Chainsawing and Intelligence Interviewing
It is Fall in New Hampshire, and the woods are full of downed trees and partially downed trees (which are the real challenge), and I am way behind cutting the ten cords of wood I'll need for the coming winter.
It has been a busy summer, working around the U.S. and many locations outside it, but chainsawing seems to always occupy about 50 percent of my mind space regardless of where I am. The other 50 percent is occupied by intelligence interviewing.
And as I sit here in the airport — five hours, because my first flight was randomly cancelled — I've been thinking about how astonishingly similar the two are.
On the surface they're opposites. One is visceral, loud, and physically demanding; the other is cerebral, quiet, and psychologically nuanced. Underneath, they run on the same three things: presence, the ability to adapt as conditions change, and the discipline to see past the obvious black-and-white solution the problem first hands you. Whether you're cutting apart three trees hung up on each other or working the facts of a complex case, it starts in the same place. You have to be entirely present.
Presence is quieting the internal dialogue and letting yourself be fully engaged in what is happening in front of you. In chainsawing, I'm not wondering whether this log is worth my effort or how well it will burn; I'm focused moment by moment on what the log is doing and adjusting to how it responds (and trying not to cut my foot off).
In interviewing, I'm not thinking, "Why are they saying this? What are their ulterior motives? Are they telling me the truth?" All of that can come later. To actually be present, my sole focus is on engaging with what they're saying and letting them say it. Rather than imposing my logic on the situation, I'm simply facilitating the unfolding of their logic.
The Art of the Unexpected
When you sink a chainsaw into a log, you aren't just following an obvious, predetermined line. Internal tension, hidden rot, or a sudden shift in the wood's grain can cause the log to pinch the bar. If you aren't paying attention, the wood "eats" your saw, trapping it in an iron grip that can take hours to undo.
Investigative interviewing is no different. You might go in with a carefully crafted list of questions and a predetermined route, but the human mind is full of hidden knots and internal tension. A witness will suddenly pivot, a suspect will drop a detail you didn't expect, or a thread of the story will unfold contrary to your expectations. If you're too attached to your script, you miss the nuance. You get pinched by your own rigidity, losing the momentum of the conversation and the intelligence you're there to collect.
Staying Present Under Pressure
Both crafts demand a state of active vigilance.
The chainsaw operator reads the vibration in the handle and the sound of the engine, feels the wood shift, and responds before the saw binds or kicks back into their face.
The interviewer reads the energy in the room — what's being said and how it's being said — and engages with what's actually there, not with what they assumed it would mean. Miss that, and the moment passes. The interviewee was ready to give you something, and the window closes before you noticed it was open.
In both arenas, distraction is the enemy. Look at your phone, run your to-do list, let your ego or your internal monologue take over, and you lose the feedback loop. Lose the feedback, and you lose the interviewee.
That feedback loop is what lets you adapt at all. When the log moves, you shift your stance or change your angle. When the interviewee surprises you, you drop the prepared question and follow where they went. You don't fight the reality in front of you; you work with it — the pressure, the speed, the direction, adjusted in real time. And none of it is possible unless you're present enough to feel the change the moment it happens.
Final Thoughts
Whether you're holding a Stihl or a legal pad, the discipline is identical: stay present, work with what's actually in front of you rather than the plan you walked in with. The goal, though, is not identical, and the difference matters. The log is material I cut. The interviewee is a person I'm trying to understand — never material, and the moment I start treating them as material, I've lost the thing I came for. Respect that difference and both go better. The wood comes apart cleanly. And the person, given room, tells you the thing you didn't know to ask about.
