When you climb a tree you meet a friend –even if you’re the only person around.

Guest blog by Patrick Brandt – Piedmont Tree Climbing

David’s recent blog post beautifully describes the joy of climbing trees and why kids AND adults should do it more. I thank David for inviting me to write a sequel to that post with some of my complementary thoughts and experiencesI’ve helped more than 1500 novice tree climbers, ages 5 -75 years, climb into the canopy. Each of these climbers is unique but inevitably each one finds the same few things in the tree – and I’m not just talking about souvenir leaves, friendly ants, and lichens.

Here are some of the lasting benefits of tree climbing:

• Climbers of all ages discover an increased appreciation for nature and ecosystems – especially trees!
• Climbers overcome their fears in a safe and supportive environment. Each climber ends up feeling like they accomplished something incredible no matter how high they go!
• Tree climbing is a great small group activity where climbers support and encourage one another thereby building self confidence and group identity/unity.
• You don’t have to be an athlete, or super-strong, or extra-coordinated to climb trees on rope. In fact children and adults with disabilities can often climb on their own power. There are setups that favor arms, or legs, and mechanical advantage systems can be used by those who aren’t as strong.
• Recreational tree climbing does not harm the tree and with a little care can easily abide by Leave No Trace principles.

Let me illustrate what I mean by sharing a few real tree experiences. Last fall a pre-teen girl came to her friend’s tree climbing birthday party with her arm in a cast thinking that she would have to watch all the fun from the ground. Instead, she climbed too – with a broken arm!  Tree climbing is a great group activity where climbers support and encourage one another thereby building self-confidence and group identity/unity.

Back in 2016, a father whose leg had been amputated below the knee climbed a tree adeptly with his kids (he’s wearing a prosthetic leg in the picture) .  You don’t have to be an athlete, or super-strong, or extra-coordinated to climb trees on rope. In fact children and adults with disabilities can often climb on their own power. There are setups that favor arms, or legs, and mechanical advantage systems can be used by those who aren’t as strong.

On a recent public climb, a young girl was anxious about attempting a small limb walk to ring a cow bell. She really wanted to ring the bell, but even with my encouragement and insistence that she would be safe, she couldn’t take the last couple of steps toward the bell. A moment later, when my attention had turned to another climber, I heard the bell ring and turned to see her, bell in hand, with a huge smile on her face.  Climbers overcome their fears in a safe and supportive environment. Each climber ends up feeling like they accomplished something incredible no matter how high they go!In 2017 a grandmother, her daughter, and her granddaughter all climbed together in a tree that was twice as old as all of them put together.  That brought new meaning to the phrase family tree!  Trees bring people of all ages together.

For the last 3 semesters, a university English class reads and discusses tree books in the classroom, comes climbing with me in the trees, and then participates in a tree-focused citizen science initiative at the local arboretum.  Trusting your life to the limbs of a tree brings renewed appreciation for trees and their place in the ecosystem. Trees are generous, calm, and strong. They soak up the greenhouse gas carbon dioxide and they exhale life-giving oxygen. Throughout their life and even in their death they provide habitat for insects, mammals, birds and other plant life. They shade our homes – saving us energy that would otherwise be used on air conditioning. They add beauty, form and variety everywhere they grow.

Could some of these lessons be learned on a climbing wall or rock face, and could similar experiences take place on a high ropes course? Yes, but when learned in a living, breathing tree, there is an added benefit – a new (or renewed) conservation mentality; appreciation for trees and by extension their place in the larger ecosystem.

When you spend time with someone you get to know them better and appreciate them more. The same is true of people who climb into a tree. The experience transforms them. As they drive back home they look up. They see trees along the highway that they have never noticed before despite traveling that route hundreds of times before.  I believe this is a lasting change that will produce tangible results in the form of more time spent outside, more trees planted, fewer trees cut down, more donations to conservation groups, and more advocating for nature.

See you in the trees!

Patrick

Postblog: I have climbed hundreds of trees.  Here are some of my most memorable experiences:

• Once when climbing a 140 foot tall tulip tree growing in the riparian zone along a winding river, I heard the laughing call of a pileated woodpecker – one of the largest and most elusive woodpecker species in the Eastern USA. As I looking around to locate the call, I saw the red-crested woodpecker fly through the canopy below me following the river!
• If spending an hour in a tree leads to greater tree-preciation, imagine the experience of spending the night in the arms of trees! I’ve spent a handful of nights in a hammock suspended in the canopy. There is nothing like watching the stars appear and disappear on a clear night as the breeze gently moves the leaves and branches above your hammock.  It is equally transformative to wake up in the morning as the light hits the canopy and the birds are singing under, above, and all around you.
• I’ve installed close to 200 custom tree swings from Washington DC to Atlanta and as far away as Honduras. I see tree swings as another great tool for getting kids and adults outside and away from a screen to enjoy tree-enabled active play.
• Usually it’s not much fun to be outside in the pouring rain without an umbrella. Being up in a tree when it is raining is not generally my idea of a fun time either, but on a few occasions I’ve been “stuck” in the canopy as a rain shower blows through.  The sound of the rain drops approaching through the forest, then spattering on the leaves around you is really quite magical.

About the author: Patrick Brandt is owner of Piedmont Tree Climbing in Mebane, NC. He and his wife, Julie, lead public and private tree climbs and install custom tree swings throughout the Piedmont region of North Carolina.  They have 3 wonderful children, all of whom have spent time in the trees.  Patrick’s formal education is as a biochemist and his full time work is in the Office of Biomedical Graduate Education at the University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill.  He has rescued close to 200 cats from trees (see www.rescuemycat.org), has 3 cats of his own, and has been known to commute to work on his mountain unicycle. Piedmont Tree Climbing is on Instagram, Facebook and YouTube.

Shafts of light pierce the mist suspended among monolithic tree trunks while your feet squish on damp needles, and waist-high sword ferns yield to your passing even while they drench your pants with dew. A Hermit Thrush plays a melody on its metallic flute to a chorus of squirrel chatter, and banana slugs the length of your arm (or so it seems) weave mercury trails across your path. The oldest forests of the Pacific Northwest are hallowed magical places and the realm of giants. If you have never been, then I beg you to go. Try Mount Rainier or Olympic National Parks in Washington, or Jedediah Smith State Park in California. A visit to the old trees will shift your perspective on yourself and mortality forever.

If you haven’t been to see the old trees, then nothing I can write will prepare you for their sheer size. Douglas-fir, Sitka spruce, and redwood trees can be 300 feet tall (100 meters, or as tall as a football field is long) and are in fact the tallest living things on the planet. Despite all being giants among trees, these three species have different strategies for growing so large. That is what makes them unique, and it’s the topic of this blog. Scientists like Russell Kramer, Steve Sillett, and Bob Van Pelt are the ones unlocking the mysteries of the trees, and it’s their work I’ll summarize for you, especially Russell Kramer’s.

First, for comparison, let’s look at some numbers. The oldest known Sitka spruce, Douglas-fir, and coast redwood trees are 480, 1,000 and 2500 years old. In those times, the biggest trees of each species reach diameters of 16 feet (spruce), 15 feet (Douglas-fir), and 22 feet (redwood). In other words, redwoods flat outlive their rivals, and their amazing size makes their competitors look like shrimps.

Don’t think the story ends there. Trees are cutthroats. Competition for limited sunlight spells life or death in the deep shade under the canopy of old forests. In these conditions every advantage counts, and in the arena of how-fast-can-you-grow, Sitka spruce is the undisputed champion. Although Sitka spruce only lives 1/5th as long and only attains 30% of the mass of the largest redwoods, it has nearly 80% of the leaf mass. The high leaf investment of Sika spruce enables astounding growth that outpaces even coast redwood. By 300 years spruce acquires 1.5 times more mass and by the end of its life around 500 years will be nearly 3 times the mass of a redwood the same age.

Why does the spruce grow so many leaves? Leaves produce energy, and energy begets growth. A little sapling that sprouts in a forest must grow fast or die before large neighboring trees overwhelm it with shade. When it comes to growing fast, no conifer beats the Sitka spruce.

There are other important differences between these tree species. The wood of redwoods is famous because it lasts forever. In fact, the species name Sequoia sempervirens means ever-living sequoia. Trees that persist for over 2000 years in a forest deluged with six feet of rain a year can only do so by producing chemicals to battle wood decaying fungi. Redwoods also have thick bark to survive fires, something they will encounter in two millennia. Sitka spruce forego all that; they’re stingy and smart. It takes energy to produce chemicals and grow bark. Spruce don’t live as long as redwoods, because they succumb to fungi that eventually kill them. Instead, spruce are all about growing leaves and growing tall. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in the old forests, and Sitka spruce survive because they Grow Fast and Die Young.

Chapter 2. How do we know all this?

Now for the cool part. How do scientists know how tall are the tallest trees, how dense the wood is, or how much the leaves weigh? Easy: they climb them. Scientists like Kramer, Sillett, and Van Pelt climb over every foot of every tree, from the base to the highest leaf, and out to the ends of every branch, and they measure everything. Of course this is time consuming. Kramer climbed and measured 36 spruce trees for his research over two field seasons lasting eight months. His largest spruce required approximately 12,000 measurements to describe, not including measuring growth-ring widths. All the data they collect are then used to develop equations to explain tree size and growth rates. It requires amazing, rope-based tree climbing methods developed over the last 20 years, and genius ability in mathematics. That, my friends, is how science is done.

Let’s reflect on scientific tree climbing for a moment. In the old days when someone wanted to measure a tree they just cut it down. By some accounts, the extent of old forests in the USA is now less than 5% of what it used to be. Cutting old trees is unethical for any reason. And so is careless climbing. Large branches support soils, mosses, ferns, and woody shrubs, and even other trees in the canopy. It takes more than 150 years before spruce is tall enough to grow branches above the height they would be killed by shade from neighbors, and another 150 before they support rich communities of other plants. Kramer, Sillett, and others use the most advanced tree climbing techniques in existence, combined with an emotional, almost religious, appreciation for trees, to climb them without damaging the forest canopy ecosystem. You should also know that national parks and California state parks prohibit tree climbing without previously approved scientific permits and a climbing plan, precisely to protect this fragile world.

References used in this paper

Kramer, R. D., S. C. Sillett, and R. Van Pelt. 2018. Quantifying aboveground components of Picea sitchensis for allometric comparisons among tall conifers in North American rainforests. Forest Ecology and Management 430:59-77.

Sillett, S. C., and R. Van Pelt. 2007. Trunk reiteration promotes epiphytes and water storage in an old-growth redwood forest canopy. Ecological Monographs 77:335-359.

Sillett, S. C., R. Van Pelt, J. A. Freund, J. Campbell-Spickler, A. L. Carroll, and R. D. Kramer. 2018. Development and dominance of Douglas-fir in North American rainforests. Forest Ecology and Management 429:93-114.

Footnote

The wood of Sitka spruce is special in its own right. It has the highest strength-to-weight ratio of any wood. Sitka spruce wood was the #1 material used in airplane construction during WWI, and the United States employed 20,000 men during the war to harvest it.

Look around you, in your city or wherever you live, and count how many people you can find climbing trees. I dare you. Go drive for an hour, walk in the parks, knock on doors and look over fences. I can tell you from the comfort of my chair the answer: I bet that in an hour of searching you find none. Zero. Nada. If you do find any tree climbers, they will be either arborists, who are getting paid for tree trimming or removal, or a couple of kids.

What happened? The lack of people enjoying trees is a mystery to me. Most of us climbed trees at some time when we were little, and children’s books are full of tree climbing stories, evidence that trees resonate with us deeply. I find this abandonment of trees confusing.

My whole life I have taken the role of poking holes in people’s perceptions. I dare people in my circles to see differently than they’re used to. It’s a role that is mostly unpopular, I must admit, but now I have found a positive bridge to open our vision into the world and into ourselves: trees. I take people tree climbing, and I see beautiful things happen. Let me reflect on a few recent climbs, and look for messages that reflect this story.

September in Honduras, Central America, Parque Nacional Cerro Azul. The Honduran Ornithological Society (ASHO) and Canopy Watch are hosting a tree climber training for biologists from Honduras and El Salvador. We have 10 biologists who work in tropical forests, and none has ever climbed to look for birds, amphibians, or epiphytes (read about epiphytes here and here) that they can’t see or study from the ground. Everyone on Day 1, instructors included, is excited and nervous as heck. Can we learn/teach advanced canopy access methods in one week? Can we keep people safe? What will they think of this new skill?

And therein lies the problem: we are defining tree climbing in grownup terms, and the spirit of the little kids is lost – but not for long. The first two days of the training are filled with fear that comes from feeling vulnerable while hanging on ropes high in the air, and a self-doubt about being able to learn all these new pieces of equipment and how to use them. Gradually, the emotion turns to pure jubilee. Being in trees is fun! It’s a new world up there! Being a kid takes over again and tree climbing lifts our hearts.

September in Boise, Idaho, and the Idaho Botanical Garden and Canopy Watch are hosting Idaho’s first-ever public tree climbing adventure. Thirty-six climbers are registered and pre-paid. I’ve got about $2,500 of brand spanking-new harnesses, ropes, and helmets suspended in a lovely sycamore tree. Who’s nervous?! Every hour a new group of six climbers steps up to the tree with a look of, “Remind me why I signed up for this again?”

Each person is deep in an internal dialogue, asking if they will be able to make it up the ropes, and if it’s safe. It’s grownup thinking getting in the way again. Minutes into the climb, after they figure out how to move up a rope and the climbing gear emboldens their security, the fear melts and the smiles in that tree would melt glaciers. The inner kid shines out, and I can see it in every face that day, a shift from self-doubt to self-confidence, and from trepidation to celebration.

You see, tree climbing is more than a skill, a tool for science, a group activity, or a type of exercise. Tree climbing opens doors in our minds and blows the blinders off our eyes. Somewhere in the chemistry of adrenaline, joy, fear, immersion in nature, and muscle fatigue, tree climbing unlocks the inner kid in all of us. Seeing through our youthful eyes shifts our perspectives on ourselves, on people around us, and on trees. Anyone who climbs a tree as an adult comes down a kid again. Life is new again, and it is good. Trees do that to us.

It is here at that junction of joy, newness, and shifted perception that lies the moral to this story: The Power of Trees is a vital conduit to the Power of Change. Nothing changes our perspective more than conquering our fear. Nothing creates a bond between people and trees stronger than the experience of climbing into one. When we climb in groups there is a collective “we” that includes not only the climbers, but just as importantly, the climbee. Tree climbing draws our focus from outward, to inward, and back out again, and it forms bonds that are durable and meaningful.

What’s next? I live in Boise, Idaho, the self-proclaimed “City of Trees.” I want to get more people climbing trees. I imagine elected city officials, the Mayor, and kids young and old climbing with staff from the city parks and Boise Community Forestry. And let’s add adaptive sports, climbing with folks who have differing abilities like wounded veterans and Make-A-Wish kids. How will it look when trees unfold their Power of Change on this group? All we need is a chance and a little help from the City, and trees will do the rest. Only time will tell us how it looks, but I see beautiful smiles happening.

Parting shots

Here is a video from the Honduras climber training, filmed and produced by Carlos Funes. Listen, and my new friends from Honduras and El Salvador will tell what the experience means to them.

Gratitude

First and foremost, I have to thank the Idaho Botanical Garden for their bold vision in offering Idaho’s first-ever public tree climb this past September. You opened the door, and I will forever be grateful. Patrick Brandt at Piedmont Tree Climbing helped in so many ways to make the Boise public tree climb a success. The folks at New Tribe Tree Climbing Gear are some of the best advocates of tree climbing that I know of, and they too help me connect trees and people in Boise. The Missouri Conservation Heritage Foundation provided the financial support for the Honduras climber training, and WesSpur Tree Equipment filled the gaps when we were purchasing the equipment that we donated to ASHO. The Peregrine Fund, a conservation non-profit headquartered in Boise, Idaho, sponsors my time at international climber trainings.

This blog is dedicated to my friend Julian Lindsay, who opens my eyes on the goodness in others more than he thinks.

It’s a universal truth that everything in life was harder when we were young. The walk to school was longer and it was uphill both ways. The weather was worse, with severe blizzards every week in winter, scorching summer heat records, hurricanes that swept away entire neighborhoods, and even the tornadoes were taller. Back then, we had it rough.

Tree climbing is no exception. In the good ol’ days you climbed a tree with spikes strapped to your legs. There were no gadgets, no ascenders, no slingshots, to make things easier. And helmets? Who wore helmets? Back then tree climbers took a blow to the head from a falling limb and died like manly men. There is a reason why dead hanging branches are called “widow makers” to this day.

I may be exaggerating, but not by much. I started climbing in 1995 and I learned the hard way: by trial and error. By that I mean mostly error. I had exactly two lessons in Boise, Idaho, climbing local cottonwoods with spurs before I left for the tropical rainforests of Central America. When I got there everything was harder, quite literally. Some of the trees I spurred had wood that was so dense and so smooth that the spurs barely entered, and it felt like ice skating a vertical waterfall. Some trees spurted such a profusion of sap that I was dripping with goo the color of blood. Epiphytes covered some trees so thoroughly, that once I just climbed on vines for 20 feet before I could sink my spurs into the tree. Then there were the insects, giant wasps nearly the size of hummingbirds, and ants called “bullet ants” because their sting felt like getting shot with a .22 caliber bullet. The nearest hospital was two days away by dugout canoe and a flight in a twin-engine airplane that spewed smoke from one engine – and that, I promise, is no figment of exaggeration. There was many a climb when the wind blew across me, the tree swayed to and fro, and I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into, and how I would be remembered if I died.

The worst part of it all was, being a complete novice, I had no idea of what was the real difference between safe climbing practices and dangerous ones. I made mistakes no one should have to make, and I survived on sheer luck. Once in Oregon I was driven to the hospital with a puncture in my right thigh caused by a rookie move that I don’t make anymore.

It doesn’t have to be like that.

Tree climbing technology and methods have undergone a total revolution. New gear is introduced every year that makes climbing more efficient, safer, and more fun. Still, you have to know how to use it. Any newbie can crash a car and die in it, and the same applies to climbing; do it right or stay home. One small error with good equipment and they are writing your epitaph. And so I teach. I want everyone to feel the joy and confidence of safe and efficient climbing that takes them to new heights in the canopies of trees. Tree climbing is perspective-shifting, affording you a new look on the world and into yourself.

I recently taught climbing to three biologists from Utah State University. We went through all the steps to get them into, and out of, trees with Goshawk nests. It’s a professional skill, methods for field ecology. I can help make their jobs better. They came for reasons related to what climbing would do for their research. What they didn’t expect was what climbing would do for their hearts. They loved it. Together we can make their spirits soar higher.

In August I head to Honduras with my good friend and climbing mentor Jamz Luce to teach canopy access methods to biologists from northern Central America. The canopy of the tropical rainforest is full of secrets. To find them, we really need local biologists climbing their local trees. A small grant from the Missouri Conservation Heritage Foundation (MCHF) pays for travel, food, lodging, and a couple of complete climbing kits. The Honduran Ornithological Society (ASHO) is organizing the event. A link to the Honduras climber training is here.

My deepest thanks to ASHO for organizing the event to grow the careers of young biologists, and to MCHF for funding. The Peregrine Fund, a non-profit that conserves birds of prey and their habitats around the world, is sponsoring my time. Carlos Funes – eres el rey del evento.

The moral to the story: If you are thinking of learning how to climb trees the right way, find a teacher who knows. And definitely don’t take their word for it. Ask questions: how long they have been climbing trees; where did they learn to climb trees; from whom did they learn; find out if they are using specialized ropes, harnesses, and equipment designed for trees.

This blog is dedicated to friends like Damien Carré, Will Koomjian, Brian French, Scott Altenhoff, Jamz Luce, Patrick Brandt, Eric Forsman, Jimmy Swingle, Tyler Zuñiga, and many other expert climbers who share their knowledge and passion with the public, so everyone can appreciate trees in a new way.

Final word: The scientific name of the bullet ant is Paraponera clavata, just in case you think I’m making stuff up.

Some ideas are too good to be true, or else too good to fail. This is one of those stories.

Have you ever met someone you liked at first sight? That rare friend, that when you found yourselves together for the first time there was chemistry and you were friends before you really knew who they were? Getting to know each other was a formality, the cement that held the wall together after the bricks were already laid.

ProAves is like that for me, only they are a non-profit conservation organization and not a single individual. ProAves’ mission is saving the most endangered birds in Colombia, South America. They buy land where remnant populations of critically endangered birds are found and turn it into wildlife reserves where tourists – foreign, Colombian, everyone – can go see them. ProAves is famous for saving the Yellow-eared Parrot (Ognorhynchus icterotis) from extinction. They built the Nature Reserve Loros Andinos (Andean Parrots), reforested the land with wax palms where the parrots nest, and conducted public outreach to get the local people on the side of the parrot. But one thing was missing: parrots nest in trees and palms, and ProAves needed climber training to get to the nests.

I found ProAves last year in December on a vacation to Colombia. Colombia is the country with the greatest number of birds on the planet; 20% of all bird species in the world are found in one corner of South America. When I met some of the ProAves team in December 2016 in the fabled Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta I said, “I have to find a way to help this group.” After connecting with the Conservation Director Luis Felipe Barrera by email, we hatched an insane plan: we would teach their guardarecursos (park guards) to climb trees and palm trees so they could work with endangered parrots. And we would write grants to pay for all the gear, the travel, and the expense of the training. That, my friends, is a steep hill to climb.

Consider: Felipe and I had never met face to face. He oversees all of ProAves’ more than 30 reserves and has his hands full. We had no money. I have a full time job already. The odds were stacked against us. It would have been far easier for Felipe to say, “Thanks, but I’m busy, ProAves is doing fine, and you are nuts.” But we did it. Because, like I said, some ideas are too good to fail. Master climber Jamz Luce offered to be co-instructor.  We got a grant from Rufford Foundation for endangered parrot conservation. The grant was smaller than we needed, but WesSpur Tree Equipment and New Tribe Tree Climbing Gear made up the difference, because good people do that. We purchased the equipment and shipped it, $3,000 worth, only to lose it all in Miami during Hurricane Irma. Yet somehow, everything worked out in the end.

And so I share the results with you. In September eight park guards and Felipe learned advanced tree climbing methods with all the lost-yet-recovered climbing gear. These park guards have little formal education and no prior technical climbing experience, but they climbed like pros. On the fifth day we gave them the ultimate mission – teach your bosses to climb. One of the best ways to learn is to teach, and in Latin American culture when you are telling your boss what to do it is a really big deal. They nailed it. I am proud beyond words.

Sometimes dreams come true. Some missions are too important to be impossible. On the last day of the course José Gregorio said it like this: “This was not only the best training I have ever had, it was one of the best experiences of my life. I feel like it made me not only a better employee, but a better person.”

Please visit the ProAves website and consider making a donation to save endangered birds in Colombia. Trust me, ProAves is worth it.

Good things happen when good people come together. This training succeeded because of the big hearts at WesSpur, a purveyor of tree climbing equipment located in Bellingham, Washington, and thanks to New Tribe, makers of fine tree climbing gear in Grants Pass, Oregon. The Peregrine Fund, a conservation non-profit that conserves birds of prey around the world, sponsored my time for this project.  Co-Instructor Jamz Luce is a special friend to me, and to tree climbers everywhere.  You are conservation heroes one and all. Thank you.

Parting shots.

Epiphytes. In a single word you just can’t grab all the complexity of life above the forest floor in tropical forests. Epiphytes are those plants that grow on the surface of other plants. They include orchids, ferns, cacti, vines, shrubs, and even other trees. Close your eyes and imagine the raucous greenery growing in a tropical forest. An awful lot of that stuff is made up of epiphytes. They are so abundant and so complex that up in the treetops you basically have a whole other forest growing, double decker style. For more on these wonderful plants and how they add to biodiversity in a rain forest, check out an earlier blog on the topic.

Simply stated, epiphytes add life to the forest. One thing that is less clear is how the forest adds life to epiphytes. These plants can grow hundreds of feet up in the forest. Really! How do they do that? I’d like you to meet Sybil Gotsch, because she studies the snot out of these things and she has the answers. Sybil is a professor at Franklin and Marshall College but her “office” is in the treetops in the fabled Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve in Costa Rica.

In case you don’t know, Monteverde is a type of “tropical montane cloud forest.” That means the forest grows on the slopes of mountains that are constantly covered in clouds and mist. Epiphyte density is off the charts in cloud forests. There are about 800 species of epiphytes just in Monteverde (!!!), and it is estimated that 100 square meters of Monteverde cloud forest is home to almost TWO TONS of epiphytes. As much as 35% of all the leaves, and 45% of all the nutrients in the forest canopy, are made up of epiphytes. If you want to study the life of epiphytes, Monteverde is a good place to do it.

One of the riddles that Sybil has answered is just how epiphytes deal with water in the treetops. Think about it for a second. Epiphytes aren’t rooted in the ground and have to get all their water from up in the canopy, where it is windy, sunny, and surviving these near-drought conditions can be a major challenge. One old assumption is that epiphytes absorb water from all the clouds and mist through their leaves. It’s a logical assumption to make for plants that spend half the year immersed in clouds. Well, dang-it, scientists don’t just assume, they ask questions, take names, and kick butt. Sybil has solar-powered weather stations installed in the canopy. She dissects leaves under microscopes. She injects pressurized nitrogen and water into sections of stems to understand the flow of sap. She has an entire crew swinging from ropes, Tarzan style, conducting this research. And Sybil has answers.

Answer #1) All the epiphyte species she studied can and do absorb water directly through their leaves. But some are better at it than others. The old assumption holds true, but the answer is qualified: how well an epiphyte absorbs water depends on the type of plant.

Answer #2) Some epiphytes have special tissues in their leaves that store water. (Can you say hydrenchyma?) Absorbing water through your leaves is one answer to surviving drought, but being able to store water is another strategy.

Answer #3) Epiphytes refill the water in their leaves at night. It’s cooler at night, and often cloudy, and the water that is lost during the sunny, windy days gets replenished during the cool, wet hours. Plants aren’t dumb!

These are just a few of Sybil’s discoveries. You’d fall asleep if I spelled them all out, so here’s what you need to know: First, epiphytes have a bunch of strategies to survive water stress in the canopy. They come in different sizes, some are woodier while others are gentle herbs, leaves can be thick or thin, and so on. It’s the diversity of strategies that allows 2 tons of epiphytes to coexist in a 100-m² plot. Diversity is the hallmark of tropical forests. Epiphytes have figured out the water problem, and in doing so they contribute to the amazing biodiversity of tropical forests.

Second, because epiphytes capture water out of the air, they in fact add water to the whole forest ecosystem, including the water that reaches the soil and then the streams and rivers. Every human being who lives downstream from a cloud forest depends on epiphytes for the water they drink, cook with, and for watering their crops.

Last, global climate change stands to ruin all that. In Monteverde there are more days in the year without clouds than there used to be, and the base of the cloud layer keeps moving up in altitude. Simply stated, global climate change is depriving epiphytes of water. And when that happens, the forest, wildlife, and humans have less water too.

Parting shots:

References

Gotsch, S. G., N. Nadkarni, A. Darby, A. Glunk, M. Dix, K. Davidson, and T. E. Dawson. 2015. Life in the treetops: ecophysiological strategies of canopy epiphytes in a tropical montane cloud forest. Ecological Monographs 85:393-412.

Saving endangered birds of prey is tough business, but someone has to do it. The work is a swamp of complicating factors, and you wonder if a person has to be insane to do this for a living.

First there is the location. Endangered species know no boundaries and wildlife aren’t interested in the comforts of a salon. If you are working with the Ridgway’s Hawk for example, you find yourself in the Dominican Republic, hiking the rainforest-covered rolling hills of karst limestone. Think 90º F, 85% humidity, jagged limestone that will slice your boot soles, and mosquitoes that carry the Zika virus. Or how about Madagascar. It can take days to drive from the nearest city to the field site, crossing rivers with a 4-wheel drive truck equipped with a snorkel for river crossings (I kid you not), carrying all your equipment and food with you. You have to be hardy in the extreme, and never mind the mosquitoes bearing malaria and sand flies that carry leishmaniasis. Never heard of leishmaniasis? It is one of the worst tropical diseases, and symptoms range from open wounds in your skin, the dissolving of cartilage in your face until your nose is lost, and permanent or lethal damage to your liver or spleen. I dare you to do an Internet search for images of leishmaniasis

Then there is the work itself. Depending on your location, you may have to work around crocodiles in Australia, grizzly bears in Alaska, tigers in India, lions in Africa, or worse, elephant poachers and guerilla rebels carrying automatic rifles and trained to shoot first and forget the questions.

To find a raptor nest you might hike for four hours, and that after a ride on a snow mobile, ATV, or dugout canoe. To enter a raptor nest might require rappelling cliffs, or scaling trees. And then there are the parents. Adult raptors don’t take kindly to people who want to scramble around with their eggs or chicks. Some raptors are harmless and will leave you alone. Some have a grip that will crush your hand and talons that can inflict serious damage. Climb into the nest of a Harpy Eagle and you are on their turf, and don’t expect mercy. Try and forget that you are two days from a hospital – it will make climbing 150 feet up the nest tree a bit easier.

By now you get the picture. Raptor biologists are badass, or insane, or both. Saving endangered birds of prey is serious business and takes the right kind of person. But who saves the person who saves the birds of prey? To answer that question I turn to the art, and the brotherhood, of arboriculture.

Arborists, like raptor biologists, do the hard work that no sane person would attempt. They are the men and women who care for trees. They climb trees to remove limbs with chainsaws, remove entire trees hundreds of feet tall from the tallest leaf down to the ground, and generally care for the well-being of trees and people living together.

What I love about arboriculture is that arborists have a brotherhood. They have to. When you are limbwalking with a chainsaw, one wrong move could mean death.

To do this work you have to trust the guy, or girl, who has got your back. On a different day you watch theirs. This connection creates a bond, one that, like raptor biology, knows no boundaries. When it comes to the art and science of tree climbing, Arborists are the Rembrandts and Edisons of the tree universe. If you want to learn to climb trees properly, go to a tree climbing instructor. That’s what I did.  And when you know enough about tree climbing, pay it forward – teach others.

A few weeks from now in October a climbing biologist (yours truly) and some arborists and climbing instructors from the Pacific Northwest of the Unites States – where proper trees grow – are heading to a conference in Costa Rica to teach raptor biologists from Latin America how to safely access raptors nests in trees. There is a wrinkle to this plan, though. Latin American biologists coming to the workshop can’t afford and don’t have access to true tree climbing gear. Teaching is one thing, providing thousands of dollars of equipment needed to keep tree climbers safe is another. WesSpur and TreeStuff generously donated a pile of fantastic gear, but it wasn’t enough. At the 11^th hour I turned to climbing arborists at a conference of the International Society of Arboriculture. These are the men and women who do the work of arboriculture. Back-breaking work. Life-on-the-line work. And they know about the brotherhood. When I made a call for donated equipment to keep their brothers and sisters in Mexico, Colombia, and Argentina safe, nearly $1000 of equipment flowed in, personal gear paid for in blood and sweat. Check it out.

I’m talking like this: 33 carabiners, 13 slings and split-tails, 6 pulleys, 4 ascenders, 1 throw cube with throw bags and line, 3 rings, 1 harness, 3 Andrew Jacksons, 1 Alexander Hamilton, and 1 Benjamin Franklin.

Saving species. Saving lives. Brothers in arms.

This blog is donated with open arms to a brother named Bill in his hour of need.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the hard working arborists of the Pacific Northwest Chapter of ISA for caring. You blew me away.

Photos provided by Roger Barnett and Roy Toft.

Signs by Tomorrow created the cool sign that set the stage.

To learn more about Arboriculture, visit Climbing Arborist.