Posted 2:00 PM by George Peabody
I've been on the ground the last couple of months. The heat does not invite me into the trees nor do I wish to stress either the trees or their inhabitants. But I have been in the woods.

And they are dry. While running (a little) and walking (far more) with Louie (the schnauzer) I've seen ferns wilt under the summer sun's pressure. A couple days of rain revived the woods but, after two more days of severe clear, the slightest motion makes the leaf litter rustle.

Pausing for a moment to stretch yesterday, I heard leaves rustling loudly by my feet. I thought it was the little gray dog. No, he was 40 feet down the trail. Then the loud rustling happened again.

It was a 2" toad, bufo americanus, hustling through the leaves as fast as a lumbering toad could walk. The leaves practically shouted his location.

How dry is that? Very. Severe clear is lovely to fly in if you're a bird or a pilot. And offers great views to the tree climber. But it isn't easy for those on the ground.

Posted 9:50 PM by George Peabody
Swinging on the bull's tail

I went back up the rope I'd left in the pine, gathered the hammock and kept climbing. Just using the ascenders up the first 50 feet got my heart pumping.

At 80 feet, there are three trunks. I rigged the tree boat (hammock) between two of them, gathered up my pack, and settled in for a rest. What peace! Like resting in a small boat, when the wind blew, the trunks moved at different rates, swinging me gently, snugging at different times, to lift the tree boat and drop it back as the breeze passed by.

After a rest, taking a few pictures, calling Daniel (yeah, I send dispatches from the tree tops) and Nancy with my ETA, I meditated, on my own breath and that of the wind. After five minutes, moving my attention from the inside to the outside, not lingering on thoughts, a wave hit me, laying me down into the arms of the old tree. I lay suspended between the living masts of the old pine. In that time of tickling breeze, the hermit thrush singing and muttering below me.

And then I got up, gathered up, and went down the tree. In a couple of steps. I had to let go of one trunk and swung out, way passed the other. Always a "bit of a thrill." Still have plenty of corpuscles screaming about not trusting the gear.

The last pitch is always so fast. Once along the big trunk, beyond the reach of thick branches, the final descent is over in two big jumps. The black line zips through the descender, I bounce on the rope's stretch near the ground, and then settle with one more pull on the release to the pine needles and shaded ground. There is the quiet packing of gear, pulling the line out of the tree, the weight of the pack as I walk again out of the woods.

I do not know if I will climb the Old Bull again. Maybe another route awaits. Or maybe I will just be content with the one visit, its struggle and that sweet swinging in the cooling breeze.
No Ground Below

A Very Important Item

Posted 11:44 PM by George Peabody
Riding the Old Bull

I climbed an old bull pine late this afternoon and it fought me the whole way. It stands high and alone over its deciduous neighbors. And it is the toughest tree I have climbed yet. All the branches are in the wrong places. Some are too rotten to trust. Others prevent me from throwing a line more than six feet higher up the tree.

The old bull has two trunks, splitting about twenty feet up. For awhile, I climbed up between the two, like a chimney climb in the rocks.

I didn't make it above the canopy of oaks and maples. After spending 15 minutes trying to throw a line over the next limb up, I gave up as the light started to fail. I then rigged my decent line and descender, had my pb&j and dug out the headlamp.

The birds have fallen quiet already. I only heard the hermit thrush sing for a few moments and then it muttered for awhile. Probably complaining that the neighborhood was getting ruined by tree climbers. The ovenbirds said not a note.

My rope is waiting for me so, in the morning, I can get back to where I left off quickly and then scramble the rest of the way. I left my treeboat lashed to the limb, too.

My arms and shoulder are really complianing. Time to put them to bed. I need to recover.

That old bull stomped me.

Posted 8:50 AM by George Peabody
Still hot. I blame George Bush.

Posted 6:56 AM by George Peabody
Blistering hot today and tomorrow. I'd love to blame George Bush.