The Old Growth That Goes Unnoticed

It's hard not to join in the chants when they come to town - mainly because it's something of a no-brainer. Old growth forests, those mythic stands of trees, whatever species they may be (if we even care in the first place what species they are), touch something deep within us that compel us to argue for them to be conserved, protected and revered. We don't care for definitions, all we care is that they're old, they're forests, and they're safely locked in reserves far from the touch of humankind.

It's a noble cause, and to paraphrase the eminent Victorian forest ecologist David Lindenmayer, we are living in a time when we shouldn't have to log or destroy our old growth forests. It is a mark of the truly civilised society, then, that the soil shall never shake with the vibration of a falling giant ever again.

But there is a question that hangs over these presumptions that no one seems to consider - what happens when the old growth dies, of natural causes? In the case of Australian old growth, the majestic Eucalyptus regnans tends to live for around 400 years - dwarfed by the 2,200 years of it's rival-in-height, Sequoia sempervirens. Are we prepared to let go of old-growth, if that loss occurs free of the hand of man or bushfire?

The greatest issue concerning Victorian old-growth forest is not so much as to do whether it is adequately mapped and protected, or whether the loss of old growth would represent a loss of a vast and efficient carbon sink. As Tim Flannery noted in his 2003 Quarterly Essay 'Beautiful Lies', it may very well be that there is an unfair level of devoted attention paid to them when it comes to debates about sustainable land management.

It's a tricky argument, and you're not likely to garner many friends (of the earth - ha!) while pursuing it - it is too easy a sentiment to be appropriated by anti-conservationists as an argument for no-holds-barred native forest harvesting. However, there needs to be a level of reconsideration when it comes to old-growth forests. As Tim Low pointed out in his 2003 novel 'The New Nature', the notion of wilderness can, at times, be an unhelpful idea - potentially even a "dangerous myth", one of the "biggest buzz words in history", an "idealised view of nature [speaking] strongly to people disillusioned with city values."

In my interpretation, the most dangerous thing about "wilderness" is that it exiles nature to that which lives outside the city limits. And thus, everything in and around our suburban gardens, city streets, and rivers - indeed, all that is closest to our hearts and homes - aren't given the due weight they deserve. This is particularly so in the case of the urban forest.

In 2007, Randy Stringer from the University of Adelaide presented a paper at the annual Treenet Symposium titled 'The Benefits of Adelaide's Street Trees Revisited'. Some of his general conclusions included the observation that trees in Adelaide's urban landscape provide not only aesthetic value, but without them, summer temperatures in the city would be 0.5-2.0 degrees Celsius warmer, translating to a per household per year air conditioning energy consumption

increase of $20. This occurred alongside stormwater reduction, carbon dioxide sequestration and air pollution reduction.

However, one of the most interesting remarks was that, all in all, older, larger street trees in urban landscapes can provide up to 60 times the benefits of younger smaller trees. Therefore - we need old growth not only in wilderness reserves, but in our cities too. This is a great challenge - it requires our planning to take account the next 50 years, and an intelligent overlap between young trees and old trees to ensure we never end up with barren streets burning in the heat of summer. Furthermore, it requires us to choose trees that will survive the hotter and drier future that awaits us.

But most of all, it is but another reason why we need to realise that we never are, and never will be, distinct and separate from nature. The distinction, if it was ever there at all, is porous and malleable. Nature's heart beats to the same ceaseless rhythm in the misty wilderness reserves as it does in the sprawling metropolis. It's just up to us to listen to it.

The Carbon Wars

Timber body under fire over climate aid claims
The Age, 27th July, 2009

A TIMBER industry body is being investigated over claims it misled the public by asserting that buying wood products helps the fight against climate change.

The consumer watchdog has asked Forest & Wood Products Australia to respond to allegations it made two deceptive claims: that the carbon dioxide stored in trees is locked up when they are logged and converted into wood products, and that forestry is one of Australia's most greenhouse-friendly industries.

The "Wood. Naturally Better" print advertisement campaign was based on variations on the slogan "It's more than attractive furniture. It's a helping hand in climate change."

It prompted a complaint to the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission by the Wilderness Society, backed by advice from community legal service, the Environment Defenders Office.

(Read More)

In the small amount of time that I've had dealing with forestry workers and professionals, this is another one of those issues where you can almost visibly see the hair on the forester's back prick-up, as they adopt that feline-esque pose that signals a mixture of aggression and outright fear.

The point of the matter comes down to a basic tenet of biological science - for a tree to grow, carbon dioxide is sequestered into the tree, stored as biomass in the leaves, limbs, stem or roots. Therefore, when it comes to mitigating the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, alongside driving your car less, eating vegetables, installing power-saving globes and never taking a plane anywhere, decking your house out with timber products is the best thing you can do.

However, you can't really imagine a Climate-Change-abatin' Green-voter saying to houseguest "You'd like a Chai? No problem. Come on in, just watch your head on the Tibetan prayer flags, we can sit around my Old-Growth Mountain Ash Coffee Table. 'Bout 350 years old, it is - whole lotta carbon in dat one!"

However, it's not totally that simple. For one, as The Wilderness Society point out, not all our forests are used for 'value-added' (as they call it in the biz) products such as furniture or high-quality flooring. Even as of 2003/04, around 75% of the log sales from native forests in East Gippsland, Central Victoria and Tasmania went straight to woodchipping - not exactly a secure resource when it comes to 'locking' up carbon.

But if we assume that, idealistically, we begin to treat our timber as high-value and make only the finest furniture and houses from it, what argument do we have against doing so? This is especially a question to consider when we acknowledge that the carbon emissions from wood as a construction material as opposed to, say, aluminium, concrete or steel, is vastly minimal, almost negligible.

And so, this issue touches on the one that rumbles on incessantly when it comes to dealing with our environment - and that is, how do we wish to use it? Do we want to use it? Or am I showing my ideological bias by even phrasing the question in terms of use? Where exactly does modern man sit with his land?

For the time being, the protectionists and productionists will continue the tug of war - and unfortunately for many foresters and scientists, their only input will be to silently watch from the sidelines.