So THAT was the rock Jim was talking about, around which he wanted me to dig out, because the trail would be safer behind the rock than the foot wide passage on the creek side, where a misstep would lead to a nasty fall. There was a 10 foot formerly burned log on the adjacent hill that dived into the soil by the rock. What was I going to dig out? The log was in the way, and nobody could go under it.
I had a Rogue hoe with me, not quite as good as a Pulaski for serious digging, but good enough in the soft soil of Fall Creek. I easily dug out what I could then stopped to think about the whole matter.
The Crew was restoring Fall Creek Trail, a national historic trail supported financially by some retired Forest Service employees and volunteers like us, who drove there on our own dime, with our own tools, and worked on our own time. On a somewhat drizzly morning, six of us crossed Fall Creek on a wet log well above the water. I had been over this log a week before under dry conditions; this time I crossed crawling. It didn’t help the previous night I awoke with a premonition I was going to fall off the log. I didn’t feel safe standing, and besides, I had knee pads. I crossed without incident.
We hiked uphill a quarter mile, where we had logged out the week before, repaired several hundred feet of tread and began work from where we had left off. I was sent to “swamp” (help) a crew member with a chain saw, so he could log out everything beyond to where the trail reached its highest point. Once we did that, my job was then to descend to the creek and take care of rerouting around the rock and to repair a small piece of the trail that I had left several weeks earlier. I had been upset with myself about not having done more than place a small log with some rocks at the edge. The trail was not quite a foot wide, twice that or a bit more would be much more safe.
It was an easy hike down, I found the spot that needed widening, and a few yards later saw the rock and the log. If I could deal with the rock, I could have lunch and then deal with the easier matter of widening the trail. But how? I pushed on the log, and it at least gave a slight bit of motion. I climbed up the steep, soft slope, grabbed some grass and put my legs into the log. Not much happened, but I felt a little give.
I returned to my pack and took all three saws I had, a small hand saw, a 14” hand saw, and my Katana Boy 500 mm saw. I also took the thick cloth tape I had out of my pack, a wedge, and took another look at the bottom of the log. I couldn’t cut out too far above it, because the whole log would come down on me. But I could cut near the rock, so I began with the Katana Boy, finding it good for a while before it bound up. I then switched to the 14” saw, finding some of the log rotten and easily flaked off. I stuck the wedge in and pried, removing more material. I finally cut through, and the log shifted downward a couple of inches.
That was encouraging, and I went up the bank and pushed some more. The log moved a little, but not much. I cut more off the bottom, tried pushing, and did it again. Each time, the log shifted a little. I finally went up the bank and pushed, this time actually moving the log out of the depression it had formed. There was another burned out branch from a log that was holding up progress, so I removed that, too. I pushed some more, and the log shifted about ten degrees. Now it had to be removed or marked as a hazard with colored tape, announcing to the world the person who had caused this was a rookie. Couldn’t have that happen.
So, I pushed hard, and the log finally paid the gravity bill, slowly rolling off the hill to the trail, then bouncing off the trail, rolling down almost 100 feet to the creek. All that remained was to clean up the soil that came down. The bypass would be fine, and I was pleased with my result.
I ate lunch, listening occasionally to the chain sawyer working on logs back up the hill. I don’t set out to eat lunch alone on trail crews, but frequently I end up in places where I do. The creek was beautiful, the light rain more than welcome, and I had a big part of my job finished.
I then started widening the trail, working below the edge of the trail standing on loose soil, my knees anchored at the edge. With the hoe, I pulled plant material off the inner or “strong” side of the trail, easily getting into subsoil or mineral soil, which we wanted to have on the trail. The width was just over a foot, with places where erosion could easily destroy the whole trail. I dug up small and large rocks, placing some at the “weak” or outer edge, piling the dirt at the edge and some of the grassy clumps as well, which retained their soil and I hoped would transplant.
I was limited by large rocks on the inner aspect of the trail, which I couldn’t remove. I also noted two lovely False Solomon’s seal plants in full bloom, right above the narrowest part of the trail. Normally, we cut out plants; the ubiquitous Sword ferns were cut off along with Maiden Hair ferns with their black stems. They grow back quickly enough. There was a carpet of moss, too, which I hated to pull up, but I did and tried to place it on wet soil.
But I wouldn’t cut out the False Solomon’s seals. They were the nicest I have ever seen. So I let them hang over the trail, after photographing them and smelling the gentle, sweet smell they have. In a few weeks, they will have gone to seed and hopefully have spread their genes elsewhere. Some time next year, we can come by with a power brusher and remove the dead stems and maybe see several big new plants.
I was finished here. The trail was wider, the bypass around the rock more than adequate, and the False Solomon’s seals saved. When I told Jim that I had moved the log out of the way, neither embellishing my actions nor discussing the flowers, he just looked at me, nodded, and said, “Good.”
Boreal B[l]og 
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