
The logging industry across northern New York State and New England has a long, rich and colorful history, backed by a mountain of tradition and popular folklore. It’s a proud, powerful legacy. It’s also largely irrelevant to making a living as a logger at the end of the twentieth century.
Unfortunately, sometimes the images fostered by popular myth and folklore go beyond irrelevant, and they wind up doing more harm than good. People who should know better, still talk about loggers as though they continue to buck logs with hand-held crosscut saws, live in camps six months out of the year, drive logs down the river in the spring and raise all kinds of hell in town once the season is over.
They use arcane descriptions that might once have been terms of admiration, but now have basically negative connotations. They’ll say, “loggers are a special breed”; “. . . fiercely independent”; “colorful”; “salt of the Earth”; “Paul bunyan”; “timber beast”; and so on. Usually these stereotypes and misconceptions work against logging professionals.
Bankers don’t care if you’re the member of a “special breed.” They just want to be sure you’ll make your payments—all of them—on time.
County highway departments and law enforcement agencies probably wince at the thought of “fiercely independent” log truckers on the roads. They want law-abiding, responsible log truck drivers operating in their jurisdictions.
Few landowners want “colorful, salt of- the-earth” characters working on their land or adjoining woodlots. They want—and have a right to expect— skilled and competent professionals, preferably with good references, credentials and business habits.
There is nothing wrong with the proud history of logging in this region, nor with the people who made it. On the contrary. The modern logger’s problem occurs when otherwise intelligent people form an image of today’s loggers based largely on their romantic notion of what a lumberjack used to be. When the ideal and the reality don’t square, sometimes it’s funny—and sometimes it’s not.
Loggers are among the first to concede that a share of the forest products industry’s negative public image has been earned over the years. But they will also point to dramatic changes—many seen in the past ten years—that have helped create a better industry populated by better loggers.
One thing nearly all modern loggers mention when asked about challenges is the high cost of equipment, timber and skilled labor. Managing these resources, they point out, requires a high degree of responsibility and business skill not expected of their predecessors. Training, education, membership in trade associations and involvement in local, state and even national politics have all become important to successful logging in the late ‘90s. Positive public relations is becoming increasingly important.
Modern loggers cite a vast array of external forces—from workers compensation insurance requirements to new OSHA standards to steadily-strengthening environmental regulations affecting their work—that have prompted big changes in the way they operate. Staying in business has become more expensive and complex, which has thinned the ranks over the years, and has forced those who remain to become more efficient.
And operational efficiency is the name of the modern logging game; every successful logger on the scene today has a strategy for achieving even more of it over time. The best loggers will tell you, for example, how much more profitable and satisfying it is to work the same woodlots over and over again during the course of their careers. Not only can they minimize travel and other logistics and work in familiar surroundings, but by improving the long term health and value of the resource—other people’s forests—they share the rewards. Nowhere is the old adage that happy customers are repeat customers more appropriate than in modern logging.
![]() John Adler—Chester, Vermont: “The best part is seeing all these skeptical loggers come to our sessions because their employers make them, and then turning them into believers before the end of the day.” |
Evergreen recently visited four independent logging contractors operating in the “Northern Forest” region, which covers much of the northern parts of the states of New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. We asked them to describe the changes they see affecting their operations and those of their peers, and to share their insights into the state of contemporary logging in the region.
John Adler
At first blush, John Adler of Chester, Vermont appears to be a throwback to the past: a part-time logger with another job on the side who works alone, cuts trees with a chain saw and produces wood one load at a time. Meanwhile, the industry around him rapidly mechanizes.
But dig a little deeper and you find that John Adler is not only on the cutting edge of logging technology and professionalism in the Northeast, he’s one of the major forces behind it.
Adler is a parttime logger because the rest of his time is spent training other timber harvesters. His main focus is on safe and productive chain saw use for manual cutters, but his broader message applies to nearly every aspect of modern logging: Think about what you’re doing, and then find a way to do it more efficiently, more safely and more responsibly.
Ask John Adler what single force has had the most important impact on the logging business in the region over the past ten years and he doesn’t miss a beat. “Soren Eriksson” is his answer.
For Adler and many loggers in the region, Soren Eriksson, a short, middleaged Swede with a bad back and a heavy accent, is the guru of safe, productive logging. Over the past 15 years, Eriksson has almost single-handedly guided a big chunk of the logging industry out of the dark ages and into an era of enlightenment. He did it with a dynamic personality, a great system of work habits and techniques originally developed and refined in Sweden. And he did it with the help of proteges like John Adler.
When he first met Eriksson, Adler was working as a cutter for another Vermont logger. After seeing one of the Swedish instructor’s demonstrations on safe chain saw use and productive work habits, the young cutter was amazed. “I suddenly realized how little I understood about what I was doing,” he says. In the subsequent months and years, Adler learned as much as he could about the new “Swedish technique” and applied all of it to his work both as an employee, and later, in his own logging operation.
Eventually, Eriksson approached Adler, who has an associate’s degree in forestry from Paul Smith’s College, with the idea of becoming a professional trainer. He jumped at the chance. “The best part is seeing all these skeptical loggers come to our sessions because their employer is making them,” Adler explains, “and turning them into believers before the end of the day.”
The difference between good, intelligent logging practices and some of the more “traditional” methods of cutting trees, skidding logs and otherwise producing merchantable wood, is enormous. Production is increased dramatically, as is on-the-job safety. Disturbance to the residual stand and its surroundings is minimized. Loggers take pride in their work and strive to become even better. The advantages are immediately obvious to anyone in the industry who sees them being practically applied, and most come away from such demonstrations convinced of their value.
That’s certainly the case with one of the major logging workers compensation insurance carriers in the region, the New York Lumbermen’s Insurance Trust Fund, which has employed Adler for the past five years to train its members and their employees. Other groups, such as the Vermont Forestry Foundation, contract for Adler’s training services, as well as a number of other private, independent logging contractors. “We’re approaching 1,000 people trained so far,” he notes. Adler’s wife, Mary Beth, keeps the books for both businesses and handles various paperwork and other logistics.
On the logging side of his operation, John Adler prefers to work on small woodlots for private landowners, and he tries to establish long-term relationships with his customers. On a recent spring morning, he was selectively thinning white pine sawtimber from a woodlot five minutes’ drive from his home in Chester.
He had done improvement cuts on the property, which was recently named one of Vermont’s Outstanding Tree Farms by the American Tree Farm System, at various times during his logging career. The stone walls running up and down the heavily-wooded hillsides betrayed its past as hardscrabble farmland. An independent trucker was loading pine logs for shipment to a nearby mill.
“I’m constantly trying new things and keeping an eye on efficiency and productivity,” Adler tells a curious visitor during a break. “That’s the key to survival for the small logger.”
Rick Lessard

Rick Lessard—West Ossipee, New Hampshire: “In
40 years of watching and working with loggers,
I’ve never met one yet who cut trees for the pure
joy of it. Obviously, there’s a huge consumer
demand for wood products and money to be made
producing them.”
Rick Lessard became fascinated with the logging business as a young boy, when he would accompany his father, Philip, to work on weekends and school holidays. “I just wanted to be there; doing anything I could to be involved,” he says. After receiving an associate’s degree in Industrial Engineering and a brief stint as a tool and dye maker, Lessard headed back to the woods, where he’s worked ever since.
Today Lessard’s company, North Country Lumber, is one of the biggest logging contractors operating in New Hampshire. From his home base of West Ossipee, the 47- year-old logger runs a highly mechanized operation producing a wide variety of forest products, from veneer logs on the high end to whole tree fuel chips on the low end—and pretty much everything in between.
“In 40 years of watching and working with loggers, I’ve never met one yet who cut trees for the pure joy of it,” Lessard says, adding, “Obviously there’s a huge consumer demand for wood products and money to be made producing them.” He goes on to point out that it’s imperative for loggers to conduct their businesses responsibly and with attention to the details, particularly the needs of the landowner and the environment.
North Country Lumber is setting that example. In 1991 Lessard’s company was named the New Hampshire Timberland Owners’ Association’s “Outstanding Logger of the Year.” In 1998, he was named the Northeastern Loggers’ Association’s “Outstanding Forest Industry Activist” award. The year before, he received that organization’s “Outstanding Forest Industry Leadership” award and in 1992, he was named “National Logger of the Year” by the American Pulpwood Association.
Like most mechanized loggers, Rick Lessard is production oriented and adamant that it’s possible—maybe even easier—to log responsibly with state-ofthe- art equipment. But high production also means a large, steady appetite for wood. Since 90 percent of North Country’s work is done on private forestland, Lessard has to constantly scout around for woodlots, having gone as far away as Boston for the right opportunity. “But we like to stay within a 50-mile radius,” he says.
“I’d say our biggest challenge has been finding the right sites to cut in the spring” when the frost in the ground begins to thaw and otherwise firm soil takes on the consistency of chocolate pudding for a month or two, Lessard notes. In the past, many loggers were inclined to just gut it out on regular ground during “mud season,”— especially during periods when markets for pulpwood and logs were good. This typically resulted in an ugly mess.
But an increasing number of loggers have begun to seek out higher, welldrained sites for spring logging, and they are trying to optimize the advantages of modern equipment, which when properly used, can have less ground impact. Lessard is obviously in this group, but all the competition is making it more difficult. “We can log sustainably and be kind to the environment,” Lessard notes. “We have to.”
Although only ten percent of the company’s wood comes from publiclyowned forestland, Lessard says the prospect of losing access to publiclyowned timber has major ramifications for overall timber supply in the region. “If you take away that 30 million board feet of sawlogs produced annually by the White Mountain National Forest,” he explains, “it’s going to have to be replaced by timber from private land,” thus putting a heavier burden on the privately-owned resource.
But the biggest challenge to future timber supplies may have already occurred. The infamous “Ice Storm of ‘98” destroyed or severely damaged millions of acres of public and private timberland across the Northern Forest. Lessard believes “a whole generation of timber may have been destroyed by the storm. I may be sitting here at age 75 wondering where all the sawlogs have gone,” he muses.
Clearly, Rick Lessard fully expects to be logging when he’s 75—some 68 years after his first taste of the business. Ironically, today the tables have turned and Lessard’s father is now working for him, along with 21 other employees. “He tried to retire from logging but couldn’t stay away,” Lessard explains, “so I said, ‘why not come work for me?’”
Andy Irish

Andy Irish—Peru, Maine: “Our main goal has
always been to have all our members obeying all
applicable laws. We also have plenty of work to
do on other important issues, including
logger training.”
Rumford, Maine, is an old New England papermill town, which is to say that all life centers around the mill. Literally. That’s where all the good jobs are, and nearly all commerce entering and leaving this little community on the Adroscoggin River is somehow related to paper production. Not surprisingly the mill is, physically, right smack in the middle of town.
Andy Irish, 41, was born and raised in Peru, Maine, about a ten-mile drive south of Rumford. His dad and most of his acquaintances and relatives worked at the mill, but Irish got an early feel for the logging business, working for a neighbor part-time through junior high and high school. Upon graduation, he chose the woods over the papermill.
Irish is still in the logging business—now with his own company and 11 employees—but it’s a different industry than the one he grew up in. Radically different. “The whole push today is toward logging professionalism, and it’s long overdue,” he observes.
A few years ago, Andy Irish noticed that even though the world was changing rapidly, he and other loggers weren’t doing much to prepare for the future. He saw environmentalists gaining ground on the industry in Maine, public opinion going against timber harvesters on important state-wide issues, and problems between industrial consumers of wood and the loggers who produce it. Many of these problems, he believed, were either being caused by loggers themselves or aggravated by their behavior.
In 1994, Andy Irish found what he was looking for in the Professional Logging Contractors of Maine, a trade association with the main goal of raising the standard of professional loggers in the state. The PLC’s mission is to:
![]() Peter Gucker—Keesville, New York: “The thing is nobody’s buying white pine pulpwood, so we decided to chip it for fuel, but that market is jammed up too, so I’ve got a lot of money invested in this big pile of wood that may not move.” |