David Whitley experience an unexpected adrenalin activity in Western Australia – climbing the Dave Evans Bicentennial Tree.
It is many a man’s dream to be a child again. The constant diet of icecream and fishfingers, the ability to get away with saying and doing bad things because adults think it’s cute, work being a particularly tough sum in maths… it’s enough to make anyone go nostalgic.
Arguably, though, the best thing about being a child again would be regaining that complete lack of fear. Cars can’t run you over, you’ll never fall off anything, and playing with matches won’t hurt a bit. You can also gleefully scamper up precarious-looking trees whilst adults look on and wince.
Nowadays, tree climbing is a bit more risk-packed. It takes a considerable amount of alcohol to feel infallible these days, and the Dave Evans Bicentennial Tree in the Pemberton Forest of Southwest WA is a thing of stomach-tightening fear rather than glorious opportunity.
In the Warren National Park, 10km south of Pemberton, this karri tree soars 69m in the air, and someone has thoughtfully built a flimsy looking staircase around it. As protection, you have a mesh that is little better than chicken wire, and you are treading on thin strips of metal. One misplaced foot, therefore, and you’re going to be in an awful lot of trouble.
It’s almost as if it’s deliberately designed to scare, like rollercoasters that make that horrible rickety noise as you slowly chug up to the first drop or horror films with screechy, intense soundtracks. And, if this is the case, then it’s most certainly working.
Hate heights. Hate them, hate them, hate them with knobs on. Climbing something so high and blatantly dangerous is not my idea of fun, but with the rest of the group chickening out (Boo! Hiss!), someone has to restore some honour. If they’re going to be cowards, then I need to distinguish myself with a display of bold derring-do and heroism. If only there was a yelping stranded damsel up there to rescue…
Gingerly stepping onto the first rung, it mercifully doesn’t give way under my elephant weight, but my legs start to turn to jelly as soon as an unsafe jump-off distance is reached.
Roughly a third of the way up is a viewing/ recovery from impending asthma attack platform. Great view, lovely trees, but after you’ve just clambered up the equivalent of a two story building, any pictures you attempt to take are liable to be shakier than a blancmange on a particularly vigorous washing machine. Especially when there’s the best part of the climb to go, and then the getting down part…
Leaving the safety and comfort of the platform (with the luxury of wooden planks to stand on) is very hard indeed, and takes an almighty mustering of inner strength and reckless stupidity. After about twenty minutes of self-flagellation about being a coward to back out now, it’s time to start the baby steps again. Taking on every rung is a triumph of willpower, knowing that coming down is going to be even more terrifying.
‘Aided’ by shouts from the ground of “Look out for the missing rung” and “If you fall, you’ll probably die instantly – no pain,” I wobble ever upwards. There is no disguising it, it’s a truly horrible, nerve-shredding experience. But if I make it up and down alive, then I have bragging rights for life, and sometimes satisfying the ego is way more important than self preservation. Ironically, it’s only near the top that things become in any way bearable. The hideous, shaky spiralling effect is replaced by more conventional platforms and ladders, presumably because by this stage the trunk is so narrow that any more going round in circles would make climbers pass out from dizziness.
And finally, after what seems like three or four hours of mental and physical torture, it’s the crest. I’m right at the top of the forest, and the view is… um, somewhat disappointing actually. If you ever think that monkeys and parrots that live in the Amazon treetops must get a fabulous scene to look out upon, you’d be very wrong. What they get to see is the tops of other trees, not miles and miles of stunning landscape. And that’s also my reward for being such a big, brave boy. However, there is one thing that is marvellous to observe. Who cares if there are just trees and branches on the eyeline when you can look down and see such an amazing collection of wildlife. In such a small area I can see a lesser-spotted Coward, a yellow-bellied Jessie and a lily-livered Wuss. They look so small, pathetic and worthless from this lofty perch.
After plenty of pointing, taunting and demanding a standing ovation, reality bites. There is, of course, the small, unpleasant matter of getting back down. Any chance of a helicopter ride chaps?
For the true masochist, there are three of these climbing trees around the Pemberton area, the others being the Gloucester Tree and the Diamond Tree.
This article was originally written for Australian Traveller.
Copyright David Whitley
