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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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0625330.000
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1994-03-25
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<text id=90TT1661>
<title>
June 25, 1990: Artist With A 20-Lb. Saw
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
June 25, 1990 Who Gives A Hoot?
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ENVIRONMENT, Page 61
Artist with a 20-Lb. Saw
</hdr>
<body>
<p> For 44 of his 64 years, Dale Page has been a cutter of
trees, as was his father before him. He may have cleared as much
of the ancient Northwest forest as any man. This day he is
clear-cutting a three-acre patch of old growth. The area is
designated as a possible spotted-owl habitat, but Page has never
seen one of the birds. He stands among rhododendron, sword ferns
and buckbrush, his body testimony to the perils of his work. The
pitch of his chain saw screaming at 13,000 r.p.m. has left him
hard of hearing, an upended log cost him part of his left foot,
and a misstep impaled him on a stick that punctured his bowels.
"All in all, I'd say I've been mighty lucky," says Page, and,
comparing himself with those loggers who have lost a leg or even
a life, he is right.
</p>
<p> A quiet man with an off-center smile, he shares his
thoughts only when pressed. He is rugged but not callous. His
peers consider him an artist in the way he brings down mammoth
firs to fall side by side, within inches of one another. With
a 20-lb. saw hoisted to his shoulder and an ax in hand, he
walks on logs with the grace of a gymnast on the high beam. But
standing atop the trunk that was a 200-year-old tree, he can
still share in the forest's loss. "It doesn't take long," he
says. "To think it's been growing for 200 years or better, and
then it's down in a minute and a half. It's kind of sad. It
affects you. I don't think you'd be human if it didn't."
</p>
<p> Page counts himself an ally of nature, not an enemy. "An
old-growth forest is unique," he says. "There's just something
about a big tree that makes you feel kind of small." Like many
of the other loggers, his relationship with the forest extends
beyond the edge of his saw. "After working in the woods for 44
years, I guess wilderness means a place you can go where you
know man hasn't trifled with it, where you can think it's the
way Ma Nature wanted it to be." But Page looks beyond the
clearing he has cut and sees the nation's inexhaustible appetite
for wood. "It's something I think that has to be done, if we
want to live in a nice home and have toilet paper and the likes
of that," he says.
</p>
<p> The cutter sees the toll that greed has exacted from the
land. But it was not so apparent early in his career. "There was
tremendous waste in those days," he recalls. "Profit was the
name of the game. We thought we would never run out of timber.
We started way too late on reforestation." Now he recognizes the
need to protect nature from man. "We've only got this one old
earth," he says, "and we better take care of it. I most
certainly do not think `environmentalist' is a dirty word.
Anybody who isn't one has his head in the sand."
</p>
<p> Page, who is retiring this winter, wants to see a balance
struck between those who call for the preservation of the
wilderness and those who make a living from timbering. One thing
he knows: change is coming to this valley, and it may be harsh.
</p>
<p>By Ted Gup.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>