Men Who Felled 150-Year-Old Tree in Just Three Minutes Found Guilty and Face Brutal Sentence

It takes just a few minutes to fell a tree, but sometimes the echoes of that act can reverberate for generations.

Along a rugged stretch of Hadrian’s Wall in northern England once stood a lone sycamore, gracefully cradled between two hills as if placed there by design. For nearly two centuries, it watched over the land—through wars, storms, and the silent passing of time—becoming a fixture not only of the landscape, but of memory. Lovers proposed beneath it. Ashes were scattered at its roots. Photographers traveled miles just to capture its silhouette at dawn. It even played a part in cinematic legend, framed in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves as a symbol of quiet defiance.

Then, in the dark hours of a stormy September morning, it was gone.

The act itself took less than three minutes. But what followed—a national wave of heartbreak, outrage, and ultimately, justice—revealed just how deeply a single tree can matter. This wasn’t simply vandalism. To many, it felt like a cultural wound, a severing of something rooted far deeper than bark and branches.

As the story of how two men brought down one of Britain’s most beloved natural icons unfolded in court, it became clear: this was a case not just of destruction, but of disregard—for history, for beauty, and for the shared spaces that bind us.

The Crime That Shocked a Nation

On the morning of September 28, 2023, a park ranger patrolling near Hadrian’s Wall came upon a scene that seemed almost impossible: the Sycamore Gap tree—an enduring symbol of northern England—was lying in pieces. It had not fallen to disease or weather, but to human hands. In just under three minutes, one of the UK’s most photographed and beloved trees was brought down with a chainsaw, its massive trunk cleaving through the quiet landscape like a wound.

The tree had stood for around 150 years, gracefully nestled in a natural dip beside the UNESCO-listed Hadrian’s Wall. Its placement between two hills made it appear almost sculpted by nature—earning it a place on countless postcards, film sets, and memory cards. It was a site for proposals, picnics, and personal pilgrimages, and had even been named England’s Tree of the Year in 2016. For many in the North East and beyond, the Sycamore Gap tree was more than a backdrop—it was a living landmark.

The reaction to its destruction was swift and visceral. Local communities mourned, the media swarmed, and social platforms lit up with disbelief. People described feeling as if they had “witnessed a murder,” echoing the deep emotional resonance the tree held. Northumbria Police launched an immediate investigation, recognizing the act not just as vandalism, but as a cultural offense with national implications.

It didn’t take long for suspicion to focus on two men: Daniel Graham, 39, and Adam Carruthers, 32, both from Cumbria. What followed was a torrent of damning evidence. A video found on Graham’s phone—grainy, eerie, and unmistakable—captured the tree’s final moments. Metadata placed him at the scene. Voice notes and text messages between the pair revealed they not only planned the act, but relished in the outrage it caused. They even took a wedge of wood, believed to be from the felled tree, as a “trophy.”

The community’s grief quickly gave way to calls for justice. Prosecutors charged both men with two counts of criminal damage—one for the tree and another for Hadrian’s Wall, which was struck by the falling trunk. In May 2025, a jury found both men guilty after deliberating for just over five hours.

What made the crime so uniquely appalling was its sheer pointlessness. There was no political motive, no financial gain, not even a misguided environmental cause. Prosecutors called it “moronic,” a term that seemed to resonate with a public grappling to make sense of the act. As the court awaits sentencing this July, with potential prison terms of up to 10 years, one truth is clear: the destruction of the Sycamore Gap tree was more than an environmental loss—it was a symbolic rupture that left a nation stunned.

Unraveling the Investigation

Forensic science, digital footprints, and a dose of hubris quickly unraveled what might have otherwise remained an anonymous act of environmental vandalism. In the days following the felling of the Sycamore Gap tree, Northumbria Police launched an intensive investigation—one that would expose not only who committed the crime, but how meticulously they had documented their own downfall.

Daniel Graham and Adam Carruthers, once close friends and former colleagues in landscaping and handyman work, were soon at the center of the inquiry. From the outset, police were aided by a surprisingly comprehensive trove of digital evidence that tied the men directly to the crime scene.

The linchpin was a grainy video found on Graham’s phone. It showed the unmistakable silhouette of a figure working a chainsaw against the tree’s massive trunk, filmed during a stormy night. The whine of the saw and the final crack of the tree’s collapse created an audio-visual record of the act itself. Metadata from the file confirmed it was filmed precisely where the Sycamore Gap tree once stood. Additional data revealed that Graham’s Range Rover had traveled to and from the site during the critical hours. Meanwhile, Carruthers’ phone showed movement near the tree earlier that day, which prosecutors argued was a reconnaissance trip.

The pair’s digital communications proved equally incriminating. In the hours and days after the tree’s destruction, they exchanged text messages and voice notes that made light of the crime and celebrated the ensuing media storm. In one message, Carruthers referred to their actions as an “operation,” while Graham bragged about the global attention the act was receiving. When Carruthers received a video of his infant child, he reportedly replied, “I’ve got a better video than that,” referencing the felling.

Prosecutors also presented images of a wooden wedge in the back of Graham’s vehicle—believed to be a chunk cut from the tree to control its fall, and later taken as a keepsake. A forensic botanist testified there was “very strong evidence” that the wedge came from the Sycamore Gap tree. The chainsaw used in the crime was never recovered, but both men had access to such tools and attempted to downplay their familiarity with them during the trial.

What emerged in court was a portrait of two men who orchestrated the crime with forethought and precision—then seemed to relish the fallout. Despite the overwhelming evidence, both pleaded not guilty and attempted to shift blame. Graham alleged Carruthers had framed him by taking his car and phone. Carruthers, in turn, claimed he had no knowledge of the felling and didn’t understand why people were so upset over “just a tree.” The jury was unconvinced. After just over five hours of deliberation, they returned unanimous guilty verdicts on both counts of criminal damage.

Why This Tree Meant So Much to So Many

Planted sometime between 1860 and 1890, likely by landowner and antiquarian John Clayton to accentuate the ancient Roman wall, the tree evolved from a scenic curiosity into a cultural touchstone. Generations grew up with it as a backdrop to their lives—used for wedding proposals, memorials, and ashes scattered in honor. It earned international attention after appearing in the 1991 film Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, when Kevin Costner’s character rescued a young boy in its shadow and plucked mistletoe from its branches.

It was a place where people paused—where the modern world receded just long enough for reflection, for stillness. “The Sycamore Gap tree wasn’t just wood and leaves—it was woven into the fabric of people’s memories,” said a spokesperson for the National Trust. When news of its felling spread, the grief was immediate and widespread. For some, it felt personal. “Almost like someone had been murdered,” one observer remarked—a sentiment echoed across social media and in letters to local MPs.

The emotional resonance was so deep that the comparison to mourning wasn’t an exaggeration. The tree was part of England’s collective identity—an emblem of the North East, a feature in art, film, and thousands of family photo albums. It held an irreplaceable presence in the natural and cultural heritage of the region. Local Mayor Kim McGuinness called its destruction “devastating,” urging that the guilty parties face “tough sentences” for what she described as a blow to the soul of the community.

The symbolism extended beyond nostalgia. In an era of growing environmental awareness, the tree stood as a symbol of what can endure if left untouched. Its loss—especially through deliberate destruction—felt like a violation of the fragile trust between people and the landscapes they cherish. It raised uncomfortable questions: If something so universally loved can be destroyed in minutes for no discernible reason, what else is vulnerable?

Yet even in its fall, the Sycamore Gap tree continued to unite people. The wave of grief gave rise to community vigils, creative tributes, and even initiatives aimed at ensuring such destruction is harder to commit in the future. In mourning the tree, people reaffirmed their commitment to the places and symbols that bind us—not just to nature, but to one another.

Sentencing and Legal Ramifications

The legal aftermath of the Sycamore Gap tree felling has raised critical questions about how society values cultural and environmental heritage—and what justice looks like when such symbols are destroyed. With Daniel Graham and Adam Carruthers now convicted of two counts of criminal damage, they await sentencing on July 15, 2025. The stakes are high: under UK law, criminal damage causing loss or harm over £5,000 can carry a maximum sentence of up to 10 years in prison.

That maximum is rarely imposed. But this case is far from typical. Prosecutors have argued the men acted with high culpability—planning the act in advance, showing no remorse, and even gloating about the public reaction in its wake. “They couldn’t have been more guilty if they’d shown up in court wearing ‘we did it’ t-shirts,” one commenter quipped online. Though flippant, the remark reflects the overwhelming clarity of the case and the public’s deep desire for meaningful accountability.

According to the Sentencing Council, judges consider several factors when determining punishment, including intent, planning, and the psychological or community harm caused. On all fronts, the case against Graham and Carruthers places them in the most serious category of offenders. Not only did they knowingly destroy a tree of immense cultural and emotional significance, but they also damaged a section of Hadrian’s Wall—part of a legally protected UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The financial cost of the destruction has been debated, with early estimates valuing the tree at over £620,000. While that figure was later revised downward, it remains well within the highest threshold of harm for sentencing purposes. But the monetary cost, as both prosecutors and defense acknowledged, is almost beside the point. “There are more important factors,” one defense lawyer conceded, recognizing that the case is as much about impact as it is about damage.

Public officials, including Northumbria Police and Crime Commissioner Susan Dungworth and Mayor Kim McGuinness, have called for firm sentencing to reflect the severity of the offense. Both men have been remanded in custody, partly for their own protection, after facing public backlash and reported harassment.

There’s no legal precedent quite like this one—few acts of vandalism have generated this level of national sorrow, nor involved such a symbolically loaded target. While the chainsaw that felled the tree remains missing, the evidence of intent and the aftermath are unmistakable. Justice Christina Lambert, who presided over the trial, has indicated that a “lengthy custodial sentence” is not only likely but necessary, given the seriousness of the offense and the public interest.

Yet the case also opens broader legal and ethical questions: Should acts against nature be treated with the same weight as those against human-made monuments? What deterrents are appropriate in an age where visibility and virality often embolden reckless behavior? As sentencing approaches, the court will weigh not only the harm done, but the message sent by its response.

Rebirth from Ruin: Regeneration, Legacy, and Lessons

Months after the Sycamore Gap tree was felled, signs of life began to emerge from the stump—defiant green shoots pushing through the scarred surface, a subtle but profound symbol that not all was lost. For many, this quiet regeneration became a form of collective solace, a reminder that even after senseless destruction, resilience is possible.

That hope has been formalized through efforts by the National Trust and the Northumberland National Park Authority. Dozens of saplings, propagated from seeds and cuttings of the original tree, are now being nurtured at the National Trust’s Plant Conservation Centre. In November, 49 of these young trees—each roughly representing a foot of the original tree’s height—were designated for planting across the UK through the Trust’s Trees of Hope initiative. Each site is a conscious effort to preserve not only the genetic legacy of the tree, but the spirit of connection it fostered.

The largest remaining section of the felled tree will also live on—soon to be transformed into a public installation at The Sill: National Landscape Discovery Centre. Rather than hiding the remains, the project will offer a space for reflection, education, and storytelling. “Our focus remains on ensuring positive outcomes from this tragic act,” a National Park spokesperson said, emphasizing the long-term vision for legacy, memory, and meaning.

But this moment isn’t just about tree regrowth or landscape preservation—it’s about collective values. The outpouring of grief and anger wasn’t merely about losing a tree; it was about what that tree represented: permanence in a shifting world, a sense of place, and the power of shared symbols to anchor memory and identity.

The case has also spurred discussions around how we protect our natural heritage from deliberate harm. Whether through stronger penalties, public education, or community stewardship, there is a growing recognition that cultural and environmental landmarks need both legal safeguarding and emotional investment from the people they serve.

The story of the Sycamore Gap tree now contains more than one chapter. It’s a story of senseless destruction—but also of unity, justice, and the extraordinary capacity of people to find purpose in mourning. Those who felled the tree may have hoped to make a spectacle. But what they unintentionally ignited was a movement to cherish and defend the irreplaceable.

A Landmark Lost, A Legacy Replanted

The felling of the Sycamore Gap tree was more than an act of vandalism—it was a rupture in the collective emotional landscape of a country. In a matter of minutes, two men destroyed something that had stood through centuries of storms, becoming a silent witness to countless personal moments and shared histories. But what followed was not just grief. It was a groundswell of unity, outrage, and eventually, accountability.

And now, new life is stirring—both literally and symbolically. Saplings grown from the original tree are being planted across the UK, not just as replacements, but as symbols of resilience, care, and remembrance. These new trees, along with educational installations and renewed conservation efforts, are redefining the Sycamore Gap’s legacy—not as a story of destruction, but of rebirth.

In a world increasingly marked by fragility—environmental, cultural, social—the story of this one tree serves as a reminder: what we treasure must be protected, not just by laws, but by shared responsibility. The Sycamore Gap tree may have fallen, but its roots remain—deep in the soil, and deeper still in the public conscience.