Longleaf, Far as the Eye Can See: A New Vision of North America's Richest Forest

Longleaf,

FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Mature longleaf on a wiregrass-dominated understory. Wade Tract, Thomasville, Georgia.

Longleaf,

FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

A New Vision of North America’s Richest Forest

Bill Finch, Beth Maynor Young, Rhett Johnson, & John C. Hall

Foreword by E. O. Wilson

University of North Carolina Press

Chapel Hill

FUNDING PARTNERS

We are deeply grateful to the following individuals and groups for their generous financial support:

Southeastern Asset Management, Inc., adviser to Longleaf Partners Funds

The Curtis and Edith Munson Foundation

Protective Life Corporation

Susan and Charley Tarver

Leslie and Elton Stephens Jr.

Bill Ireland Sr. (deceased) and Bill Ireland Jr.

Becky and Bill Smith

Joanna and Ken Nichols

The Nature Conservancy

Vulcan Materials Company Foundation

Elaine and Rick Horsley

Resource Management Service, LLC

Cameron and Scott Vowell

Sheri and Charlie Perry

Lora and Bill Terry

Dale and Tom Carruthers

Judy and Britt Butler

Jack Tribble

Louise Wrinkle

© 2012 The University of North Carolina Press

All rights reserved.

All photographs except those otherwise indicated © Beth Maynor Young.

Designed and set by Kimberly Bryant in Merlo. Manufactured in China.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources. The University of North Carolina Press has been a member of the Green Press Initiative since 2003.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Longleaf, far as the eye can see: a new vision of North America’s richest forest /

Bill Finch . . . [et al.]; foreword by E.O. Wilson.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8078-3575-3 (cloth: alk. paper) 1. Longleaf pine—Southern States. 2. Forest management—Southern States. 3. Forest ecology—Southern States. 4. Forest conservation—Southern States. 5. Forest restoration—Southern States. 6. Southern States—Environmental conditions. I. Finch, Bill.

SD397.P59l65 2012

634.9′751—dc23                                                   2012007566

16 15 14 13 12 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

Foreword by E. O. Wilson

Preface

THE LEGEND

Where People Came to Heal and Play

A Most Peculiar Entertainment

THE TREE

How to Know You’re Standing under Longleaf

The Prometheus Pine

THE FOREST

Tigers of the Bog

A Very Old Woodpecker Has the Last Word on Fire

THE RANGE

Fire and Rain

In Defense of Our Country

THE FUTURE

Where City Meets Forest: Gardens Made by Longleaf

Making Fire Possible Again

EPILOGUE Longleaf’s Future Starts Here

Acknowledgments

Photo Credits

Index

Foreword

E. O. WILSON

Even though I came from longleaf country in Alabama and in my later years had learned more and more about the subject, I realized how little I really knew—and how much more I had to learn and how much more remained for science to discover—about the American South’s signature tree. The longleaf pine, presiding over the biologically richest region of North America, is well served by this beautifully written book. All concerned about the American environment will feel uplifted by the magnitude of the ecosystem’s richness. At the same time, they should come to understand the widespread, mindless destruction wreaked upon it by those who had the greatest reason to love it.

Throughout history and back into prehistory—likely for millions of years—the longleaf pine ruled most of the terrestrial environment of the southeastern United States. The savanna originally covered some 90 million acres. Beneath the longleaf trees and in the open spaces between them grew (and continue to grow wherever longleaf stands continue to survive) the most diverse ground flora (mostly low-lying herbaceous species) in the temperate northern hemisphere. The ecosystem—that is, the savanna—is maintained in the absence of human interference by lightning-struck fires that sweep through dry vegetation close to the ground. The longleaf pine is the species that has proved best able to survive among the conifers; its key adaptations include the resistant lower trunks of the trees, the large size of its cones, and the swift vertical growth of the seedlings. Equally specialized to flourish in a fire climax community is the large mixture of herbaceous plants on the forest floor. All of these species, as well as the insects, amphibians, reptiles, and other animals living among them, have done more than survive: they have folded the fires, which occur on average once every several years, into their life cycles and their physiology. They all need the fire. Over geological periods of time, the balance struck between near disaster and fresh, regenerating growth has made possible the evolution of the savanna’s unique fauna and flora.

The longleaf pine ecosystem is not only the heart of the South’s ancient terrestrial environment; it has also played critical roles in American history, economy, and culture. But it is almost gone. Today, old cover is down to 2 percent or less. Even second-growth patches are fragmented. There is hope for survival, however. Scientific knowledge of the longleaf savanna is deepening, and public appreciation of it is rising. Substantial efforts to save and restore the ecosystem to some of its former glory are under way. The present will, I hope, help to accelerate the return of our great southern ecosystem.

Longleaf, far as the eye can see. Wade Tract, Thomasville, Georgia. (Photograph © Bill Maynor)

Preface

This book began as a chance encounter, much like a longleaf seed finding its way to mineral soil. Only after many years and much work has this seedling finally found its way into the forest canopy.

As conservation photographer Beth Maynor Young was providing imagery for a forestry text, she discovered that she and Longleaf Alliance director Rhett Johnson had a common passion. Together, they developed a vision for a book that, for the first time, offered evocative imagery of longleaf ecosystems throughout the tree’s range. Bill Maynor and his wildlife photography played a critical role in helping them achieve that goal.

The complexity of the longleaf story, from the historical and cultural roles it has played to its astounding biodiversity, begged for more than simple imagery. Bill Finch and John Hall were brought in to work with Young and Johnson to develop the written portion of the book, and Finch became the lead writer. In many places, the team borrowed from the insight of others, and it would be inappropriate not to acknowledge their contributions.

Chapter 2, The Tree, owes much to Larry Hedrick, a career forester and wildlife biologist with the U.S. Forest Service who willingly shared his thoughts on the forest and a very special long-leaf tree in Alabama. Larry’s historic reconstruction of the life of that tree, originally published in a different form in a Longleaf Alliance newsletter in 1995, serves as the frame and inspiration for chapter 2. His unusual insight into the workings of the whole forest makes him an appropriate chronicler, and we appreciate him letting us borrow so freely from his work.

Many others have influenced the ideas developed here. We recognize a special debt to Bruce Sorrie, Julie Moore, Bob McCartney, John Kush, and Cecil Frost for so patiently and unselfishly sharing their research and their advice; to Larry Earley, whose seminal book, Looking for Longleaf: The Fall and Rise of an American Forest (2004), introduced so many to longleaf; to Bruce Means and Bill Platt for expanding our understanding and appreciation of what is really meant by longleaf savanna; to Stephen Hubbell, Patty Gowaty, and E. O. Wilson, who endlessly tolerated questions about the significance of community and diversity; and of course to the writings, research, and observations of Bill Boyer, Tom Croker, Howard E. Grelen, Bob Farrar, Bob Godfrey, George Folkerts, and that great generation of longleaf researchers and explorers, without whom longleaf would have been lost.

We should also note that this book owes much to the organizations that have been leaders in the revival of interest in longleaf. The Longleaf Alliance, identified by E. O. Wilson as the point of the spear for longleaf restoration and conservation, has been in the forefront of that effort since 1995, when it was founded with the sole focus of returning functioning longleaf ecosystems to a significant role in the southeastern landscape. Many members of the Alliance have stood by this book through thick and thin. The Nature Conservancy, which has made such a significant contribution to the preservation of longleaf lands throughout the tree’s range, provided staff time, generous support, and much advice for the development of this book. Numerous other environmental groups and federal and state natural-resource agencies have joined in the effort to save the forest and have also supported this project, as have numerous private landowners and individuals across the region.

Some portions of this book appeared in a different context in Finch’s columns and articles published in the Mobile Press-Register.

We appreciate the newspaper’s graciousness in letting us use this material.

The book is now complete, but the rapid growth of interest and investment in the restoration of longleaf ecosystems continues. Goals that once may have seemed unrealistic now appear to be reachable. We hope this book will act as a catalyst and a guide in that recovery. It has been a great journey from seed to the final product. We hope you will enjoy the stories, facts, and photos presented here and gain a new appreciation for the wonders of the longleaf forest.

Multiage longleaf with a grassy understory. Longleaf Plantation, Newton, Georgia.

Longleaf with scattered hardwoods. Longleaf Plantation, Newton, Georgia.

Longleaf,

FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Old-style cracker cattle. The Spanish were raising cattle beneath the Florida longleaf by the mid-1500s. Apalachicola National Forest, Florida. (Photograph © Bill Maynor)

The Legend

What was it like? What was it like when there was still long-leaf?

This is the question I finally think to ask my dad.

I think he doesn’t hear me, and as the chilly dark of late afternoon blends with his pipe smoke and wraps around the room, I think he doesn’t want to hear.

At last, so long after that I almost forgot I asked, my dad, he tells me:

Your granddaddy said when he was a boy, there was a man down the road had a new pair of mules. And this man says he has the finest match pair of mules in all of east Mississippi. He bragged on them mules every time you met him on the street, and everybody just laughed. So he says, all right. You come see. And he tells everybody to come meet him at the old longleaf stump. So everybody comes down to the old longleaf stump, the old stump where everybody goes when there’s something to see. That man hitched up that pair of mules and you couldn’t see the man for the mules. And he hollers and says, ‘Come up here, mules!’ And them mules jump up on the longleaf stump, and he turns them mules in a perfect circle right there on the stump.

It’s so dark now, the room is expressionless.

And my dad, he says: Everybody in the Piney Woods thought that was the finest match pair of mules they ever would see.

Looking through the sepia haze of old photographs, you can see only glimpses of it, as if the forest and the wild things it contained were only accidentally caught in the frame.

We can guess it once was, at 90 million acres, very nearly the largest forest ecosystem in North America. Based on nothing more than the tiny remnants—about 3 percent of that original forest—we can declare that it was and still is the most biologically diverse forest system in North America. But you won’t find any of that in old photographs.

Mixed-age longleaf with wiregrass understory. Spring at the Wade Tract, Thomasville, Georgia.

A red-clay road winds beneath a longleaf canopy. Red Hills, Monroe County, Alabama.

Fox squirrel (Sciurus niger), the great monkey-like squirrel of the longleaf forest. Hitchcock Woods, Aiken, South Carolina.

Sensitive Briar (Mimosa microphylla), a common prickly legume of the Piney Woods. South Georgia.

Bog pink (Sabatia dodecandra), part of the diverse flora of the longleaf forest. Francis Marion National Forest, Charleston, South Carolina.

There are pictures of the tacky horses of the Carolinas, the long-horned cows of Florida, and the ancient race of Gulf Coast sheep the first settlers drove through the longleaf forest. There are photos from Georgia, Alabama, Florida, and Mississippi showing precisely how they made slices in the bark, year after year, higher and higher on the trunk, bleeding the trees of the precious resin that held together the world’s navies.

There are photos of the estates and resort communities and golf courses they built in the midst of it, in places like Aiken, Tallahassee, Southern Pines, Citronelle, Augusta; and pictures of the primly dressed women and children who strolled through it, as if they were taking a turn through a park. There are pictures of the gentlemen with their tall boots, their side-by-side Parker shotguns, and their dogs—lemon pointers and Llewellin setters—dressed up for a day of hunting quail through the pines.

Of course, there are pictures of the men who worked the forest: black men, Irish men, Choctaw and Lumbee men, men come down from the jack pine forests of Michigan, men come from the Welsh coal mines, men who woke up every day with the smell of sawn longleaf in their noses, who went to bed every night with the sticky sap still clinging to their clothes. There are photos of the newfangled crosscut saws, taller than the men who carried them, and photos of the mules and the trains that hauled the forest away. There’s photo after photo of logs piled up at the fly-by-night saw-mills. There are old photos of the ships at the docks of Mobile, Pensacola, Charleston, and Wilmington being filled to capacity with longleaf pine logs or lumber, headed to build the Victorian suburbs of England.

Vanilla plant (Carphephorus odoratissimus) blooms in the fall. Briar Creek, Eglin Air Force Base, Florida.

You can trace the evolution of the modern lumber industry in those early photographs. That photo there is a proud picture of the first logger’s dream to find its way into the palmettos of the Piney Woods; this big-wheeled contraption was designed to lift and balance the giant butts of longleaf logs until they cleared the woods and reached the narrow-gauge railroad tracks laid only to retrieve longleaf timber. And that other photo, the one showing the dark-coated gentleman squinting at you between claustrophobic trunks of longleaf, may have been designed deliberately, perhaps deceitfully, to emphasize how many board feet of wood could still be harvested from some of the last old-growth forests of Louisiana and Texas.

And there’s that tantalizing picture with the wry cutline Felling a small one scribbled across it, revealing something of the immensity of at least one old-growth longleaf as it came crashing down in the hill country on the border of Mississippi and