Tracking Giants: Big Trees, Tiny Triumphs, and Misadventures in the Forest by Amanda Lewis

Author:Amanda Lewis [Lewis, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Nature, Plants, Trees, Biography & Autobiography, Environmentalists & Naturalists, Travel, Special Interest, Ecotourism
ISBN: 9781771646741
Google: U4iKEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0B6MMW2GN
Barnesnoble: B0B6MMW2GN
Goodreads: 61728670
Publisher: Greystone Books
Published: 2023-05-30T05:00:00+00:00

— 10 — Slow and Low

GRAND FIR

“Don’t get impatient. Even if things are so tangled up you can’t do anything, don’t get desperate or blow a fuse and start yanking on one particular thread before it’s ready to come undone. You have to realize it’s going to be a long process and that you’ll work on things slowly, one at a time.”

HARUKI MURAKAMI, Norwegian Wood

I SLOWED MY CAR AND STOPPED. A thick sheet of gray and blue ice covered the access road curving out of sight. Kate and I still had about seven miles to go before we hit the trailhead that would bring us to a grove containing the largest grand fir in BC, which officially made it the grandest. The Chilliwack Giant was 7 4 meters high with a DBH of 2 .16 meters and crown of 11 meters, which Randy Stoltmann had come across growing along the Chilliwack River in the 1980s.

The sun was angling low over the hemlocks of the adjacent provincial park, and we’d eaten all the dill pickle chips. We’d spent the morning at a gold-mining conference in downtown Vancouver. Kate had a press pass to attend, as she was researching placer mining in northern BC. I was there for the gold-panning demonstration and the freebies, loading up with pens and an all-weather notebook. We’d worn matching green plaid Patagonia shirts for the occasion, mine a gift from Kate, and were both feeling dressed up in our Patagucci.

“I’m not so sure Trouble can make it down here,” I said to Kate, staring at the ice sheet, my left cheek ablaze with a rainbow I’d had painted on in the kids’ zone at the conference.

“It will be fine, Sappy Pants,” Kate said. “Just put on your chains.” Kate, who biked the ice road to Tuktoyaktuk before they built an actual road, moved to Atlin after falling in love with the landscape at a glacier field school. She was used to wheels on ice. I’d earned the name Sappy Pants after sitting on a sap-covered bench while bike touring with Kate, forever marking my fleece camp pants.

I hadn’t expected snow and ice in the Fraser Valley at this time of year—you know, January in Canada. I groaned. “I don’t have chains.” We’d driven almost three hours, screaming along with Beastie Boys most of the way, and I’d expected the search from here to be a cakewalk. We even had a map to the tree courtesy of Stoltmann’s hiking guide.

I tried driving forward on the gently sloping hill and started sliding. “Nope,” I said. “I’m not getting stuck down a remote road on a Sunday evening.” I steered for the rough shoulder and reversed Trouble, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I would have done the same thing!” said Kate. I didn’t believe her.

Giving up on the tree for that day, we parked next to the gates to the provincial park. Whiskey jacks hopped from branch to branch, hoping for handouts. I held on to Kate’s arm for balance as she skate-stepped toward the lake, green and clear.

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