“It’s like cocaine. It’s worth so much money people are corrupted who normally wouldn’t be corrupted. It’s not like normal timber.”
-Jim Rogers, a former industrial forester (now an environmentalist) speaking about the commercial value of Port Orford Cedar, 1994

enerally speaking I would not consider myself much of a genuine tree lover. (Here in Oregon such devotees are dubbed “tree-huggers.”) At best, I might be compared to the boyfriend who shows up when he needs something-shade, fruit, a branch to swing on, or a place to build a tree fort. A deserving suitor, I am most certainly not. In so far as my affections for inanimate objects extend, I would readily confess to being an unrepentant paramour of wooden boats, specifically of the untainted Briggs dories that once plied the waters of Grand Canyon. In short, I have spurned the tall green plants more than once too often.

And therein lays the problem. Somehow I have ignored the wood in wooden boats. Even after years of sticking my head into the side hatches of a dory to inhale the unforgettable aroma-a ginger scent laced with bilge river water, Old Milwaukee beer, dry hay, and rain in the desert-I have conveniently discounted the very source of this memory-evoking scent. To this day, a random whiff of freshly cut cedar washes me back up the river of time. Talk about floating in the past lane. My ability (or disability?) to disregard the indisputable fact that the boats I most fancy were made of wood, Port Orford Cedar (p.o.c.) wood to be exact, borders on the criminal. In my perpetual state of amour and mental disconnect, I have severed form from content as easily as a child yanks the petals from a flower. It is no surprise.

Nearly everyone who comes in contact with the whimsical, yet practical craft loses their heart, often without even knowing it, and then their reason. Dory aficionados are the worst. Think not? Ask any boatman about the dory he or she once rowed. Watch their eyes glaze over as they attempt to articulate the virtues of an old flame they have never quite gotten over. Beware when they start to spin a boat tale; never is there only one. Rarely, if ever, do these ex-lovers mention the raw material, the essence of the shapely craft. A willingness to succumb to gaily painted surfaces and a shapely figure is a habit not easily broken. So it is time to make amends, to nudge the eye catching boat out of the spotlight and sing the praises of Chamaecyparisn lawsoniana. Perhaps then my inexcusable indifference toward this versatile species can be partially redeemed. Perhaps then I can say, without smirking, that I love trees...nearly as much as dories.

“A tree is a tree-how many more do you have to look at?” -Ronald Reagan, former California governor

P.o.c., sometimes called Lawson Cypress or Ginger Pine, was first “discovered” along the Oregon coast by the new Americans in 1851. The indigenous people, of course, already valued the cedar as a material resource. They also attached considerable spiritual significance to this tree. Even then, this conifer was not a plentiful species compared to the apparently endless sea of Doug Fir, Western Hemlock, Red Cedar and Sitka Spruce. Over the decades it would become less plentiful as the appetite for the wood grew. Fossil records for western North America dating back fifty million years, however, indicate that it was once widespread.

So far as we know the p.o.c. grows nowhere else in the Western Hemisphere. Its range extends from Coos Bay, Oregon to the Klamath River in California, a narrow strip of rain-soaked coast nearly two hundred miles in length. Pacific storms barrel roll into the upper left coast of America unobstructed, their payload of H2O in tow. The coastal range snags the rain, detaining it long enough to make life good for p.o.c. The east-west axis of the conifer’s range extends inland roughly forty miles, from the seaward slopes of the Coast Range to the five-thousand-foot elevation level in the Cascade Mountains. At sea level, the tree thrives in isolated stands along stream sides, bogs and other wet areas. At higher elevations, it is one of the few species to flourish where heavy mineral soil limits other species. As mentioned before, the “ginger pine” prefers a mild climate and truckloads of rain (forty to ninety inches annually.) Roughly seventy percent of p.o.c. is located in Oregon.

Though you might not be able to name it, you could not miss the distinctive appearance of a p.o.c. It is a handsome tree, lacy in appearance with slender lines slanting upward to form a pointed crown. The leaves of the fern-like branches are bright green, with a pale underside. The sprays lay flat, neither drooping nor hanging stiffly. Its cones are course and spherical in shape, clustering on the upper branches. They ripen in the fall. Large, attractive, and shade-tolerant, this gymnosperm can grow up to two hundred feet in height (with diameters of three to six feet) in five hundred years. In the Siskiyou Mountains of southern Oregon stands a p.o.c. 219 feet tall with a diameter of twelve feet. It is nearly seven-hundred years old. (It shows signs of severe hugging!) Bark is six to eight inches thick, occasionally twelve inches, and provides excellent protection from forest fires. The slender seams in the bark run deep enough to stick your nose into and catch the fleeting ginger aroma.

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Initial contact with freshly cut p.o.c. is enough to make a Druid out of anyone. Once milled, the wood has a smooth, creamy white hue that is soothing to the eye. Its satiny texture, as well as its tight, straight grain, invites a caress. It is the scent of the wood, however, that sends most people reeling. An aroma not easily forgotten, it has been described as rose-like and also as a strong ginger odor. Open a chest (in the bedroom or attic) and you will likely inhale the familiar scent.

Ironically, too much of the bewitching scent of p.o.c. can lead to problems. Boat builders and wood workers take note. Continued exposure to its volatile oils can be overpowering and has been known to cause various allergies. It has also been linked to kidney problems. Dust masks and skin protection are recommended. Its strength, flexibility, and relative light weight have made p.o.c. a versatile wood. It works well with power or hand tools. It polishes easily, takes paint or stain without complaint, and wears smooth. Its resistance to decay (i.e. soil, weather or water) is legendary among woodworkers and boat builders. It is one of the most durable of woods. At one time or another it has been converted into broom handles, clothes chests, stringed instrument sound boards, Venetian blinds, railway ties and separators for storage batteries. During WWII it was employed in the construction of aircraft. Today it is the preferred wood for world class arrow shafts.

The Chinese favor the satiny wood for lyrical fragrance in their caskets. The Japanese revere the p.o.c., not surprising given that the p.o.c. is genetically related to the Hinoki cypress (Chamaecyparis obtusa), a tree in short supply in Japan. The wood is often used in the construction of their temples and shrines. To this day the Japanese will pay dearly to have a piece of the wood on their home altar. The Japanese were not the first to appreciate the spiritual qualities of material objects. As mentioned before, the indigenous tribes of Northern California have long considered the p.o.c. to be a hallowed wood as well as a healing tree. It played a significant role in the ceremonial life of coastal natives, used often in spiritual purification rites. Various religious regalia are made of p.o.c. and stored in chests made of the same wood.

In its medicinal role every part of the tree was used: buds to heal sore lungs and throats and tooth aches; leaves for chronic coughs; bark and twigs, oddly enough, to heal kidney problems.

“The glory of the dories is their lightness and maneuverability; the way they go dancing over the waves, the way you can turn them like the knob on an outhouse door. If you sacrifice that, you’ve lost the whole goddamned ball of wax.” -P.T. Reilly, September 13, 1984

The revered wood has always been a favorite of boat builders past and present. Native-American tribes of the Northwest (the Tlingits and the Haidas) used it to fashion paddles for their more famous Western Red Cedar war canoes. Prior to WWI, Sir Thomas Lipton (yes, of Lipton Tea) ordered his cup-challenging Shamrock series of racing boats to be built of p.o.c. For general yacht building, it has served generations of boat builders as a first class material for decks, railing and interior paneling. In 1936, near Powers, Oregon, Buzz Holmstrom dragged a p.o.c. windfall out of the woods. Later, in his basement in Coquille, he built the boat that would carry him through two successful Grand Canyon trips.

Today, the forest around Powers contains one of the last and largest stands of the pungent-smelling wood. Today overseas demand, past and current logging practices and a fungus-like root rot (phytiphora lateralis) have made the p.o.c. increasingly valuable. Stands of large old-growth p.o.c. are literally few and far between in its historical range. In 1996 the clear grain cedar commanded prices up to $6,000/1,000board feet, often ten times the price of Douglas fir. Mature p.o.c. logs have become the ultimate “money tree,” fetching as much as fifty thousand dollars overseas. There have been efforts by conservation groups to have the overseas sale of this vulnerable wood regulated. If p.o.c. were specially listed, each shipment would bear an export permit certifying that the shipment will not be “detrimental to the survival of the species.”

It is, like the authentic wooden dory, a species under threat. If you should happen to fall under the spell of p.o.c., whether by sight or smell, you might still find a stash of this precious wood in one of the family-run, back road mills that inhabit the coastal towns and inland valleys of the south Oregon coast. Sacred forest tree, healing tree, shrine tree, temple/boat tree, memory-producing tree, straight arrow tree, and proverbial money tree-the Port Orford Cedar is, as the former industry forester said, not like normal timber. The next time I visit the Oregon coast, I shall be on the lookout for a Port Orford Cedar. When I find one, I will nuzzle its bark and without embarrassment, give it a hug. I will hope that all is forgiven.

Vince Welch