Very-very big woods and boo-boo trees.

On this hike, the goal is not champion trees but tree champions.

I shoulder the pack and cinch the hip belt tight, swig a last mouthful of water, and grab a pair of trekking poles. I'm not one to hang out by the truck for long; I like to get off he road as quickly as possible, let the trees shut out the whine of cars and the glare of sunlight on asphalt. I pick up the faint trail as it cleaves the pines, and duck under a maple sapling. The weight of my load shifts, and I brace for the tiny toe - ugh, there it is - to dig into my back.

"We're in the woods!" squeals Markie, my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter. "The very-very-big woods."

"That's right, sweetie," I say craning my neck to glance over my shoulder at brown curls and a wide-mouthed smile. To Markie, very-very-big is second in wonderfulness only to up-in-the-sky-big. Its use indicates I have a happy baby on my back, and a likely whine-free window of opportunity long enough for a hike to the ridge where I heard the big trees grow.

"You ready?" I ask.

"I want raisins."

Maintaining conversational momentum is not Markie's long suit. I pass the small box over my shoulder and break into the hardwoods, shuffling through shin-high drifts of oak leaves.

I have a simple goal for this hike: I want to find some big trees. No Big Trees, necessarily. That's the name reserved for hose hoary individuals deemed to be the largest of their species found in each state, the greatest of which are listed on AMERICAN FOREST' National Register of Big Trees.

Big Trees are scored with an arborist's calculus that combines girth, height, and canopy spread in a predetermined formula. But the big trees I'm looking for are measured by the length and duration of the ahhs and whistles that accompany their discovery. along with some attendant head-nodding: Man, that is a HUGE tree! Nod-nod. Look at that trunk - you could drive a car right through it. Throw in a headshake for good measure.

A BIG OBSESSION

Like all simple pursuits, looking for big trees can become an obsession. I've read of folks poring over aerial photographs for likely looking individuals, and parsing infrared shots to discern which shades of red belong to which tree species. Nothing wrong with that, nor with having your name in the record books as the discoverer of the nation's champion yellow poplar or devil's walking stick.

But I'm not in the game to share ink with this Fraxinus or that Pinus in the National Register I just like big trees. They lend nobility to the landscape, be they deep in the woods or soaring over a farmhouse lawn or city park. Big trees don't have to be Big Trees to inspire. Fat-trunked, with sprawling canopies like green thunderheads, they charge no admission, demand no tribute. I'm after trees large enough to inspire a bit of wonder and perhaps spark in Markie the same kind of primal affection that draws me to forests. "Train up a child in the way he should go," sang Solomon, "and he shall not depart from it." Those words take some of the weight off my shoulders as the trail angles sharply downslope.

These woods, in North Carolina's Umstead State Park, are mature second- and third-growth mixed pines and hardwoods, big woods for these parts, but nonetheless typical of woodlots anywhere in the Piedmont region of the eastern United States. Cut down in the late 18th and 19th centuries, they were farmed over for 150 years, then abandoned to the natural processes of regeneration: broomsedge to pine to hardwood.

I skirt past a few trees large enough to fool the unwary. Unschooled in the past lives of eastern hardwoods, many folks see middle-aged oaks - 100 years, 150 - and marvel at their size, for they have no idea of what a truly big tree looks like. The national champion overcup oak (Quercus lyrata) soars 156 feet high in nearby Berrie County. That's as tall as a 16-story building.

None of these trees could approach it, but they'll get there one day. As we near a creek I remember the advice of one famous North Carolina big tree hunter. "Look in swampy areas," Sid Shearin suggested. "People are scared of swamps, so they stay out of them." Shearin should know; he is superintendent of North Carolina's Pettigrew State Park, down on the coastal plain, where a mere 1,200 acres of forest lays claim to seven state champion trees (including the national champion swamp-bay and co-champion coastal plain willow). At the creekbottom I glance upstream and down for big trees but instead spy a large pile of white quartzite stones, each the size of a football. A hundred years ago some farmer knew streambottoms have rich soil, rich enough for big trees, rich as well for corn and cotton and tobacco. These slopes were cleared, and stones piled up at the field corners. No big trees here.

We cross the creek and head uphill, Markie content to watch gold and brown leaves rain down with each puff of wind. We're on an unmarked, secondary trail, and with blowdowns from Hurricane Fran occasionally blocking my route, navigation is difficult. I pull out the map.

Up on the ridgeline is a cemetery, a simple cross enclosed in a coffin-shaped box. Heading northeast I pick up a marked trail, sidle along a rocky slope, and leave the moist bottomlands behind.

Then I see them: homestead oaks, capping the knoll like Golgotha's crosses. They were planted, or protected, to shade a porch or hold up a swing. The farmhouse has long been abandoned, its site a shrubby vine-choked flat. But the trees still loom like gods. As I study their gnarly forms - each branch the size of a lesser oak - I understand why the Druids worshiped such trees.

I drop the pack and free Markie from the various restraining buckles and snaps and webbing devices. I want her to turn her own face to the sky, search the massive storm-twisted limbs for mossy patches where squirrels and raccoons soak up the sun. I want her to learn to search out the intricate fretwork of the silhouette of a giant oak and recognize a tree worthy of an elder's respect.

"Look, Daddy, look!" she shrieks, and I think, By jeeves, I've done it.

My eyes follow her outstretched finger.

"That tree has a boo-boo."

A who?

"A boo-boo. It's a boo-boo tree!"

A few yards away someone has tied a strip of white flagging tape around a middling-sized yellow poplar. It looks like a bandage of sorts, I suppose, covering up a wound on a wholly unremarkable individual. A boo-boo tree.

"I want to touch it."

I lift her up and she stretches out a tentative finger, barely brushing the strip of tape as if her touch could send a jolt of pain through the gray trunk.

Why this tree, I ask? Why do you like the boo-boo tree when there are such very-very-big trees all around?

"I can take care of it," she says, without thinking.

Seems she's been listening all along.

We're running out of sunlight and raisins - which would be the greater tragedy I couldn't say - so we launch a hearty round of top-of-her-voice bye-byes to big tree and boo-boo tree alike, and retrace our steps through the very-very-big woods. I can't say I've made much headway in the molding of a big-tree hunter, but I guess time is on my side. The way I figure it, by the time Markie takes her children to see the boo-boo tree, it just might be a contender.

RELATED ARTICLE: HIKING ESSENTIALS

Hiking for big trees? Here's a few items to stow in a daypack. First, a good map. USGS topographic maps are the best, especially those drawn on a 1:24,000 scale. On these maps, one inch on the map equals 24,000 inches on the ground, or just about two-thirds of a mile, and that's a scale fine enough for great detail. You'll find steep slopes, homesite ruins, and cemeteries deep in the woods, swampy areas where trees might never have been cut. Look for them in o local outdoors store or surveyor's supply house.

A small pair of binoculars is a great addition to any big-tree-hunting daypack. With binoculars you can identify distant leaves and ferns and peer into squirrels' nests and check out woodpecker cavities.

A good field guide to trees and shrubs is a plus. Try to find one specific to your region. It'll be smaller, lighter, and more easily used.

A tape measure is handy for sizing up trees. To calculate diameter, simply divide the tree's circumference by 3.14.

And a pen, of course, for notes on the map. You don't want to forget where the boo-boo trees are. - T. Edward Nickens

TOMORROW'S CHAMPIONS AND A Y2K WIPEOUT

AMERICAN FORESTS' members and supporters have planted more than 8 million trees toward our goal of 20 million to mark the new millennium. How many will be champions? It's impossible to say, but today's 2-year-olds and their children will enjoy those trees and their attendant benefits - clean air, pure water, and homes for birds and wildlife. Make an investment in their future by helping plant tomorrow's champions today. Every $1 plants a tree when you call 800/545-TREE or visit our website at www.americanforests.org.

You can also help AMERICAN FORESTS with another goal: wiping out the list of species without champs in the 2000 edition of the National Register of Big Trees. Some of these trees are hard to find, others are common yard trees - like the eastern redbud - that lost their champion without having any nominees waiting in the wings.

Want to join the ranks of Big Tree hunters? Check out AMERICAN FORESTS" guidelines for measuring height, circumference, and crown spread (using easy-to-find tools like a straight stick) on our website or call for a copy of our. brochure, 202/955-4500, ext. 202.

Eddie Nickens writes and hikes from his home in Raleigh, North Carolina.