Chain(saw) of Fools

As both of my legs had just been severed with an accidental slip of the chainsaw I found it necessary to sit down quite swiftly on the ground before starting to call for help. Unfortunately I was a couple of miles from the nearest main road, having driven along a long winding track into the Forestry Commission plantation to find a spot to fell a nice Christmas tree. To add to my misfortune my mobile had run out of battery (I’d tried to charge the phone up the night before but it had developed an annoying habit of wriggling free of the lead), and I hadn’t had time this morning to let anyone know where I was going.  With consciousness slipping away I reflected that I should have paid more attention to the safety aspects of my CS30 training course.

This is just one of the scenarios that the day-long CS30 course I recently took sought to ensure will never play out. It is the entry-level qualification into the world of operating highly dangerous hand-held petrol-driven machines, their sole aim being to spin a wicked chain of metal teeth at terrifying speeds around the sticky-out bit, or ‘bar’ as we chainsaw professionals like to call it. Apply one of these critters to a piece of timber, exert a little pressure and it will slide through as happy as the proverbial Larry.

This course doesn’t actually teach you how to chop down a tree, however. That is considered to be something novitiates progress towards on their arduous journey along the Way of the Chain Saw. The CS30 is more of an initiation rite. You have to be willing to wear all the strange and heavy clothing that marks out an Operator of The Chain Saw. You must be able to demonstrate knowledge of the inner workings of the saw and what to do if it begins to behave in some irregular manner. And at the climax of the CS30 assessment you are taken to a large pile of logs and asked to cut one of them up into even-sized chunks. 

Last week when I and two friends went to visit what I am now legally entitled to refer to as ‘my land’, we took one of Pilsdon’s chainsaws with us as we knew we wanted wood for campfires. It turned out there was no need to fell a tree as there were several piles of timber lying around, presumably from when trees were cleared to make way for the electricity pylons that bisect the land. Given that Pedro is a Grand Vizier of The Chain Saw, I deferred to him and he deftly hewed the logs into camp-fire-sized lumps which we then proceeded over the next few hours to fail miserably to turn into anything like a decent fire, which was a shame as it had become dark, cold and wet. We eventually concluded our problems were due to the logs being mostly softwood and to the years they had lain getting soaked through by the driving Welsh rain, and so made post-haste for the local inn to dry out and warm up.

One day I hope to live on this secluded bit of land in as low-impact a way as possible, growing some of my own food, building my own shelter, encouraging the biodiversity of the habitat. There are trees a-plenty that can provide fuel for warmth and cooking. So one early lesson I’ve learned is to prioritise creating some kind of rain-proof structure for keeping firewood dry.  Another is to keep on good terms with the inn-keeper as I suspect this won’t be the last time I’ll want to wring out my sodden clothes on his carpets.