MY absence from these pages for two weeks was not because of holidays but a trip to Canada as a guest of the Canadian government. I wouldn't want to protest too much, but it was really hard work.

How I was chosen for such a mission I have no idea, but I am not complaining. I may have had to miss a couple of press conferences with the National Farmers' Union of Scotland, but it was worth it.

I am back with about half a forest worth of paper in my suitcase, which seems rather ironic given that the purpose of the exercise was to emphasise Canada's commitment to sustainable forestry.

It is an indication of how seriously the timber industry and the government are addressing criticism from Greenpeace and other environmental organisations which are concerned about the depletion of the world's forests.

Thus it was that I found myself spending two days in a helicopter above the British Columbia

rainforest.

It was exciting but also stomach churning at times.

Our pilot, Richard, was obviously an expert but that did not make it any easier when he wanted to draw attention to features on the ground and I wanted to scream out, ''For God's sake man look up - we're about to hit a bloody great mountain.''

Needless to say we didn't hit the mountain and were probably miles away from it but it didn't seem that way at the time.

Space is one thing it is difficult to get used to in Canada. We would zoom up over a ridge, emerge into yet another breath-

taking valley, and as we made our way up one side our companions' helicopter would be a mere speck in the distance - on the other side of that same valley.

Richard was full of useful snippets of information including the fact that search and rescue work is very hard because ''one of these machines is very difficult to spot once it has hit the ground''. We were grateful for that.

He was determined to be helpful. One of my fellow passengers had only to slip off the lens hood on a camera and Richard was right in there. ''I can do a 360 degree turn; I can get in a bit closer; I can hover.''

Great, but to me all of these seemed to be against the laws of nature. There is one environmentalist who will never know how close he came to being strangled from behind at 5000 feet as he raised his camera to eye level for the umpteenth time.

However, we hid all our fears and stuck with it until we saw the sight every tourist wants to see - grizzly bears feasting on salmon from the river below and teaching their cubs the tricks of the trade.

Back in Vancouver we had a more serious meeting with Greenpeace representatives, who argued their case skillfully. They are obviously well funded. Was it really just coincidence that one of their

London-based campaigners happened to be passing through Vancouver at the same time as our UK delegation and joined his Canadian colleagues for the meeting with us?

Then it was on to Saskatoon where one of the abiding memories of the holiday was the welcome from our host.

''This bus will be your transport over the next three days and your driver is randy.'' It took some time to realise that Randy was his name and not his nature.

It was in Meadow Lake, to the north of the Saskatchewan prairies that we discovered were were expected to sing for our supper at a karaoke evening.

For the record, my contribution was a duet with Glenfarg-based Len Yull, president of the Timber Growers Association. We performed a decorous version of Three Coins in A Fountain.

One of our hosts, an initially serious minded French Canadian senior civil servant, was a bit livelier and declared the intention of forming a Spice Boys group - from which, thankfully, I was to be excluded.

Despite the excitement of the karaoke evening we were up by 5.30 the next morning to view white-tailed deer browsing in the forest.

Reg, my guide, drove what the Canadians call a van but which, in fact is something akin to an

overgrown Range Rover.

On a rutted, disused forest track our progress was halted momentarily by a fallen aspen, its topmost branches right across our path.

My offer to help shift it was politely declined. ''We can make that,'' grunted Reg and, with a snapping of branches, we did.

''Your own van?'' I inquired gently. ''Nope - company vehicle,'' he replied with a smile. I might have guessed.

The flight from Saskatchewan to Toronto took us via Winnipeg where we had a 90-minute wait. Nothing daunted, the group decided we could ''do'' downtown

Winnipeg in an hour.

A stretch limo - with windows which prevent the public from seeing in but allow the passengers to see out - was on offer so in seconds seven of us were on our way with a driver who looked uncannily like Jackie Onassis.

Why we should all have been giggling like schoolkids I can't imagine but the driver's unspoken comment was devastating. The glass panel between driver and passenger was quietly activated, and no amount of playing with the controls on our side could lower it again.

What is it about stretch limos that can make big men behave like small boys. Even our apparently serious minded tour co-ordinator was fantasising about being a pop-star, an ambition we can only pray he never achieves.

Northern Ontario was our spectacular finale at Sault St Marie, about 90 minutes' flying time from Toronto.

The autumn colours were just about to erupt and even in the early stages were spectacular. I had trouble trying to convince some of our hosts that we had quite a spectacular autumn show in Scotland, which the tourist board is trying to promote as a way of extending the tourist season.

Our last evening was spent at a barbecue on the shores of Lake Huron - a lake as big as a sea in a land with fields the size of farms. However, as well as the fun side we also dealt with some serious issues - of which more next week.