The following is the first installment in a three-part series written by CARPC Senior Environmental Planner Matt Noone.
This story explores the ties between people and the natural world, the historical context embedded in our landscapes, and the importance of fostering stewardship in future generations. It is a story made possible through the support of friends, fellow tree growers and big tree hunters, and colleagues at the Capital Area Regional Planning Commission.
My Big Tree Roots
When I was 11 years old, my family moved to Redding, Connecticut, a rural town crisscrossed with stone walls throughout the now reforested landscape. The stone walls represent New England’s colonial days as a sheep farming agricultural community 200 years ago.
I routinely roamed these forests with a dog, on a bike or on foot, exploring forest pools, glacial erratics, and historical farm foundations. On one such excursion, I came across a single tree so enormous I couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn’t know the species—or the significance—but I knew it was an exceptional tree with a story to tell. Over the years, I venerated this tree and brought countless friends and family members to share its glory. The tree turned out to be one of the largest red oaks (Quercus rubra) in Connecticut. I hadn’t realized it until recently, but at that moment I became a big tree hunter.
My big-tree fixation continued at the University of Maine, where I began searching for the few remaining white pines demarcated with “The King’s Broad Arrow”—an axe mark designating them as Royal British property for ship masts in the late 1600s. From there I migrated to the Pacific Northwest, where Wendel Wood’s A Walking Guide to Oregon’s Ancient Forest became my bible and compass in life. I explored unique forests, finding the largest, oldest, and tallest trees—oaks, maples, junipers, Douglas firs, Sitka spruce, laurels, and more—across Oregon and Washington.
The search for King Tut was one of my most memorable big tree adventures in the Cascades of Oregon. King Tut was one of the largest Doug firs in the state, estimated to be 800 years old. The trail route is described as “rugged” and “not recommended”, but a tree with a name adds to the allure for us big tree hunters. The name was given to the tree to bring awareness and respect for a unique old-growth forest area slated for logging. Even with detailed background research, success in finding these giants in the wilderness of Oregon was always questionable. The path followed remote logging roads with washed-out bridges, no signage, and no other people around to point the way. The notes I had to relocate King Tut—20 years since the tree was first documented—were scarce. It was only after I found a decaying pencil by the trunk of the giant that I was sure that this was the tree I had been searching for.
Fast forward to 2022: my big tree hunter persona was rejuvenated, this time in Dane County, Wisconsin. I began working for the Capital Area Regional Planning Commission and had a new partner in my adventures—my son Winston. Winston became an integral part of this story and provided the incentive to inspire the next generation in appreciating, respecting, and understanding our landscape and place in this world.
