Chapter 2
Gabe Anderson sat in the beaten-up Land Rover Defender and frowned as he double checked the list of names. He’d picked up the printout and a clipboard from the forestry office first thing, ready for the new recruits who’d passed through the vital health and safety training. The wind blowing over the Highland moor was so strong that it rocked the vehicle slightly, parked as it was on the ridge of the hill. When he looked left, there were blue skies and sunshine. To his right was a bank of heavy cloud, which he hoped was on the way north where it could break somewhere convenient like John O’Groats and not over the head of his new planting crew. He rubbed his chin absently and gazed ahead, gathering his thoughts.
Down in the distance, far below, he could just make out the tiny dots of the white houses and buildings which made up the village of Applemore. They nestled in around the bay, guarded by the distant islands which were half-shrouded in grey clouds.
Early that morning, when Gabe had opened his curtains, he’d looked out at the islands from the window of his cottage. They’d been a strange purplish grey then, lit up by the sun which was rising in the east. He’d been startled out of a deep sleep by the sound of his phone buzzing unexpectedly with a message from the other side of the world. By the time he’d showered, he returned to his bedroom to find the alarm on his phone bleeping insistently.
But that was a couple of hours ago, and now it was nine in the morning.
‘Come on, you.’ He opened the door, dodging out of the way to allow Stanley, his black cocker spaniel a chance to jump out from the back of the truck for a quick leg stretch.
Stanley shot off, nose down and tail wagging, in search of the scent of rabbits. Gabe only had a couple of minutes before he had to get to work, and he wouldn’t be able to focus with a spaniel in hunting mode. After a few moments, he whistled and Stan darted back, sitting neatly at his heels.
‘You can wait in here out of mischief,’ he said and opened the door to let him hop back inside. Stanley immediately curled up on an old blanket, ready for a morning of intensive snoozing. His ability to switch off was enviable. He leaned over and ruffled Stan’s ears, checked the bowl of water he’d left in the footwell, and headed across to the group of people who were waiting to be inducted.
‘I’ve got a brand-new group of victims here for you,’ Ed called in his lilting Orkney accent. As one of the forestry managers, he’d been detailed with giving the new group their introductory health and safety briefing before delivering them to the moorland site. This week they were planting tiny baby fir trees, which were part of a bigger environmental project, funded by a big investment bank in London.
‘We meet again,’ said Gabe, grasping his hand in a brief greeting. ‘How’s it going?’
‘No’ bad,’ said Ed. He was short and stocky with fair hair and blue eyes, which suggested his Viking blood. ‘I’ve given them the health and safety pep-talk – don’t eat the trees, don’t drown in a peat bog, you know the drill.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement.
‘Excellent,’ said Gabe, drily. ‘That should cover it.’
‘Hang on, now I think about it, I’ve left the papers back on the passenger seat,’ Ed said, dashing his palm to his forehead. ‘I’ll go and grab them.’
‘No problem,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ll get them. You get off.’
He fell into step beside Ed as he headed back to his vehicle.
Ed stooped, bending to pick up a long piece of blue baling twine which was caught on a gorse bush, ‘Looks like they’re a decent bunch this time, no’ like that group of tree-hugging hippies we had the other week.’
Gabe grinned. ‘They were alright once you got to know them.’
Ed shook his head. ‘It’s forestry, not fairy tales.’
‘They mean well.’ Gabe had a more sympathetic view, having only worked in the industry for six months.
‘Och, yes,’ Ed agreed. ‘I just don’t think there’s any room for sentiment in this business.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me sentimental before,’ said Gabe, taking the papers as Ed handed them over. ‘That’s a new one on me.’
Ed grinned. ‘As long as you don’t start wearing beads and chanting to the forest fairies we’ll be fine.’
‘Never going to happen.’
‘Excellent.’ Ed waggled his eyebrows. ‘If you get any inclinations in that direction, let me know and I’ll take you down to the river and dunk your head in.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Talking of which I’m off for a meeting with the ecologists.’
Ed said the word with a roll of his eyes.
‘You love them really.’ Gabe chuckled, watching Ed’s reaction. He was old school, and his favourite pastime was cutting trees down – the bigger the better.
‘They’re a necessary evil, if you ask me. The trouble with ecologists is they have a habit of spotting rare species on sites I want to clear. I swear they’d find a great crested newt in the kitchen section of Ikea, given half the chance.’
Gabe grinned. He was still laughing at Ed’s intransigence as he drove away, raising a hand in farewell as he headed off down the narrow single-track road which twisted through the heather-clad moorland.
Right,thought Gabe, turning back to see the gaggle of new workers.
He’d got used to giving the introductory talk over the last few months. It didn’t seem that long since he’d been standing there himself, slightly apart from the others, pondering his life choices and wondering what on earth had possessed him.
He looked at the group, musing as he always did what had brought each of them to work as a tree planter in the far north of Scotland. As he spoke, the thought stayed with him.
‘Hi everyone,’ he began, looking around to include everyone. ‘I’m Gabe, and the first thing I’ll tell you is that this job is as easy or as hard as you want to make it. Six months ago, I’d never planted a tree in my life, and now I couldn’t count how many of the trees on this hill I’m responsible for.’
He lifted one of the tiny young seedling trees, smelling the fresh pine scent of its needles as he balanced it on his palm.
‘The main thing,’ he went on, ‘is to make sure the roots go in the ground and the tree stays above it.’
He heard the chuntering of a pheasant somewhere in the undergrowth and caught a flash of the bright feathers of a male bird scuttling in search of his mate.
It was an impossible contrast. For most of his working life, he’d shuttled back and forth across the Atlantic, sitting in billion-dollar boardrooms as a systems architect. Now he was standing on the side of a heather-covered moorland, hoping someone would smile at his terrible attempt at an ice breaker.
A couple of smiles, a groan or two and a headshake with a wry smile gave him the answer he was looking for. At least they were receptive. That was always a good start.
As he ran through some of the details of the job, he took in the latest group of workers.
He could already make a guess at who was who, simply from their clothing. The four young lads in their early twenties who stood laughing and chatting were clad in work boots and trousers. The collars of their high-visibility coats were turned up. It was almost a certainty that they knew the job better than he did, so he didn’t want to patronise them with a long spiel which would bore them to death when time was money.
Then there was a tall blonde girl of about thirty-five and what he assumed was her partner – although they could be twins, they looked so alike. He’d put money on them being German – their long legs were clad in sturdy walking trousers and the colourful scarves wrapped around their necks were a giveaway.
They would have been recruited – as he had been – online. In six months, one of them could easily give the same pep-talk he was currently detailed with. Things moved quite quickly in the forestry world, he’d discovered.
The advert on Facebook had enticed people with views of huge, breath-taking Scottish moorland and the promise of a fun, hard-working way to make a difference to the environment. They skipped the part about sideways wind whipping torrential rain into your face, boots layered so thick with peaty mud that you ended the day a foot taller than you started, or wrists which ended up covered in a red rash from the pine oils which leached out from the tiny baby trees they were detailed with planting.
He didn’t mention those elements in his introductory talk, either. It would become self-evident pretty quickly, and the attrition rate in the first couple of weeks made it clear that you were either up to the task, or very definitely not.
He outlined the task in hand briefly. Each of them would take two bags laden with trees – the size of which varied depending on the job. This week would see each of them planting thousands of tiny seedling fir trees into a moorland which stretched as far as the ridge of the hill on the other side of the river.
‘So to summarise,’ he finished up, ‘one fact I was told when I started working here was that every time you plant a tree you’re helping to save a salmon. So if you’re a fan of smoked salmon sandwiches, consider this an investment in your future.’
The four lads were eager to get to work. They got the joke, one of them giving him a brief wink of acknowledgement.
‘If you’re ready to get on, be my guest.’ Gabe gestured to the stack of tree-filled sacks which were ready to go. In seconds, the four young men had bags strapped over their shoulders and had shot onto the moorland, knowing time was money with the job being paid by the number of trees planted.
‘Any questions, anyone?’ He leaned back against the mud-covered Land Rover, watching with amusement as the lads got to work at the speed of light. They were, as he suspected, seasoned workers who’d stop only for fleeting breaks, making as much money as they could before getting to work on the next project.
‘We are ready to go,’ said the blonde girl in a gruff German accent. He’d guessed right.
‘Yeah, I think we’re sorted.’ The four shaggy-haired gap-year students, none of whom were dressed particularly warmly, looked at each other and nodded. One turned up the collar of his fleece jacket, zipping it up fully. He was wearing tracksuit trousers and a pair of walking boots. Gabe put money on him coming to ask if there were any spare warm clothes going begging before the end of the morning. Una, who ran the forestry office, was kind-hearted and always made sure there were spare coats and waterproofs available for the workers who turned up on a sunny day not realising that the weather in the Highlands could change three times in an hour.
‘Actually, I have a question,’ said a short girl with tufts of pink and yellow hair peeking out from under her woollen hat. She glanced at her friend, a cheerful-looking person who had a buzz cut and piercings through their nose (one in each nostril and one through the middle) and both eyebrows.
‘Go on,’ said Gabe, checking the list of names on the clipboard.
‘Well, I’m a vegan,’ she began.
‘Of course you are,’ said a sardonic voice in a northern accent, which came from the rough shaven man with an earring in one ear and a tumble of untidy dark grey-black hair which reached the collar of his jacket. Despite the dry edge to his tone, his eyes were twinkling with amusement. He looked around at the new crew.
‘Love a bit of salmon, I do. Can’t beat it,’ he continued.
The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitched in amusement, but he was relieved to see that the pink-haired girl took the teasing in good part.
‘There’s a seafood stall down in Applemore that you’ll want to check out, in that case. Fresh off the boat – it’s amazing.’ Gabe’s stomach growled as a reminder that he hadn’t had a moment to grab breakfast.
The vegan girl raised her eyebrows and looked at her friend.
‘And The Applemore Hotel has a very good vegan menu, apparently, as does the new café by the harbour,’ Gabe added to appease her and was relieved to see she perked up immediately. The last thing he wanted was to have ructions in the ranks of his first ever crew.
‘You see,’ he added, trying his best to prevent rumblings of dissent in the workforce before he’d even got the rest of them sorted out with their tree-planting kit and sent on their way, ‘there’s something for everyone.’
‘I just want to make a decent bit of cash,’ said the man, looking around for someone to agree with him. ‘My van’s on its last legs and a new exhaust isn’t cheap.’
There was a general mutter of agreement. Most people were up here to make a quick buck – happy to camp out in cheaply converted campervans or share digs in the village where locals let out rooms.
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. Planting one of these –’ Gabe picked up a tiny young tree with a tiny root ball, only a few inches high ‘– will earn you 11p. The fastest planters are making two hundred pounds a day.’
He watched as the girl frowned, seemingly confused by the calculation. Gabe pointed to the lads who were already a good distance away, bending to plant a tree, marching forward, reaching into the sack, taking out another and starting all over again. They moved at lightning speed.
‘Those lot will do about four tiny trees a minute,’ he said, and several mouths dropped open in shock. ‘They don’t mess about.’
The girl took off her bobble hat and shook her head before placing the hat carefully back onto her rainbow-coloured hair. ‘I was still trying to figure out how planting a tree was going to save a salmon.’
Gabe grinned. ‘I wondered if anyone was going to pick me up on that.’
He held out one of the tiny trees on the flat palm of his hand, extending it out so everyone was focused on it.
‘It’s like this. Years ago, dense woodland would have covered all this land around us. The streams and rivers that cut through it were shaded and protected by the trees, which kept the water cool so the salmon could breed and spawn there. Then insects and bugs would fall from the leaves and needles of the trees into the water to feed the young fish. Meanwhile, the roots stabilised the sides of the rivers, which slowed erosion and allowed the clean water that salmon need to survive.’
He paused for breath, surprised to discover that rather than being bored, everyone was waiting for the next part of the explanation.
‘Fallen trees and branches create breaks in the currents so pools can form for the fish to rest and shelter, and the decomposing tree matter then provides food for aquatic insect life, which gives the salmon something to eat. So basically, the next time you eat a salmon sandwich, give a nod of thanks to a tree – or at least you can do once we get this lot planted. You’re doing your bit for future generations.’
He inclined his head towards the UTV on a trailer behind the pick-up. It was piled high with white sacks, each one packed full of baby trees.
‘Right then, that’s enough of me rattling on about salmon. Let’s get to work.’
Once he’d demonstrated the planting technique to the newbies, Gabe got down to work himself, hefting the sack over his shoulders and marching along planting the tiny firs into the heaps of soil that had been pre-prepared by another of the forestry workers. It was oddly therapeutic on a day like today when the weather was on their side – almost meditative. Over the last six months he’d discovered a strange satisfaction in doing the same thing over and over and over again, turning when the bag was empty and heading back to pick up another one from the stacked pile a hundred yards down the forestry track.
He’d replied to the Facebook job ad on the spur of the moment. It was one of those seconds where you balance on the edge of a precipice and something – bravery or terror or maybe a little of both – prompts you to take the leap. He’d been convinced he’d stick out like a sore thumb, turning up gym-fit but never having done hard outdoor work, throwing himself into it from the first moment just like the gang of new starters he’d inducted that morning.
The job attracted all sorts – from hardened forestry workers to tree-hugging hippy types, disenchanted office workers like him, and more than a fair proportion of people from the edges of society, who’d stepped outside of the neatly marked lines of conventional life. If someone had told him twenty years ago that he’d fit into that category, he’d have burst out laughing. Hard working, with an expensive car and a stylishly decorated apartment in a fashionable part of the city, he’d fit the part of a successful high-flyer perfectly. If someone had told him he’d throw it all away – hand it over and walk away with nothing – he’d have thought them completely and utterly insane.