What do you teach someone that’s learning about climbing trees?

Thats a good question. It’s one I think about often when I’m working with my new apprentice and long time friend, Brian. The most general topics are easy enough to come by, things like (to name a generic few) how to tie a knot, safe work practices and following the A300 standards, efficiency, clear communication, practicing good science through proper pruning cuts, thorough pre-work tree inspections, properly timed cultural practices and accurate tree species identification. The list goes on and on. There are so many great books out there for the aspiring arborist, for the aspiring climber. There’s some great content on the internet too.

I recently came across a wonderful interview produced by the The Tree Projects featuring the late Jamz Luce, long time climbing arborist and industry ambassador. In the interview, he talks about an experience he had working for a municipality where he climbed a large tree near a park to correct some large, storm damaged limbs. In the video, he reminisced that after the work was done, he descended to the ground, and his colleague asked him, “how was the view?” In his eagerness to finish the project, he had forgot to take a moment and admire the view, and Jamz said that realization always stuck with him for the rest of his career.

I would say that’s exactly the kind of thing you teach someone who doesn’t know much about climbing trees.

I called an old friend this morning over coffee to catch up, Mark Prezkurat of New Hampshire. Mark has always felt like a kindred spirit to me, someone I can really relate to. He’s the type of person that encourages you to call, anytime at all. So I did. Anyone that knows Mark knows the kind of respect he has for arboriculture. He has a lot of passion for mentorship too, for teaching people how to do the right thing for the right reasons. Sometimes I just like to give Mark a shout and listen to his positive energy. It’s refreshing. And he’s a great storyteller himself.

As it turns out, Mark and I found ourselves talking about ceremony. I told him that I had just finished up reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’. I remembered a quote from the book, “Our elders say that ceremony is the way we can remember to remember.” Mark explained that ceremony is very important in his life and in his work. He told me he always conducts a small ceremony before working in the trees-whether he’s cutting one down or pruning-and before commencing a project he always commits himself to the promise of utilizing the parts of the tree in the proper manner, mulching pruned branches back into the forest for some organic return, or piling firewood for a client close to the house for winter heat. His promise is to not waste the majesty and magic built into the life of the tree. He is remembering to give it new life. And by remembering, he is teaching.

I went on to mention how interested I was in Jamz’s work and in his character and spirit after watching that interview, and Mark shared his memories of him in a few touching stories. Looking back on it, our whole conversation was a small ceremony of sorts, a remembering to remember, and it illustrated a keystone theme that’s echoed all throughout Kimmerer’s book: reciprocity. A respectful giving and taking as we interact with the animate world around us. Whatever you give comes back. It lives on. Telling stories is a ceremony for sure. Stories are a way to give something back, to breathe reciprocity into the world.

That’s another important thing you can teach someone.

Just yesterday Brian and I were practicing some climbing techniques in the hackberry in my yard. He progressed from a simpler moving rope system to a stationary line, and I introduced him to the nuts and bolts of an efficient single line ascent. Up in the crown, we swung around and rang some bells and continued to work on the nuances of work positioning. We ran through a few progression climbs, working deliberately from station to station, focusing on smooth technique, control and dialing in on the mastery of the systems we were using.

After a while though, we separated, just simply exploring separate corners of the tree. As exploration inherently causes, he went his way and I went mine. I worked out to the end of a long, horizontal scaffold limb, and all at once the the world started to vibrate in my vision. I looked down and the wildflowers in the lawn spilled out in all endless directions, whole galaxies of yellow and blue. A flock of cedar waxwings burst past me like a band of berry robbers barrel rolling through the sky, the flock splitting in unison around me. I could hear the simmering pulse of their wing beats, their hectic chatter. A silent crane glided by overhead on some unseen thermal against a bright blue sky, his long legs floating way out behind him. I looked out across the tree crown and noticed Brian smiling at the same sights, balancing on the same frequency of experience, right there in the middle of things. Perhaps the mystical is just that: the simplicity of pure observation.

So what’s the most important thing you can teach someone learning to climb trees?

Teach them to enjoy the view.