Tree Solo

Sandy Devine claims to have free soloed the world’s tallest trees. 

by Mark Noonan

Usually when something is too good to be true, it is. But I’d been assured by someone I trusted, my former colleague and mentor Mike McCallister, that Sandy Devine might be legit. 

“Remember when we saw the Aurora Borealis,” reminisced Mike over the phone. “Apparently it’s like that, but man-made.”
“Did you just compare some hippie dude to the Northern Lights?”
“All I’m saying is it’s…” I was thinking bullshit–“Beyond.”
“But you haven’t seen anything.”
“No, that’s true. I’ve only been told.”
“You believe this guy?”
“He’s a bit dangerous, and most of the time wasted. But I trust him.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Neither does a platypus.”

DAY 1

Standing under the Redwoods, a tiny sprout among towers, I couldn’t help but think to myself: there’s no fucking way someone can climb these monsters sans rope. I was pretty certain I couldn’t ascend them with crampons and a jetpack.

Usually epic sporting conquests get your photo plastered on the covers of magazines, made into six-part behind-the-scenes documentaries, and turned into in-depth hardcover books written by some fan-scribe like me.

But there was nothing usual about this story. 

Sandy Devine claimed to have climbed the world’s tallest trees with no help. No rope, no harness, no anchor, no carabiner, not even chalk. 

My hands examined the thick trunk, and my imagination, usually one for over-the-top extravagance, had a hard time figuring out where to begin: a hundred feet straight up with no branches anywhere. My fingers pinched a groove, I tried to wedge the tip of my sneaker into a crevice, and laughed at the sheer absurdity of what I was attempting.

You’d have to be Spider Man, Magnus Ver Magnusson, and Gumby combined.

The only photograph I’d been able to find of Sandy Devine was a two-decade old senior yearbook headshot from all-boys Jesuit BC High, south of Boston, Massachusetts. Clean shaven, in jacket and tie, Sandy posed like an athlete with the suburban hair of a hockey player. His activities included: varsity tennis 2-4, chess club 1-3, forensics 1-4, National Audubon Society 3-4, and trampoline club 2-4.

Although he’d claimed to have climbed the tallest trees in the world, no photographs or videos existed.

An unnamed blog attributed to Tim Simmerly, Sandy’s best friend, cataloged his free-soloing achievements: Doerner (327 feet) in Oregon, Centurion (330’) in Tasmania, Menara (331’) in Borneo. And the Redwood trifecta of the fourth through second tallest trees on Earth: Daedalus (363’), Icarus (371’), and Helios (374’). All apparently summited but without any visual proof to confirm.

Many of the world’s tallest trees are in far-off places like Borneo and Tasmania. But for the true tip-tops all one has to do is visit Redwood National and you’ll find the top four, with the holy grail 381-foot number one, Hyperion solidly rooted as the arboreal king.

But Hyperion had yet to be climbed.

“We are not permitted to discuss locations of trees within the park, for both the trees and your own safety.”
Park Ranger Kathleen (“Call me Kat”) had been gracious enough to correspond over email prior to my arrival. But she was now playing hardball with what I thought was a softball question.
“But Sandy must know where it is, right?”
I detected the slightest of smirks grace her mouth.
“I can’t speak to what people do or don’t know. We don’t make that information public.”
“Okay, I get it. The first rule of fight club. Then at least answer me this—”
“Mister Noonan,” she interrupted, which didn’t seem like something she often did. “Can we talk later? This isn’t the best place.”
I looked around the Thomas H. Kuchel Visitor Center bustling with kids, parents, dirtbags and a whole bunch of brochures. I’d started our relationship with a cannonball off the high dive when a simple poolside plop was more appropriate.
“Sure. I get it. You’re working. Where would you like to meet?”
“Where are you staying?”
“Hotel Arcata. Downtown, I think. I’m heading there next.”
“Perfect. Humboldt Brews is right around the corner.”
“Sounds good. Drinks at eight?”
She looked at me as if I’d just told her I planned to breed a Bonsai tree with a Sequoia.
“Eight? This isn’t a date.”
“No, I didn’t think it was.”
“Six. One drink. Don’t be late.”
She turned and walked away shaking her head. I heard her mumble “Eight” under her breath.

No social media presence. Zero videos posted to YouTube. Not even an email address anywhere. Sandy was off the grid. An outlier among the selfie generation I’d grown accustomed to navigating. After sending a dozen interview requests, his best bud finally emailed me back: “Summer arrival. Blessings. Tim.”

Sandy’s dad was also difficult to engage but for opposite reasons.
“What did he do now?”
I took a last swig of Sierra Nevada and placed the empty bottle down on the nightstand next to my hotel bed.
“Uh, hello. Yes. Mister Devine. Thanks for speaking with me.”
“What kind of reporter are you? What’s this about?”
“I know you’re a busy man, sir. I’m just looking for the truth.” I winced regret at such stupid cliched words flowing out of my mouth.
“The truth? What truth? Is this about Coventry?”
“What? Coventry?” I was now curious what Coventry was. “No, I assure you, it’s not. About the tree climbing. Tree soloing that Sandy’s been doing. Allegedly.”
“Oh, that.” He let out a long disappointed sigh. “Yes, my son likes to climb trees.”
“And you’ve seen him do this?”
“I haven’t seen him in almost seven years.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t have time for this. If you find him, tell him I’m cutting him off. Forty is no longer acceptable to have your head in the clouds.”
“But wait, sir, one last question, please!”
“Go on.”
“Do you think it’s true? I mean, do you think it’s possible that he’s climbing these Redwood trees without any help, anything at all? Could he?”
I waited while Mr. Devine formulated his answer. I could hear him nose-breathing.
Then he swallowed.
“They say people can change. That’s what they say. I’ve yet to witness it myself. If you do, let me know. Goodbye.”

I almost walked right past Kat. She’d removed her ranger hat and placed it on the bar and I could now see her amazing natural red hair.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“Is this your spot? Where all the rangers hang out?”
I sat down on the swivel chair barstool. Her tone forced me to look her in the eyes.
“It’s my job. It doesn’t define who I am. I have a life too. I’m not just a ranger.”
“No, of course. I’m sorry. I apologize. Let me buy you another. I’ll have a Sierra Nevada.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you so interested in Sandy Devine?”
I stalled by taking a long drink from the beer bottle. It was ice-cold and delicious and normally I’d have given a satisfied “Ahhhh” but instead I chose to reply.
“There’s very little magic left in the world. We’ve explored everywhere, everybody’s got a camera in their pocket, and even actual magic has had every trick explained and disproved online. So an opportunity to see something magic, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Wow, that actually sounded pretty good off the top of my head.
Kat nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.”
“Okay. My turn.”
“Here we go.”
“No. Nothing like that. I’m easy. I’ve only got one question and then we can get drunk.”
“Well ask it quick.”
“Have you seen Sandy climb?”
“No. Of course not. No one has.” But she took a slight pause before she started speaking.
“Except for Tim.”
“Well, yeah, Tim. Tim’s Sandy. His wingman.”
“What’s he like? Do you think he’ll talk to me?”
“Tim barely talks to anybody, so, good luck with that.” She laughed.
“I think I know someone else who’s seen Sandy climb.”
“Oh, yeah? Who?” She appeared genuinely surprised, or was great at faking it.
“Buttons. Do you know him?”
“Yes I do.”
“And?”
“Good luck with That!”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Just be careful. Go during the day. At night he can get…”
“What is he, a werewolf?”
“He’s a drinker.”
“Well I’m a semi-professional bamboozler myself.”
“All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kat kept true to a single drink. I’d pressed her for enough answers for one day but had learned what I needed to know: she’d seen Sandy climb, and she knew where Hyperion was. I told her about Tim’s email and asked when she expected Sandy and Tim to show up. Tomorrow was the first day of summer. “Soon,” she said. But I got the impression she knew more than she was telling me. Much more.

Gary the bartender and I had become fast friends.
“The Chief’s a hoot.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” The sun was down and I’d switched to whiskey. Charbay, neat. It was as smooth as Gary’s pour.
“He comes in here sometimes. Everything is by the book.” He emphasized with karate chops.
“So is he an asshole or just has no sense of humor?” I could hear myself and was thinking it was time to go.
“Yeah, both of those. He’s something.”
“What’s he drink?”
“He doesn’t. Cranberry and soda with a lime. And an orange.”
I hated him already.

DAY 2

I’d planned to be up before the sun. But in reality I forgot to set an alarm and arose still in the AM, but barely. An Alka-Seltzer, shit, shower, two Tums, coffee, chugged an orange Gatorade, inhaled a western omelette and I was ready for the coach to put me back in the game. Which was perfect because my appointment with Chief Witherspoon was set for fourteen hundred sharp.

There was no handshake greeting. He stayed behind his desk and his butt didn’t even feign to rise from his sturdy wooden chair.
“Have a seat.”
I felt like I was back in high school.
“Just so we are clear: you understand the regulations.”
“Yep.”
“What was that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the rules against arboreal ascension.”
It took a moment for my hungover brain to kick in.
“Climbing trees. Yes, sir.”
“You know our policy regarding the giants, correct?”
“Absolutely, sir. Yes.”
“All right then.” He leaned back in his ancient wooden chair that I was pretty certain might be made of Redwood itself. “So why are you here?”
“Excellent question, chief. Do you go by chief or Chief Witherspoon or what’s your first name?”
“Chief.”
“Chief, got it. So I thought maybe just between us, as a professional courtesy, one man of honor to the other,”
“Did you serve?”
“In the military? The armed forces? No, I did not. I just meant as a journalist, a keeper of many secrets myself, that we could entrust in each other the whereabouts, the location of a certain arboreal maximus…”
The Chief’s brow furrowed as he tried to unfurl what I was talking about, but without the excuse of a hangover.
“Hyperion. I’m looking for Hyperion. One tree among the vast forest of trees. I mean there’s so many trees. What’s one tree, right?”
“One tree.”
“Yeah. Exactly. Just one tree. You’ve got a lot out there.”
“Oh sure.”
“Excellent.”
“I suppose the Nazis were just one army among many,”
“Uhhh,”
“General Patton was just one general,”
“Well,”
“Meryl Streep is just one actress amid many actresses,”
I didn’t see that one coming.
“Hyperion is not just a tree. It is a living breathing organism. And those who climb it are degrading its very existence! And let me tell you, if I catch you and your buddy Sandy Devine—”
“I actually don’t even know him—”
“I will not hesitate to throw you in jail for aiding and abetting a known criminal element!”
“So we’re not gonna be friends?”
“Only rangers climb the giants and for three reasons: scientific research, medical assistance, and emergency. This isn’t let’s all go down and take a whirly turn on the teacups at Disneyland!”
“I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“Get the hell out of my office, Mister Noonan!” He finally stood, and he knew my name. “Come back when you’re not a city slicker jackass!”

The one good thing that came out of my meeting with the Chief was that it accelerated my need for an alcoholic beverage. I decided to kill two trees with one chainsaw and go find Buttons.

Mike’s directions took my Ford Focus rental down a windy dirt road deep into the forest. And then a dead end and footpath I was supposed to hike until it too ceased. It was a warm afternoon, and aside from wishing I’d brought some water, the walk through the ferns and Redwoods was pleasant. I breathed in deep, sucking massive amounts of oxygen into my lungs, certainly an unconscious reaction to the Chief’s comments about my urban dwelling. I missed Nature. I wasn’t ready to hike the Appalachian Trail with Bear Grylls, but a leisurely stroll down a footpath was just what the doctor order.
Up ahead I saw where the trail stopped and it began to dawn on me that absolutely no one knew where I was. Sure, Mike attended Berkeley with Buttons a million moons ago, but I’d traipsed into the deep dark woods alone without a map, compass, even a granola bar. I held up my iPhone: no service.
I hoped the next direction wouldn’t be necessary. Even when I wrote it down in my notes I told Mike it was batshit crazy. But seeing as there was footpath behind me and only dense forest ahead, my options seemed twofold, and I hadn’t hiked this far hungover to turn around now.
Forgive me, woodland creatures large and small. Actually, large ones please stay away.
I closed my eyes, took a few slow breaths to steady the nerves. Why was I nervous? There was absolutely no one anywhere! But in the back of my mind I’d personified the trees: they were my audience.
I opened my eyes and began. If I could get through the first part I was pretty sure I’d be okay.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeohuhma-weh

I performed the highest pitched falsetto I could muster and soon found the correct rhythm.

The next section my confidence was high:

A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh
A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh

Back to that damn falsetto: go for it, really own it, feel it through your body.

In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight

I found myself swaying to the words.

In the jungle, the quiet jungle
The lion sleeps tonight

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeohuhma-weh

A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh
A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh
A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh
A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh

Hush my darling, don’t fear my darling
The lion sleeps tonight
Hush my darling, don’t fear my darling
The lion sleeps tonight

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Applause. Someone was applauding. A steady clap.
“Very Good!”
A voice. From somewhere. Where?
“But you skipped the second verse.”
Ferns rustled.
“I hope you’re Buttons.”
“That’s what my friends call me. My enemies call me Fucknut.”
Out popped an elfin figure in full camo fatigues leaning on a hand carved walking stick.
I then realized: this was his doorbell.

“Why do they call you Buttons?”
“I think ‘cause I’m so buttoned up all the time.”
The devilish grin with mischievous eyes. His go-to move.
“What is this stuff? It’s green.” I held up a Mason jar.
“One hundred percent California Moonshine.”
“Why’s it green?”
“Camouflage.” The grin again. “Go on, have a taste.”
I checked my iPhone clock: 5:23. It was still early. Plenty of daylight.
At first I didn’t feel anything, the liquid slipped down smooth.
Mouth burn, throat burn, lungs, stomach, it felt as if every vital organ inside me was screaming out in unison.
Buttons handed me a pail which I didn’t even check but gulped down. Fortunately it was water.
“If you’ve got indigestion, constipation, diarrhea, whatever: it’ll cure it right up.”
“Whoo, this stuff’s battery acid.”
“After a few you get used to it.”
The main features of his cabin were a wood burning stove center and a copper still in the corner. A twin bed, wooden dresser, and lots of cabinets. Cabinets along the walls wherever space would allow. And two windows covered with camouflage drapes.
“So you’ve known Mike a long time.”
“Oh yeah. We go way back. He’s a good dude.”
“Absolutely. But you guys hadn’t talked in a while.”
“He’s one of those you can pick up right where you left off.”
He dropped a handful of jerky into my palm.
“But what made you reach out?”
I chewed the jerky. Fucking delicious. Buttons might be a hermit but he knew how to host.
“Did Sandy ask you to? Or Tim?”
“What? No. I know those guys. They do their thing. I do mine. And sometimes our paths, they cross.”
“Which is how you saw Sandy climb.”
Buttons took three big gulps of green moonshine which didn’t faze him at all.
He handed me the Mason jar and his eyes said, “Drink if you wanna hear the story.”
The jerky helped.
“They didn’t know I was there until the end. That’s when they saw me. For some reason I walked right out. Like I wanted them to know I’d seen what I’d seen…”
“And what was that?” I tried to stay silent but couldn’t help myself.
“I saw him climb that damn tree. Faster than I would’ve thought, I’ll tell ya. It was something.”
I passed the Mason jar back to him. He stared into the green liquid a long while. Then took a long drink.
“I’ve seen some crazy shit.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“In ‘Nam. On acid. At the post office…”
I wasn’t sure about that third example but did my best to keep my trap shut.
“Weird stuff is out there in the world. I once saw a guy swallow a kitten. That’ll mess with your head.”
“Was that on acid?”
“No, man, that was at the post office.”
Note to self: don’t mail anything from Arcata.
“But Sandy, that was the opposite. Life affirming. Not disturbing. You dig?”
“I dig deeply.”
“There’s still amazing stuff out there. And I wish I could do it. Climb a tree like that. Can you imagine? Going straight up it. Getting to the top. Looking around. That must be awesome.”
It was my turn with the greenshine. I took a big swallow and chased it with the jerky.
“So how exactly does he do this?”
“Naw, man, you gotta see it! I can’t describe it, I’m not a writer. That’s why you’re here.”
“For sure. But, just practically, how does he—”
“You want me to tell you how Star Wars ends? Do you? They blow up the Death Star. How’s that feel?”
“I’m aware.”
“Ruins it for ya. I could describe for you, in detail, the time I bedded down with Wonder Woman,”
“Lynda Carter?”
“But is that the same as you yourself doing the horizontal hokey pokey with the lovely Miss Wonder?”
“Of course not.”
“No it is not!”
Buttons finished the last of our shared Mason jar.
“I know all about the worldwide web but some things need to be experienced live and in the flesh with your own eyes. Your own ears. Your own mouth.”
He unscrewed a new full jar of the greenshine and wet his lips.
“And you, my friend, you gotta see it for yourself.”
He passed me the jar and I took a quick swig.
“I’d love to. But I don’t even know when this guy’s gonna show up, what he looks like, if he’ll even talk to me, let alone let me see him climb.”
“He will, if you take all your preconceived notions and all your misunderstandings of sport and physics and fame and put them off to the side and just listen to here.”
He patted my chest.
“You gotta listen to that beat. That is the beat to follow. Everything else is…”
He took a long drink, the longest yet, to the point I was concerned he might fall backwards and immediately pass out like a cartoon character. His camouflage sleeve wiped his mouth.
“…Bearshit.”

DAY 3

Waking up in a hermit’s bed wasn’t on my bucket list but at least now that item could be checked off. The rest of the evening was hazy. I remembered realizing that it was almost dark and there was no way I could hike out given that my blood was basically green from the ‘shine. A raging alcoholic with violent flashes that my memory semi-recalled (Did we fire rifles at a pizza box?), Buttons remained a caring host. A mushroom, onion, and cheddar scramble was accompanied by hash browns and one of the finest cups of coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life. He even offered a full fresh Mason jar of greenshine but I had to decline: I knew my limits.

Saved by the sustenance, Buttons kindly blazed a trail all the way back to my Focus.
“Thanks for letting me stay over.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
Pep talk?
I put out my hand but Buttons was having none of it and next thing I knew I had his face buried into my chest. I got the impression he wasn’t a big hugger.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll probably see you sooner.”
It wasn’t a threat, he meant he’d be looking out for me, but from a distance.
As I drove off he wiped tears from his eyes.

The hotel’s hot tub saved me. A half hour soak while guzzling two bottles of Pedialyte bombarded my body with cleansing, both inside and out. I showered and as lunchtime approached I was feeling human again. It was time to see what the local flavor knew.

Wiry-strong with not an ounce of fat between them, the Redwood rope climbers looked like any surfing, rock climbing, or skateboarding crew I’d encountered in my travels. Likewise, a cold six-pack of brews will bring the real feelings flowing rather quickly.
“It’s all a big hoax,” said Ricky, before throwing back half his Heineken.
“The guy is trying to create this mystique around himself,” added Dicky. “Why are there no pictures? Why’s there no video? Because he’s on a mystical journey? Give me a break.”
“It’s a crock of sheet,” chimed in Jeff, an Aussie. “We film all of our climbs and post ‘em on our channel. That’s what you do. So people can experience it with you.”
“And you can get subscribers and make some money,” I added.
“Well, yeah, sure. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all. But what if the money doesn’t matter.”
“You mean because he’s got money.”
“Exactly.”
Ricky thought a moment. “I still don’t believe him. And plus, it’s not even possible.”
“There’s no way that guy is soloing free,” said Dicky. “No way.”
“He’s not doing it for money. Or publicity because he doesn’t post anything. Then why?”
They all fell silent to think a moment and let the beer fire some neurons.
“For the attention.”
“What attention?!” I was struggling to remain impartial.
“He’s not doing it,” Dicky was adamant.
“There’s no way,” Ricky concurred.
“Have you seen the guy?” asked Jeff.

Kat wore her cap and was all smiles when I ran into her outside the visitor center.
“What’s up?”
“I was just talking to some of the rope climbing gang.”
“Learn anything?”
“They definitely think Sandy’s full of shit.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Is there a history there I’m unaware of?”
“No. They just don’t like him.”
“And Sandy doesn’t like them?”
“Sandy has no ill will towards those guys. At least that I’ve seen.”
“I get the impression you see a lot.”
She shrugged, “We’ll see,” and kept walking down the stairs.
“I see what you did there!” I shouted after her.
She tossed a satisfied smile over her shoulder back at me.

“This place seems to shut down when the sun goes down.”
I was back at Humboldt Brews, talking to Gary.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep.”
“I guarantee you won’t find me traipsing off into these woods at night. No sir.”
“As long as you can see where you’re going it’s fine.”
“I do have a headlamp.”
“See, there you go! You’re all set.”
“Maybe after a couple more of these.” I motioned for a Westward refill. “This stuff is like caramel.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
He held up the bottle: a baby’s finger of liquid remained.
“Gonna need My headlamp to find you a new one.”
Gary clicked on a small flashlight and disappeared into the cupboards below the bar to root out a new bottle of Westward.
“Light away,” I replied.
I took a long drink of my soda back.
A tap on my shoulder.
“I hear you’re looking for me.”
I almost did a spit-take but instead swallowed hard and coughed.
Sandy. Tall. I sat on a barstool but he towered over me, easily six three, six four.
Bearded. Full and bushy. Not trimmed or shaped at all.
John Lennon glasses in front of relaxed baby blue eyes if it’s possible for eyeballs to look relaxed.
But what struck me most was the gut he carried in front of himself, like a Buddha or Rick Rubin or Buddha Rick Rubin.
How could he climb trees with that gut? That was my first thought but then I realized he was waiting for me to respond.
“Yes. Yes I am. I have been. I’d love to talk to you.” Gary’s head popped up. “Do you want a beer? Whiskey?” I asked.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink. But a glass of water would be lovely.”
Gary rolled his eyes but obliged with a quick shot from his bar gun. I’d make it up to him with a healthy tip and by ordering three more Westwards after Sandy left.
Sandy laid a handkerchief on the bar and slowly unwrapped it.
“What are those?”
“Evergreen needles.”
Gary placed down the glass of water.
Sandy’s fingers pinched some needles, he sprinkled them into his water, his eyes focused on the task at hand.
He closed his eyes, put his nose to the glass and enjoyed whatever aroma was emanating from the cold evergreen water, and then drank.
“Ahhh. Nothing better.”
I smelled my whiskey.
“So, did you just arrive? Where are you camped out? Coming from where?” I felt I was seeming over-eager.
Sandy looked at me, like a squirrel trying to figure out the best way inside a bird feeder.
“Shall we say afternoon stew?”
“Uh, tomorrow? Sure. I like stew. What time?”
“Afternoon.”
“Okay. Where? At a restaurant? Diner?”
“My Subaru Outback. His name is Mick. Thank you for the water.”
Sandy turned to leave.
“How will I find you?”
He paused. “My stew.” The phrase sat in the air like a sensei imparting wisdom down to his new pupil.
And he was gone.
Was I really supposed to find some mystically pungent stew scent and just follow it?
He claimed not to drink but was it true with a gut like that?
And how could he even climb with such a belly? Wouldn’t it get in the way?
And why wasn’t he ripped like the rope-climbers?
My mind racing, I downed the last swig of Westward and Gary was ready with a fresh bottle.

DAY 4

I wanted to blame the time difference, but as an Easter Coaster on the West, it only made sense that I’d be getting to bed early and waking up before the sun. Instead I slept ‘til noon. In my defense, Gary and I did cash out together and I’d spent the evening prior on a hermit’s cot. I needed a good night’s sleep. And if it wasn’t going to be good it at least needed to be long. Lunch was an omelette. At least I was consistent in my first meals.

With no idea where Sandy was camped, I headed over to the visitor’s center to find Ranger Kat.
“He’s back.”
“I know. How do you think he found you.”
“Good point.”
“You know, for a reporter, sometimes you’re a bit slow.”
“Fortunately I’m adhering to a strict booze regime.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“My mind is pummeled by Advil and my stomach feels like a washing machine.”
“That doesn’t sound sustainable.”
“In no way, shape, or form.”
Did I detect a smile from Kat? Perhaps my unconventional charm was working.
“I have work to do.”
Or not.
“Of course. If you could just point me in the direction of Sandy, I’ll be on my way.”
“He’s camped out where he always is. Bear Bryson’s old place.” She pointed on the map.
“Thanks.”
“Anything else?” Her big brown eyes were wide.
“Do you know a good bakery?”

Sandy was right. My nostrils picked up his stew before I could see the campsite.
“Something smells good.”
A young man stood up from his lawn chair. A mug in his hands, his eyes narrowed.
Sandy’s head popped out of the open Subaru Outback’s hatchback. He smiled.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”
Sandy approached me. “No. I wouldn’t think so.”
“I was just making a—nevermind. Here.”
I handed him a brown paper bag.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. House—Subaruwarming.”
“That is very thoughtful.”
Before I knew what was happening, Sandy engulfed me in the softest hug I’d ever received. He smelled like pinecones.
“We appreciate it.” Sandy released me. Were those tears in his eyes? “This is Tim.”
“Nice to meet you, Tim.” We shook hands. Tim did not speak, only gave a nod.
Sandy opened the paper bag and removed my offering. He squeezed it and enjoyed a satisfying crunch.
“It’s garlic basil,” I explained.
“The perfect gift,” said Sandy. “No better stew companion that I could think of.”
Tim nodded in agreement.
We would eat stew and break bread together. At least that was my plan.
“Please, join us,” Sandy motioned to a lawn chair. “Can I offer you some iced tea?”
“That sounds great.”
Sandy poured from a clear plastic pitcher into a large plastic cup. They were the kind you would see at a diner. I wondered how they had ice ready-to-serve.
“This is quite a setup you guys have here.”
“We get by. It’s the simple pleasures of life, don’t you think?”
He handed me the iced tea. I drank.
“Wow. This is the best iced tea I think I’ve ever had.”
“Local honey. That is the key. It’s a gamechanger.”
Sandy placed his butt upon an overturned plastic bucket and sat.
“Normally I’d ask a bunch of stuff but if you don’t mind I’d just like to cut to the chase.”
“Whatever is your journey, you should follow.” Sandy drank some iced tea.
I looked to Tim: a blank face, up for whatever.
“Okay…Do you climb the world’s tallest trees without any help whatsoever, solo?”
Sandy smiled.
Tim’s face displayed nothing. He must clean up at poker.
“You already know the answer to that question.”
“Do I?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then tell me what’s the answer.”
“I think we should have some stew first.”
I let out an annoyed sigh.
Sandy stood and Tim joined him to cut the bread and ladle stew into wooden bowls.
Before serving he wedged something into the side of the bowl. I thought it was beef jerky.
“What is this…” I examined the garnish. “Bark?”
“Yes,” replied Sandy, “it adds the right flavor. I eat it but you don’t have to. This garlic bread is delicious.” He gnawed off a sizable chunk.
I stirred the stew with my spoon and then ventured a taste.
Fanfuckingtastic. What is it with these woodsy guys and their ability to somehow create delicious grub.
“This is great.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Your recipe?”
“All credit goes to this man right here.” Sandy pointed to Tim. “All I added to the equation was some curry powder and of course the bark. It’s a natural aphrodisiac.”
We ate in silence. Occasionally eyes met to share an appreciation of the savory meal.
The stew dispatched, I inquired what was for dessert.
Tim called my bluff and produced an apple crumble tort.
“So this is your normal setup? This is how you guys live? You sleep in the Subaru?”
“For the most part, yes. I sleep in Mick. Tim enjoys his tent over there unless the weather gets really bad.”
“How long have you—”
“I’ve had Mick for seventeen years and been living with him for almost fourteen.”
“Fourteen years in the back of a Subaru.” I needed to say it out loud just to affirm it was real.
Sandy laughed. “Yes. But you can see we’ve also got our cargo top carrier and our portable kitchen. We’re totally self-sustainable.”
“Leave no trace.” It was the first words Tim had spoken.
“And you just came from where?”
“We were exploring Big Cypress,” said Sandy.
“Down in Florida?”
“Yes. The water posed a challenge.”
“So no ropes, hun?”
Sandy smiled and gazed into the forest.
“That stuff can damage the tree.”
“Which matters to you.”
Sandy looked directly at me with the most serious expression I’d seen on his face.
“It means everything.”
“But what about the trunk, it’s—”
“Hey, Sandy! Hi, Tim!” A pixie woman with matted hair and jean shorts walked up. “I heard you guys were back.”
Tim waved to her.
“Allow me to introduce Crystal,” said Sandy.
I too received a wave.
“I missed you guys.”
“We are happy to be back.”
“I am so tired. I’m just gonna take a quick little nappy in Mick.”
Sandy said not a word as she immediately dove into the back of Mick and snoozed out.
“Your girlfriend?” I asked.
Sandy raised his eyebrows and gave a sheepish grin.
“I think I’ll head out. Thank you for a wonderful meal. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“We’ll be training in the morning. Why don’t you join us.”
“Okay. What time?”
“After the sun’s up. Tim’s flapjacks are the only way to start your day.”

I swung through the visitor’s center looking for Kat but she was nowhere to be found, bypassed the bar, and went straight back to my hotel room. Something about the stew, our talk, the bark made me want to hit the hay early and attack a day not hungover. I set my iPhone alarm for five AM, popped an Ambien, and joined Crystal in snoozetown.

DAY 5

“You have to stay hydrated.”
Sandy refilled my plastic cup with water. I’d already downed two mugs of coffee and three of Tim’s blueberry flaxseed pancakes. These guys might have no home but they knew how to eat.
“I don’t know how interesting this is going to be for you,” said Sandy.
“I wanna see how you guys train.”
For the next twenty minutes Sandy and Tim did squats.
Squats in place. Short squats. Deep squats.
Leaping squats. Squats against Mick.
One-legged squats. Side-legged squats.
Sumo squats. And squat jumping jacks.
I’m sure I’m forgetting some. But those are all the squat variations I wrote down.
Not to say it wasn’t an impressive display of squatdom. My ass hurt just watching them.
Next they lay on the ground, feet to the sky, hands supporting the lower back: air bicycle kicks. Some sort of competition ensued: who could pedal fastest longest? I was unclear what the ultimate goal was, but air bicycling gets pretty boring after five minutes.
Next they used actual equipment: hand grippers. The kind you can squeeze while sitting at your desk or eating ice cream on the couch while binge watching Ozark. The main difference being these grippers were tight. I squeezed one in my hand and could barely move it. Then I fumbled and the gripper flew out of my hand, shot across the campsite, and ricocheted off Mick’s bumper.
“Sorry about that.”
“They take some getting used to.”
Sandy proceeded to saunter around the campground fully squeezing the hand grippers one at a time in each hand. I refilled my coffee mug and he was still gripping when my cup was empty.
The penultimate exercise I can only describe as Leap Frog.
They would place both feet on the ground, squat down until their butts almost touched the forest floor, then leap forward, land, and return to position A. Two grown men jumping around like a live version of Frogger. If someone was videoing it would get thousands of views on YouTube out of sheer stupidity.
The grand finale was a half hour helping each other twist and pull their bodies in various directions: a series of stretches and contortions that they managed to make look necessary.
Sandy approached my lawn chair and wiped his brow and beard with a towel.
“How often do you guys do this?”
Sandy was confused. “Every day.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. What do you do?”
I had no answer.
“Listen, we’re gonna do our run now. You’re welcome to join or stay here.”
“I’ll take a raincheck. But enjoy your jog.”
Tim smiled and waved as they ran down a path into the Redwood forest.

It was time to check in with Mike back East.
Gary placed an ice-cold Sierra Nevada in front of me. Damn you, Gary, I was doing so well, but I still love you.
“How’s it going out there? Did you find Buttons?”
“He has his own moonshine.”
“That sounds like Buttons.”
“I’m starting to think this is all bullshit.”
“You thought it was all bullshit from the beginning.”
“I know. But then I got my hopes up.”
“You believed Buttons.”
“Hook, line, and sinker. I met Sandy.”
“Not impressed?”
“No. Very impressed. Especially of his gut.”
“You haven’t seen him climb.”
“I’m working up to that. Developing trust.”
“Well, Buttons is a lot of weird things but a liar is not one of them.”
“Maybe he dreamed it or imagined it. He drinks enough moonshine to blind a buffalo.”
“Keep at it. Don’t get discouraged. And try not to drink too much.”
Gary dropped down another ice-cold Sierra Nevada on my coaster.

DAY 6

For the semi-professional imbiber a beer hangover is not a real hangover.
Sure, you get the shits but once thrice evacuated in a timely manner, the world is your oyster.
And your head is fine, which was the faculty I required working most deftly.
I arrived at Mick as Sandy and Tim were finishing their morning calisthenics.
“Can’t talk right now. I have to run some errands.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
A pause. Sandy caught his breath.
“Okay. Sure. But it’s not gonna be interesting.”
“One man’s trash…”
“We leave no trace behind,” chimed Tim.
“No, guys, I know. It’s a saying. Nevermind.”

Sandy blazed a trail towards town and didn’t wait for me to follow.
Our first stop was his local beekeeper.
“Do you have a preference?”
“Unfiltered raw orange blossom honey. It’s what we had with Tim’s flapjacks.”
“Maybe I’ll get a jar.”
“It’s also the stickiest honey known to man.”
The street was quiet early in the morning. The locals that were out waved and stopped Sandy. He seemed to know everybody.
“Do you know where Hyperion is?”
Sandy shot me a side-eye.
“Hyperion is all around us. Don’t you feel it?”
“I’m sure its tree spirit is, but do you know where it is actually located?”
He stopped and thought a moment.
“Freshly squeezed lemonade. We need to hydrate.”
Off he walked to the lemonade stand.
If you’ve ever felt as if your body had no liquid in it whatsoever and then you drank something that made you certain your insides were made of a natural spring, that’s how refreshing the lemonade was.
Sandy had two cups. I downed three.
“You know, I talked to your dad.”
Sandy’s eyes narrowed towards me.
“Sorry you had to experience that.”
“He just wants to see his son happy, successful.”
“What his idea is. Happiness according to him. Success on his terms.”
“He said he’s cutting you off.”
“Did he? Well then we better spend some money. Do you enjoy ballet?”
Sandy entered a local Dance Studio and purchased a pair of ballet flats, size fourteen.
“You do ballet?” I asked.
“I appreciate ballet. You should get a pair. My treat.”
Turns out I’m a size ten in ballet shoes.
The ballet shoebag under my arm we trotted down the street to our next destination.
“What am I supposed to do with these?”
“Wear them.”
Ace Hardware.
Sandy was on a mission, he knew exactly what he wanted.
I caught up with him in the paintbrush section checking bristle texture against his forearm.
“Planning to paint yourself?”
“What? No. I’m looking for density. But it needs to be synthetic. No animal products.”
“What about honey?”
“I am one with the bee.”
“That sounds painful.”
He bought a single two-inch flat paint brush.
On the sidewalk Sandy turned and faced me.
“I think that’s enough for today.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll stop by later.”
“Sure. Any time. You’re always welcome.”
He began to walk away.
“Hey, Sandy.”
He turned and looked at me.
“You’re hiding a secret. It’s either amazing or bullshit. But either way I’m gonna find out.”
Our eyes met.
He walked away.

Kat in the hat was behind the desk at the visitor’s center.
“It’s a shame you have to wear that thing all the time.”
“What? My uniform? I like it.”
“No. The hat. You have amazing hair.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What can I do for you today?”
“I was just touring the town with Sandy.”
“How’d that go?”
“I got some new shoes.”
I held up my ballet bag. Kat laughed.
“Where’s your tutu?”
“Exactly. I think that’s the next phase. I was wondering if you’d care to join me later—not at eight, that’s far too late. But maybe earlier for some dinner.”
“Oh. You know I would love to but I can’t today.”
“I understand. How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. Let me just check my calendar to make sure.”
“Fantastic. You do that. I’m gonna go do some work. You pick a spot because you know this area a hell of a lot better than I do, and we’ll have some fun.”
“Yes, I’ll check and let you know.”
“Have a lovely day.”
“You too…”

A walk among the giants. That was my plan for the day. To stroll the footpaths and experience the majesty of these great organisms. Caught up in the climbing, I’d yet to step back and have a look around. I’d felt this small before. At the Grand Canyon. In New Zealand. Ass to ass at rush hour on the New York City subway. But here the tininess felt different: as if the canopy itself were both sheltering me from the sun’s harsh light (my paleness says thank you) and also giving off vital oxygen that allowed each and every human being on this planet to survive. Without trees we’d be…dead. It’s really that simple. So when I saw the Chandelier Tree (its trunk famously cutout for a car to drive thru) my knee-jerk reaction was to puke. Fortunately my Ford Focus window was open.

It was suppertime and after allowing Sandy some space for the day, I was ready to jump back into a line of questioning he probably would not enjoy. As I approached Mick Tim was nowhere to be found and the pot of stew, still half full, was covered and the burner unlit. Shades were drawn on the Subaru which was a feature I didn’t know was available. I sat down on an overturned bucket and wondered if I’d missed my opportunity and these guys had already taken off towards Hyperion. Mick shook, and muffled sounds of exasperation and fornication seeped out his seams. Should I leave? Can I stay? Would Sandy even care that I found him enjoying some pleasure with Crystal? I doubted it. I turned my back to Mick, pulled out my notebook, and went over my notes to distract from the Subaru noises. After exclamations to the almighty, a dose of laughter, and then silence, I figured Sandy would soon emerge hankering for some stew. I was hungry too. But it didn’t feel right to serve myself. However, I could at least begin the warm-up process. I walked over to the camp stove and turned the burner up to a low simmer. The hatchback popped open. Out climbed Sandy in a sarong. I stirred his stew. He was surprised to see me and not Tim.
“Appreciate you starting that up. I’m famished.”
“Yeah, me too. Where’s Tim?”
“Oh, he’s around here somewhere.”
Sandy deposited himself in a lawn chair.
“How was the rest of your day?”
“Good, yeah. Just prepping. Preparing.”
“To go climb Hyperion.” I couldn’t help myself.
Sandy turned and looked at me.
“You don’t need to stir that. You can leave it for a while.”
I joined him in a lawn chair.
“How ‘bout you? How was your day?”
“Very pleasant, thank you. I went for a walk. Really felt these things I think,” I motioned to the Redwoods around us. “For the first time.”
“That’s amazing. I’ve love to hear more.”
“I had this overwhelming feeling of gratitude for these magnificent organisms. Because without them, without their oxygen—”
Kat emerged from the hatchback, buttoning her uniform.
Sandy picked up my thought. “You’re totally right. They allow us to live. That’s the relationship. It’s not the other way around. They control our destiny. They—”
“You know I gotta go. I just remembered I got a call with my editor at six so…”
Kat approached. “You don’t have to leave.”
“No. I do. I should. I’ll see you both…tomorrow.”
I walked away and didn’t look back.

“I’m getting Played, Gary. With a capital P!”
I was three whiskeys deep.
“Played by this beautiful ranger girl. Played by the great Sandy Devine. Even played by a hermit. A freaking hermit!”
“I’m sorry, man. That sucks.” Gary’s bartender empathy was world class. I’d tip him something obscene.
“There’s only one thing left to do.”
“Get drunk?”
“Expose them all!”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Persistence, sweet Gary. Per-sis-stance.”
“Do you want another drink?”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?!”
“Why would he do that?”
“Yes!!”

DAY 7

The visitor’s center was dead. Not that I planned to make a scene. The conversation would be quick.
“Good morning, Kat!”
“Good morning.” Neither warm nor cold. Semi-friendly.
“I’m gonna have to break our dinner this evening unfortunately. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.”
“With all the secrets being kept around here it’s hard to know who to trust. You know?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Oh, it’s all good. That’s my job, right? Get to the bottom of it. And I assure you, I will.”
I performed a dramatic hundred and eighty degree turn and walked away.
“I never lied to you.”
I stopped and looked back at her.
“It’s real.”
Our eyes met, all business.
“Bullshit.”
I walked off.

Sandy almost drove over my foot.
“Hitting the road?”
“I need to pick up some provisions.”
“Must be important. I know you don’t like to expand your carbon footprint unless absolutely necessary.”
“Mick runs on vegetable oil.”
“Mind if I join?” It wasn’t a question.
Sandy paused.
“Sure. Of course. Tim, you wanna hang back.”
Out of Mick comes Tim. Into Mick goes me.
“Where are we headed?”
“Mickey D’s. Then Costco.”

The local McDonald’s gave Sandy their excess waste vegetable oil. He had converted the Subaru Outback to eco-friendly over a decade ago, long before it became trendy.
“A practical question.”
“Okay.”
“How do you even do it in here? Isn’t it uncomfortable? How many positions can you—”
“Don’t blaspheme Mick.”
For the first time, anger from Sandy. I’d hit a nerve. Good.
“I’m just trying to understand the logistics of how this works. Is it only on your side? Don’t you hit your head often?”
“Why are you trying to hurt me?”
“Pain is easy. The truth is harder.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to take me with you. When you go climb Hyperion.”
“What makes you think—”
“Don’t bullshit me. All along, even before I got here, I thought you were full of shit. But then I met Buttons. And Kat,”
“You talked to Buttons?”
“I stayed at his house! I drank his moonshine! We bonded.”
Sandy ran different scenarios out in his mind.
“I’m on to you, man. So the way I see it is this: you can take me with you to Hyperion, climb it, prove me wrong. Or you can keep playing games with me and sooner or later I will expose you for the fraud that—”
“Do you even care about trees? Did you mean what you said yesterday?”
Sandy looked me in the eye.
“I mean, I like trees. Who doesn’t?”
“When was the last time you climbed a tree?”
“I’ve climbed trees. As a kid we used to.”
“Talk to me about that. Close your eyes.”
“What, are you kidding me?”
“Close your eyes. Right now. Do it.”
Sandy reached across the passenger seat and pulled the handle. My backrest fell to almost horizontal.
“Seriously?”
“Trust me.”
My eyes and met Sandy’s baby blues. He was dead serious for the first time.
I closed my eyes.
“Think back. To when you were a boy. When you were climbing a tree. Where were you? In your back yard? In the woods?”
“In the woods. With my friend, Matthew.”
“Good. What kind of tree was it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe an oak.”
“An oak. Excellent. How are you climbing it? Where are you?”
“I’m just starting. I’m standing on the first branches. They’re thick.”
“Okay. Look up. What do you see?”
“I see tons of branches everywhere, coming out from the trunk. And a breeze. The leaves on the tree blowing.”
“Great. Start your climb.”
“All right. Up I go. A sneaker on the next branch, pull myself up. Another step up on the next branch. This is pretty easy.”
“You’re going straight up the trunk?”
“Yeah. That’s how we used to do it. I’m going up this thing fast. Man, as a kid you’re so limber. And there’s no fear. Foot, hands, pull up. You don’t even think about it. Just up we go, like a spider monkey. I could never do this now.”
“Stay focused on you, as a boy. Climbing the oak. How far up are you?”
“More than halfway. The trunk is still sturdy but I can feel the wind now.”
“Keep going.”
“Pull myself up. Find another branch to wedge my sneaker. Done. Onwards.”
“Look down.”
“I’m probably forty feet up now.”
“How do you feel?”
“Fine. No worries. I’m gonna keep going. Get to the top.”
“Okay. Do that.”
“Up we go. Face close to the trunk. Now we’re getting going. I can see the top of this tree.”
“Excellent. Keep climbing. Get as high as you can.”
“Can do. This trunk is now getting nice and narrow. There’s a breeze. Oh yeah, I’m feeling that. Swaying with the breeze, baby!”
“Are you at the top?”
“I am as high as I can go and still feel sturdy.”
“Great. Have you got the trunk?”
“Oh yeah. Firmly wrapped inside my armpit. I am one with this tree.”
“Good move. Look around. How do you feel?”
“I feel…incredible. It’s…I’m a boy again. Up in a tree. Was life ever this simple? Normally I’m scared of heights. I hate heights. But up here I feel fine. As a kid I was pretty fearless. It’s amazing that we would climb these things just for fun. See how high we could go…It’s so quiet up here. I could stay here. It’s relaxing…”
“Slowly open your eyes.”
Sandy lay in the driver’s seat next to me with tears down his cheeks. He slowly opened his eyes.
“How do you feel?”
“Nostalgic. I miss that feeling.”
“There’s no better high.”
I thought of my experiences with caffeine, booze, blow, smokes, ganja, molly, shrooms, lysergic.
“I think you’re right.”
Sandy turned his face and looked me in the eye.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there.”

DAY 8

Tim patted me down while Sandy checked my backpack.
“I said no technology.” Sandy held out my digital voice recorder.
“I like to dictate. It’s faster. And for interviews.”
Sandy looked to Tim for his thoughts. Tim shrugged.
“Fine. But that’s all.”
“At least you didn’t find the iPhone shoved up my ass.”
We’d gorged on Tim’s pancakes. Sandy tossed a sleeping bag sack at me.
“What’s this for?”
“Tonight.”
“What do you mean tonight?”
“Hyperion’s a two-day hike.”
“We’re sleeping out? I didn’t bring my toothbrush. Or toiletries. Or a change of socks. Or underwear.”
“It’s one night. You’ll survive.”
Tim rolled his eyes at me.
Kat arrived as warm streaks of sunlight sliced through the canopy.
“Chief knows you’re back. So be on the lookout,” Kat advised.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means we need to get moving,” said Sandy. “Get there before they do.”
“Who?”
“The special ranger unit,” explained Kat.
“What do they do?”
“They won’t let you anywhere near Hyperion.”
“All right. We gotta go. Tim, you set?”
Tim gave a quick thumbs up.
Kat handed something small to Sandy. Their eyes met. He put it in his pocket.
“Good luck.” She gave Sandy a quick smooch.
Tim set the pace. Sandy, the middleman. And I held the rear.
I waved to Kat. She gave me a genuine goodbye wave in return.

Lunch consisted of peanut butter, honey, and raspberry jam sandwiches on multigrain bread and a Ziploc bag of granola passed between the three of us. I gulped down the last of my water.
“You wanna share with me where we’re going?”
Tim held the map and was doing the navigating.
“We’re going to Hyperion,” said Sandy. “You know that.”
“But what if we get separated, or something happens. It would be helpful to know where the hell I am.”
“All you need to know is we are going deep into the woods.”
“How far did we walk this morning?”
Sandy looked to Tim. Tim looked at the map.
“Almost six miles,” said Tim.
“That’s great! How many more do we have?”
Tim looked to Sandy. Sandy nodded.
“Roughly twenty.”
“More!?”
Tim nodded affirmative.
“Jesus Christ! We’re going twenty miles into the freaking woods!”
“Yes. And rest is over. Let’s go.”
Tim and Sandy put on their packs.
“What about this?” I held out my empty water bottle.
“We’ll hit a stream soon.”

Sure, it’s beautiful hiking through a Redwood forest but after twelve hours it’s a repetitive slog.
I already knew the answer to what’s for dinner before I even asked it.
“Do you guys ever order a pizza?”
“Oh sure. We had a pie from Domino’s for Tim’s birthday.”
“But otherwise it’s just flapjacks and stew?”
Long shadows crept across the campsite. Tim fired up a Jetboil to heat dinner. Many call this time of day Magic Hour.
“Well guys, if it is all a big hoax, I am impressed that you will take it to its absolute limit.”
Sandy smiled, but Tim was agitated.
“He doesn’t do this for fame. Or fortune. Or money, okay?”
“Aren’t they the same thing,” I said offhand to Sandy.
“Let him go,” replied Sandy.
“This is about the love of the trees! All around us. And not wanting to hurt them in any way. Wanting to celebrate them. Climb them not for endorsements or to brag, but for joy. It’s about joy. Why can’t you get that? And once we film it, it’s not ours anymore. The mystery is gone. This is personal…”
It was the most words Tim had spoken and the most he would speak. His passion was commendable but I had my own views.
“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” I asked Tim.
Tim didn’t hesitate. “Of course it makes a sound. What kind of question is that?”
I looked to Sandy.
“I know what you’re getting at,” said Sandy.
“And…”
“It makes a sound. But it’s not experienced.”
“Exactly. If you don’t share what you do, then what’s the point? Isn’t sharing these moments with others what life is all about?”
Sandy thought. Tim thought.
A rustle in the ferns.
Sandy’s eyes met mine. Tim’s eyes met Sandy’s. My eyes met Tim’s.
Another rustle.
I mouthed, “A bear?”
Sandy nodded, No.
Sandy listened.
Tim unsheathed a giant hunting knife that he kept on his person somewhere. It was the first time I’d seen any weapon with either of them.
Now the rustling was moving straight for us.
Tim stood. I stood. Sandy stood.
“Whoever you are,” said Sandy, “we mean you no harm!”
We stared where the rustling sounds were coming from. The sun was almost down. Magic Hour almost over.
A voice behind us. I was so startled I actually jumped in the air.
“I got fresh mushrooms for the stew.”
Buttons held out his hands full of big fat mushrooms.

DAY 9

I was shocked when flapjacks were not on the breakfast menu. But lugging a frying pan for an overnight trip didn’t make a lot of sense. So Tim made us oatmeal with berries in the Jetboil.
Buttons was gone. He’d stayed the night and tried to get us to partake in his greenshine, but even I was able to decline.
“Where the hell’d he go?”
Sandy placed his hand on my shoulder. “He has to go his own way. It’s good that he’s around.”
“As a witness?”
“For protection.”
“How’s Buttons gonna protect us?”
“He’s a former marine sniper. High-value targets.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“I don’t shit. Although I do need to take a shit. Breakfast in five, Tim.”
Sandy trotted off behind a Redwood for his morning constitutional. It dawned on me mine would be stirring up soon also and I didn’t see a roll of TP anywhere in sight.

“Are we close, Tim?”
We’d been walking for five hours and I wanted to know if my feet would be getting a break anytime soon.
Tim looked at the map. “Maybe an hour out.”
“That’s great!” I was excited to sit down.
“Tim, for the last fifteen, let’s take the road less travelled.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“We need to make sure the rangers aren’t already there waiting for us.”
“An ambush?”
“Precisely.”
“You don’t trust Kat?”
“I trust everyone. But Chief Witherspoon is not my biggest fan.”
“He hates you.”
“That’s another way of putting it.”

Once we were within a quarter mile of Hyperion, Tim went into what I’ll call “stealth recon scout” mode. Sandy and I held back on the trail, had a sit and some water, while Tim silently forged ahead to check if the ranger team was waiting for us.
I pulled out my Dictaphone and pressed record.
“Butterflies?”
“Where?” Sandy looked around. “They’re a sign of good luck.”
“No. I meant you. Do you have any?”
“I don’t get nervous climbing. It’s where I feel most safe.”
“For me it’s the bathtub. But you must be feeling something. This is the big kahuna. Your ultimate conquest.”
“Hyperion is the tallest, yes. But she’s not to be conquered. Celebrated. Enjoyed. Cherished.”
“Do you plant something at the top? How does this work? Stick a flag like on the moon?”
“Nothing like that. But I will leave something.”
“What?”
“Let’s not jinx ourselves.”
“Will you tell me after?”
“If we manage to reach the top today, then yes, I will share that information with you.”
“Just between you and me, I gotta say, if this whole thing is a scam, you guys really are all in and take it to the limit and beyond. I’m impressed.”
Sandy laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ll see.”
“That right there! That response! Amazing. You play it all perfectly.”
Tim’s footsteps announced his return.
“Clear?” asked Sandy.
A hearty thumbs up from Tim.

A big gold H painted on the trunk.
I was wondering what the marking would be.
Aside from that gold H, you would never know among the other Redwoods that Hyperion was the tallest tree on the planet because it’s impossible to tell from the forest floor.
Sandy and Tim wasted no time. Backpacks were open and their routine had begun. Sandy lay on the ground and Tim pushed and pulled his legs, stretching them in all directions. At the same time, Sandy squeezed his super hand grippers in quick bursts. Squats followed, then a series of frog jumps, and Sandy finished his warmup by stepping on pine cones barefoot.
Forehead to forehead, Sandy shared some personal words with Tim, and then Tim patrolled the perimeter. Afterwards Sandy embraced Hyperion and placed his forehead against the trunk in some type of meditative prayer. Then he shook out his whole body and Tim brought him his backpack. Sandy sat on the ground, pulled out the ballet flats, and tied them to his feet. Next was the jar of “the stickiest honey on the planet” and the paintbrush I’d seen him purchase. He dipped the paintbrush into the honey jar and then applied the gooey amber to the bottoms of his ballet shoes. While the honey set, he pulled out a fanny pack and poured the remaining honey inside. Then he snapped the fanny pack around his torso and spun the pouch so it hung off his lower back. As he waited for the honey to bond with the ballet flats, Sandy turned and looked to me.
“Good luck.” It was all I could think to say.
Sandy smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
I heard Tim running before he yelled, “Sandy!”
Sandy looked beyond me. I turned my head and saw rangers approaching from two different trails.
A megaphone message: “Step away from the tree! You are on Federal land. Step away from the tree now!”
Sandy’s eyes met mine. His remained calm. My eyeballs twitched frantic.
He raised his gaze and looked directly up the trunk.
“Stay low to the ground.”
“What?!” I replied.
“Stay low. Trust me. I’ll see you soon.”
He scooped some honey from his fanny pack, rubbed the goopy substance between his hands, his fingers pinched grooves in the trunk.
Tim stopped next to me. His frenzied energy matched mine.
But Sandy remained perfectly calm.
One long slow exhale. Then another long slow exhale.
“Step away from the tree!”
I turned from Sandy and saw rangers emerge from two different footpaths, with megaphone man leading the charge.
Sandy squatted, dropped his butt down just above the ground.
And then he leapt.
At least ten feet off the ground.
His feet landed on the trunk, the ballet flats pointed out, his toes forming a V shape.
His knees on both sides of his torso, his gut just above his feet, grounding him. His hands gripped the trunk ridges to hold him steady.
“Get off the tree!”
He leapt again.
And landed in his squat position. Fingers pinched the trunk grooves, sticky ballet flats maintained his grip.
A third leap.
He was now a good thirty feet above us.
“Get down from the tree!”
Rangers yelled but my eyes remained transfixed on what Sandy was doing.
He leapfrogged up the tree, as if the trunk was horizontal instead of vertical.
My mind tried to figure out how he was doing this: his balance perfect, the jumps always the same, the grounding gut just above his feet, and the sticky shoes. It made no sense yet perfect sense.
Arms wrapped me up from behind and I was tackled to the ground.
Tim lay next to me in the same situation. Our eyes met. But no longer were they distraught. We shared the relaxed eyeballs that Sandy had displayed when we first met. Smiles formed on our faces and even though we each had a ranger pinning us to the forest floor, we laughed.
“Sir, get down from the tree! Now!”
Sandy leapt again. Perfect treefrog form: squat, prepare, engage hips, launch, finger grip, secure feet, rest, and repeat.
The ranger ziptied my hands behind my back and sat me down on the ground. Tim sat next to me, hands also bound.
“It’s amazing,” I said.
Joyful tears slid down Tim’s face. “It’s been a long road.”
“Engage!” shouted megaphone man.
The ranger team encircled Hyperion and raised their pistols.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?! He’s climbing! You’ll knock him off!”
“Sir, this is your last warning. Stop or we will fire!”
“You’ll kill him! You Motherfuckers!” I screamed, now on my knees.
“Final warning! Ranger team, prepare to fire!”
“Goddamn It, you Assholes!”
Tim deliberately toppled himself over to the ground.
“Get down,” whispered Tim.
“What?!”
“Get down.”
I toppled myself.
“Ready!…” instructed megaphone man.
A whizz sound.
Another whizz. A third whizz.
Down goes one ranger. Then another. And a third.
Whizz. Whizz. Whizz.
Three more felled to the floor.
My eyes met Tim’s. “Stay down.”
Whizz. Whizz. Whizz. Whizz. Whizz.
The entire ranger semicircle was down.
The only man left standing was megaphone man. His jaw slack and eyebrows raised. Our eyes met and I could tell he had no idea what was going on.
Whizz.
Down went megaphone man.
My cheek to the ground, I looked up Hyperion’s trunk: Sandy leapfrogged. He’d almost reached the branches.
Before I could ask Tim what in the world was going on my wrists were freed and I found myself face-to-face with Buttons.
“Holy Shit. You killed them all?”
Buttons smiled his go-to grin.
“I wanted to but Sandy wouldn’t let me. Tranquilizers.”
“You are unbelievable! Thank you. And thank you for your service.”
“It is my pleasure.”
Buttons and Tim helped me to my feet.
We all looked up and saw Sandy standing on the first branch waving down to us, not a care in the world.
With all remaining boyhood glee in my body, I waved back.
Sandy turned, gripped trunk grooves, and continued his leapfrog skyward.
We watched until we couldn’t see him anymore but knew that the summit was his.
Sandy Devine climbed to the top of the world’s tallest tree completely by himself.
I turned to Tim and asked the only question that remained.
“How does he get down?”

THE END

“In my dreams I climb the Tree of Souls.”

– Sandy Devine