Asleep in the Arms of Ancients
(My personal
narrative of climbing an old growth Douglas Fir in the heart of one of the most
breathtaking and ecologically-immersive regions in the Pacific Northwest, Opal
Creek Wilderness.)
Remember
“The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein? The story of the young boy who loved a
tree so much he climbed it, played in it, napped beneath it, carved his
initials into its skin, sold its fruit, stripped its branches, used its trunk
for lumber, and then finally sat his boney old ass on the naked stump because
there was nothing else he needed and nothing else the tree could give? I loved
that book. Until I hated it. I loved it for its simple poetry and what I took
to be a tale of gratitude for the gifts trees bestow upon humans. And then I
grew weary of the sad tale, of the inevitability of growing old, of the boy’s
relentless selfishness, and of the tree’s undying love and giving nature. It
was no longer a love story to a Giving Tree and instead a mirror held up to reveal
the Taking Human. But this story that I’m going to try to share here isn’t a hate story.
And it isn’t a love story. It’s actually my favorite kind of story. It’s a
story simply about relationships. And BIG ASS TREES.
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Welcome to the grove. (All photos by John Waller/Uncage The Soul Productions unless otherwise noted.) |
On the last morning of my 38th year I awoke 75 feet up inside the arms of a tree. The arms of three trees
actually: one towering Douglas Fir, its canopy crowned in cones and its trunk
deeply rutted like the lined and weathered hide of an aged elephant, plus two close-by slender cedars, their fragrant and feathery fringes wagging contentedly above,
below, and between our skillfully strung arboreal beds. Our Treeboat beds. The Treeboats are technical hammocks designed to safely suspend reclining climbers. They’re capable of supporting 5,500 lbs (each!) while still
being gentle to the protective outer bark of the supporting trees. It was in
these Treeboats that my partner, JQ (John Waller, wizard of the pretty pixels), and I, were lulled to rest by the rush of
the tumbling Opal Creek below us, and where we nestled into our mummy bags to
dream, in subtle sway with a barely-there September breeze.
Why the hell
was I asleep in a tree? Good question. Maybe I’ll go back a twig.
Ever since I read Richard Preston’s “The Wild Trees” I’ve had it in my head to somehow find myself up inside the tangled towers of a forest canopy. Growing up in and among the majestic Redwoods of Northern California to me the canopy was a fantastical avian penthouse, and with my bare toes tucked in to the soft folds of the sorrel, ferns, and moss floor below, I could only imagine what it must be like up inside the high branches. The broad and furry trunks were too large for even a chain of 5th period-cutting high schoolers to wrap our connected arms around, and the nearest low branches were emphatically out of reach. It was “The Wild Trees”, however, that made me think that maybe I could reach those branches, and perhaps scuttle and scrape my way along the juts, snags, and surprises to find out what secrets were tucked away so high and so far out of human reach. It was also “The Wild Trees” that made me add “sleep in a tree top” to my very very short so-called “bucket list”. *
This past year
I shared my treetop dreams with JQ. He had served some tree time
working with the non-profit Ascending
the Giants and had met some talented arborists through ATG and his subsequent
documentary project, “Treeverse”. He responded to my dream-turned-birthday wish
with a quick and confident “I can help make that dream happen.” He introduced me to Damien Carré,
owner-operator of Oregon Tree Care and Expedition Old Growth. It was through
EOG that we would be making this dream come true in one of the most recently
protected Oregon treasures, the Opal Creek Wilderness. Thanks to the Opal Creek Ancient Forest Center, Expedition Old Growth was granted the opportunity to
guide us to the top of an old growth tree. And so plans were made to spend the last weekend of my
38th year climbing a big ass tree in an ancient grove of Douglas
Fir, Western Red Cedar, and Western Hemlock. I was going to spend the night among
giants, some as old as 1,000 years!
Opal Creek
Wilderness is about an hour east of Salem. It isn’t a secret area, by any
means. The heart of Opal Creek is Jawbone Flats, a rejuvenated historic mining
outpost in the midst of 35,000-acres of ancient forest watershed. It’s a
relatively easy 3 mile hike into Jawbone Flats, with popular swimming spots
along the way. And on any given sunny day the trail is teeming with foot
traffic. It's one of those special places that one might fear is at risk of being overrun and loved to death. The goal, beyond simply sleeping in the top of a tree, was to find a way to help love this special place to life. JQ and I opted to bring along our bikes instead of hiking in, “bike-packing” our
way into Jawbone Flats where we would meet up with Damien and Ben, our
Expedition Old Growth guides.
We stashed
our bikes in the woods and set off behind Damien and Ben, tip-toeing across
slick river rocks to our basecamp, just feet from the clear pools of Opal Creek.
Up above our heads they had already
strung our tree boats, our guest room for the night. My cheeks already hurt from
smiling so hard. We then wandered over to check out the Douglas Fir that we would
climb that day, a tree likely climbed only one time before us, when Ben had first scrambled up to anchor our ropes earlier that afternoon. That would be where we would have a gear-training session, and then we would ascend about 200' into the canopy. Standing at the base of this
exquisite Douglas Fir I craned my neck as far back as I could and gazed up to where the sun rays flitted through the highest
boughs. I couldn’t see the top. My heart swelled and spilled out the corners of
my eyes.
After a
quick cliff-jump into the frigid Opal Pool (one that I opted out of after
seeing the stinging red cold water reminders on Damien’s arms) we were finally
off to get acquainted with our climb gear so that we could get friendly with our
neighboring giant.
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Gear Check 101 with Ben and Damien. |
I’m not
going to break down the required tree climbing apparatus here. This isn’t a gear
story. It’s a relationship story, if you recall. And so for the weekend
warriors who want to get after it and get into a tree, please don’t go it
alone. Please consider taking the ascent into the
canopy alongside folks who know how to climb trees with the proper care,
respect, and technical skill, such as Expedition Old Growth. Great care was taken and often reiterated to us by our guides to minimize our impact on these ancient beings. And so Damien and I began our ascent with Ben and JQ soon to follow. Our hands were kept to our ropes, our toes merely tapping the trunk.
About a fourth of the way into our ascent I paused, sat back in my harness, and removed my gloves. My hands were sweaty. Tucking the gloves into my cleavage (anatomically built-in climb gear!) I proceeded climbing with my bare hands on the rope. The majority of the effort comes from leg work, not from the arms and hands, but about halfway up the tree when Damien and I took another pause to maneuver around the thickening tangle of boughs I glanced at my hands. I had completely shredded them on the rope. 6 large blisters were open and exposed and glistening. The gloves went back on, and we kept going up. Later Damien would point out an exposed area of a branch that had been scraped clean of lichen and moss -- 3 or 4 inches of 100 year old lichen, gone, an effect of our visit. "The way I see it," Damien said, "You just gave the tree some of your skin in exchange." Even with a mindful approach, it is completely impossible to have an impact-free climb. I paused and rested my palm gently against the lichen. I wasn't sorry for being here. But I was acknowledging that I was, in fact, an uninvited guest, and I hoped that my gratitude would be felt.
And then there was beer. Ben and John emerged from beneath our feet. We hung out in our harnesses, taking in the sweeping 360 degrees of old growth splendor, and cracked a few well-earned IPAs. Best beer of my life? Without question.
Sipping on our treetop beers, we chatted on about the Opal Creek Ancient Forest Center, and how if it weren't for their conservation efforts all that we were witnessing from our 200' arboreal vista wouldn't be there. Not only would we have lost a rare piece of Earth's history, but we would have sacrificed a critical ecological component and compromised a vital watershed, and for what? Old growth lumber isn't exactly practical in its applications. Ben described old growth cedars simply exploding when cut down, rendering them useless for much more than matchsticks. Damien and I shared a beautiful conversation about the motivation to intimately connect others with old growth trees -- our kids, our friends, our frenemies -- in order to firmly root a profound awareness of our symbiotic relationship with them.
About a fourth of the way into our ascent I paused, sat back in my harness, and removed my gloves. My hands were sweaty. Tucking the gloves into my cleavage (anatomically built-in climb gear!) I proceeded climbing with my bare hands on the rope. The majority of the effort comes from leg work, not from the arms and hands, but about halfway up the tree when Damien and I took another pause to maneuver around the thickening tangle of boughs I glanced at my hands. I had completely shredded them on the rope. 6 large blisters were open and exposed and glistening. The gloves went back on, and we kept going up. Later Damien would point out an exposed area of a branch that had been scraped clean of lichen and moss -- 3 or 4 inches of 100 year old lichen, gone, an effect of our visit. "The way I see it," Damien said, "You just gave the tree some of your skin in exchange." Even with a mindful approach, it is completely impossible to have an impact-free climb. I paused and rested my palm gently against the lichen. I wasn't sorry for being here. But I was acknowledging that I was, in fact, an uninvited guest, and I hoped that my gratitude would be felt.
It isn't uncommon for tree-lovers (of which I consider myself one) to refer to trees as friends, to anthropomorphize them and ascribe emotions to them in ways that make us feel like we better understand them. It's a hard thing not to do. Being human is all we know how to be. So we assume a common ground of feeling, of benevolence or appreciation, in order to think we're communicating. But as I paused there with my hand against the lichen, suspended by ropes slung around the branches of a tree that didn't personally invite me there, my perspective shifted. This tree was not my friend. That was my own word, an assumption. So I attempted to search for a new idea, one that might transcend human emotions and instead be found in proximity and intention. Respect wasn't quite it -- respect still seemed too human an idea. With my hand gently hovering over the lichen and moss, and my heart beating so near to the trunk, I settled into this idea of acknowledgment instead. "I see you, and I know I need you, and you need me. I don't presume to know you. But I promise to pay closer attention." Understanding that while the tree and I don't have a shared language, it's possible we have a shared concept of acknowledgment and recognition. And perhaps, with an effort to stop anthropomorphizing trees and instead phytomorphizing myself, I could better understand how we might co-exist as neither The Giving Tree nor The Taking Human, but as true good neighbors. This perspective gave a new depth to my relationship with the sentient individuals that comprise the forest. Symbiosis experienced. Reciprocity revealed. It was an Avatar moment for sure.
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Seeing the forest for the trees. |
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FYI, next time we'll bring cans. Cheers! |
With the promise of a stream-side dinner of sweet potato and black bean quesadillas ... and with our beers emptied ... we decided it was time to return to the ground floor, but not without a few more gulps of the canopy breeze and, of course, some photographic evidence of where we had just been (in the unlikely scenario that we would ever forget!).
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How'd you like to have your next birthday party up here? |

With figuring out the gear, getting into my ascender stride, and pausing to nurse my careless finger wounds, the ascent took me about 45 minutes. The descent however, maybe took 5 minutes, and it was a whole new thrill to see the forest floor gain back exquisite detail as I blissfully yet begrudgingly raced to greet it once again. (By the way, the next day Ben would ascend this beauty again in order to remove the ropes and anchors. The whole process - ascent, de-rig, and descent - took him just 12 minutes.)
Back on familiar territory, my tree-legs reacclimating to life among the ferns, I paused to glance up at where we had just been moments before. It was surreal, and yet remarkably tangible, all my senses cranked up to eleven. And I already wanted to go back. Head out of the clouds (but only literally), hugs and high fives shared among us, it was time for the next chapter in our treemendous weekend adventure: Rock-a-bye Kelli, in a tree top.
We filled our bellies on a scrumptious dinner made on the spot by Damien next to Opal Creek. Some friends of his had insisted they contribute their respective culinary and bartending skills and we so we sipped from a bottle of pre-mixed Manhattans and noshed on blueberry cobbler with fresh-baked banana bread, to which I couldn't help but exclaim "Oh Breanna!", a garbled thank you to the generous baker whom I'd never even met.
Surrounded by ancient firs and hemlocks, the shadows grew long and the laughter grew loud. There was a hum of persistent life flowing in and among our giddy group, and I sensed something akin to a warm welcome (though again that's my own human spin on things) bouncing back our way from the rocks on which we dined and the foliage through which we played. Smartwool leggings, my puffy coat, and my favorite striped camping socks were put on and I traipsed into the trees to try to squeeze every last drop out of my bladder before turning in -- or up, rather -- for the night.
Damien climbed up our night tree first, with me right behind him. JQ would stay behind for a bit so I could ascend and string some lights around our Treeboats, because ... pretty! And while I felt solid in my earlier ascent, and this one would only be 75' up instead of 200', the struggle became real. Someone (ahem) had insisted she didn't need first aid on her open finger wounds, and so even while wearing gloves, the friction against the rope proved agonizing, causing me to stop and rest in my harness and shake out the sting before ascending a few more feet. I had been so wrapped up in the intimacy of the days' events with these neighboring giants, that I failed to wrap up the details of my raw digits.

Surrounded by ancient firs and hemlocks, the shadows grew long and the laughter grew loud. There was a hum of persistent life flowing in and among our giddy group, and I sensed something akin to a warm welcome (though again that's my own human spin on things) bouncing back our way from the rocks on which we dined and the foliage through which we played. Smartwool leggings, my puffy coat, and my favorite striped camping socks were put on and I traipsed into the trees to try to squeeze every last drop out of my bladder before turning in -- or up, rather -- for the night.
Damien climbed up our night tree first, with me right behind him. JQ would stay behind for a bit so I could ascend and string some lights around our Treeboats, because ... pretty! And while I felt solid in my earlier ascent, and this one would only be 75' up instead of 200', the struggle became real. Someone (ahem) had insisted she didn't need first aid on her open finger wounds, and so even while wearing gloves, the friction against the rope proved agonizing, causing me to stop and rest in my harness and shake out the sting before ascending a few more feet. I had been so wrapped up in the intimacy of the days' events with these neighboring giants, that I failed to wrap up the details of my raw digits.
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The glow from my headlamp as I strung the lights across our tree boats, while Ben's headlamp shines in the camp just below. |
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Like an ornament on already amply adorned branches. The glow is real, folks. |
Want to see more photos? Of course you do! Check out the full album from Uncage The Soul Productions.
Want a tree top experience of your own? How could you not?! Expedition Old Growth can cater an experience that best suits what you're after, whether it's an overnight, a family day trip, an educational class outing, or even an "elevator ride" up into the canopy.
Please consider supporting the Opal Creek Ancient Forest Center. Sign up for any of their workshops, expeditions, wilderness medicine courses, outdoor school, or even rent one of the cabins and enjoy a few days in the fascinating historic mining outpost of Jawbone Flats.
* okay, asterisk-readers, technically my bucket list item was “sleep and have sex in a tree top” but that will have to be carried out at a later date, with some fancy hip and harness maneuvering skills that I’ve yet to acquire …
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