Icons from another age: an interview with a lumberjack

Freezing winters, soaking-wet socks and pilfering raccoons – take a journey down the Barrington River in Canada’s Nova Scotia with Stanley Scott, 88, who recalls what life was like as a lumberjack in the 1940s.

Biting cold and roaring, the river was raging over rocks, forming rapids in its path – rapids that now held me firmly in their icy grip. Seconds before, I’d been riding a log, guiding others alongside me over the rocks – until one rolled into me, knocking me into the freezing water and pinning me up to my neck. I thought I was a goner for sure...

As the ‘river boss’, I knew the dangers of the springtime log drive, when crews of men would guide the felled trees along the Barrington River, down from the logging camps to my family’s sawmill in Shelburne County. Jams would sometimes form along the way, with logs backing up on the bends or hitching on hidden rocks. The men often had to free up the logs. Some crews would use dynamite if the jam was too tight, but we had some pretty good drivers who could oust them with their peaveys [a logging tool] alone: I was one of them.

Displacing the logs was a dangerous job. After dislodging the obstruction, the whole works would start moving – with you on it! It was easy to fall in or for your legs to get trapped. I had to rescue plenty of fellas from the water, but luckily that day one of them was looking out for me. Seeing me in trouble, he ferried a log across the river, rolled away the one that had me trapped and pulled me out. We had a solid crew, and our strong sense of camaraderie saved many lives.

Into the woods

My great-grandfather started our sawmill in 1883, and five generations of the family have been involved in the timber trade since. I’ve been at it myself for a long time, working in all areas of the business, from logging to river driving and sawing the logs at the mill, so I know my wood.

Stanley Scott at the Barrington River log drive, 1956. Image: Darren Hudson/Wild Axe Productions

Our 5,000 acres of land is covered with spruce, pine, hemlock and oak, and our timber has been used for building fishing boats.

I first went to help fell trees as a 12-year-old. Most logging took place in winter, when there was snow on the ground. We slept in a big tent in the woods, and cooked and ate our meals in another. Waking up for breakfast at 6am, we’d be greeted by a large pot of oatmeal or cornmeal already cooking on the stove. We’d dip our bowl in, add a spoonful of molasses or sugar and eat our fill around the fire before heading into the forest with our crosscut saws and axes to start felling. Sometimes work would be in pairs, the fella with me notching the trees and driving the wedges in before I’d start sawing, and at other times it was a solo job. At 10am we’d stop for a snack of bread, spread with molasses, and tea – there was no fresh milk or cream, so canned had to suffice. Again at noon we’d have the same, then fell trees all afternoon, finally finishing at around 6pm. Food at camp was pretty good, with hearty meals of salted foods or corned beef and pork, served with vegetables and potatoes. After dinner, there was always something to do, from mending our shoes, pike poles or peaveys, to telling yarns. Sometimes one of the crew would play a song on their mouth organ or fiddle to lift our spirits, and we’d all sing along.

Aged 14, I went on my first spring drive, helping to guide cut logs down the Barrington to the family sawmill. In my younger years, I was good at being a driver – going most days on a log, even riding them through the rapids. Still, it could be wet work – we’d camp in tents along the way and slept every night in damp clothes. I remember my boss telling us not to dry them too much at the end of each day or we’d catch a cold. Maybe he was right, because somehow we never got ill, despite our soaking socks doubling up as pillows!

Of course, there were wild animals out in the woods. One night, a black bear wandered into our camp and spooked our horse, which bolted for home, before we chased him off with our peaveys. The raccoons were more troublesome. They’re pretty smart but pesky too, and we’d often find them unscrewing the lids and dipping their paws into our jars of peanut butter.

Stanley and a fellow ‘river hog’ working on the Clyde River log drive, 1932. Image: Darren Hudson/Wild Axe Productions

A lumberjack legacy

Some crews used horses to pull the chopped logs on sleds to the river, but we used a pair of oxen. Either method was better for the forest than today’s machinery, which can wreck the land if not properly managed. The first time my uncle brought home a powered chainsaw, my father couldn’t get to grips with it and thought it was dirty and loud, so ended up throwing it into the swamp! I fished it out, cleaned and repaired it, and slowly we all learned to use them.

My later years were spent driving skidders (heavy vehicles used to carry the wood to the river bank) and logging trucks, which eventually replaced the river drives. I was a licensed guide for a while, too. I worked with a naturalist who wrote for Rod & Gun magazine, which
was about the outdoor life in Canada – I believe some of his stories about our local deer inspired the classic Disney movie Bambi. I also competed in lumberjack sports – my favourites being log rolling and canoe racing. My nephew Darren has carried on the family tradition, becoming a seven-time world champion log roller and running the Wild Axe Lumberjack AXEperience, which offers visitors a chance to be a lumberjack for the day.

Our family has an 80-year-old logging camp, which we still use today, and I like to head over there for some quiet time with my dog Billy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever. I’ve had lots of interesting and exciting experiences, and I’ve loved living the life of a lumberjack. There’s no doubt it’s hard work, but it’s healthy, too, and at 88, I still like to get out and spend time in the forest or work in the sawing mill.

We’ve always taken great care of our woods and still do, which is why we’re able to make a good living over 130 years since we first logged our land. I hope that’s the way things will continue for years and generations to come.

Extract from Lumberjack by Lauren Jarvis, RRP £9.99, Ammonite Press, available online and from all good bookshops

The cover image of Lumberjack, a new book by Lauren Jarvis

Image: Darren Hudson/Wild Axe Productions