Tree climbing rooted in conservation

It started with a random moment. A friend mentioned a phrase I had never heard before — tree climbing. It sounded baffling. Climbing trees as a sport? Who needs to be taught how to climb a tree?

I was already into all kinds of outdoor activities, so my curiosity got the better of me. I went online, started searching. Then I began practicing on my own, just me and a rope. Then, through the network of enthusiasts online, I found an arborist instructor. I joined her online classes first, then traveled to Xiamen, Fujian province, to train with her in person.

Tree climbing has reshaped who I am. I've always been on the introverted side — the type who finds crowds draining. This sport gave me the perfect escape. I can spend an entire day with just a tree for company, and that feels profoundly peaceful.

It has also given me confidence I didn't know I had.

When you learn to safely ascend a 20-meter tree, navigate branches, and trust your gear, you start to trust yourself more on the ground, too.

The training is tough. I've come home at the height of summer so dehydrated I was on the verge of collapsing from heatstroke. I've also been stung by bees. But even the pain feels bearable because it's wrapped in joy.

Most of my work now tilts toward the sports side of tree climbing. I run training courses for adults and lead youth programs for nature education organizations. Occasionally I take on tree-care jobs including pruning and maintenance.

I often describe the deepest state of climbing as dancing on the tree. It's a condition where my ropes, limbs, mind and the tree itself all merge into one fluid movement.

I leap between branches, swing and spin, and it feels like harmony.

This work is meaningful. It keeps me strong and immerses me in nature.

I've also been lucky enough to contribute to conservation. I took part in fieldwork protecting crested ibis, which was astonishing. And I do volunteer tree care work whenever I can, tidying up neglected canopies.

Sometimes joy comes from an urgent call. A friend called me once, upset. Baby birds kept dying outside his house. He found one alive and called around for help. I climbed the trees near his house and found a nest. There were wires and cables around the branches.

The baby birds probably hit them and fell. I checked the nest and took care of the lone survivor. A few days later, when the chick was strong enough, I climbed back up and returned it home.

That's the thing about tree climbing. People still look bewildered when I tell them what I do. They know rock climbing, but not tree climbing? They don't realize it's a disciplined, technical craft. Yet among rope sports, it's one of the safest. In tree climbing, I am always connected to the ground, able to descend calmly if something feels wrong.

I love that I can do it alone. Much of the tree work is a team effort, but the sport itself requires almost nothing but a bag of gear. I wander out by myself, find a good tree, and climb into the canopy. For someone who is happiest away from noise and crowds, that is a rare gift.

Xu Xiao spoke with Li Hongyang.