THE BACK CUT TAKES YOUR FINGER SERIOUSLY. A swipe across the trunk now cuts four times the wood it used to while there is wood to spare, and the same gesture shortens itself as the hinge comes up — six swipes to the hinge instead of twenty-three, with the fine control kept for the last centimetres where it belongs. No swipe of any size, on any saw, can take the hinge out from under you. CUTTING BY HAND IS NOT A PUNISHMENT FOR USING YOUR FINGER. Run the tank dry and the crosscut comes out of the truck, and holding the bar used to cut at a quarter the speed of shaking the phone with the same saw in the same wood. Shaking is still the quickest way through a log — it is just no longer the only bearable one. LEARNING MODE ENDS WHEN YOU LAND ONE. A first tree teaches you whatever it does, barber chair included, and hands the aim back. After that the lessons stay until a tree goes down clean and on the mark, because that is what having learned this looks like. Say I'VE GOT IT whenever you are ready and the whole game opens up; camp's How-to puts it back. ANYONE WHO NEVER LANDED ONE GETS THE LESSONS. A career with trees on the ground but none of them where they were aimed now starts in learning mode rather than being waved past it. Nothing is taken from a feller who has landed a few.

LEARNING MODE IS ONE INSTRUCTION AT A TIME. Your first trees now put a single line across the bottom of the screen telling you the one thing to do — set the height, saw in, cut down to meet it — with a Back and a Next, and nothing else. No side panel, no list of steps, no figures to read. Say I'VE GOT IT whenever you are ready and the full game opens up. Tell it you have got it, or fell three trees, and you are into the real thing. FIXED: THE DRIVE SCREEN TAKES YOUR TAP. Tapping to cut short the drive out to a stand — or the drive back to camp — did nothing, because the tap was being caught by the scenery drawn over the view that was listening for it. It now takes a tap anywhere, either direction. FIXED: POKING AN ANIMAL MAKES A SOUND ON A PHONE. The wildlife on the hillside has answered a mouse click since the day it arrived and ignored a finger, which is every device. All of them answer now. THE VEHICLES LOOK LIKE VEHICLES. Bodywork shaded from sky to shadow rather than flat colour, wheels with rims and spokes that turn, a shadow under each one so it sits on the road, and smoother edges throughout. The Mini is redrawn from its real proportions, roof stowed behind the seats. WHAT IS IN THE TRUCK IS WHAT YOU OWN. Your saw and your dog ride along — the breed you actually bought, in its colours — and the bed carries the wood you cut rather than a number that never changed. Drive out empty, come home loaded.

FIXED: THE DRIVE SCREEN TAKES YOUR TAP. Tapping to cut short the drive out to a stand — or the drive back to camp — did nothing, because the tap was being caught by the scenery drawn over the view that was listening for it. It now takes a tap anywhere, either direction. FIXED: POKING AN ANIMAL MAKES A SOUND ON A PHONE. The wildlife on the hillside has answered a mouse click since the day it arrived and ignored a finger, which is every device. All of them answer now. THE VEHICLES LOOK LIKE VEHICLES. Bodywork shaded from sky to shadow rather than flat colour, wheels with rims and spokes that turn, a shadow under each one so it sits on the road, and smoother edges throughout. The Mini is redrawn from its real proportions, roof stowed behind the seats. WHAT IS IN THE TRUCK IS WHAT YOU OWN. Your saw and your dog ride along — the breed you actually bought, in its colours — and the bed carries the wood you cut rather than a number that never changed. Drive out empty, come home loaded. THE YARD IS THE FIRST TAB IN CAMP, because selling wood is what you came for.

YOUR DOG COMES WITH YOU. The drive out to a stand now shows what is actually in the vehicle — your saw, and the dog you bought, in the breed's own colours. Not a generic dog: the one you picked. AND THE LOAD IS THE LOAD. The bed used to be drawn full whatever you were carrying. Now you drive out empty and come home with the wood you cut, and if you cut nothing the bed is empty and the safety rag is not flying off the back of nothing. FIXED: TOUCHING AN ANIMAL NOW MAKES A SOUND ON A PHONE. Poking the wildlife on the hillside has worked on a desktop and done nothing on a handset since the animals arrived — the tap was only ever listening for a mouse click. Every one of them answers now. THE VEHICLES LOOK LIKE VEHICLES. Bodywork is shaded from sky to shadow instead of flat colour, wheels have rims and spokes that turn, everything sits on a shadow rather than floating over the road, and the edges are smoothed. The Mini is redrawn from its real proportions — wheels at the corners, roof stowed behind the seats, and a face. THE YARD IS THE FIRST TAB IN CAMP, because selling wood is what you came for. Buttons all speak in the same voice now, and the ones with long labels have room around them.

THERE IS A MAP NOW, AND IT IS A MAP. Eleven places to cut, drawn on paper with contours, logging roads and a river — not a list of names. Every stand is on it whether you have earned it or not, because being able to see the Alps from Colorado is the whole reason to want a better truck. Locked stands say which of the two things is stopping you: more clean fells, or a specific vehicle, named. A DRIVE OUT, AND A DRIVE BACK. Pick a stand and you drive there. Head for camp and you drive home, the same road running the other way. Tap to cut it short whenever you like. WHERE YOU CUT DECIDES WHAT YOU CUT. Each stand grows its own species rather than dealing you any of the seven at random, and its weather leans the way the place does — the Gorge is windy, the Olympic Peninsula is wet, the Alps are buried. Snow is still mass in the worst possible place. FRUSKA GORA, IN SERBIA. The only broadleaf stand on the map. Nothing about the weather there is extreme; the difficulty is the wood, because a linden's crown is wide and rarely symmetric, so the lean you read off the trunk is not the lean the tree has. SEVEN VEHICLES THAT LOOK LIKE SEVEN VEHICLES. Each one is drawn to its own shape rather than the same pickup at different sizes — a long low classic with separate fenders over the wheels, a tall crew cab, a small plain one, a blunt wall of a heavy-duty, one with four wheels at the back, and an electric one with no grille at all. A GARAGE, AND THE FIRST CAR IS A MINI. Seven vehicles, each one reaching further than the last and each one opening somewhere new. You start with a convertible that has logs sticking out over where the roof used to be, because that is the car you owned before you decided to do this. Swap freely between anything you own. FIXED: A TRAPPED BAR IN THE FACE CUT SAYS SO. If the trunk settles forward onto the chain the saw stops, and it used to stop silently — you could walk on to the next step and pull all day for nothing. It now tells you what happened and that Redo tree is the way out. There is no wedge for that one, and it says why. Also: the app installs under its proper name at last, buttons have room around their labels, and they all speak in the same voice.

EVERY ANIMAL IN THE STAND HAS A REAL VOICE NOW. Poke a bison, a black bear, a brown bear, a cougar, a bighorn, a moose, a woodpecker or a red squirrel and you hear a recording instead of the synthesiser doing an impression of one. The wolf and the eagle already had theirs and they are unchanged. THE MOOSE WAS AN ELK. It has been since the day it arrived, and it was written down at the time as a known compromise: no public-domain moose recording exists, and a large deer bugling was closer to right than nothing. It is a moose now. THE WOODPECKER SOUNDS LIKE WOOD. Its drumming is a bird hammering a hollow dead stem about seventeen times a second, and it now has the low, boxy ring of the snag rather than the thin rattle it had. THE BEARS GROWL RATHER THAN HISS. Their old voices were up to two thirds noise by the end of the call, which is the thing that made them sound like a machine. The roughness comes from the animal now. Sound stays off until you tap the speaker. Nothing here changes that.

THE MILL PAYS DOUBLE. Every log is worth twice what it was, and the reason is a hole the old rates could put you in: a bad fall cost three to five trees, and the safety kit that stops it happening again cost twelve more on top. You could not cut your way out of that, and playing well did not help. An average tree now pays about 189 against 94, so a hospital trip is under two trees instead of three and a half, and the full kit is six trees instead of twelve. EVERY TREE SHOWS WHAT IT IS WORTH, in green dollar signs on the tree card. It prices the stem in front of you rather than the species, which is the whole point — a big ponderosa that forks low reads poor, because the sawlog ends at the fork. Snags read as firewood. The richest tree in the stand is the aspen, which is also the one most likely to chair, so the readout is not telling you to chase money; it is telling you where the money and the danger are standing together. A TRAPPED BAR STOPS PRETENDING TO CUT. When the trunk sits back and closes the kerf on your bar, nothing cuts until you wedge it off — that was always true, and the screen did not agree: the bar still slid in and out, still threw sawdust, still buzzed your hand, and still burned fuel. A hard stop looked like progress. It now goes still and says the kerf has closed. THE CROSSCUT ONLY BUZZES WHEN YOU ARE SAWING. Reported from an iPhone: the hand saw made the phone shake more or less constantly. Any single vigorous movement counted as a stroke, so carrying the handset about on a cutting step was enough. Sawing is a rhythm now — the first pull arms it, the second one cuts — which costs a real sawyer nothing and stops the phone buzzing in your pocket. A CUT FACE CANNOT BE SPUN ROUND THE TRUNK. Once you have wood off the face you have chosen your direction, which is the most important thing this game has to teach. Walking round with a half-cut notch used to take the notch with you. Redo tree is still there if you want a different bearing. THE UPPER-LEFT READOUT SAYS LESS. It ran to eight or nine lines on an ordinary tree, three of which were drawn on top of each other, and it was reported as hard to see what was going on. Four lines now, and every one of them is something you can act on. POSTCARDS. Put a tree down and you can send a picture of it: you in whatever you are wearing with every dog you own, the stump with its face notch, the stem on the ground, your cabin at the size and colour you have built it to, and your rank. On this release it saves the picture to the app; sharing it straight to other apps is coming. A WOODPECKER AND A RED SQUIRREL have moved into the stand.

THE MILL PAYS DOUBLE. Every log is worth twice what it was, and the reason is a hole the old rates could put you in: a bad fall cost three to five trees, and the safety kit that stops it happening again cost twelve more on top. You could not cut your way out of that, and playing well did not help. An average tree now pays about 189 against 94, so a hospital trip is under two trees instead of three and a half, and the full kit is six trees instead of twelve. EVERY TREE SHOWS WHAT IT IS WORTH, in green dollar signs on the tree card. It prices the stem in front of you rather than the species, which is the whole point — a big ponderosa that forks low reads poor, because the sawlog ends at the fork. Snags read as firewood. The richest tree in the stand is the aspen, which is also the one most likely to chair, so the readout is not telling you to chase money; it is telling you where the money and the danger are standing together. A TRAPPED BAR STOPS PRETENDING TO CUT. When the trunk sits back and closes the kerf on your bar, nothing cuts until you wedge it off — that was always true, and the screen did not agree: the bar still slid in and out, still threw sawdust, still buzzed your hand, and still burned fuel. A hard stop looked like progress. It now goes still and says the kerf has closed. THE CROSSCUT ONLY BUZZES WHEN YOU ARE SAWING. Reported from an iPhone: the hand saw made the phone shake more or less constantly. Any single vigorous movement counted as a stroke, so carrying the handset about on a cutting step was enough. Sawing is a rhythm now — the first pull arms it, the second one cuts — which costs a real sawyer nothing and stops the phone buzzing in your pocket. A CUT FACE CANNOT BE SPUN ROUND THE TRUNK. Once you have wood off the face you have chosen your direction, which is the most important thing this game has to teach. Walking round with a half-cut notch used to take the notch with you. Redo tree is still there if you want a different bearing. THE UPPER-LEFT READOUT SAYS LESS. It ran to eight or nine lines on an ordinary tree, three of which were drawn on top of each other, and it was reported as hard to see what was going on. Four lines now, and every one of them is something you can act on. POSTCARDS. Put a tree down and you can send a picture of it: you in whatever you are wearing with every dog you own, the stump with its face notch, the stem on the ground, your cabin at the size and colour you have built it to, and your rank. On this release it saves the picture to the app; sharing it straight to other apps is coming. A WOODPECKER AND A RED SQUIRREL have moved into the stand.

Fixed for phones and tablets with a camera cutout. Camp, the how-to, the walkthrough and the difficulty chooser were drawn edge to edge, so on some devices the camera housing sat on top of the text and made it hard to read. All four keep clear of it now, on whichever edge the camera happens to be, and it follows the device when you turn it over. The felling screen already did this. These four never had, which is why it showed up on the screens that are mostly words.

Five versions of work that never reached iPhone and iPad. The back cut and the wedges are one step now, because they were always one screen — you drive the cut and reach for a wedge in the same place, the way you would on the stump. The face picker moved to MARK, where you are actually deciding where the tree goes, instead of sitting on a step where it did nothing. You can wedge your way out of a pinch. A bar trapped in a closing kerf used to be the end of the tree; now the wedges do what wedges are for. There is an About page: why this exists, and who taught the technique it is modelled on. The banner says which saw you are holding and how to work it, the tab arrows are sized for a thumb rather than a mouse, the notch picker hides on the steps where it is dead, and the fuel line unclips.