When trees fall in the forest, plenty land upon the roads

Here comes the seasonal thaw: when winter unlocks and pours into spring.

For some of us house dwellers, spring is reduced to words in poems you once read as a kid; "Flower, bloom, warmth, sun," all those English sonnets on heather and yore, sweet Canterbury flavored words.

Sadly, these same house dwellers satisfy themselves when Channel 5 shows them two minutes of tulips. Rarely will they go outside to see what spring really is.

Too bad for them. For spring will slap your face like a flying icicle if you go up the Hamma Hamma right now.

Thar she blew

Let's start with an army of dead, downed trees.

This year needs to go down in history as the Olympic Peninsula's longest recovery from a Christmas storm of the previous year.

At Nina's Lake Cushman Cafe, just 3 miles and 600 feet above sea level in Hoodsport, the snow mounds were still there in March. The folks coming in, finally, off Dow Mountain and the back roads along Lake Cushman were happy for a hot, cooked meal, and told of being housebound for a month or more.

If it wasn't deep snow, it was trees. If your road was blocked and you didn't have a chainsaw (or know a friend with a chainsaw), you gained a deep understanding of the limits of your car.

Since January, I'd been hearing about the massive blowdown from friends, writers and other explorers; tales of impassable roads, turning around, trees upon trees upon trees, more limbs than at a prosthetic convention.

So, to be honest, I arrived very late to the show. I was under a bit of pressure to find some litter locations for TrashMash, my intrepid troupe of litter-pickers. I needed to know whether we could reach the campsites I hoped to clean.

I have good news for most of us. The Hamma Hamma Recreation Road is clear all the way to the Lena Lake Trailhead. Last Saturday, it was sunny and mild and I saw more cars at the trailhead than I've ever seen before. I take that as a sign that things will be very busy, tourist-wise, around the canal in the days ahead.

Dicey but doable

Now, past Lena Lake, the road is still being cleared. Driving slow will help you avoid the potholes - not too bad - and the nests of limbs still clinging to the sides of the road. A narrow lane has been cleared all the way to the Putvin Trailhead, but downed branches still reach for the paint on your car. Snow line is currently near the Putvin Trail as well.

A good many fir and cedar have uprooted from the slopes above, resting upside down with their tops in the road bed like birthday candles hastily jammed in a cake.

These evergreens, lying at angles, are not being cut and cleared. Guys with chainsaws know why. Not a chainsaw whiz myself, I was fortunate to get an actual demonstration of this principle from Hank Robinson, fellow "crazy guy of the woods," who accompanied me in the forest Saturday.

Though not a true Texan with his chainsaw, Hank was still proving fairly capable with his midsize Husqvarna as he laid into the first alders that blocked our way.

Next, some gnarly maples stacked like giant asparagus spears.

However, when making a cut on a calf-thick fir bowed over the road, his chain snarled when the cutting angle closed, putting pressure on the blade. As long as gravity or pressure exerts unevenly on one side of your cut, the tree or limb will bite down on you like a pair of jaws.

To release the bite, I had to get under the fir with my shoulders and push up until he shook and pulled the chain saw free.

We declined to do that again. We eventually traversed the entire FS 2480 route to the turnoff at FS 2401 to Elk and Jefferson Lakes. There, again, we maneuvered slowly through downed trees and slapping branch tips. Once I was smacked, quite hard, by a cluster that sprang in through my opened window.

Here, road conditions mirror the upper portions of the Hamma Hamma Road. As you approach Jefferson Lake, a narrow path dodges downed trees until snow stops you from climbing higher.

Pressure, tension

To close - and perhaps a bit hypocritically - I want to share some poetic notions I have of spring.

Yes, I am a sucker for the delicate white or pink of a singular trillium, a hillside dotted with daffodils, a blaze of white lilies. Maybe the best are wild rhododendron with their flushing red hues against rich green leaves.

However, another part of spring is the thunderclap of avalanche and the roar of dark, snow-fed rivers. Icicles drop off mountain ledges and tinkling streams punch channels across logging roads. Roads slough off as if bitten at the curves. Snowbanks threaten to high-center your car. Patches of white stuff still hunker in the dark creases of the gorge beside the road.

Bright green moss and snow, side by side – welcome to spring in the Olympics. Colder, moist air at 3,000 feet and you regret not bringing your sweater.

New growth, bud tips, morel mushrooms all "spring" from the pressure of release from winter's frozen tension.

If you want a taste of spring's "unfreezing" and a chance to see swollen streams and snowmelt waterfalls, I encourage you to reach me by email to join the TrashMash Litter Posse this weekend as we continue clearing the forest roads as far as snow line will allow.

This is true trailblazing and it's more fun than you can imagine.

Skilled chainsaw handlers are most valuable, but plenty of work is available for those with good gloves and pruning shears or limb clippers, or just able hands for pulling

branches and rocks off the road.

We meet at 9 a.m. this Saturday, April 9, at the Hoodsport Visitor Center. We work until 2 p.m. You can also check out the "TrashMash" section on my website for what kind of things to bring (sack lunch, etc.).

Happy cleared trails to you!

■ Mark Woytowich is a writer, photographer, video producer and author of "Where Waterfalls and Wild Things Are." He lives in Potlatch with his wife, Linda. His "On the Go" column appears every other week in the Journal. Reach him at his website, http://www.wherewaterfallsare.com, or by email at [email protected].