Finding serenity 200 feet in the air.

Byline: THE OUTSIDER By John Rezell The Register-Guard

As I dangled by my lifeline, like a curious spider, more than 100 feet above the forest understory, Mother Nature wrapped herself around me like a comforting quilt on a cold winter morning.

Just a few feet away, a western wood pewee danced like an acrobat on a moss-covered limb thicker than a railroad tie that sloped gently back toward the ground. Coming up empty atop the limb, the pewee hopped underneath, effortlessly hanging upside down as it pecked and skipped, around and around.

I can't remember seeing a bird spending that much time upside down, or if I have, I never noted it before. And that's what made a few hours literally hanging out in nature such an overwhelmingly spiritual experience: the little things.

On the drive to yet another undisclosed location, this time northeast of Eugene - the Pacific Tree Climbing Institute (www.pacifictreeclimbing.com) has an agreement with a private landowner that allows the company to bring out clients for a climb as long as it doesn't result in a parade of uninvited visitors - guide Rob Miron talked about his love of just hanging out in a tree, oftentimes taking a nap.

Even an outdoors lover such as myself took pause to wonder. I mean, I dig nature, too. But the idea of just hanging out in a harness while strapped to a rope 10 to 20 stories above the ground didn't register as a possible mellow experience in my mind, much less napping potential. Until I got here.

Memories quickly flooded back, from the first tree climbs with my brothers in a scraggy pine tree in our yard to high adventure with my buddy Jack to the top of an old oak where we'd discuss possible junior high love connections that never came to fruition.

Hey, back then, climbing up a tree wasn't half as scary as asking a girl out on a date.

Really, I thought, what is the attraction to climbing a tree? With a gentle breeze not strong enough to break the silence of the forest caressing my face, the answer, of course, was this.

We continued up, through the maze of limbs that, still, 150 feet above the ground, would make for impressive backyard trees by themselves. Never far from the massive trunk of a Douglas fir that Rob estimates at 600 to 800 years old, but never really clinging to it like childhood climbs, the relationship took on a life of its own.

Call me crazy if you like - you wouldn't be the first - but the more I thought about what I could learn from a tree that was big enough to house countless woodland creatures back when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, the more I realized that this was its lesson.

When my daughters learned I'd eventually find myself 200 feet up a tree - that is, higher than the tallest building in Eugene - they asked if I'd be scared of the height. Considering I'd duck to the floor (before seat belts) as a child whenever we'd drive over a high bridge, I tried not to think about it.

But as I ate lunch with Rob near the top of the tree, looking out at amazing views of endless trees blanketing the mountainside under wonderfully blue skies dotted with pillowy clouds, I never felt more safe.

My unconditional confidence in Rob was founded in his endless stories of climbing experiences, but the real roots of peace and serenity came from this grand old tree itself, knowing without question it would watch over us with the same strength it has shared with this forest for hundreds of years.

John Rezell, aka Raz, is former editor of VeloNews magazine and bike.com. If he'll climb a 200-foot tree, he'll do just about anything. E-mail him with an invite to join you in the great Oregon outdoors at [e-mail].