oe oe Dia aR anagem AE ES satis in pier gta Bad 19 DRS wnt ana RSE AR iP BC rang RN eS T his week: An offer ‘Herby cant refuse ilton Jovial let out oY, | a slow sigh as he stared blankly at his dream at work. The pain in his left shoulder reminded him of the nightmarish ride up the mountain- side with Joe Nicholl. His subcon- scious mind vowed to fill every pothole on earth... starting with his gravel logging roads and ending with Terrace pavement. A light drizzle fell on his mill. A depressing sight, he decided. None of the optimistic brightness of a sunny day. Low hanging clouds that refused to move... Cold, damp, light halfway between night and day. Unwilling workers. Effort impeded by water-soaked rain gear. Very depressing indeed. Jovial’s mind retraced the events of the previous day. The horror of ' Archie Skidmore’s logging show pushed the ache in his shoulder aside. How could a man of his reputation not understand the im- portance of following a harvesting plan? High Tower’s “high lead oper- ation. The vision of a perfect tree disintegrating as it splintered on the face of a 100-foot-high cliff. ' Rocky Rhodes had no right to - make arbitrary decisions... landings in the wrong place on a - whim, High Tower had no right to’ destroy perfect trees, he should” Build have told someone... Waited a couple of days for Rhodes to build landings according to the plan. Jovial stared at his dream at work. A brand new, state-of-the-art sawmill. A light knock sounded on the door. "Morning Milton." Jovial turned to greet Herby Squish but said nothing, "Ready to take a look at what High Tower's logs are doing to your mill?" Squish’s lack of diplomacy was intentional. Jovial had to make some hard decisions fast and there was no better motivator than reality. Par- ticularly when it involved cold cash. "I guess," Jovial sighed after a few moments silence. Chain squealing, banging... drag- ging logs to the head rig to be cut into lumber. Jovial didn’t notice at first that some. of the logs were a little shorter than he had seen before. Jovial watched as a perfect board fell from the head rig to the roll case. A second fell and split length-wise. A third fell and split. A fourth... "Who do I blame for this?" Jov- ial asked. Squish was honest. "Yourself," he said. “Your whole operation lacks an organized plan. Independent contractors are work- ing in isolation... Making decisions you should be making yourself." “But I hired professionals..." i "T know," said Squish flatly. "But 12 people don’t make a music when they’ re singing different *Okay. I get your point. Tell me what’s really going on here." Forestry : Insights — by Tod Strachan, in consultation with Rod Arnold and Doug Davies on the domestic sale of chips. He was still trying to convince the government he should be allowed to export his chips and make $6.25 per cubic meter instead of absorb- ing a $23.75 loss on every cubic meter. © "It would be impossible at this point to calculate your loss... " Squish explained the facts. Some trees had broken in two when they hit the ground and the logs were much shorter than they should be. As a result, Jovial’s mill was pro- ducing low-value cight- to 12-foot lengths of lumber instead of the desired 16- to 20-foot lengths. Other logs looked perfectly nor- mal but were damaged internally. Lumber cut from these logs split into two or three pieces as fast as it was cut. Saw logs destined for the chipper. Chipper... pulp chips. Jovial was visibly disturbed. He knew exactly how much money he was losing The Way I See It... by Stephanie Wiebe Father’s day invokes warm recollections of childhood, Black and white photos of a pudgy toddler on Daddy’s knee, the thunk of baseballs tossed into worn gloves, and the brisk scent of Mennen’s aftershave — these are fragments of past days with my father. While many details seem blurred by the years, others remain sharply in focus. I can clearly recall our Sunday visits to relatives and the fine mist of sweat on the back of my dad’s neck as he drove us there. Picture four kids piled into the back seat of a 1966 turquoise and white Plymouth, Mom and Dad in front. Almost a Kodak moment, isn’t it? I always gota window seat. You can guess why — yep, there’s one in every family. I was the child with motion sickness. Predictably, I always sat behind Dad. Poor man. This arrangement must’ve been decided by my mother, in careful self-defense. Imagine the discomfort, driving four noisy kids and knowing thal the one right behind you would soon puke, A somewhat disiract- ing idea, no doubt, possibly the reason for that sweat glistcning on the back of his neck. We'd be tooling along a country road, heading for Aunt Lorena and Uncle Dale’s, when my mouth would dry out. Suddenly, I was in desperate need of fresh air. I'd try to be casual about ~ cracking the window, but little brother was waiting for this sig- nal. "She’s gonna do it again! She’s gonna barf!" This " announcement generally sparked some excited conversation among the siblings, and provided Dad with extra incentive for a smooth ride and more perspiration. While I concentrated my 10- year-old mind on not being sick, little brother watched intently for tell-tale signs, keeping the family informed with news updates. — "She don’t look good. Any min- uie now." I closed my eyes and tried to ignore him. "Here it comes. Ooh, look at her, she’s gonna Ralph all over us." His running commentary only made it worse. Invariably, I fost my cool and my lunch, often aimed in revenge. But | think Dad's forgotten all that. I hope he's forgoticn all the crummy parts of my childhood. Not that [ was an exceptionally bad child, but I had my moments, ’ And Dad had the worst imagin- able punishment. First, 1 had to go lo my room and wait for him. I can still remember sitting there, like waiting on death row, listen- ing for the ominous approach of footsteps. He walked in slowly, cruelly. Then he stood silent for a moment, looking down at me. "Why did you do that, Stephanie?" Pause. "I’m very disappointed in you." Then he sighed and slowly walked out. I hated this. This was agony. I’d rather be starved, beaten, or thrown out to live in the cold, dark woods with wolves and bears — anything but hear my dad say the dreaded phrase "very disappointed”. Crushing, powerful words. But the most vividly remem- bered moments of my dad’s "active fathering” years involve laughing. My dad has a great sense of humour and a wonderful laugh. He throws back his head, and his deep, rolling laugh resounds through the room. It’s a sound you've never heard any- where before. It’s the sound of family and friends comfortably gathered around warm kitchens or cool porches. It is the sound of hugs and good food and a sense of belonging. It is music. I think my dad’s laugh is the reason that 1 write. If I can put words together to invoke that colourful laugh, I've done well. This is not always casy. It some- limes requires desperate measures, Sometimes I cven have to usc the word "bari". I hope he’s not disappointed. "Give me the numbers." Squish made some quick calcula- tions. High Tower had logged about seven hectares of timber. That was about 2,800 cubic metres. Preliminary estimates had indicated that 70 percent, or 1,960 cubic meters, should be saw logs. It was an acceptable average that five percent of the saw logs could be expected to be defective, but the damage caused by High Tower's operation had raised that number to 25 percent. From this, Squish estimated that only 1,480 cubic meters of the 2,800 ware accept- able saw logs and the remaining 1,320 cubic meters were pulp logs. "The bottom line," said Squish, "is that this is costing you a pile of money. My best guess is that you should have got around 1,860 cubic meters of saw logs and 940 cubic meters of pulp logs off that seven hectares. And you know as well as I do that you’re going to lose $22,325 on 940 cubic meters of domestic chips. . "But what you got, because of natural and unnatural defects, is 1,320 cubic meters of pulp logs and that equates to a loss of $31,350. But in reality, your loss is much greater than that. The 380 -cubic meters of saw logs that High Tower destroyed by pulling them off that cliff would have earned you a profit of $22.50 per cubic meter as kiln dried lumber. That comes to a little over $8,500, making your loss in only a few days of operation around $20,000." "It would be impossible to calcu- late your actual loss at this point. You’d have to add in the cost of building new landings and moving lhe tower. You'd have to add in what it’s going to cost to rehabili- tate the few hectares Skidmore destroyed... And there could be more. Your loss will probably be somewhere between $30,000 and $40,000." The pair left the mill and walked silently back io Jovial’s office. "This rain... It’s depressing," mut- tered Jovial, in search of a topic that didn’t include logs or trees or lumber. But Squish still] had his mind on the job. "Oh... I forgot. A ball park figure for you loss is probably closer to $50,000, “All those cight- and 10-foot pieces of lumber you're cutting right now aren’t worth nearly as much as the 16- to 20-foot pieces you're supposed to be cutting. And you can add more to that figure... After I do the residue and waste survey at High Tower’s site you're going to owe the government some money too. There’s a lot more waste up there than they'll allow." "You can close your eyes a bit, can’t you?" Jovial suggested. "You don’t have to count it all.” Squish didn’t show his. annoy- ance at the idea. "Sorry Milton," he said evenly. "It’s my job. I have to protect my professional stand- ing. A low count and the Forest Service might just do one of their own and then we'll both be in hot water." "Depressing," Jovial muttered. Jovial sat down in his chair and stared at his dream at work. "So what do,I do?" he asked Squish. "You get organized... form lines of communication, Make sure everyone understands + PHSPs. Maké' sure ‘one operator knows exactly what the other operators are supposed to be doing. Tell people like Rhodes that they can’t make arbitrary decisions in the field. "It all boils down to developing an overall management philosophy. Your forestry operation has to complement your mill... not fight it." Jovial was silent. Then, "Herby. How much do you make a year?" "Well..." "Never mind. Pick a number, add 20 percent, and tell Dot to put you on the payroll." Squish was tempted, bul, "There's a lot to consider..." "I won’t take no for an answer," Jovial interrupted. "I need you to put this plan together and make sure it stays together. Friday after- noon, we get everyone together for a meeting, and then we meet every Friday afternoon for as long as I own this mill, I know this thing can work... but not the way it’s working now." "Twenty percent?" "Twenty percent." Jovial returned. "You've got a deal. And Maybe the first thing you can do to recover a part of my wages is dump Plug Nicholl. He's not even close to foreman material." Smiling, Jovial pressed the inter- com bution. "Dot. Tell Nicholl I want to scc him immediately... And tell payroll to draft his final cheek." Then, turning to Squish, "Start writing thal plan. We have a meet- ing to go to the day.after tomor- row." "Yes sir, Mr. Jovial.”