Long Beach’s Willapa refuge turns timber land back into wilderness

Without thinning, these trees would grow not just tall, spindly and unhealthy, but also vulnerable to wildfires. This latter scenario might seem unlikely out here on the coast, where historic fire-return intervals were long. But it’s far from impossible, especially as summers get hotter and drier and drought cycles longer and more frequent.  

Not to mention the fact that when fire did return, it returned ferociously. As Kyle Smith, forest manager for The Nature Conservancy of Washington, puts it: “When we had a big fire on the west side, they just kind of burned everything. And … I think we’re seeing increased likelihoods on the west side that it could happen more frequently, which is scary.” 

Complexity, diversity 

As with pre-commercial thinning on timber plantations, the refuge’s overall objective has been to reduce stand density. But unlike timber companies, the refuge is following a Conservancy-designed prescription that not only takes extra steps to maximize fire resiliency, but also prioritizes complexity and diversity over timber volume. 

For instance, instead of just falling and bucking trees, the refuge is grinding them on the spot with heavy machinery. The reasoning behind this is twofold. First, wood chips and mulch return nutrients to the forest quicker than slash. Second, from a fuels-management perspective, fine fuels pose less risk than heavy fuels, which not only burn more intensely but can also stack up higher on the forest floor. 

Additionally, the Conservancy’s prescription leaves trees in discontinuous clumps instead of spacing them evenly. This distribution, which Smith calls “skips and gaps,” aims to mimic the structure of old, mature forests, in which natural disturbances like wind storms level trees randomly and complex understories develop in the resulting mosaic of clearings. Solitary spruce and cedar saplings, on the other hand, are being left wherever they’re found, lest they be out-competed by the fast-growing hemlock. 

Shaun Matthews has run equipment at the refuge for the past two decades and worked in the woods since the ’80s. Even with his experience, the selectivity of this prescription still poses a challenge: “The spruce and the cedar … are not growing very well here. Because they’re slower-growing, they’re all covered up.” 

So covered up, in fact, that it can be hard enough to spot them even from the cab of an excavator, let alone masticate precisely around them;  imagine mowing an overgrown lawn and trying to leave the dandelions behind.