It's not exactly Club Med — but it's not as bad as a middle school locker room, either.
Take one step inside the white canvas shelter known affectionately as the competitors' tent during a STIHL TIMBERSPORTS Professional competition, and you're entering one of the most interesting places on the planet.
Eat your heart out, Grand Canyon and Rio de Janeiro.
Breaching the dusty flaps separating the competitors from the outside world, a crippling wave of dried sweat, chain oil, cut grass and wood chips attacks the olfactory senses like a fullback tearing through a defensive line.
The musty male aroma remains the same, no matter where in the world the event occurs.
And always, a different corner of the tent will offer a new scent: Edge closer to a towel-covered hot saw and up jumps a potent cologne of mixed racing fuel and castor oil. Move toward the corner of a folding table and the territory has clearly been marked by some Aussie's soggy shirt.
If you're of the faint of heart, stay out. This is a lumberjack's protected area — the only place where the world's top lumberjacks prepare to do chain saw battle, silently celebrate a performance or simmer after an infuriating disqualification. It's his sanctuary from the timers, judges and pressures of the day's event. At times, the tension grips harder than a knee wrap on a 300-pounder.
Fancy artwork doesn't hang on the walls in this dressing room. You won't find plush carpet lining the floor, either. The only amenities may be a cooler full of iced bottles and a box of free samples from a lumberjack's sponsor.
A walkway runs through the middle of the tent for easy entry and exit. Hugging the sides of the temporary structure, folding tables and chairs cling to the canvas and support water bottles, sports drinks, clothing, lubricants, single buck saws and sometimes even the competitors. By the end of the competition, the pathway becomes clear; once-perky blades of grass have given up the battle and submitted to tons of human traffic.
Springboards, propped up by each respective owner, challenge any potential invader of a previously-claimed spot. Soccer cleats, wearing converted spikes to grip the floor, lie strewn underneath these tables and the mechanical monstrosities known as hot saws wait quietly underfoot, until it's their turn to scream at the world. Balls of gauze or medical tape dot the floor next to discarded water bottles, granola bar wrappers and empty bags of beef jerky.
Silence rules inside the competitor's tent. Chatter is scarce. Even the closed-circuit television beside the door stays muted. And often the only sound at all comes with the shifting weight of a lumberjack in his plastic chair. But on the rare occurrence, a guttural, muted sound will be heard — usually the result of a lightning-fast question and answer between two contestants.
EXAMPLE:
"What time did you get?"
"Twelve seconds. Not bad."
"Hmmm."
These brief conversations feature English with a variety of Australian, New Zealand, Midwestern and Northeastern accents. Swiss-French, Canadian French and even Continental French words also bounce around the canvas walls.