We recently just got back from being on a cruise ship for a few days. Funny thing, being in the middle of the ocean. Especially when you’re a tree climber. It’s a foreign place. A totally different medium, water and land. My equilibrium is still recovering from the unrelenting dynamic movement of the ship upon the waves.

Looking over the edge of that ship was an intimidating thing. A hundred foot plummet or so until you hit the the surface of the water, but then there is this wild variable after that to consider. There’s just an unimaginable amount of space between you and the rest of the world. Think about how long you could actually tread water before having to give in. Then my mind wandered to all of the predators that may lurk underneath the surface, the sharks, the whales, and all the killer what-have-yous. The storm cells and the thirty foot waves that could potentially swallow one up. There’s no possible way you could make it to shore. Thinking about that kind of exposure freaked me out.

What’s interesting is that it isn’t the actual water itself that’s scary, it’s the result of being in the water that’s scary. It’s the undefinable space between you and something else, really.

This anxiety is best dealt with by navigation. How we move through space and navigate is critical to our success. I think of large tree climbing, and all that space in between anchor points and work positions. How will I cover that ground is the thought I mostly have when considering working a large crown. Line advancing, swinging from limb to limb, and even if it’s not pretty, kicking and scratching just to get up and over a scaffold limb and onward towards a better tie-off or another piece of deadwood. Sometimes, it feels exactly like treading water. So I was surprised, after some thoughtful consideration, that I was able to reconcile being at sea to being in the tree.

I found comfort in thinking of the vessel, too. The ship itself, with all of its comforts and attractions, was a very wonderful thing to have. I felt more and more grateful for the ship as the days went on. It’s a safe haven in the midst of all that water. The only hope at real sustainability on that great wild sea. Simply, solid ground.

Of course to continue the metaphor I’d have to think of my rope and saddle as a vessel for the crown. The comfort of a few slings and pulleys and carabiners that I can use when things get tough, to keep me afloat when the storm blows in and the waves are crashing down from overhead. My foot ascender, like the large propellers under the boat, motor me upwards in the crown as the wake of white water trails behind. It’s the vessel, too that helps us cover this space between us and the world, between us and the next place we need to be.

I’m not sure the best place for an arborist is at sea, but it sure makes you consider things on a different wave. After all, they do say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Land, ho’!