen a war zone before but if I had this is what it would look like. The area for miles had been clear cut. A type of logging that removed everything, every single tree was cut down. All life was smothered with debris. It was hell and I had arrived. I would be the only source of colour on my first block.
I had never really given the industry of logging a lot of thought before. I had seen as we drove that there was missing forests along the highways we had just traveled. But generally a buffer had been left to give the illusion there was still some forest around. But standing in this cut block, it looked like a bomb had been dropped and all life had been wiped out.
I had a lot of help that first day trying to get those damn trees in the ground, it was hard, harder then I could ever imagined. First of all there was no soil, the boss said " it's not magic you have to screef" "what the hell was screef?!". Turns out to screef was to remove all the debris from the area you wanted to plant in. The seedling had to go in to soil and I would have to "screef" to find it. I was waist deep in scrub and debris, sticks poked you and ripped your clothes and I now understood the "what to wear " concept.
I stumbled and fell numerous times to the point I didn't want to get up any more. Thank goodness for Dennis. He would come over help me for awhile until I had stopped crying then head back to his block. He really seemed to have caught on to how it was done. Not me, I was a mess, covered in blood and tree debris. The foreman also came over a few times and would also give me even more help. Finally the day was over. After 8 hours the crummy was back and gathered us all up. I sank into my seat exhausted from the day of hell only to hear the foreman call out our names. The crew would shout back the numbers of seedling they had planted "Jane" "1200" "Sam" "1500" and so on down the bus until he called out "Sue" Oh my Gawd I had to tell the whole bus how many I planted "369" I said with shame. Eyes lite up, people patted me on the back "well done" "good Job" Were they serious? It was 10 cent land and camp costs were $17.00 a day I just netted myself $20. Then it was Dennis's turn, he would have a good number after all he was Mr. Outdoors. "Dennis?" ; "79" ; Silence fell over the bus. I nudged him "don't be funny tell him how many you planted". "That is how many I planted" Oh my, he had not even made camp costs. He owed the company money.
We were back at our camp after about a half hour of travel down the bumpy logging roads. I rolled off the crummy grabbed some clean clothes and my shower stuff. Dennis inquired if I was heading to the shower. " Well ya" "But they are co-ed!" he said. "I really don't give a shit" I just wanted to shower, then eat and go to bed because 6 bloody o'clock was going to come quick.
I slept like a baby for 10 hours, then was back at it determined to better my numbers. The next day 550 was my count, going higher and higher day by day. I figured out "what to wear", then had one of the guys file my shovel down and was determined to get up into the 1000s.
Things were not working out as well for Dennis, he couldn't sleep. The forest animals all seemed to gather around our tent at night and kept him awake. One night I woke up to see him swatting the roof of the tent with a shoe while wearing his Standfield long underwear wrapped around his head. " What the hell are you doing?!" I asked "The mice are running on our roof. " "so you decided you make them a trampoline? And why the underwear on your head?" I asked, "My head is cold" he explained
Dennis really, really hated tree-planting and he figured after a week he still owed the company money. I explain that he had to stop thinking so much, just get out there plant the damn trees as fast as he could. When it was time to eat, eat. When it was time to sleep, sleep. It was simple.
But for Dennis it was not simple, when he was out on the cut block he just kept thinking that he had a university degree and look what the hell he was doing. I had the ability to just put my head down and plant and not worry about anything else. I still had energy at the end of the day to wash our clothes in the stream, hang them on the clothesline I put up behind our tent. Constructed a tripod to hold our wash basin and mirror. If time had permitted I would have planted a garden. My evenings were spent hanging our with my fellow planters in the mess tent playing cards and learning more techniques on how to get faster and increase my numbers. I was a woman with a mission.
I started getting up earlier so I could pack both our lunches and set out Dennis's breakfast so he could sleep longer.
After the first 20 days of planting we got our first days off. We headed to Prince Rupert where my mum and Nan lived. Dennis's anticipation of a bed and and shingled roof over his head made him just drive and not worry about how tired he was. Once in Rupert and well rested my Nan had us over for dinner. My Nan knew what real hard work was, she had worked many years in the fish cannery. So when we arrived with our stories of tree-planting she was all ears. I had never heard my Nan laugh like she did as Dennis told her how horrible things were. Nan almost rolled on the floor, her belly laugh was infectious. Poor Dennis didn't realize that he was a little unique for my Nan. He was a university educated softie that could not get his head and body around working on the land. She could have cared less about my stories of success, that was expected. She enjoyed the stories of Dennis's torment so much that she invited her friends over. The ladies arrived carrying baked goods to feed this skinny ginger young man. Perhaps if they fattened him up he would do better as they cackled with glee. I swear those women had a candy gingerbread house in the forest. Dennis would fall asleep on Nan's couch, and these ladies in their 70's would continue on in to the wee hours playing cards laughing at poor Red.
The last 20 days of our season would be the hardest for Dennis, we had moved to just north of Prince George. The black flies were starting to grow to size that would require a baseball bat to kill them. I had drank from a stream that had given me Giardia (aka Beaver Fever) and was pretty sick. I never missed a day though. I even managed to plant while throwing up and got my biggest number 2600.
I was now a highballer, however Dennis had been taken off the planting block and was now delivering the boxes of seedling to the planters. He was also asked to go with the company owner to plant some hard to reach areas that had been missed. This meant he was no longer doing piece work which suited him to a tee. I was now making between $200. and $300 a day after camp costs and loving the whole live on the land life.
The company was moving further north to Mackenzie and I was asked to go on with the crew, however the invite was not extended to Dennis. Which did not upset him in the least. I wanted to go but I didn't have a car and a way to get around so we ended our season in July. I had made enough for both of us to travel around Europe for quite sometime.
We decided to head back to Prince Rupert and see what sort of employment opportunities were there. After all Dennis had a Marine Biology degree and I had nepotism.
It all worked out brilliantly and we would headed out to London in October.
** Names have been changed to protect the sad and weary**
The ferry pulled into the docks at Athens. We were finally in Greece and the crew gave us our passports back as promised. We had made a lot of new friends on board and some advised us not to spend a lot of time in Athens. Sean and I were prepared to hate Athens. But in fact we quite enjoyed the ancient old city.It was bloody cold and the air was filthy but we made the best of it. We teamed up with Katrina, she and her best friend had arrived in Athens the previous week from Stockholm and she was now traveling solo. It seems the friend found a Greek God and the two of them had not been seen for about a week, so Katrina joined up with us. The three of us had a wonderful time exploring Athens. We climbed to the top of the Acropolis of Athens in the snow. Something we never could have imagined, the Acropolis or the snow.
When we got back to our hotel there was a commotion outside on the street involving a large animal.
The thing about travel I was discovering that once you are out of your comfortable Canadian surroundings you are forced to have an opinion about things that you hand never given much thought to. Standing on the streets of Athens that day I was thinking about animal rights. There was this large Eurasian Brown Bear, he had a contraption on his snout and a chain was hooked on to it. He was so emaciated and was being forced to dance by his Gypsy owners. It was a horrible thing to witness, the bear’s eyes were beyond sad. The Greek people did not seem at all impressed by all of this either and seemed angry at the whole scene. In hindsight it may not have been the bear they were angry with but the Gypsies themselves
A similar scene but with a much healthier bear
It was now time to leave Athens and head to Crete. We were going to spend Christmas in Matala on the beach. However I was not sure how that was going to be possible. It was about 2°C in Athens and Matala was not that far away on the Libyan sea.
The thing about Greek transport, is that it is not Swiss transport! I really like the efficiency of the Swiss watches and Swiss trains. I was thinking a lot about them whilst waiting for our ferry to board for Crete, that, and the fact I really really needed the bathroom. So once on the ferry I headed to the only bathrooms on board. What I found there I will never, ever forget. I will spare you my descriptive writing skills but it was bad. I came out of the bathroom and Sean was quick to notice that I was in the state of shock. I described to him what the Gypsy family had done in the only women's bathroom. He thought quickly and ran to the cafeteria grabbed a hand full of plastic draft glasses and our sleeping bag, and we headed outside to the deck. Yes, I would pee in a cup and threw it over the side of the ferry .
We had been traveling for over 2 months now and our nerves were getting raw. I was missing the simpler things of home like a nice white clean toilet and nice clean white walls…
The ferry docked in Rethymnon from there we went by bus for 78 kms to Matala on the other side of the island. We made our way along the most incredible road there must have been 100 switch backs or maybe 25. The landscape and the view were amazing.
We finally arrived in Matala, a beautiful spot on the Libyan sea. There are these man made caves in the Bay of Matala that date back to the Neolithic age. They had been used by the Romans and the beach is part of Greek Mythology. When Zeus seduced the princess Europa in the form of a white bull, he crossed the sea and brought her to the beach of Matala. There he changed into an eagle and flew her to Gortys, where he had sex with her. Wikipedia’s words not mine.
The caves were inhabited by Hippies in the 60’s and 70s. They were also immortalized by Joni Mitchell in the song “Carey”. But on the day we arrived there was no hippies, Romans or mythical creatures, just a really cold wind.
It also was very apparent that Matala was not a hot spot on the tourist route in December 1986, as we were the only people around. There was a bakery that had the most bizarre prices. It was mostly down to how the lady felt that day but usually 25¢ got you a days worth of bread. The only meal was in the only open restaurant, pizza and salad which would be our daily supper. One evening we heard the chatter of someone else in the booth next to us and recognized the accent. The only other tourists in town were from Quebec, I wondered if they too had watched Summer Lovers?
We were awe struck by the historical ruins in the area and enjoyed the hikes along the waterfront waving to the Colonel each morning across the Libyan Sea. From Matala we would head to Heraklion, a city on the north of the island. Hopefully there would be a few more people and change in diet from bread, pizza and salad.