I was once on a river when a tree fell — or a large part of a tree, at least. It was one of those quiet spring afternoons on the Big Gunpowder Falls in Baltimore County. I was fishing alone, standing in grass on the bank, tying a new fly to my leader. The only sound was the mesmerizingly monotonous rush of water, and birdsong. I would not dare say what birds were singing that day. But the usual suspects out there are vireo, sparrow, wren, flycatcher and the occasional crow.
Several large trees, often long-leaning sycamores, fall across the Gunpowder every year. It’s part of the riparian life cycle. Hikers and anglers see the evidence all the time, but not the actual act. It would take cosmic forces to bring humans to the river at the precise moment a 75-year-old sycamore decides it can stand no more.
But, as I said, I was there once when a huge, frail branch of an elderly tree gave way. It landed with an enormous and startling splash about 50 feet from me. There was no warning. Just the sudden, shocking splash. The huge branch was almost as long as the river was wide. Good thing I had not been standing where it fell.
The splash-down created a wake you see and feel when a motorboat passes you on a lake. Then, as the wake faded into flow, there was quiet again — the rushing water, the birdsong — as the large branch of that old tree settled into its final resting place.
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Dan Rodricks 
Be careful, Dan. Lost our fishing guide, David Lee, several years ago by just such a falling tree.
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I am so grateful to be able to continue to read what you write, Dan. When you left, we dropped the Sun. Your words today made me feel grounded and calm. I was transported.
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Poetic and frightening. I have experienced some close calls with very large branches deciding that it was time to part ways with the mother ship. Luckily I did not get crushed but on one occasion it was a little too close for comfort. This happened when I was walking on the Fieldstone property and right after passing a large white (and waterlogged) white pine, a large branch landed about 10 feet in back of me. No warning other than I heard a deep snap sound and the next thing I knew the branch was on the ground in back of me. It made the earth around me tremble. It made me tremble too.
Be safe out there there.
LL
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Backpacking 6 months in the Appalachian Trail woods from Georgia to Maine had me acutely tuned in to the morning sounds at first light.
Hiking northward with the “Perpetual Spring” provided smells, sights and vibrations that eventually sucked me into being a part of the trail itself.
In my tent at night hearing and then feeling the tremendous thump of a giant tree taking its final rest will never leave my thoughts.
Thanks for the reminder.
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