Most of us have pretty good memories. Like taking the driver’s-license test, first dates with our significant other, a sibling’s birth date, etc. I don’t remember any of those things as time is slowly eroding my mind. I do, however, vividly recall the first tree I climbed as a professional.

Jerry King sketch

Following my freshman year in college in 1971, I took a summer job with the Bartlett Tree Expert Co. in their Philadelphia office. With the expectation that at some point I would climb a tree, I purchased 120 feet of manila rope, a saddle, a handsaw, a scabbard and a hard hat. I believe they gave me a paint pot. For those of you who are not familiar with a paint pot, at the time, it was a “must” that all pruning cuts larger than a dime had to be covered with an “antiseptic tree-wound dressing,” mainly a petroleum product akin to a thin layer of tar. This procedure separated the professionals from the jacklegs. Several years later, the whole notion of painting wounds was debunked. Thank you, Dr. Shigo!

Most of the summer was spent dragging 300 feet of heavy, three-quarter-inch rubber spray hose and wrapping it on the spray rig without the benefit of a hose reel. Eventually the spray season was over, and I was assigned to a tree crew, where my dragging abilities were put to good use, only this time with brush. Each morning, I would throw my gear on the truck with the hope of climbing a tree, only to return it to the shop that evening untouched.

One afternoon in early September, George Wahl, my foreman, asked if I would climb a white pine to remove a broken branch hanging about 25 feet over the lawn. Without hesitation, I salivated over the opportunity. Wahl then slung a line over a maple branch and showed me a taut-line hitch, a knot that I was already infinitely familiar with, having years of misspent youth in the Boy Scouts.
Now, I had been climbing white pines since I was 6 years old. They’re easy, with a whorl of six to eight branches every two to three feet, depending on how quickly the tree grew that year. I could have scampered up that tree, tossed the broken branch to the ground and been back on terra firma in minutes. But now I was a Dendrician I, the Bartlett term for a brand-new tree climber. A professional!

I carefully uncoiled my rope, put a bunch of wraps around the snap, then, using the pole saw, lifted the rope over a branch 15 feet high and pulled it back down. “Not right,” said Wahl. “‘For safety reasons, the rope has to go around the tree.”

I then hoisted the end of the rope back up, snagged it with the pole saw and brought it around the back side and then to the ground. Of course, there were about 40 branches between the two sides of the rope. I’m being kind to myself here, but it took another 10 minutes to snake the rope down the tree so that it was a clean climb for the first 15 feet.

Finally, I was set for the ascent. Taut-line hitch in place, I used a body thrust to advance 6 inches up the tree. No problem. This practice continued for another 15 thrusts or so until my hard hat tumbled to the ground. Down I went to retrieve the wayward helmet. Back up, this time to 12 feet when the same thing happened again. Back down for the second time. Then a third. Although I was quite frustrated, I’m sure Wahl was amused. He then put me out of my immediate misery by finding a chin strap in the truck.

After I’d advanced to 14 feet in approximately 45 minutes, I now had to get my climbing line another 10 to 12 feet up the tree for the next pull. The problem was, I didn’t have a buck strap to secure myself to the tree. Actually, I can’t remember anyone at that time who climbed with a safety line. The solution was that, staying tied into the tree with one end of the rope, the other end was advanced higher into the crown, then brought back down to tie to the saddle.

Getting the rope up another 12 feet presented the same problems as the first 15 feet – except there’s more. Until a manila rope is adequately broken in, a process that can take multiple climbs, it kinks. Badly. Think curly fry on steroids. Mine had so many spirals in it that the tail barely touched the ground.

It took me about two hours to reach 25 feet. Now all I had to do was throw the branch to the ground. But wait. A 15-foot branch had to be lowered. This is how professionals operate.

Wahl sent up a lowering line, which was then attached to the branch. I gave it a good shove and it moved about 6 inches. This process was repeated nearly 30 times until the branch was finally on the ground.

Next came the flush cut of the 4-inch stub, followed by a generous portion of tree paint, the majority of which landed on my hands and pants. What followed was a torturously slow descent, feverishly trying to uncurl an unforgiving rope.

Covered with sweat, sap and Fabricote, Bartlett’s own brand of tree-wound dressing, I safely reached the ground, reveling in the experience and yearning to do it again. All I could think about was what a wonderful experience it had been.

Paul Wolfe II is the owner of Integrated Plant Care Inc., a 37-year TCIA member company in Rockville, Maryland. He is a former member of the TCIA Board of Directors and served as its president (now chair) in 1998, and is a recipient of both TCIA’s Award of Merit and the President’s Award. He proudly does not have a smart phone or email.