In quest of the perfect tree

When the twilight made the grey clouds above us turn pink and orange, it was time to make a choice.

Which tree was it going to be: the beautiful Engelmann spruce or the fragrant noble fir?

A combination of snow and darkness can make any tree look fantastic, and the prospect of spending a night shivering in the cold can also expedite the decision-making process.

I took them both.

Then, with both trees wrapped tightly in a huge silver tarp, and as the night winds began to pick up, my two friends and I drove back to a warm apartment.

It was a successful tree-cutting excursion, marked by triumphant discoveries, bone-chilling temperatures and several wild goose chases.

Wanting to get a jump-start on our annual search for a wild Christmas tree, Andrew, Jesse and I spent Friday night after Thanksgiving in an old hunting camp while freezing rain fell through the 100-foot trees. Discovering a handy new use for reporter’s notebooks, we managed to start a massive fire using pages as kindling, but it didn’t last long after we eventually retired to the cramped tent.

Without sunlight to gauge the time, we awoke, to our surprise, just before noon. Two inches of fresh snow coated everything in the camp, and without grace or order, we jammed our things into Andrew’s Volvo station wagon. Several spin-outs and moments of desperation later, the car managed to break free from the cold clutches of snow as we tried to take the path recommended by a forest service ranger.

That path had more snowmobile paths than car tracks, so we turned around and pointed the massive vehicle east toward White Pass. We passed several cars headed downhill with iffy-looking pines strapped to their roof racks. At the top of the pass we stumbled out of the car into several feet of snow and began a trek that took us deep into – a groomed cross country skiing trail.

Wandering about in the manicured lanes, skier after skier glanced from our beleaguered faces, down to the massive tree saw we carried, then back at our faces before shepherding their kids off in another direction. One crotchety old man told us to drive farther east to a lake that could have been 10 different lakes, and a bridge that could have been 20 different bridges. We trudged across the road and through the snow only to find ourselves in a gnarled old forest with nothing that grew less than 50 feet.

With only a few hours of daylight to go, I resorted to a time-tested technique: Go where everyone else is going.

And that’s exactly what we did when we parked the Volvo in a pull-out that already had three or four hulking trucks with various stumps and limbs jutting out from the box.

We trudged into snow that only seemed to deepen the farther downhill we went. We happened upon a clearing of trees where loggers had once gone through and leveled the forest. This usually spells good news for Christmas trees, since they grow up young and unimpeded, just waiting to be chopped.

It was around this point that the true fatigue kicked in. After finding a few prospects at what amounted to the bottom of the hill, we discovered how tremendously heavy Christmas trees are when they’re full of snow and sap and water. Trudging through 2 or 3 feet of snow at the end of a long day with dozens of pounds of trees can wear a man down quite fast.

But with the help of Andrew and Jesse, we managed to get the beasts tied to the top of the car for a nerve-racking 300-mile journey back across the state.

It was another successful trip. The trees are at home and await decoration.

And like any good tree-cutting excursion, a lesson was learned.

One person can cut down a tree, but it takes a few friends to get it home.