Whenever a chainsaw rings.

I had found myself on the shoreline of a local lake with binoculars pressed steadily into my eye sockets scanning the far shore for any sign of movement. I was beside myself. There was somewhat of a panic that had set in and many questions were running through my mind. To say I felt threatened is an understatement.
I had the thought of getting in my truck and taking a ride to check it out, because the long range optics didn't pick up anything useful. But I had already arrived late to the job site from a lax morning of blog writing and other internetting endeavors. I was wondering if what I heard was an older model 201T, mainly because of the intimidating growl that comes with the muffler mod and the port-and-polish. It definitely wasn't a sixty-six, that's for sure. Not enough body of echo rolling over the water. So, it must be, there must be a climber over there! They're probably gaffing a prune!
Then their chipper started and I was able to focus a bit more. My throw line already set in my own project, I yanked a rope up as quickly as I could and ascended for a better vantage point. As I HAASED up into the crown, instead of looking for imperfections in structure on the tree that may prove hazardous to me throughout the climb, I still couldn't get my mind off the enemy.
"I wonder if they're even certified" I said to myself, irritated. "I wonder if they even have PPE!"
Once aloft I set a canopy anchor and relaxed for a minute, but then the engine rolled over again in a sudden pop and began ripping through more wood, and the worry tore back into my mind.
Distraught with competitive anxiety, I descended quickly and kicked off the trunk transitioning nicely into a limb walk where I installed my lanyard and listened quietly again. I think I even hunkered down a bit. There was a one-inch piece of dead wood just beyond my right foot, so I leaned into my saddle, and began to cut, ever so softly, and listened for the sound again.
Maybe an hour or so later the pop-and-growl came again, and my head turned on my shoulders like a hawk. There was the sound of leaves whipping quickly through the air and then the loud thud of a butt smacking the earth. "Blowing tops!" I though. Flooded with contempt, I reached down onto my right hip and unclipped my own saw from it's resting place. I choked it and pulled and choked and pulled for a good 40 seconds or so. "C'mon" I said, drawn out and frustrated. Finally the engine gave in and it revved up and I made a four inch collar cut with a vengeful grin, not looking at the cut but over across the lake in case their cadre was now watching me.
And so it went for the afternoon, that chainsaw in the distance pushing me to extremes that normally I try and avoid. I wonder what it is that does this to me. Maybe it's just a primal thing that's embedded in everyone's make-up, the desire to be better or to be more valuable or more successful in our own trade, whatever it may be. The more I thought about it, the more silly I felt. I mean, owning chainsaws is a high dollar business, and we know how saturated the tree cutter trade is. But whenever there is one sounding within a two block radius, our biology takes over, and we are in the holds of fight-or-flight. The competition will never die.
For such a close knit community, there is a real divide I think between the elitists and those everyday contractors that may not be up on the latest qualifications or the most cutting edge rigging. But everyone is out there working hard for their families and their loved ones. It would be nice to put be able to put down our guards and be more excepting of the industry as a whole. Hardworking men and women are out there everywhere making a living and it's something to admire.
Maybe for this holiday season, every time a chainsaw rings an angel with get their wings.

The Cost of Doing Business.

However ironic it may be, the tree itself is a wonderful business model and maybe a good thing to turn to when considering how efficient you operate. In Shigo's Modern Arboriculture, his philosophy of energy requirements is a common theme throughout much of the writing. Many times paragraphs are reiterated with the idea that there is a cost for every action. That cost is energy, and trees at different points in there life will utilize and store energy in different ways (potential and kinetic). Think of the business you run, and consider the energy requirements of that operation.

Consider this illustration by the Dr.:

You could take Shigo's illustration in this instance and almost directly apply it to how businesses grow! It really is amazing to find this connection in the trees we care for. Trees, like businesses, are made up of many different systems that are in perpetual motion. Each system requires energy, and if that demand is not met, the system will shut down. Trees are extremely efficient at collecting energy and allocating it, even in poor environments. Parts are shed in order to protect the structure that the tree has created for itself. Maybe you've experimented with different areas of arboriculture in the past, spent money on certain investments that didn't play out, and as a business owner had to shed those aspects of business that weren't producing the sugars needed for survival. It is a beautiful learning curve that we and the trees experience daily.

What is even more fascinating to consider is success or survival based on size rather than efficiency. I'll quote the book again from a few more pages in: 

"There are two ways to survive; grow so fast that your crown is above others, or grow very slowly and keep your mass so small that you can survive on a very small budget. There are many dwarf trees in the natural forest. They do not reproduce and they receive very few wounds because they are so small. The trees that die are those that 'make a rush' for the top and increase their mass beyond the limits of available energy" (Shigo 266).

This can be interpreted on many different levels. But to consider it at face value, small growth is good growth, and even no growth doesn't necessarily mean unhealthy living. Growing large requires heavy amounts of energy and space. There is more surface area for wounding and pest invasion, and the battle field increases thus on many fronts.

But don't let staying small seem so magical and convenient either. Small dwarfs don't reproduce, there's no legacy, just simple living and then they melt away in the shade of the giants. But what about the artistic bonsai tree that's 150 years old and not even 3 feet tall in it's container? It's almost micro- groomed. I believe business can be micro-groomed in the same manner. In this case there is a high level of maintenance required. But the space and mass remain tiny, so maybe there is a trade off.

I could probably get lost in this metaphor for the remainder of the day, but my energy reserves are running low and I need to go harvest some photons.

One Shirt Vs. Two

I'm sure many of you have heard of this new phenomenon known as decision fatigue. In fact I just read a few blurbs on the internet that make reference to it. One of the more common illustrations of avoiding decision fatigue is the example of Steve Jobs always wearing the same clothes everyday to eliminate the stress of deciding on a wardrobe. Basically, the less decisions that you have make on seemingly less trivial things can lead to better decisions on real, pressing issues. Making less decisions is less stressful, to poorly paraphrase. This concept was reinforced when I recently read an interesting blog by Mark Bridge on his reflections of the TCIA expo. He laments on his encounter with a climber bombarding him with questions on SRT and ultimately coining him as an "old school" climber because of his preference of a doubled rope style.
The debate between SRT and DRT is exhaustive and I think to many skilled and experienced climbers it may even be getting a bit boring at this point (probably an overstatement). Base anchors, canopy anchors, redirects, retrievable redirects, suspension points, mitigating loads and vectors, doubling the force, cutting the force in half, one line versus two lines, and then of course the argument that it's just another tool in the tool box.
This debate gives me much anxiety. I feel as though every time I wake in the morning there is a different variation of a retrievable redirect waiting on my newsfeed.
As a tree climber I favor an SRT setup through and through. I'm a bit OCD with my gear prep and organization, as I'm sure many contracting climbers out there are, and when I show up to a job, the last thing that I need to do internally is start up a struggle in my mind on what style of climbing would better suit me for this particular situation. So, with that said, if you were to consider climbing styles as different pieces of clothing, I definitely wear the same shirt everyday, especially when efficiency is critical and people are paying me good money to wear what I wear.
I think it's important to mention that I've been climbing professionally for only about 8 years. Compared to the likes of the Treemagineers, or some of my mentors, or many of you climbers out there that have 20-plus years of experience, of course there will be different tools in your tool box, and different preferences in style as far as implicating those tools. I was, for lack of a better term, birthed into the industry at the onset of the SRT revolution. SRT, for me, was always an easier way of climbing, and so that's what I ran with. That's the shirt that I wear. It's comfortable, it looks good and it helps me everyday to be successful. It's one less decision that I have to make in my work day, so then my workday is less stressful and I am better able to perform and come home safe to my family.
I've dabbled with many of the toys. Some work, some don't, and some work once in a while in the right situation. So there's another gray area that we often hear so much about when it comes to a newly construed tool or variation there of, "well of course it can't be applied all the time, it's very situational and it's just another tool in the tool box". That's fine. But I really do think that at some point there gets to be way too many tools in the box. You would need another person just to help you carry a box that big to get it to the job site. Is that really efficient?
Now I am not arguing in the least that development of ideas and the progression of gear is in vain. That is absolutely not my intention. I am deeply indebted to those who have made those innovations and researched those progressions so that our industry can be where it is today, and so that I could be where I am today. But, I guess everyone needs to find their favorite shirt to wear. Younger and less experienced climbers I feel have such a great anxiety in rummaging through all of the gear and techniques available, especially with the internet as a resources mainly, that it sometimes may become stressful to them on the decision making end. That worries me a bit.
I'll reference another famous adage that I think came from Bruce Lee (although that may not even be true) that we must chisel away the unessential, like a sculptor chiseling away stone to reveal the true art form within the stone. I like this philosophy when applied to my tree climbing and my tree climbing gear. It's actually the one thing I'm constantly doing is trying to get gear off of my saddle, trying to create combinations of gear that can be applied to many different situations rather than just a few. What is necessary, and what is unnecessary? I think I'll go out to the gear box now and get on with it. And wouldn't ya know that it's pretty cold outside too, so one shirt may not cut it.

Hydration, Snacks, and Staying Warm.

As I get myself ready to head out the door this morning, I'm already about 8 cups of coffee deep. A good breakfast for me usually consists of something like an instant Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich and a Hershey's bar, and even that is a rarity. No water, I don't like the taste and typically don't drink any until I'm thirsty, and from what I understand that's already too late.
Taking care of our bodies may be the single most important preventative maintenance we can do as production climbers, even more so than cleaning chainsaws and organizing gear. It's an investment worth making, especially if you plan on going the distance in this industry. Eating healthy, staying hydrated and proper dress can really turn a mundane day into a great experience.
Hydration packs are awesome for taking up into the tree to stay hydrated. Not only can you carry your water, but you can also sneak in a few bars of candy or granola or whatever you fancy, along with some other snacks of your choice. I always run into the problem during long climbs of the shoulder straps on these hydration packs digging into my arms pits and starting to chafe, especially in the hot summer months. In those cases I like to opt for a simple Nalgene bottle or the likes on a carabiner for my harness, and maybe a small fanny pack to tote my snacks around with me.
I do most of my work in Pennsylvania, which has some pretty harsh winters laden with snow and nasty winds. Although work conditions are sometimes dangerous, for the most part it becomes about bearing the elements in order to make money. Now this can take some serious motivation after sitting by the wood fire all night, but it's gotta get done in order to keep the fire burning.
I think clothing in these conditions can be just as important as healthy amounts of good food and strong hydration practices. When you feel warm and dry, there is no doubt you will perform better. Depending on where you're located, clothing types will vary. In the northeast where there are high winds and many times precipitation, one of the best investments I've made is in a good alpine shell. Something that is breathable but can also handle the wind, snow and rain. Couple a good shell with some smart layering of your choice and budget, and you will be well prepared for whatever Mother Nature sends your way.
I used to follow a really cool blog about a multi-sport adventurer out of Alaska named Luc Mel. His website is really cool: thingstolucat.com and if you ever want some cool motivation you should check it out. But in one of his stories, which are mostly suffer-fests, the last resort of motivation that he uses when the elements are really bearing down is music. Now, tree climbing is no unsupported trek across Alaska, but I do like the idea of saving a few of your favorite songs to finish out a tough day. With the advent of the Sena communication units being commonplace amongst crews, and the ability to link our iTunes right up with our comms systems, why not get hyped on some great tunes in order to finish the job?
I'll probably drink a few more cups of coffee and try to scarf down a bagel slathered up in butter before I head out. Maybe I'll download some classic rock ballads too, some big white oaks are on my horizon and the wind is picking up.

Lanyard Adjusters.

I recently acquired an ART Positioner 2 from a good friend. I was previously using a Trango Cinch on 10 mm Yale Beeline Blue, but that was red flagged at the Kentucky Arborist Association TCC. There was an issue with the rating on the Cinch only being compliant with rope that had dynamic qualities (40% elongation is what it ended up being defined as). I stopped using the Cinch immediately. So then after the comp I braved muscling around with hitch cord and a micro pulley for a while, until I just made that sweet deal I mentioned in the first sentence.
With so many options available, changing gear around can become quite a dirty habit. Not to mention expensive. But there is nothing like a great combination of gear that allows us to be that much smoother in our actions and movements. Some tools affect us more than others, and I think a lanyard adjuster may be one of those tools. Too much drag and it becomes painful, too slippery and it becomes dangerous, too big and it becomes restricting. I mean, think about how often you lanyard in. I rest my case.
Hitch cord seems like the traditional, versatile solution to lanyard adjustment. Add a micro-pulley and a carabiner and you have a durable, long lasting adjuster. The problem with hitch cord is two fold though in my opinion. 1) Sap destroys the flow. 2) You can't suck your hips in really close to a stem without the hitch knocking against the anchor or wanting to wrap around the backside. Aside from those two issues, of course normal wear and tear will always be ticking away.
Mechanicals are many. You have your basic cammed setups like the Petzl Micograb and its relatives like the Gibbs, and then the more modern adjusters the ART Positioner and the Petzl Grillon and the likes. That list can go on and on, and all of these devices have their own specific ratings and requirements. In my opinion, as far as tending rope, there is no comparison with mechanicals to the option of hitch cord. Another benefit is in the exposure to sap. Yes, mechanicals still have their threshold in sappy scenarios like pine and spruce where I am, but I find that even if sap accumulates on a mechanical device, it's much easier to disassemble and clean up verses removing it from cordage, which is basically impossible.
Also, I think another deal breaker is the type of rope you use for your actual lanyard. I was on the that Trango Cinch kick for a while because I was running the super small 10mm line, and that ran best through the Cinch for me. Well, when I axed that from my toolbox, my next available lanyard was a 24-strand double braid that I combined with 8mm Yale Veritas. Too grabby for my liking, the hitch cord would really lock into place after a while of being loaded, and then it would become really hard to tend. That's when I did the deal for the ART Positioner 2, and it's running super nice on that same 24-strand rope. Same rope, different devices, totally different performance. Imagine then, the potential combinations.
I think I took it for granted not really studying the ratings and requirements of the lanyard adjusters, namely mechanicals. Some of these devices are really only rated for very specific ropes in order to be compatible and safe. Everything needs to jive in these systems, from the smoothness right down to the size and structure of the individual pieces that make up the whole. Pay attention to these things and re-evaluate your setup. Maybe you can make it safer and more efficient all in one move.

Respect the Crotch.

Much of what we do as arborists deals with branch unions, from setting our climbing lines, to making pruning cuts, to installing cables and braces, to hanging a block or pulley to even just standing still for a minute to take in a breath and the wonderful view. How often though do we take for granted how a branch is formed off the trunk and how special a mechanism this truly is.

I'm not sure how many collar cuts I've made in my life, but what I do know is that even though all branch collars are formed in the same biological process, rarely do two collars look exactly the same. A good place to start understanding the branch and it's attachment is to understand the anatomy. For this I turn to Shigo's Modern Arboriculture:

"As branch tissues develop toward the base of the branch, the tissues turn to form a collar. The trunk tissues begin to form later, and they circle the branch collar with a trunk collar. The new branch collar fits over the shaft of the tissues in the existing branch. The branch and trunk tissues develop connections below the collars...Many times the collar-forming tissues mix with each other and the collars are not distinct." (page 86).

By this excerpt we can see how strong and reinforced the tissues are in the branch collar. This is critical to understand from a climber's perspective, because having a climb line seated perfectly in a branch union will give us the strongest anchor available biologically speaking, aside from tying directly to the trunk itself. Technically, Shigo explains, branches aren't structurally attached to the trunk per se:

"Just as branches are really not structurally attached to trunks, neither are roots structurally attached to the tree base. The small strip of branch tissue below the branch cannot be considered a structural attachment. The holding power of roots and branches lies in the series of collars," (page 87).

 We can therefore see how important it is to target those branch collars when building our anchors. The further we move out along a limb, the further we increase leverage on the branch union, and the further we raise the chances of that branch failing. Seek the collar!

Let's move on to pruning. Earlier I had stated that no two collars look the same, which may be a stretch I'll admit, because every branch collar, microscopically is formed in the same place on the tree and is comprised of a few different things: the branch protection zone, the branch bark ridge, the branch pith, and the actual collar where tissues from the branch and trunk build upon one another.

For pruning purposes, it's important to understand the branch protection zone. A proper pruning cut will land itself perfectly in line with the upper and lower points of this protection zone. Shigo makes it clear that not all branch collars will look the same, some will be more defined while other will be flatter and almost seem nonexistent (page 93). To understand the pruning cut, you must understand the branch collar and how it is built.

This is information is not new. Even when Shigo's book was published in 1991, and excerpt states:

"Much of what we think is new was known many years ago. In 1754 researchers knew that the collar should not be removed or decay would develop rapidly. The protection zone on the branch collar was well understood one century ago. Then why did the flush cut persist? Mainly because of one word-healing. Everybody thought that the large ribs of "callus" meant strong "healing". Now we know that what they called callus was really woundwood," (page 91).

Even with all the information we have in a rapidly changing and technologically advance world, information can still be misinterpreted. It's important I think to constantly re-evaluate what we do as arborists and why we do it. Shigo tell us that many advances is science came not from discovery but rediscovery (page 91). Maybe the moral of this story is not how many pruning cuts you've made in your career, but how well placed they were. Afterall, it's our job.

Wood Anatomy.

Wood is a complex system of many specialized cells and fibers that work together in order to not only support the tree but also act as a transport system for essential elements. As we know, wood also has the ability to compartmentalize decay. As arborists it is important to understand wood, how it's built and how it can keep us safe.
There are certain thresholds of imperfections in wood that may deem a tree unsafe to climb. But imperfections don't necessarily mean that an extremely dangerous situation is at hand either, or that a tree should be removed. Trees are amazing systems and there support system is just as fascinating. A pre-climb inspection is a great opportunity to apply our knowledge of wood, how it's built and how it functions as a support system even with imperfections and decay present.
Shigo tells us to "touch trees" in order to learn about them on a deeper level. Inspecting a tree may include things like looking high up into the crown with binoculars in order to spot included bark in major branch unions, hollows high up on the stem, conks or fruiting bodies that may indicate wood decay and weak structure, sounding low on the stem to listen for absent heartwood and decay pockets in which we can't see behind an otherwise healthy looking outer bark layer. Feel the tree, is it soft? Is it spongy, does the bark flake off clean from an inactive cambial zone behind?
Wood can determine our operations as arborists as well. Consider a cable installation over a weak branch union. In this particular case, the annual growth of wood in a narrow crotch can actually be working against the tree in terms of stability. Each year the wood grows in girth ( a meristematic process) and continues to weaken that crotch as the inclusion of bark grows. As we mitigate that inclusion with a cable or brace rod, hopefully we don't find more decay or unsound wood where we are drilling. Now this is a rare case, but think about how many situations can potentially occur just on the condition of the tree's wood alone! Wood constantly affects the decisions we make as arborists.
So back to the question, what's the threshold of safety when analyzing the condition of wood, the extent of decay, the absence of heartwood? It is so situational, I do understand that, and of course we must consider the value of a tree, it's location, it's history and the list goes on and on. But let us focus only on the tree's wood. Like a basket that is weaved many times over, and on many different planes, internally it seems almost as if the wood of a tree in infinite in it's internal dimensions.
We sound a tree and find that it is indeed 'hollow'. Now what? Does the tree automatically come down? A good application of a resistograph, but let's get real here, is the average homeowner going to pay for a resistograph reading? Maybe in your neighborhood, definitely not in mine. Well, maybe that's for another article. Maybe there is an opening in the trunk in the middle of some callous wood that will allow us to probe and to see the extent of the missing heartwood. Sapwood itself has many structural benefits and can be astoundingly supportive, even in the absence of the static mass that heartwood provides. But honestly, I'm not sure, as a climbing arborist, just what I'm comfortable with.
Of course, we must always error on the side of safety for our loved ones, our friends and our industry as a whole. But when the question arises, "how far are you willing to take it, how far are you willing to push keeping a tree around based on it's structure?, how much higher are you willing to climb above a defect?", that conversation will be about wood and it's ability to carry the load.
Supplemental support, tree injections, maple syrup harvesting, old wounds to the trunk, trees and construction; all these things affect wood and how it functions and how it's forced to respond and still maintain it's integrity. Wood is a fascinating thing yet I always find myself taking it for granted.

Form and Function.

I had recently watched an interesting series on You Tube entitled "Craft in America" featuring the late George Nakashima's woodwork. I won't go into many details as far as the documentary goes, but one of George's concepts in the art that he produced was the necessity for functionality, while still remaining simple yet elegant in form.
I think of the tree when considering this simple elegance. A stationary object, but yet look at an ancient tree and follow it's complex branching structure. The eye moves along, twisting and turning and swooping, not still in the least bit. Many processes are occurring all at once, internally and externally, horizontally and vertically, but our eye may only catch a slight flutter of leaves from a passing breeze. As with any great piece of art, the tree is also composed from a voracious system of many organic parts. It's form is obvious and hidden at once, it's function is basic sustenance.
The arborist and furniture maker have much in common I think, although different crafts, both depend highly on those functions of the tree. How wood is made and how wood is broken down, divided up and preserved. The form of the tree can determine a piece of furniture's bend and bow, it can determine how the arborist walks a limb or bounces momentarily cutting a piece of deadwood free. Of course, a tree's form is directly related to the function of support. When a tree can't support itself: it sheds, it shuts down, it compartmentalizes.
In return for the tree's inability to move as most understand movement, it has many dimensions to it's form, and somehow is able to move it's sculptors and caretakers along many lifetimes of craft. For the craftsman, there are many lifetimes in one ancient tree. The tree has not moved and yet many have moved along underneath it. There is a wisdom in that continuity that a tree internalizes, and I think that wisdom is uncovered by the woodworker. A lasting piece of art created from a lasting piece of nature.
So form and function should always be simple and beautiful. Easier said than done I guess. Just look to the tree. Place your hand on the rough bark of a Chestnut Oak or the smooth bark of a Beech and look upward into the great crown. An old adage is "heavy is the the head that lies the crown" but yet the tree makes it look effortless. That's real majesty. The balance, the strength and the tidiness of the branches should all be inspiring. The foundation and strength in which its rooted should be a reminder of what's important. The energy is transferred directly from that foundation outward, and the tree, by working for itself, works for all those around it. Like the limb walker and the sander of fine grain.

Rope.

Rope as a tool is direly underrated.  Not literally, of course. And even moreso, the length of the rope in particular. Because of the vast array of tree architectures in terms of size and species, it is important to understand how a piece of rope can be applied to the crown of the tree in order to move through it. Too much rope and you're fighting a slack tending war and a sloppy tail. Too little rope and more moves are necessary to get out of the tree. Balance in rope length and application to a tree's specific character can lead to more efficient movement in the crown.
No matter the specific type of rope you run (double braid, 16-strand, kern mantle, etc.), think of the obvious height of the tree. Then consider the specifications of the work order. How many different areas will you need to establish a work position in so that the specs are satisfied?  Have a vision for your movement from one task to the next, if you plan on leaving a redirect built from gear or natural crouching to an area for more work before descending, these things will determine how much rope is required to cover that space.
Consider the angles. Large, lateral redirects in the climbing system will eat up a bunch of feet, so give this kind of thing consideration when pulling a specific rope bag off the truck. Wide crowns, even though they may not be tall, can still require a lot of rope in order to achieve a comfortable working position that the tree's structure can handle.
The combination of different ropes making up a larger climbing system and retrieval scheme can certainly be an artful thing. Sectioning rope off either as a designated climbing line or designated retrieval line can simplify advancing a climbing system or creating an advantage for easier retrieval of the system once the climb is complete. Depending on what type of system is in use will determine how ropes are sectioned off and introduced into a plan.
As a contracting arborist it is important to be highly adaptable to wide array of situations in the field. Several different lengths of rope can make for an effective way at approaching different crowns. Experimenting with different systems can lead to more efficient work, and dialing in on just the right amount of rope for the job is definitely the sustainable choice when it comes to managing gear aloft. More planning to save on time and energy will go along way.

Competition.

"Compete (verb): strive to gain or win something by defeating or establishing superiority over others who are trying to do the same." 

I copied and pasted this definition directly from a Google search of the definition for the word 'compete'.

As contracting arborists, we spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about 'the competition'. Whether it's our contracting competitors in a local market, our colleagues at chapter and international events, our co-workers, or just our own internal egos; competing is as embedded in the threads of arboriculture as is a sharp saw. Establishing superiority echoes in my mind especially when I read that definition, because this is everyone's dark little secret when it comes to competing. We celebrate community, we celebrate the industry and safety and sharing knowledge all the wonderful things that competing draws out, but the superiority thing gets consuming and ugly. The truth is though, rank is necessary for a number of reasons, not at all ugly in hindsight.

This year alone I've made it to four major events so far: The Charlotte, The New England TCC, Penn-Del TCC and JAMBO; and in a few weeks I'll be traveling to The Kentucky TCC. So five. I've spent well over two thousand dollars in travel expenses, and I've driven well over three thousand miles. I could sit here and talk about how happy and wonderful it is and all the great people I've met and the beautiful state parks I've stayed at and the beautiful parks we've climbed in and all the great people I've stayed in touch with, but I want to be honest and not sound cliche. I want the superiority, I want to be better than the other climbers, just like every other competitive climber out there.

When we compete, you go under the microscope. As climbers, there's no more hiding ugly technique or unsafe acts. For the most part, tree climbing competitions have proven to be MUCH safer than the working environment, because of that microscope. We have other experienced climbers and arborists judging, many familiar events and tasks that do emulate what we do for the most part, and at the end of the day, no matter how many pats on the back you got or pow wows you've been in, the numbers are what they are, and you're left to stand alone amongst your peers, in the order in which you've finished. Some people will never make it out of the bottom, some people will grip the title for years, and some will nauseatingly close. 

This chase is extremely addictive in nature. It has a lot to do with ego, but I think at the core it's much more a trait of the perfectionist and the artist. As arborists we're tradesmen and women, and even more so we are crafts people, artisans if you will. If we can look at tree climbing as an art, I think it's easier to understand the competition as a blank canvas. With each new event is a new opportunity to create, even if it is fleeting, a masterpiece. Tree climbing is as much about imagination and creativity as it is about effectiveness and economy. It's a movement without fault, and there are a million moving pieces. When you watch the best climbers either at a chapter level or international level, it is something to envy. And there is no doubt the great ones are superior, dominant climbers that anyone could aspire to emulate.

Sounds a lot like a successful business to me.

There is no doubt that competition brings out the best in us. We become better, more effective arborists due to the fact of constantly trying to establish a rank better than the current. We are RE-motivated. We push ourselves on minute levels in order to gain all the points we can. Every single second matters, every single move counts, every single mistake adds up, and at the end of the day we're left to deal with that performance, like it or not.

Getting better means changing things. It's eating better, it's thinking better, it's climbing better, it's living better, it's a better rank, it's a higher place. So how can we not get better by chasing this goal of superiority?

Consuming as it is on the mind and on the body (and in some cases the wallet), it's such a perfect allegory for life. I think maybe we take ourselves a little too seriously sometimes when it comes down to me vs. you. But how can't we? After all, usually, even on a chapter level you have some of the best arborists in the area competing against each other. Each one of them is capable of many of the same tasks in the work place, where really it's mere seconds that separate them from 1st and 21st place. A half of a point may determine the best from second best. But if you think of it on the level of total accumulation, every day we work so extremely hard for those seconds and half-a-points, and when we obsess over it, those seconds turn into minutes that turn into hours that turn into days and weeks and years. So no matter if your 1st or 21st, I think it's important to keep striving forward, to keep getting points and seconds everywhere, because it's the masterpiece of our industry. Seconds and half points make good arborists great. 

They say that competition is great for the consumer. I say it's great for everyone. Go win something today.

Pruning Percentages, Removing Live Crown and Trying to Bust the Myth.

Recently I've been obsessing over my own pruning practices. I want to be sure that I'm offering the most healthy service I can for the trees I prune. Also, I want to be as accurate as I can as well when informing a client what I'm doing when pruning and working in their trees.

I'm going to share an email I wrote to Ed Gilman, professor at The University of Florida, and a very researched voice in the arboriculture community.

This is me reaching out:

"Ed,

My name is T.C. Mazar. I am a contract climber working in Pennsylvania (ISA Arborist/Climber Specialist). I'd like to say I've had the pleasure of listening to you lecture at our symposium before, and I think your work on pruning is really fantastic. I admire your research and philosophy. Also, I hope this email finds you well.

I've been doing some deep thinking lately into my own pruning practices, meditating recently on "percentages"; specifically when it comes to removing a portion of live crown. As arborists we're quick to give a presecription of removing a certain live portion of the crown during pruning practices, say 30% or 20%. A third, a quarter and so on and so forth.

As of late though, I've been wondering how to truly quantify these percentages, how can we look at a crown prior to pruning, and then look at our finished product and give even a remotely accurate estimate of what we removed. My 20% would be someone else's 30%, for example.

I made this point in a Facebook discussion in one of the climber forums that I follow, and a shitstorm seemed to ensue. I do understand that these percentages are rough estimates, guidelines if you will for homeowners and contractors alike to meet expectations. But how relevant are these percentages in the fact that they can be interpreted so differently? I know that you use these percentages in your literature, and in your research to convery certain points on pruning.

My point is that the crown of a tree is so complex, so very busy in the live biology that's taking place, I feel we can never look at a crown and see it in it's own entirety to really understand accurately what we're removing. We just know that it's somehow right...right?

It always comes back to this: "well I know exactly what the tree should look like when it's pruned properly". Like a magician who never reveals the secret behind his magic.

My concern is that I'm sounding more intelligent than I really am, giving the homeowner the impression that I'm able to somehow accurately quantify their tree's live crown and than be able to accurately remove a portion of that crown.

I'm big on recording specific sizes of collar cuts for my own personal journals, objectives and rough estimates on tree size. The percentages though, I've been having a really hard time of as late, because I hear so many of my colleagues saying 30% and 40%, but what is that really? It seems like its just conceptual, and it never really pans out in the real world.

Can you shed some light on this? Can you, in a short breath or so, give some meaning to these percentages? I would love to be able to share this with the community. I know you are busy, and so anything at all to put my mind at rest would be greatly appreciated!

Best,

T.C. Mazar"

This is Ed's response:

"Fantastic questions. I have found in the several hundred pruning workshops I have done all over the us and overseas that as you say people's perception of what was removed varies widely. I don't think it is a good way to express what is to be done. We have  gone recently to expressing the diameter of cuts, number of cuts, type of cuts ( reduction, branch removal), location in crown ( typically the largest diameter primary branches). This is the approach presented in the current draft of ANSI a300 which will be out for another public comment period this fall. Also, you will notice that the 25 percent guideline has been removed from the draft document.

That's for all those thoughts!

Ed Gilman, professor"

It puts my mind at rest to know that these percentages are misleading, and they are inaccurate to certain degree in the sense of how much they vary from individual to individual. This, of course, can be interpreted however you see fit. For me though, the percentage myth has been busted.

Dogs and Trees.

I am a new dog owner. Her name is Indy, she's an Australian Cattle Dog and it's been a real treat attempting to train her for the job site. My intentions is that she'll be a great worksite dog, sleeping in the truck, guarding the saws and hopefully fetching blocks and taglines in no time.

As with any new endeavor, I'm doing my fair share of research and came across a great book by The Monks of Skete entitled: How To Be Your Dog's Best Friend. You see, these monks are world renowned breeders of German Shepherds, and highly sought out dog trainers as well. Their approach to dog training is rather holistic and focuses very much on the relationship that exists between dog and owner. Of course, as I read I find myself reflecting on being a tree climber, and the specific relationship that I share with the trees I climb and care for.

The book reads, "obedience training can be allied with spiritual discipline both to train your dog and to train yourself. The difficulty with many approaches to training is that they focus entirely on the dog and not on the trainer. In such a context of unreflective behavior, all that really matters is the particular technique and the end result it achieves. The trouble is, such overkill has a profound effect on the relationship. "Whatever works" is an excuse used to justify training techniques that, when looked at closely, not only lack sensitivity but are ethically questionable" (page 97).

This passage from the book struck such a cord with me that it inspired this entry. I immediately related this to the work I do as a production arborist. After all, maintenance pruning is just that, the training of a tree to fit in harmoniously with it's environment, the people and structures around it, in a healthy manner. Isn't that so often times the case, that we get so caught up in the end result, finishing the job and moving quickly on to the next task, that sometimes a "whatever works" attitude takes hold. Sure, maybe there's some of you out there that are so spiritually in tune with your trees that this may not apply, but I think for the majority of us, there is a bit of that unreflective behavior that trickles out. All that matters is that the cut is right and clean and that the end result works. The problem is, there's no real relationship with that tree, just the specs or the work order, and on to the next one.

Well, this can be problematic with trees and dogs alike. The arborist has a duty to reflect on what they do as professionals, especially when people are going to pay good money for your service. I think that this special relationship between arborist and tree (or dog and trainer), is what separates the good from the great. A great arborist no doubt will have a spiritual connection with the trees they work in. They won't necessarily do what's easy for them as a climber or rigger, but rather what's best for the tree. Maybe this means going an extra 15 or 20 feet further to place a healthier cut, installing an extra cable, or cleaning up a pole pruning cut that's just too nasty to leave, even though no one will ever see it. And sure, they'll be people who argue "you can't make money that way," to which I respond, "you can't make money any other way". This is what is so important in the care of trees, is that we reflect on everything that we do; with the tree, and not just ourselves, in mind. Let's be honest about who things are really working out for.

Another great point that The Monks talk about in the book as far as dog training goes is the ability to leave non-related training issues aside. For example, if you're having a bad day, issues at work, issues at home or other ailments from a different sphere of life, try to clear that from the training atmosphere as to not put that weight onto the dog. The session will go better when there is a clear focus on the relationship between dog and trainer, minus any outside influences that can cloud the air.

This rings true as an arborist as well. Things will not always be working out in different spheres of life, and it becomes so easy for those emotions to leak into other endeavors, especially work. Try to treat climbing and arboriculture as a meditation, where you take a deep breath and let go of those distractions so that you can focus all of your energy on the tree. In other words, don't justify bad pruning cuts or dangerous rigging situations on the fact that you are in a bad mood. Leave that juju out of the crown. It can be such a healthy thing, for both the climber and the tree, when this type of unobtrusive relationship transpires.

As I write this Indy is sleeping and I am not in the trees. But I am trying to get in touch with my spiritual side, and reflect a bit on my work as an arborist and a dog owner. Maybe a lot of you don't have dogs, but I'm sure many of you have cared for hundreds, if not thousands, of trees out there. And even if you've lost a few contracts along the way, each and every tree that you've cared for is a reflection of you as an arborist. Once in a while you better stop to think about if that's the right man or woman in the mirror. Because just as a dog is man's best friend, the arborist should also be a tree's best friend.

On Work Position.

I often hear climbers champion Single Rope Technique, claiming that they couldn't imagine working a tree any other way. I agree with this, because I mostly climb utilizing SRT for most of my work positioning.
When I started climbing I learned on a traditional dynamic system. For me, the biggest problems with this technique were: ascending, managing friction and retrieving my friction management device. Naturally, SRT answers the problematic questions that DRT posed for me.
I think that SRT also owes itself to the production climber because of some of the steps that it eliminates when setting up a tree. When basal-anchoring, there's no need for limb isolation, just a suitable suspension point to carry the load. I can set two primary lines basal anchored in the time it would take to isolate one limb in a DRT configuration (not to mention the pain of sending up a ring and ring). In the same respect, there's no secondary gear retrieval (ie. a friction management device), only rope to pull when the climb is complete. The 1:1 movement along the system as compared with  that of 2:1 in DRT is also a favorable case in point. Of course, these are the obvious characteristics when we're comparing these two climbing systems. I don't want to beat a dead horse.
I don't want to get into the load forces that each system presents either, as that could be a whole discussion in itself that I'll save for another time. Let's assume for this article that the suspension point is strong and can either carry a basal anchored system which would exert twice the load when compared to that of a canopy anchored system.
What I do want to get into is what I call exposure. I'm going to define it, and then I'm going to talk about why an SRT system lends itself to mitigating exposure for the climber in a very effective way. Let's imagine a broad tree with no one central anchor to access the entire crown. Decurrent in character if you will. As a climber crosses over the center of the crown while anchored on the opposite side, rope angle begins to flatten. The potential for a dangerous swing increases. This is exposure, and it has everything to do with rope angle, and the distance to your anchor, and not beng lanyarded to the tree. In order to mitigate this exposure, the climber must change their rope angle. This is for me, the biggest benefit of an SRT system verses a DRT system.
When the climber redirects the climb line in an SRT system, the rope is static, so there's no friction other than that on the climbing device. When redirecting a DRT system, more friction must be managed. This is the deal breaker for me, the re-direct. It has the most DIRECT effect on achieving a comfortable, non-exposed work position.
Remember the broad tree with no central anchor I mentioned a paragraph ago? Well, your on the far side of the tree, far away from your anchor, your climbing higher and higher and the rope angle is getting dangerous. Instead of taking a selfie, you decide that maybe you should mitigate your exposure. For the SRT climber, you can install a simple false-crotch redirect, or drop your climbing system through a natural crotch redirect. Done. The DRT climber runs into a problem, they either can install a fancy redirect with pulleys and other gear that makes an attempt to manage the friction introduced, or they can retrieve their original anchor and reset all together. Meanwhile, the SRT climber has already updated Instagram and called for rigging.
When I study all the hype around the discussion of SRT verses DRT; it always comes down to this one simple concept of being able to easily change my rope angle in an SRT system. My biggest fear in canopy access is exposure. In big crowns I think it's a very real danger. Changing my rope angle diminishes the anxiety that bad rope angle creates. This leads to a safer and more comfortable climb all the time. And that's really why SRT is awesome.

The Work Plan.

Everything starts here. The objective, tree inspection, the specs, site hazards, traffic control, additions to the contract and the list can go on and on. The work plan can be more important than setting a throw line. Coming up with a solid plan in tree work not only keeps people and property safe, but it also leads to a greater amount of production because of the focus it renders on a work site.

I'll start with tree inspection, because honestly I feel it's one thing that I sometimes take for granted. Quickly scanning for large defects or decay just won't cut it. Don't be afraid to rap on an old trunk with a rubber mallet to sound for internal compartments. Take a few minutes, step back and scan the crown for buzzing insects or other animals that can be troublesome. A 360 degree walk around the tree may reveal a defect or hazard that you hadn't seen from a particular angle. This can also open up other options and angles for throwing or shooting lines into the crown for access. I know I get caught up rather easily in the fast paced world of production, but if there is ever a time to slow things down, it's during the planning and prepping stages.

I think we've all heard the old adage, "plan the work and work the plan." For me this carries a lot of weight as a production climber. Understanding what the goals of the contract are is vital in sound execution. Wondering what to do next can slow work down and cause confusion. I like to think about my next move, but I don't try to dwell on it because this can cause stress and anxiety. Don't become overwhelmed with the amount or scope of work, just focus on the work step by step. Things change, especially when you're aloft and realize that certain angles look different, certain rigging schemes may change because of the new view on the project. The ability to adapt, and the ability to communicate those changes to your ground support will no doubt add to a smooth operation and execution of the contract.

Personally, I like to carry many different items of gear for many different types of trees. Especially different hanks of rope. One thing that slows me down quite often is line management, and although I'm not going to get into that on this blog post, I will say that in the planning stages of the climb, I like to study the architecture of the tree in order to pick a rope length that will minimize my time spent managing my lines. Everything from a 15' ornamental to a 150' hardwood will require special tools in order to make the work enjoyable and efficient. This balance really pays off, and there's a real   satisfaction in deploying the right tools in the right situations.

Finally, have a rescue plan in place. It doesn't have to be elaborate, but it should be full proof. I think one of best rescue plans is having multiple climbers on a sight. Persons that can access an injured climber and get them out of the crown on whatever system they normally climb on is critical. This means letting crew members know any specifics of your system, and any time you change those configurations during the climb. And be sure to practice. Thinking you know and knowing you know could mean the difference between someone making it home to their family or not.

Don't overlook the importance of the planning stages of work. If you've seen one tree, you haven't seen them all. Don't let reptition or experience cloud the pre-work inspection and planning. Fill up your coffee mug, walk the site with your crew, enjoy the morning and make the site as safe and as fun as possible.

Handsaws.

There's nothing quite like being able to climb out an entire crown with just a handsaw. Pulling up a chainsaw can be annoying, although it is sometimes necessary. In each instance, I find that different handsaw placements can be beneficial to certain situations.
Typically my first and favorite placement is the leg mounted saw, with leg straps or the popular sawpod mounting system. I find that when I'm working large crown cleanings and the specs are to remove deadwood of a smaller diameter, I know that some work positions will be challenging, and usually of a horizontal nature at the ends of branches. Because of this, I don't like to be poking around for a dangling scabboard that's attached to my saddle while my core is burning to be released. I can give myself the advantage by moving my leg to a position that easily allows me to access my saw while fighting a not so favorable position.
On the other hand, when an operation calls for a longer duration of spar work and standing on gaffs, a scaboard that's mounted on the saddle may be the ticket. Climbing in an upright position doesn't favor bending over to grab a saw that's mounted on the leg, although some climbers out there may digress. Also, a leg mounted scaboard over gaffs can cause some unnecessary bulk, which is my biggest turnoff. Plus, during a removal situation that requires blocking out big wood, a handsaw won't do much good except for cleaning some small suckers out of the way or finishing a few fibers of a cut.
For me it's a question of mobility and economy. When I see tougher working positions and a lot of movement through the crown, the leg-mounted saw is my favorite option. A situation like a conifer removal or some type of other heavy spar work causes me to switch my saw placement over to the saddle.
I've even seen a fixed scabboard on the climbing saddle. This seems to converge the concept behind each postion. Rather than the saw dangling from the saddle, it remains fixed in place so that returning the saw is the same always.
I know there will be the argument out there by many arborists that they are creatures of habit, and that they benefit from having the same saw placement all the time. For me, it's as easy as having two hand saws set up for each situation. I keep a section in my utility body reserved for all things pruning, and two pruning saws of each nature really doesn't eat up that much space.
It's really a matter of convienance, as well as considering the task at hand. Personally, I like options.

Limits.

It seems nowadays there is a tool and a piece of gear for everything. And then the combinations of those tools are endless as well, so we're left with this limitless web of gear and tool combinations that sometimes almost seems silly. I look down at my saddle, I feel it's weight and I am saddedned as it struggles to slide off my hips, burdened by all of the slings and pulleys and carabiners that I 'may' need at some point throughout a climbing operation. And maybe even more than that, it just looks cool, so we load it up for the photo op.
I think I once heard the phrase, "the more you know the less you need." Well, I'd argue that the more I know, the more I want, and I'm sure there's many climbing arborists out there that would agree with me.
I'm starting my week off with a good friend of mine who has a company out of town, two hours south of my home base. We have family in the area, so it works out that my wife and I load up the little Honda Civic with the baby and the astounding amount of non-related tree gear that he needs, and I get to save a very small space in the trunk for my tree gear.
This causes me a great deal of anxiety, because I really need to shave the pounds, and I'm typically a heavyweight when in comes to packing. Although I know the loose scope of work, (most likely I'll be setting chokers for a crane assisted removal) my mind wanders to all of the lovely kit I own, and my heart breaks when I can't fit those things in the trunk space.
I didn't bring gaffs, and although they are nice to have in removal scenarios, I hate them. Let me stress that again, I hate climbing with gaffs on. Maybe I'm the only person in the world that would show up to a crane job without gaffs, but because I left them behind, this eases some the anxiety for me. So I'm a few pounds lighter already.
I typically keep two 150' hanks of rope in my climb bag, so I took one hank out and left that in my work truck as well. Immediately, the tremors of worry creep back in, "what if a need to double crotch a massive limb walk?" More with less, right?
I'm typically good for one stuck throwball in a typical morning, so I'm always rolling with two cubes, and I'll never pass up the opportunity to double-bag a crotch. But remember, I need to limit myself and show some type of self control, so I slowly slip one cube into my climb bag and make amends with that.
Finally, my leg mounted hand saw slides in and my kask helmet fully equipped with my Sena communication system goes in last. On my saddle there is my lanyard package, rope runner, ascenders and two slings each equipped with carabiners. Oh yea, and my topheld chainsaw with gas and oil in a separate bin.
In all reality, I know this gear will be sufficient. Hell, I may not even use the slings. but I'm still feeling like I'm limited in the arsenal I've brought simply because I've gone from having an entire utility box filled with tree gear to a small 3'x2' trunk space to determine my performance as a contractor.
Limiting oneself can be beneficial in many ways. Personally, I sometimes build uneccessary dependencies on gear that may be in many situations wasteful and redundant. Sure, in one instance in can be a deal breaker, but then I'll find myself forcing it into other applications where it just slows down the process and confuses things. Keep it simple, stupid, right? This time, I only have what I need, and I may not even have a few things that I need. Although this causes a bit of worry at first, I feel a lot better than I did originally, as if there has been a huge weight lifted from my saddle. Then again, it's the morning of the job, I haven't even seen the tree yet and I'm sure that on the drive in that anxiety will somehow manage to perspire from my brow until the saw dust soaks it up.

Every Cut Matters.

Sometimes I think about what my legacy will be. We work on so many trees, so many different types of situations and species, so many different types of homeowners and tree owners. Thousands and thousands and thousands of collar cuts. It would be easy to get complacent, to absent mindedly make a poor cut, a small tear past the collar, forget a stub in a remote area of the crown.

But that's just it. Once everything is said and done, all of those cuts will be hidden, compartmentalized forever in the biology of the tree. I think of the Tibetan monks and their practice of mendala, beautifully and painstakingly crafted sand art, and just as it's finished it's quickly wiped away in a metaphor of the how impermanent this life may be.

But there is a lasting quality in craft, especially craft practiced with conviction. That's where I find meaning in arboriculture, in the fact that every cut, for me, is a work of art, even if it is impermanent. Every cut matters.

Cook Forest Compilation.

Here is the recent footage from our Hemlock measuring project in Cook Forest State Park. Enjoy.

Cook Forest.

This weekend I along with several of my colleagues (Alan Krieg, Arch Authenreit, Rob Kruljac and Mick Stabile) had the opportunity to travel to Cook Forest State Park to measure trees via tape drop. David Rohm of Wild Excellence Productions had teamed up with us as well in order to capture footage for an upcoming documentary he is producing about the  park and how Hemlock Wooly Adelgod is affecting it.

We conducted 4 tape drops in the short day that we were there (averaging a tape drop every two hours), and although we had the opportunity to climb in a beautiful forest, we certainly didn't set any records. On a positive note, all three of the hemlocks we climbed and measured were free of any HWA infestation.

The findings:
White Pine: 134'11", 10' CBH
Hemlock: 127'1", 10'3" CBH
Hemlock: 119'7", 9'5" CBH
Hemlock: 118', 8'6" CBH

Our efforts were concentrated at the southern end of the park, in the middle of the fire tower road loop and behind the river cabins. Both areas were drainages in the 1500' elevation range. Although we were aware of superlative trees existing that had been measured in the past, our goal was discover something new, an unrealistic goal with only one day for measuring!

This park is beautiful and the forest here is mesmerizing. I can not wait to return for more exploration. Stay tuned for a video to follow.

Productivity.

I just read an interesting article about a corporate vp of marketing for a large company and how productive they have to be on a daily basis. The article touched on balancing the demands of the job with what someone can realistically handle. And of course how important it is to be organized and balanced.

And I immediately thought of production arboriculture. What can you handle on a daily basis, how much should you take on, how do you stay organized and most importantly, how do you keep clients happy?

It must be an ongoing conversation with oneself, this productivity thing. Of course, we want to be better arborists, we want to be productive every second of the contract, but there are so many variables. Injuries, life, cancellations, weather, all these things can affect how productive we are with a work schedule.

Here's a few things I think help my productivity:

Make a constant schedule, with regular hours, and commit to them. Keep a checklist of jobs to check off. Limit your time for doing business so that there is a good balance away from all things work. And feel a sense of urgency to get business done during business hours. Keep it realistic.

Keep a clean journal. I always detail the jobs I do, note specs, the tools I used, the tree and an average size. It's my idea that I'm creating something every day and it matters on a personal level to write down that legacy of arboriculture.

Understand what you're capable of. I'm sure everyone has made the mistake of thinking they are capable of unrealistic things. It hurts financially, and it also hurts mentally. Give yourself enough time  to enjoy the work you do. Rushing through things will almost always lower the quality. Poor quality is bad business.

Stay organized. Tools, taxes, finances, vehicle, insurance; be sure to have your ducks in a row. This way, there will be less surprises.

All in all, when you set yourself up to be productive, you will be. It must be that simple?