MICHIGAN ROADS AND FORESTS. 



SOLITARY PINE MONARCH FALLS 

 BEFORE AX. 



The last pine the lonely monarch in the 

 midst of 2,000,000 feet of hardwood timber is 

 down. Its fall was one of the most pathetic 

 sights I ever have had occasion to witness, 

 writes Scott Woodward to the Evening Press 

 of- Grand Rapids from Traverse City. 



Through 'the courtesy of Frank Lahym, 

 the lumberman, I found myself on a cold 

 frosty morning headed for camp. It was my 

 good fortune to receive the invitation to be 

 present at the cutting of the last pine to be 

 found anywhere in the woods for miles around. 

 Great is the power of imagination, and be- 

 fore I was aware of it I was again among the 

 scenes of thirty years ago. 



I was once more riding beneath the ever- 

 greens that hung low from the great load of 

 MIO\V- they were supporting. In the distance I 

 could hear the steady "clip clip" of the woods- 

 man's ax and. the sharpening of the saw, while] 

 away in the distance came the familiar warn- 

 ing "Timber! Timber" to all who might be 

 in danger from the falling tree. 



Again the scene changed with me and I 



stood beside the skidway and saw the great 



pines being loaded on sleighs with their 



twelve-foot bunks. Log on top of log was 



being piled up on sleighs until it looked like 



ritable rollway for each team to take out. 



The last log is rolled up into position, the 



familiar "chain over" is given and answered, 



the load is securely bound and then we start 



down the iced road to the river. 



There is a jerk and a jolt and we find our- 

 selves up standing. One sleigh is fouled on 

 the root.- "f a young sapling that some road 

 monkey has unwittingly cut four inches too 

 high. 



Thus vanishes the dream of '78 and with it 

 the great rollway, the logging sleighs with 

 their twelve-foot bunks, the graded road which 

 kept in shape by the sprinkler at night, 

 the overhanging trees that always had a weird 

 and ghostlike appearance when clothed in 

 their mantle of snow and, last of all, the great 

 banking ground where still flow the waters 

 of the Manistee. We consign them all to the 

 memories of thirty years ago when I, too, was 

 a unit in that great industry that will never 

 return. 



We reach camp just as the great dinner 

 horn is calling from labor to refreshments and 

 the lumberjacks come steaming in from their 

 cutting of hard wood. But it has changed, all 

 changed. We sit down to a table loaded with 

 roast beef, bread and butter, potatoes and cof- 

 fee, capped out with pie and cookies. Ye gods, 

 but what must one of our boys of '78 thought 

 had he sat down to such a meal. However, we 

 bolt it down while I think of the days when 



Felling the Solitary Monarch. 



The Last White Pine Cut and Skidded. 



men sat around a fire in the woods and ate 

 their beans, hard bread with good old "New 

 Orleans" for dressing, and were satisfied. 

 Had a man kicked on that he would have been 

 hooted out of camp and compelled to take the 

 hay road between two days. 



I the midst of two million feet of hard wood 

 in town 26, range 11 north, stood one of the 

 most beautiful cork pines that ever grew, three 

 feet six on the stump, and when cut made five 

 fourteen, one twelve and one sixteen-foot log. 

 When scaled by Doyle's it ruled a bit better 

 than 3,000 feet. We had cut larger trees in '78 

 as well as smaller ones, but none better. I 

 counted the rings on the stump and came to 

 the conclusion that this one pine had stood 

 alone as a landmark, or sentinel, defying the 

 storms and wind for better than 200 years and 

 had even escaped in days past the vandalism 

 of the timber thieves. 



I loved the pine, not for its intrinsic value, 

 but for the pine's sake, but the time had come 

 to cut and fell this last monarch. The hard 



wood was being cut around it. Huge piles of 

 tops and brush were in every direction. It 

 might survive until some future day in the hot 

 summer, then some unthinking half-wit would 

 drop a match in the dry tinder of the slashing. 

 The prospect would be similar to that already 

 seen in sections of Wexford, Roscommon, 

 Kalkaska, Grand Traverse and many other 

 counties. 



After getting several good pictures of the 

 landscape and the tree from various positions 

 I watched it being cut and skidded ready for 

 the hauling. 



Then, as the day was advancing, I was called 

 to the sleigh for our return trip to the city. 

 Strange it may seem no one save an old lum- 

 berman can understand when I say that I was 

 both glad as well as sorry that I was present 

 at the cutting of the last pine. 



The county road system question will be 

 voted on in Antrim county in April. It is 

 believed that it will carry. 



