The reverent quest to find the East Coast's most majestic trees

Brian Kelley and Erik Danielson are giant hunters. For almost a decade, they have scoured the country’s forests in pursuit of their quarry, parsing dense canopies with satellite photography and following rumors. They wake early and return to their campsites late, forgoing hot food and comfort while on the trail. Like seers, they follow their palms through the brush, moving in silence until they arrive at their prize: the East Coast’s biggest trees.

Since 2017, the pair have collaborated to photograph old-growth forests across the American East, from the fern-dotted gullies of the Adirondacks to the tangled swamps of North Carolina. Brian, a photographer, and Erik, a botanist, each bring a unique expertise to their craft, but are bonded by a bone-deep determination.

Brian first became interested in big-tree hunting through American Forests, a nonprofit that had catalogued significant specimens across the United States through the national Register of Champion Trees. The register started as a short list of 77 big trees featured in the April 1941 edition of American Forests magazine. By 2021, it had grown to 562 Champion Trees across the country. Since 2023, the program has been adopted by the University of Tennessee School of Natural Resources, but the full list of Champions is accessible through the National Champion Tree Program website, which features trees by state, the year nominated, and their accessibility to the public.

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To qualify as a Champion, a tree must meet a specific threshold of “points,” determined by size and calculated by a mathematical formula: Trunk circumference (inches) + height (feet) + ¼ average crown spread (feet) = total points. The point system is species dependent. What is a remarkable score for an apple tree pales in comparison to the score for a giant sequoia, which is why the equation is an essential component of the qualification process. For example, in the Pacific Northwest, where a majority of the nation's champion trees reside, the point spread is higher only because of the species that dominate their older forests.

Many of these initial findings were sourced through the efforts of volunteers, “regular folk” as Brian put it—accountants, teachers, day hikers—anyone similarly entranced by the hunt. However, despite the program’s history and dedicated base of volunteers, there were very few high-quality photographs of these trees.

“The images listed online were always grainy or out of focus,” Brian explains. “It makes sense, most people aren’t trained in composition, or how to understand shifts in lighting. They weren't photographers, and that’s ok.”

In 2016, Brian began building his own portfolio, first with his digital camera, then moving into large format photography. In 2019, he created Gathering Growth, a foundation that seeks to document trees of ecological, cultural, and historical significance across the East Coast—with or without a Champion designation. This departure from exclusively documenting Champion trees was driven by Brian and Erik’s belief that the definition excludes other remarkable specimens that fall short of the traditional point system. For example, the largest sweetgum by points in New York State is located on the historic Lyndhurst Estate, a pastoral property near Tarrytown. However, the tallest sweetgum in the state stands in a park on Staten Island, hidden in a scrap of forest surrounded by suburban neighborhoods. Unfortunately, most big trees are not so easily reached.

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In order to sift through the acres of untrammeled wilderness where most of their finds are located, Brian and Erik rely on a blend of tips, decades-old surveyor maps, and cutting-edge technology. One tool that has become integral to their process is Light Detection and Ranging (LiDAR), an active remote sensing technology that uses laser pulses to create 3D representations of the Earth’s surface. This provides unique insight into the landscapes they venture into, which are often untrailed, uneven, and dense. Once a promising patch of forest is located, the next step is to reach it—which is easier said than done.

“These aren’t pleasant day hikes,” Brian explains. “It’s not unusual for us to arrive at dawn and not make it out of the woods until dusk. Time is our most valuable resource, and I never feel like we have enough of it. Sometimes I fall into a trance, and I’ll just go until my legs give out.”

Despite the literal blood and sweat that go into some of these trips, each tree is photographed with patience. It’s not unusual for Brian and Erik to spend hours with a single tree, only leaving once they feel they’ve done it justice. Oftentimes, they’ll return to the same tree again and again over the course of a year depending on its accessibility and health. “Bigfoot,” which is the largest white pine known in existence, was discovered in 2023 by Erik in a remote section of the Moose River Plains Forest of the Adirondacks. Since its discovery, the pair have journeyed back on several occasions to take photographs or show interested parties. For other trees, they will return to run checkups if they know it is in poor health, looking for blight, breakage, or simply to confirm it’s still standing.

“Some of these trees have spent hundreds of years growing,” Brian says. “The least I can do is spend an hour with them.”

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Their forthcoming book, Gathering Growth, Vol. 1: NY, is an attempt to imbue readers with a similar sense of reverence for these remnants of ancient forest—not only for their scale and beauty, but for their cultural importance. In the foreword, Brian writes: “Before a landscape can be protected, it must be known. Before it can be known, it must be remembered. By presenting trees with the same rigor traditionally reserved for art objects, historical artifacts, or architectural landmarks, the project reframes old-growth and large trees as irreplaceable cultural assets, not merely biological resources. This shift in perception is essential: people protect what they recognize as meaningful.”

This sense of meaning was made clear over Indigenous Peoples’ Day weekend in 2025, when a well-placed tip brought Brian and Erik to Stillwater Reservoir—a remote slice of water in the Five Ponds Wilderness of New York State. Brian had learned about the reservoir after giving a lecture to the New York Forest Owners Association in Albany. Just as he finished, an older gentleman beckoned to him. He told Brian about a section of forest that had never been logged. It was called Big Burnt Lake, and giants hid among its shores.

For months, Brian and Erik pored over surveyor maps and LiDAR scans to confirm the claim. One promising lump appeared in the satellite images, and they pinned its location. With their destination set, they made travel arrangements. It would take a two-hour drive, a three-mile canoe trip, and eight miles of bushwacking to reach their prize.

On the morning of the hunt, they met at the Stillwater Reservoir boat launch and loaded their canoe in the bony light, sharing few words. Both knew what lay ahead—the hours of searching, the anticipated ache in their legs and shoulders from hauling gear, the race against a setting sun—all made worth it by the moment of discovery. To stand before one of these trees can only be likened to setting foot in a grand cathedral. They are monolithic, almost unending, rising through the overstory with straight trunks that brush the sky.

With no wind, Brian and Erik glided across the water in sync with their reflections, all four of them shimmering as they headed into the wilderness to begin their work.

It was going to be a long day.