Most boys growing up are adventurous up to the point of downright daring and risky. But we were fearless at that age not connecting potential consequences with our actions. The neural relationships in the brain that enable cause and effect realizations emerge in the middle school years. Eight to twelve year old tree climbers aren't there yet. I remember climbing trees avidly in the middle of the forest with no one around. If I had fallen and been injured, no one would have known where I was. But I remember the warm spring and summer days, clear skies, smell of pine straw needles baked by the sun, the sticky sap on my hands as I traversed the branches, evaluating the safe holds, testing the strong boughs for standing postures by sight and by progressive weight application, snaking through the tight spots, trading off the tactical approaches for going up this way or that, and the grand view from the top.
The beginning at the bottom was only an obstacle to be figured out on how to start, and whether I could begin. Ropes, shinny ups, a smaller dead pole tree leaned against the larger to gain the first branches, starting on a close tree and trying to move laterally to the goal tree....all were considerations in how to start the journey. Having few lower branches only presented a puzzle to be solved. In the absolute worst case, a ladder carried in on another day was an alternative solution for a truly magnanimous objective that couldn't be surmounted any other way. I always envied the telephone pole lineman who had waist belts and claw-like toe and heel spikes.
Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Climbing the Lower Pine
It was always the upward first view that offered a glimpse into the thrill of the climb and the portentous view from the top. Yesterday's walk through the arboretum sparked those early yearnings to climb and brought back the memories of New England days gone by.
Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Opportunity View
Perched amongst the branches, resting in the clefts of the tree, blood pumping throughout heady considerations, always wondering whether I could complete the journey, higher and higher, looking downward to evaluate the risks of falling, checking myself to figure out what I would do if I slipped, evaluating the reaches required and minimizing the over-reaches that might result in a slip and fall.
Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Grand Illumination
Some branches were suitable for my hands to grip and some were much larger where I could only lean against it or encircle it with my arms.
Some branches were suitable for my hands to grip and some were much larger where I could only lean against it or encircle it with my arms.
Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Considering the Endgame
The higher I go, the smaller the branches. The risk increases since they don't carry as much weight. The wind increases and the tree sways a bit more in the breeze. The endgame involves figuring out how high to go on each tree. What's the potential view? What is to be gained? Is it worth the effort? Is there still fun and adventure to be gained?
Some trees are better than others. Some trees after all the effort, are disappointing at the top. To experience the BEST tree climb of your life, you must climb lots of trees with potential.
The absolute best climb of my life occurred in the middle of a pine forest at the top of a hill. No one with me. At least a half mile from the closest house. I couldn't see the top of the tree for the branches but the base of the pine was humongous and larger than I had ever seen. Perhaps a diameter of 4-5 feet? Or 6? I had never seen anything like it. Perhaps it had never been seen by man or touched in its remote standing. Never trimmed. Natural branches low enough to gain a start without much fanfare.
It took me a long time to climb this tree. It was a heart throb. I got two thirds of the way up the tree and was surprised to see that I was at the tree tops of all the surrounding pines looking down on them. The rest of the climb was a clear view of the hilltop and the New England mountains to the west. I could see Mount Watatic in the distance. I continued to within about 6-8 feet of the top of the tree as high as I dared to go. I remember a bit of the wind and the sway and the sound of the breeze through the branches and clutching my arms around the limbs.
As I rested and enjoyed the view of the mountains in the distance trying to figure out whether I was ready to begin the downward descent, a plane approached from the distant west. A HUGE military transport plane headed perhaps to Ft Devens...an active military base at the time but now defunct. Much to my surprise it headed right towards me! I realized the possibility that the tree I was in was about 30-40 feet above all the others, on a hilltop, was silhouetted against the horizon to the pilots, and was probably a milestone landmark being used by them for straight line visual reckoning. In any case, that grayish transport plane with four whirling props with yellow tips came to within about 100-200 feet of me in their flyby just north of me to my right hand side in a gigantic roar. You can imagine I was vigorously waving to the pilot and copilot with a huge grin. If they saw me, and I had the sense that they may have, they would have been as surprised to see a boy in a remote treetop in that moment as I was to see them. I felt the prop wash of the plane as it flew by. What a momentary opportunity! An experience that would never happen again to be sure. Even to this day I cannot believe the coming together of events in time resulting in that experience in time and space. But the moment and the exhilaration passed.
Climbing down a tree was always somewhat tougher than climbing up. There is a lot of decision-making on the way up and I recall a sense of only trying to remember the same path downward. But sometimes it was confusing and you would have to reconnoiter more than once to get down. There was always a sense of wanting to hurry and get it over with but knowing that an urgency to descend added risk. Patience was a virtue. And you were looking downward to the ground distance as well. An increasing sense of confidence and safety as one gets closer to the ground.
Once on the ground, a flooding sense of relief that all is well and done. I don't recall even telling anyone of my adventure and special moment. Probably because I would have been admonished for the danger.
I never climbed that tree again. I don't really recall ever climbing a tree again although I must have. Never one of that size or importance. Perhaps I moved on to other types of adventures. Years later, when I returned home from college across the country, I noticed that the forested hills had been clear cut of the big pines and the hardwoods and that smaller trees and brush were all that remained in the area. I took a hike to the hilltop looking for my gargantua but it was not to be found. Someone had the experience of cutting it down to be sure.
Today's walk with the dog and the smell of warm pine straw brought me back to that memory.
I can envision a painting around this tree-top memory in my mind's eye. Reminiscent of a chiascuro Winslow Homer. If I paint it numerous times in my head, am I an artist? Isn't that where a painting always starts anyway...with an observation and an idea? Am I not an artist if I don't physically paint the picture?
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