So, did you hear that doctors have developed a new method of performing an appendectomy without using anesthesia?

It’s exactly like the old operation, except it hurts like a son of a b.

This is sort of what it’s like cutting down a tree with an old-fashioned, two-man saw. It’s just like using a chain saw, except that after a while your arms and back feel like they’ve been bashed with a sledge hammer.

My buddy Steve Kurczy and I realized this the other day when the vintage saw we wielded started to bog down about halfway through the foot-thick trunk of a 40-foot-tall black birch tree in the woods behind my house.

“This is work,” Steve grunted.

“No kidding,” I gasped.

About a decade ago, when my son, Tom, was still living at home, he and I relied on this saw to cut all our firewood, but after he left for college and then moved out West I broke down and bought a chain saw.

As efficient as this gas-powered machine has been, though, I still have found myself longing for the satisfying simplicity and blessed silence of a hand saw, and so when Steve came over for a visit I knew I had the perfect partner to man the opposite end of the 6-foot-long metal blade. He has joined me in a number of hiking and paddling adventures over the years, and is always up for a challenge.

“Sounds like fun!” Steve exclaimed, when I suggested giving the saw – and us – a workout.

And so on a perfect afternoon, with a crisp breeze and the remnants of autumn foliage glowing in bright sunshine, we strolled through the woods carrying the old saw and a newer model I later purchased as a backup.

Had I been using a chain saw I would have been outfitted in Kevlar protective chaps over my jeans, along with a hard hat equipped with sound-deadening earmuffs and a metal face screen for eye protection.

I also would be lugging a gas can, container of bar oil and a special wrench for adjusting the tension of the chain.

The only supplemental gear we toted the other day were a can of grease to help the saw cut smoothly, and a small folding saw and pruning loppers for clearing fallen branches and bittersweet near the base of the birch tree.

“You have to make a path for an escape route,” I explained.

“What do you do when the tree starts to fall?” Steve asked.

“Drop the saw and run like hell,” I replied, adding, “in the opposite direction.”

Invasive vines had strangled the birch like an anaconda, so it would have been a only a matter of time before the tree crashed on its own. I’ve also been on a campaign to cull birches because they scatter their seeds so prodigiously that other species get crowded out, especially the pines and spruce I transplant every year.

After Steve and I observed there were no nearby trees that would snag the falling birch, nor vines that would trip us up, we greased both sides of the saw blade and began cutting a notch on the side of the tree facing where we wanted it to land. The birch was already leaning that way and its heaviest upper limb also was on the same side, which would help steer it in the right direction.

Using smooth, steady strokes we completed cutting the wedge in about 15 minutes, pulled it away, and transferred the saw to the other side of the tree.

“Now comes the fun part,” I said.

We positioned the blade slightly above the notch and slowly began drawing it back and forth. Once the steel teeth bit deeper past the bark we picked up the pace.

Ten minutes later, when beads of perspiration began forming on my forehead, I heard the first sounds of splintering wood. A moment later, CRACK! – like the report of a rifle.

“I think we’re done!” I called, just as the tree teetered. Steve and I scrambled away and watched it topple with a satisfying, ground-shaking thud.

“You forgot to yell ‘timber,’” Steve said with a grin.

I smiled and replied with a shrug, “Timber.”