Oregon’s Gamble: Can Carbon Markets Turn Forests into Climate Heroes or Just Another Commodity?

The 83,000-acre Elliott State Forest in Oregon just became a symbol of environmental hope—or, depending on whom you ask, one more notch in the well-worn belt of carbon market cynicism. After years of political wrangling and public debate, Oregon’s Department of State Lands has signed an agreement to enroll the forest into the voluntary carbon market, making it the first publicly owned forest on the U.S. West Coast to take part in this kind of carbon offset program. But, of course, it’s not that simple. It never is.

Let’s start with the deal’s basics before spiraling into the maze of potential outcomes and criticisms. Oregon has partnered with a company called Anew Climate, which, as its name suggests, specializes in projects focused on capturing or reducing carbon dioxide emissions. The arrangement places the Elliott Forest into a 40-year contract where carbon credits will be generated from the carbon dioxide that these towering trees capture from the atmosphere. Those credits can then be sold to companies eager to buy themselves a little more time—essentially buying permission to emit by paying someone else not to.

Now, if your head is already spinning, let’s add another layer. This isn’t a complete shutdown of the forest’s logging industry. The Department of State Lands assures us that yes, logging will continue—selectively, responsibly, and, most importantly, carefully measured to keep the forest carbon-positive. The end goal is to have this delicate balancing act bring in tens of millions of dollars, all while contributing to Oregon’s ambitious climate goals, which aim for substantial emission reductions in the coming decades.

But it’s a tricky needle to thread. For one, who gets to decide how much carbon these ancient forests actually sequester? That’s where companies like Anew Climate come in, using their science and technology to quantify how much carbon each tree, each patch of soil, and even each fallen leaf can absorb. They’re betting on the forest’s enduring ability to capture carbon, and they’ll be selling credits based on these projections. Critics, however, argue that this so-called carbon accounting is built on shifting sands and that we’re essentially trying to turn something as elusive and fickle as nature into a reliable revenue stream.

At the heart of the debate is the trust—trust that the science is accurate, trust that the companies buying these credits aren’t just offloading their environmental responsibilities, and trust that the forest itself can weather all this activity without a loss to its ecosystem. Environmentalists argue that carbon credits often serve as a smokescreen, allowing big corporations to continue polluting as usual. These credits, they claim, don’t eliminate emissions so much as they rearrange them on paper. What does it mean, they ask, to truly sequester carbon when your business model relies on someone else’s emissions?

And then there’s the question of permanence. Unlike a factory that can shut down its smokestacks, a forest is inherently vulnerable. Fires, diseases, and even climate change itself could drastically alter the carbon calculations over 40 years. If a fire ravages the Elliott State Forest a decade from now, what happens to all those credits already sold to companies who paid for the privilege of polluting guilt-free?

This project in Oregon is also unfolding at a time when more state and federal policies are gravitating toward aggressive carbon capture measures. But as more forests, wetlands, and grasslands are roped into these programs, so too are the tensions rising around their viability. As it stands, Oregon’s commitment is being closely watched—not just by policymakers but by an increasingly skeptical public, eager to see real results but wary of yet another quick fix.

In the meantime, the state will start generating credits within the next few years, and Oregon’s coffers will see a new influx of green—not only from its conifers but also from those buying into the carbon marketplace. If this endeavor works as hoped, it could mark a new era in public forest management, one where conservation and capital are no longer at odds. But for now, all we can do is watch and wait, breathing in a little easier but wondering how long that breath will last.