The Eastern Hemlock is one of the most beautiful, inspiring, and accessible trees of the Northeast United States. The lower broken branches of a large hemlock are like a man made rock-climbing wall, only instead of stones there’s punji-spikes jutting out at odd angles. The best bet is to keep your feet on parts of the branches closest to the trunk. You wouldn’t want to snap one off and end up in spleen surgery. It’s a little heart pounding at first, but once you get past the broken bones and up into the meatier, hairy arms, it’s about as easy as climbing a ladder.
To climb a hemlock is to transport oneself to a spiritual shrine in the sky. With each new rung, another little world passes the eyes. Communities of ants heading off to work, mini forests of moss and lichen, the park benches of birds. After only a few minutes you’ll reach the crow’s nest and have to stop to catch your breath. It will take a moment longer for the thumbnail sized pinecones to stop ringing their bells. Close your eyes and feel the sun’s warmth penetrate your eyelids. Feel the wind sway you back and forth like a mast on a ship. Inhale deeply through your nose smelling the sharp must of pine. Listen closely to the sounds of the forest. The woods are never still, even when there’s no wind. The trees lean and creek and groan, straining their branches like outstretched hands, reaching out for one another, whispering. Lean out from the trunk and look straight down. Maneuver your eyes through the matrix of crisscrossed branches and try to catch a glimpse of the forest floor. The ground will be masked under a few tons of cellulose and pine needles. You should probably be scared of falling, but it’ll be hard to be concerned when you’re surrounded by so much purity.
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