Bog Myrtle & Peat

I should not be allowed near a chainsaw. I am a fully certified chainsaw operator and tree feller, but the thrill of working the deafening saw sends me into a crazy frenzy which, I am quite sure, will ultimately be my downfall.

The decision was recently taken to cut a path through the six hundred yard strip of pines that runs into the centre of the moor. We had an excellent afternoon shooting woodcock out of the strip on New Year’s Day, but it was later agreed that a few changes to the layout of the wood would make a tremendous difference to its ability to hold snipe and woodcock over the winter. Since I was the beater this year, my first concern was to create access to the areas in the strip where the birds would be lying up. I was scratched and shredded by the snappy wood’s lower branches, and my beating technique quickly collapsed into the simple struggle for survival against the serrated twigs. Cutting a low, narrow ride through the length of the wood would let more light in to encourage the undergrowth, create stacks of brash for woodcock to use as cover and improve access for the beaters and guns.

We recently brashed a large area at one end of the wood to develop the undergrowth, but, starting at the other, I threw myself into the day’s task with a scary energy. Whirling the booming chainsaw around me like a scythe, I cleared a path through the branches like some kind of grossly dysfunctional American serial killer. Twigs flew, sawdust gushed down the back of my collar and in just an hour, we had cleared a smooth path 85 yards long and five feet high. It was immensely satisfying, but replaying some of my more questionable manuevers over in my mind afterwards, I am amazed that the chainsaw didn’t fly out of my hands and bury itself in my thigh.

Now that a basic path has been begun, I plan to fell several trees and allow light in to build up the undergrowth and develop that chaotic tangle of brambles and tangled brash that seems to be so favoured by woodcock.