The High-Stakes World of Professional Arboriculture and the Georgia Tree Climbing Championship

The body draped over the upper branches of the red oak does not move. An unseasonably warm breeze frees leaves from the tree, fallen foliage swirling around the group that has gathered around the trunk as Morgan Wallen plays faintly from a nearby Bluetooth speaker. We stare up at the canopy and the man’s lifeless form, waiting for the signal that could mean the difference between a simulated recovery and a technical disqualification. His name is Camper Kyle, and while he is a dummy, he is the undisputed star of the Aerial Rescue event—one of five core disciplines in the Georgia Tree Climbing Championship.

"EMTs have arrived!" yells a judge from the ground. In this simulation, there are no actual paramedics, but the tension is real. Like the other events of the weekend—Throwline, Work Climb, Open Ascent, and Speed Climb—Aerial Rescue is designed to mimic the high-stakes reality of a professional arborist’s life. The weekend culminates in the Masters’ Challenge, where the top five competitors face a final test of skill, speed, and safety.

Competitor David Loats swings through the canopy on a self-rigged ropes system approximately 30 feet above the forest floor. In this world, "tree climbing" is something of a misnomer; the sport is less about scaling bark and more about the mastery of rope physics. The two-day competition at Violet F. Stout Park in Lithia Springs, Georgia, showcases a landscape strung with 50-foot climbing lines, colorful ribbons, and bells tied to branches, waiting to be rung by successful climbers.

"EMTs, my name is David Loats. I’m trained in aerial rescue as a certified arborist," he bellows over the wind. "How would you like me to proceed?" Jessie McClellan, executive director of the Georgia Arborist Association, explains that communication is a scored component. Competitors must narrate their safety checks and actions to ensure that every movement is intentional. Six judges, clad in helmets and armed with clipboards, circle the tree to observe Loats from every possible angle. High above, a safety technician remains harnessed in the tree all day, serving as a silent sentinel to ensure no real-life rescue becomes necessary.

Arboriculture is an industry often hidden in plain sight, yet it is one of the most dangerous professions in the United States. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, tree trimmers and pruners consistently face higher rates of fatal work injuries than most other occupations, often due to falls, contact with power lines, or being struck by falling limbs. The Georgia Tree Climbing Championship serves as both a "rodeo" for these trade workers and a vital laboratory for safety standards.

The competitors are easily identified by their bright orange shirts, heavy harnesses, and the collapsible wagons they pull through the park. These wagons are mobile workshops, brimming with thousands of dollars in gear: static and dynamic ropes, carabiners, mechanical friction devices, and personalized handsaws. Despite the technical nature of the event, the atmosphere is remarkably low-key. The audience is comprised mostly of family members and industry peers, creating a "renegade" vibe that feels more like a highly organized dress rehearsal than a spectator sport.

This lack of fanfare belies the economic and environmental importance of the trade. As of 2026, there are approximately 32,000 certified arborists in the United States, according to the International Society of Arboriculture (ISA). The profession is categorized into "a" arborists (those who perform tree work) and "A" Arborists (those who have achieved rigorous certification). The credentials range from Tree Risk Assessment to Utility Specialists who manage high-voltage clearance. At the pinnacle sits the Board Master Certified Arborist, a title held by only about 1,500 professionals nationwide.

Casey Clapp, a certified arborist and author of The Trees Around You, describes the career as a multifaceted puzzle. "You can be a regulator, a consultant, or a utility arborist clearing lines from a bucket truck," Clapp says. "It requires knowing 10,000 knots and understanding exactly when to pull and when to push." This expertise is well-compensated; Dan Bauer, owner of Arbor Equity, notes that entry-level climbers recruited from high school FFA programs can start with salaries between $60,000 and $70,000, reflecting the high demand for skilled labor in the "green collar" economy.

The history of these competitions dates back to 1976, with the first "Tree Trimmer’s Jamboree" in St. Louis, Missouri. What began as a local safety demonstration has evolved into the International Tree Climbing Competition (ITCC), a global circuit with over 60 regional qualifying events. The winners of the Georgia championship—one man and one woman—earn the right to compete at the ITCC, which draws climbers from as far as New Zealand to vie for top-tier gear and industry prestige.

Safety is the primary driver of the competition’s dense 83-page rulebook. Every piece of equipment must pass a mandatory pre-competition inspection. The rules regarding rope systems are particularly stringent: all snaps must be self-closing and self-locking, and mechanical ascenders must have redundant backup systems. Any unsafe act, no matter how small, results in immediate disqualification. This obsession with safety is born from necessity; in the field, a failed knot or an unclipped carabiner can be fatal.

Throughout the park, the air is filled with the sounds of encouragement: "Smooth is fast!" and "Take a break, make this one stick!" Each event tests a specific professional skill. The Throwline event requires a climber to toss a weighted bag through a narrow fork in a branch, a task essential for establishing a secure tie-in point. The Speed Climb is a pure test of verticality, while the Work Climb simulates a standard workday, requiring the climber to move through five different stations in the canopy to ring bells and prune limbs.

The evolution of the sport is visible in the Open Ascent event. In decades past, climbers relied on "footlocking"—a technique where the climber wraps their feet around the rope in a specific friction hitch to propel themselves upward. Today, while footlocking is still respected as an "old-school" skill, most modern arborists use sophisticated mechanical knee and foot ascenders. These devices allow them to "walk" up the rope, saving energy for the actual work of tree maintenance.

Beyond the technical competition, there is a deep philosophical undercurrent regarding the role of trees in urban ecosystems. Jessie McClellan notes that while many see trees as static background objects, arborists see them as living organisms that require active management. She points to the "retrenchment" of an older oak—a process where the tree sheds its upper canopy to conserve energy in its lower limbs—as a sign of aging that requires expert intervention.

The relationship between the sport and public land management is complex. In Georgia, competitive tree climbing is restricted to city and county parks, as state parks have opted out of hosting such events due to liability concerns and staffing shortages. Organizations like the National Park Service (NPS) emphasize Leave No Trace principles, which can sometimes clash with the physical impact of climbing, even when performed by certified professionals using tree-friendly techniques. However, proponents argue that the visibility of these competitions is the best way to combat "tree blindness"—the tendency of the public to ignore the vital infrastructure of the urban forest.

The weekend concludes with the Master’s Challenge, held on a gnarled, towering red oak on private property. The finalists are sequestered until their turn, ensuring they have no prior knowledge of the tree’s unique geometry. Defending champion Jhonny Lopez, who has been competing since 2012, approaches the tree with a methodical calm. He places his throwline in the highest union on his first attempt and moves through the canopy with a grace that suggests the ropes are an extension of his own body.

Lopez eventually secures the men’s championship title, while Becca Haught takes the women’s. For Lopez, the win is a testament to years of daily labor; he doesn’t "train" for the competition because his workday is the training. For the companies involved, the stakes include the "Company Axe," a prestigious award given to the firm with the highest-scoring team members. It is a symbol of professional excellence that translates directly into business credibility.

As the lines are pulled and the gear is packed into wagons, the impact of the event lingers. For the arborists, it is a rare moment of recognition for a grueling and dangerous trade. For the spectators, it is a reminder that the canopy above our heads is a managed landscape, kept safe and healthy by those willing to walk on branches and dance on ropes. In an era of climate change and urban expansion, the role of the arborist—part cowboy, part scientist, part athlete—has never been more critical. Noticing the trees, as it turns out, is only the beginning. Understanding the labor required to keep them standing is where the true appreciation begins.