Logging On...

This profile first appeared in The First Alternative Co-op Thymes in January, 1998.

Horse-logger Harry Lehman enjoys both low- and high-tech pursuits

      Harry Lehman has a foot in two worlds that are centuries apart.

The pre-dawn darkness in his nearly-100-year-old house is pierced by electric lights as he rises, dresses, stokes the wood-burning furnace, and fixes breakfast for himself and Mick, his border collie. As the winter sun creeps towards the horizon, Lehman pulls on his boots, hat and jacket, then he and Mick head out to feed his five Belgian draft horses. While the horses digest a hearty breakfast of hay and grain, Lehman finishes his chores. Then he loads his working team, Pat and Mandy, into the truck and off they go to practice the centuries-old craft of horse-logging.

      When they return at the end of the day, Lehman unloads the horses, waters and feeds them, then heads indoors. He pulls off the caulk leather boots that carried him through a day of manipulating raw horsepower and steps over to the computer to boot-up on the Internet. There, he chats with other horse-loggers about the techniques, equipment and horses of their shared passion.

      It's not the only time the centuries converge. Sometimes Lehman and his team deftly drag thinned logs through a stand of trees where machinery wouldn't fit, yarding them in an open spot where a CAT can pick them up. Even a helicopter could. “I've never had 'helos' swing my logs,” Lehman said in his low, soft voice, “but that would be appropriate technology.”

      Lehman looks the sort who works with horses. His dark, thick-as-a new-broom mustache acts as the gate-keeper of few, well-chosen words. The word gate widens, however, when he introduces his Belgians and talks about working with them in the woods. Though the work isn't always as steady as he'd like, he's never regretted choosing horse-logging as a profession. The only way it could be better would be if he owned 1,500 acres of timber, or was born Amish. He's visited Amish communities numerous times and respects their view of how humans fit in the natural world.

Choosing the challenge

      Lehman was helping build logging roads in Oregon in 1972 when he first heard about horse-logging. “I'd grown up with horses and really like loggin',” he said, “so I thought it would be fun. At that time, small wood was just starting to get harvested around here. Horse-logging naturally lends itself to a small-time harvest.”

So, he borrowed money from a bank and bought his first draft horse. That winter, he apprenticed to the man who'd owned the horse earlier. Then came two years of on-the-job training with two other horse loggers.       Lehman knew he'd never get wealthy in financial terms, but he was drawn to the “funky” horse-logging lifestyle. “They all seemed pretty happy and really enjoyed that camaraderie with their horses,” he said. “It suits me pretty well.”

Board-feet ballet

      Physically, horse-logging can be hard, though it also keeps a person more fit than the sedentary professions of his contemporaries. “Workin' in the woods does weird things to you. Here's the line,” Lehman said holding a hand in front of him, pointing to one side of it. “On this side of the line you feel like a healthy, fit animal. And on this side of it you feel like a broken-down hulk. It's a very thin line and it varies from day to day.” It's also dangerous. “It's just a given, even though you like to move around like a ballerina, you're runnin' around with two tons of horses and logs in forest and mud. Chainsaws are dangerous.”

Leaving scars

      While horse-logging may take a toll on humans, it takes less of one on the land. “It's a good way to log small timber and not damage the surrounding stand (of trees),” Lehman said, “or disturb the soil too much. Compared to conventional machine-logging it has a real low impact. No one is ever upset they've logged that way.” Soil compaction is a major consideration. “People forget that there's as much tree below the soil as above it. It takes about a year for the ground to recover from horse-logging.” It can take much longer to recover from heavy machinery.

      Lehman doesn't claim that all horse-loggers are good. Some do jobs he'd never accept. He's rejected jobs because of steep terrain or because he didn't agree with the owner's management plan. He takes pride in looking back on a job when it's finished. “It's my canvas; I'm the one who sticks my name on it. If someone wanted to cream (clear-cut) their forest and wanted me to do it, I probably wouldn't. I haven't done it yet. Because down the road, when someone asks, they'll say, 'Well, Harry Lehman creamed that place.' They'll never ask what the guy wanted; they're gonna' ask who did it.”

      Lehman spends considerable time educating small woodlot owners on how to get the most from their trees. “It's surprising,” he said. “People inherit or buy some piece of ground and they don't know anything about it. There's a lot of free information out there and I advise anybody, if they have any ground, to get educated. Contact the Extension Service's forester or the Small Woodlands Association; go to the library. Lehman's preferred management method is to open a stand up by leaving enough space between trees that the trunks get enough sunlight for growth, yet the tree tops (canopy) are touching and full enough to nourish the trees.

A synchronized team

      But Lehman couldn't do it without his equine partners. Pat and Mandy are his current working team, though Dan, Mandy's son, is in training. Two more offspring will join the team within the next two years. While a pair is impressive, it's a stunning combination of power and grace when three draft horses, about 16 or 17 hands high (a hand is about 4 inches) and weighing 1,700 to 2,200 pounds each, work side by side. They, too, seem happiest in the forest. “They love it,” Lehman beamed. “They bow their heads when you put their collars on.”

      “You can't start loggin' 'em 'til they're about 5 years old,” he said. “Their bones are still soft. You can train 'em and do farm work and pull wagons, but I don't believe in workin' 'em hard 'til they're five.” Like people, some are born to be work horses, others aren't. Or, something in their genetic make-up or from colthood affects their trainability. “If they're gonna do it, they'll step right into it, especially if you have a trained horse to hook 'em up with.” It takes years of daily routine and providing food and care to establish a strong relationship with a horse. “You can be the provider, but being the partner, that's when you're in that high spot. Then it's neat, it's really neat.”

      Straight timber-falling, which Lehman often does a day or so ahead without the horses, has pretty low overhead. “A pick-up, Thermos, and a couple of chainsaws,” he said. With horses, it's different. Besides the hay, grain, pasture, barn, larger truck, etc., there are complicated harnesses, and years of training and care. The horses must be shod regularly, for example and the harnesses, which can weigh 70 pounds, oiled twice a year. Lehman is justifiably proud of his Amish-made harnesses, which he trots out for special “dress-up” occasions. “Every guy should get at least one set of new harnesses in his life,” he said.

Does horse-logging have a future?

      “In Oregon,” Lehman said, “it'll probably continue to be real small-scale, the kind of thing you'll read about and people will say, 'Oh, isn't that great.' It's labor-intensive and America is moving away from labor-intensive practices. And, a lot has to do with the economy and the price of timber.

The day will come when Lehman finds himself booting up at the computer more than at the back door. Then he can combine the technology with his interest in writing to tell the world about the craft he's learned over a quarter century, and the four- and two-legged characters who've made it such a rich life.

Update: Harry was right about the future of horse-logging. It still exists, but not to the extent it should (in my humble opinion). Most of the forests around us have been clear-cut, or severely cut, with noisy heavy machinery in the last decade, which is heart-breaking (Oh, but the views now!). Harry and his horses logged for us a couple of times – an amazing ballet of man and beautiful animals. I've also written about a local woman who works with draft horses on farms and small woodlots: Lise Hubbe. An amazing and highly-respected woman.