According to scientists, our ancestors lived in trees. A couple of million years ago, the ground was a dangerous place for anything slow and small. Trees kept us alive.

I know the feeling. When I was a kid, I lived in a tree for almost an entire summer after I blew out the kitchen window while hitting pop flies in the front room.

There was a large willow tree in the backyard. I managed to reach it half a second ahead of the old man. He was too big to follow me up. I watched from the top branches as he snarled and clawed futilely at the trunk.

Time solved everything. Frankly, you wouldn't be reading this if our ancestors hadn't descended to the ground and developed the ability to read and write, and, more importantly, if my mother hadn't stopped the old man from setting fire to the tree.

On Saturday, I watched a tree-climbing contest in Brigham City. Dozens of the region's best tree climbers competed for a shot at attending the 2009 International Tree Climb Competition in Rhode Island.

This is not, as you may be thinking, just some loony bit of fun thought up by Boy Scouts or drunks. We're talking serious professional skill.

Most of Saturday's competitors climb trees either for a living or to keep someone else from dying. They work for tree-trimming businesses, power companies or rescue organizations.

Using lots of rope, hooks, clips, and muscle, the competitors performed five separate climbs to measure their technical skill. One event featured the simulated rescue of a dummy hanging a very real 30 feet off the ground.

David Mercado, of Diamond Tree Experts, won the Masters Challenge. Clint Wright and Matt Erkelens, of Trees, Inc., won second and third place, respectively.

I have a lot of respect for the technical abilities of Dave, Clint and Matt, so I hope they won't be offended when I say that I used to climb a lot of trees and I never needed all that safety gear.

Granted, my tree-climbing experience is limited entirely to my childhood. Back then, the only gear I needed to get to the top of a tree was a pair of Keds, a knife for carving initials, and the proper motivation.

For example, on an average Saturday morning I could get to the top of a 100-foot cottonwood or elm in about 20 minutes -- two minutes if there was work to be done and someone large and hairy was looking for me.

I only fell once, but it was enough. Some girl was watching and I tried to make a Tarzan-like swing from one branch to another. Unfortunately, evolution had dramatically shortened human arms. I missed the grab and plummeted toward earth.

I have no idea exactly how far I fell. I remember passing through some clouds and a flock of geese before striking the rain gutter, my mom's rose trellis, and finally our Rambler Ambassador.

I probably cracked at least a dozen bones. I'll never know for sure. One look at the dent in the hood of the old man's car and I was back in the top of the tree a minute later.