CityScapes: A Poem for a World in Chaos

The city is full of perfectly manicured landscapes, designed to imitate natural, balanced nature.

A to do list of mowing, pruning, shaping, sculpting…

But anyone who has ever looked for love knows that seeking perfection is futile.

I like the wild city.

Those spots where a check box was missed.

Where dry dust blows up in the wind because no one could pin it down.

Where weather rusts forgotten gadgets.

Where loose gravel runs down in the rain.

Where roots split the cement and vines escape over the fences.

Where the river floods, wondering what the purpose of a bank is.

Sometimes when I watch ducks swim in a concrete river, I feel sad for them.
How selfish we are to design this place for ourselves, thinking little of them. And they go on idly about their lives. It is all they have ever known.

But then sometimes I wonder if they’d laugh to find out we think we’re in control.

Are the old trees passively watching the evolving cement landscape, knowing this too shall pass?

That time is longer than this.

That love is more than this.

That life is stronger than this.

Indeed what does anyone do, when things are falling apart?

Do you cling to what is comfortable? And what when that too, dissolves?

Do you crumble and wilt? Do you lament that no believes you anymore?

Or do you thrust your roots deep into the toxic concrete? Unwilling to give up your space?

Knowing that time is longer than this.

That love is more than this.

That life is stronger than this.

Work Ethic

In the middle of April 2019 I found myself standing in line at the outhouse at Indian Creek near Moab Utah, a place which had been on my list for years (the Creek, not the bathroom line, to clarify). This daily bathroom line could be rather awkward as we do the head nod to others in line and wait for athletic dudes to do their business (which seems to take a ridiculously long time) one at a time. This morning was a bit extra peculiar. As I was standing there, a car drove past with an older woman and two dogs. I followed the car with my eyes thinking, “Dang, that’s cool! Climbing into your later 50s?! Two crag dogs?! She’s kind of awesome!”

My assumptions were wrong, though, when she pulled over at a campsite and unashamedly called “Bob!! Bob! It’s your mother!!” To be honest I don’t remember the name and would obviously not post it even if I did, but I do remember a disheveled looking young man stumbling out onto the dirt road from his tent/van/hammock or whatever he had slept in the night before. “You know there’s no phone service out here so I couldn’t get a hold of you so I thought I’d just swing by!” At first I started laughing to myself. How embarrassing for this climber dude and how awesome of her!! This place is like 1.5 hours from civilization, there is no "just swing by!!" 

“I thought we might spend the day together!” she added. When she said that my heart dropped. Obviously I don’t know the whole story and I try not to judge anyone, but from the looks of it, he left his mother hanging and thus here she is, looking forward to time with her son, whose mind is currently very selfishly oriented towards hanging out and climbing rocks.

In my own life, my mother knew exactly where I was going and when I was coming back and gave me a box of chocolates and a few pears and told me happy Easter as I was leaving. She told me maybe I'd make some extra friends via giving them chocolate. You see, I tried the nomadic lifestyle rather briefly. I tried “living the dream” and to be honest it wasn’t all that dreamy to me. I used to be frustrated by the Midwestern side of me who couldn’t live like that. I am almost unable to forget an obligation, I text everyone back, I have only called in sick to work like twice in my life, I keep almost no secrets from my parents, and am happiest when I have structure and purpose. I swear I come from a family of reasonable, grounded hobbits and the Midwest is actually the Shire. I used to think this direction was why I am not a true alpine climber or a 5.13 climber, but on this trip I realized that that is far from true.

The desert primrose - a beautiful flower which I only noticed in the morning and evenings. I learned later that it doesn't bloom during the day, totally opposite of most flowers where I'm from. Like the morning glory's doppelganger. I was brought up to notice and appreciate things like this.

This trip was monumental to me because I have come a long ways in climbing both mentally and physically and for the first time I found that I had enough confidence in myself and my experience to go somewhere solo. About two months before leaving, however, I had a bit of a panic moment where the realization that I was investing in a trip to a stout and physically demanding climbing area and did not feel in shape set in. I was feeling buried in schoolwork and spending hours slaving away at my job and thus prioritized sleeping and resting over “training”. In that moment, though, I realized all the small time intervals that I could be spending getting back in shape and a flood of motivation came rushing back to me. From then on I stopped projecting hard climbs and focused on endurance climbing and core work outs. I didn’t need to go to the creek and push grades, I only wanted to go with confidence in the abilities I already had and the ability to climb long routes. I knew I was going to be spending time at altitude with long approaches and heavy backpacks so I made sure to fit in a few trail runs. I also knew I had an exam the day I got back so I recorded all my notes on my phone to listen to them while driving. In two weeks I was feeling back to normal and in two months I was confident that I was as ready as I could be. Any guilt of laziness was gone! 

The Cave Route is an amazing, beautiful climb, and aptly named!

Something changed too, though, in that I realized that my “training” was probably over kill. I found inner strength and reminded myself that a few days off does not decrease strength, it’s just a few well deserved days off. It would be a rather unforgiving and bleak world if my abilities were punished for going on a motorcycle ride and hanging out with a friend rather than training at the gym for a night. I have not found the "laws of training" to work that way. A positive mental state gained from making a new friend or having an inspiring evening at a show can totally bump my climbing grade up at least a letter grade. So, for the last couple weeks I enjoyed our new spring weather more than I trained at the gym and I had absolutely no regrets on that one! As I was leaving not only did I feel ready for the uncertainty and challenges up ahead but mentally prepared, happy, and healthier than ever. I wasn’t just looking forward to getting on hard stuff, but the adventure of a long drive and meeting new people and exploring a new area.

On day one I wandered up to an area and bummed top ropes off of some French Canadian guys and a group from Grand Junction CO. Humbly I had no real idea how well I would climb in the Creek, but I kind of thought I was going to be a 5.10 climber, now was time to find out! I had a great time chatting with people at the crag and learning what they were up to and where they were from. I then zoomed up their top ropes effortlessly! Grateful for the chance to get on some routes right away, I thanked them and said perhaps I’d see them around! Being from the Midwest I think people were quite surprised to see a Wisconsinite scramble up boulders easily and then sail up a sustained crack as if we had all that in our backyard!

After an afternoon of top roping, it was time to spend a full day out at the cracks. I packed away a quadruple rack in my pack and a rope and set of for the Second Meat wall with a couple of new friends I had met. My pack was heavy, but it reminded me of being a student with NOLS followed by working as an instructor for NOLS. The approach was fairly long, but I’ve totally done longer and it really didn’t bother me because thoughts of pushing myself on things that a few years ago would have terrified me kept me going! This day I got my first two sends, both on-sites, on 5.10 cracks. It was bold to look a 100 foot long 5.10 crack and hop on it, but I didn’t feel scared. The gear was so good and the falls were clean, but more importantly I knew I was strong and smart and I totally trusted myself.

Meeting up with this girl and her dog seriously made the trip what it was!

The French Canadians put a #6 cam between the wall and that large block to my right... We gently made fun of them and also stood nowhere near the block when they did that...

A highlight of the trip was a bold onsite attempt on Scarface, 5.11-. Scarface is a beautiful and picturesque crack that starts with a thin hands / finger crack and finishes with a long, splitter hand crack. It’s hard! Confidently and with desert sun beating down on me, I started up the crack. To be honest, I don’t quite remember where I fell or how many times, but I know I tried harder on gear than I ever have before, had little fear of falling because the moves took all of my focus, multiple times thought I might fall but kept going instead, and I took only once near the top due to sheer exhaustion. It was one of my coolest moments in climbing thus far!

Scarface, 5.11-

During that day, talking to people at the crag, I learned how many of them were between jobs or had just graduated college. I learned some of them lived on the road and some were on extended roadtrips. There is absolutely nothing wrong with living on the road for a while or even forever if it is what makes one happy. Travel is invaluable, but for once I had absolutely no envy of #vanlife. What I once thought was holding me back on my outdoor adventures was totally making me a better climber. Climbing is so mentally demanding and having a home, family, supportive community, consistent job, and purpose has allowed me to embrace the uncertainty, adversity, and physical demands that climbing entails.

This was a fun rest day full of banana pancakes, omelettes, and salad!

By the end of the trip I was seriously excited to be heading home. I missed my climbing partners, friends, coworkers, and family from Milwaukee. Nowhere else have I felt this supported and loved in a climbing community. Some people at Indian Creek looked at me like I was crazy for tolerating a 24 hour drive each way for just 3.5 days of solid climbing, but for the experiences I had in Utah, it was totally worth it. You see, the value of the experience of a single afternoon, or three days of climbing, or one silly or inspiring thing someone said, or one afternoon of hanging out and collecting rocks by a river on a rest day is underestimated, but I find the people of the Midwest are often willing to put the effort in to make these experiences happen. We don’t have everything at our doorstep, so we have to invest in experiences, enjoy the little things, hope the weather will be mostly good, and commit. I have found the climbers in Milwaukee to be some of the most committed, reliable, supportive, hardworking, and inspiring climbers I've met (outside of like professional climbers of course) along with simply being fun to hang out with.

The Midwest has a sweet and simple charm.

My last night on the road I was feeling rather awful from a ridiculous amount of driving and I stopped around 8pm at a state recreational area I found which allowed camping. Being the totally not lazy person I am, I got up the energy to make myself an amazing sweet potato, fish, vegetable dinner made of leftovers from the trip. I hate wasting food so it felt good to eat some of it and it hit the spot far better than any fast food would have. I enjoyed about an hour of soft sunset over the Platte River in Nebraska before I passed out in my car, absolutely exhausted.

Loved seeing the flooding along the Platte River. My dad had just asked me if I had noticed it and then I found this gem of a spot! Don't know why there were no mosquitoes, but I'll take it!

Simple things make one of the best evenings of the trip.

When I got home, my mom made me dinner and I spent the next morning cleaning my car out in my parent's driveway. When I arrived in my apartment I saw she had left me homemade tofu and rice, which was amazing since I had no time to grocery shop or cook in the next couple days. I have never felt so grateful for the strong sense of commitment, humility, and work ethic that was instilled in me, probably since I was born. The amount of support I have shown others has been reflected back at me tenfold. I have dabbled in many different walks of life, and there are many ways to move through the world, but complacency has never suited me. We actually have lots of time to blow up our Instagram with places we’ve been and things we’ve done, but life is too short not to care.

Here's our little family for the week!

Here are some words of wisdom from my currently young 27 year old high-on-life mind:

1. Commit fully to whatever is in front of you, and learn from it, but don’t be afraid to make changes when necessary.
2. Do things that scare you that help you grow
3. Be absolutely grateful for every opportunity you have. I have realized how privileged I am to be able to spend my free time selfishly, but feeling guilty about it did not build community or promote positivity in the world, so I choose gratitude and commitment instead
4. Be totally psyched and proud of your accomplishments – whether you sent it or just tried hard, if it meant something to you, it meant something to you! Someone will always climb harder or be smarter than you, so don’t be so humble or hard on yourself that you’re afraid to be proud.
5. And finally, love the people around you, especially those who support you the most but also those from totally different walks of life than yours. Make them laugh, listen to them, learn where they come from, see the wisdom in them, support them, take pictures of their moments so they can remember them and brag about it, flake their rope, and extend your psych for your own accomplishments to them and their projects. Empathy is invaluable.

Getting in the head of a fellow climber and belaying them and sending them the best vibes you possibly can while they are pushing themselves is a very gratifying experience.

Corbin bravely moving up and facing her fears on Battle of the Bulge! 

I don't think I will ever fit a #2 cam in my mouth, but I won the competition due to the fact that BOTH my climbing partners HAPPENED to have lock jaw.

With that, thank you for reading and here's to all the weekend warriors and climbers from looked over towns and cities across the Midwest and elsewhere! May you totally blow people away when you show them your inner strength!

The Zone

When I’m really climbing, I am in a mental zone. I appreciate being pushed towards the zone, but only I really know when I’m in it, when I’m below it, and when I’ve gone too far. It feels like a cool confidence where risk assessment is visceral rather than verbal. I know I am competent and strong enough to do what is required and even if I fall the consequence will be worth the try. I continually strive to weed out the factors that keep me from this zone.

On the last day of our trip to Cochise, AZ, I convinced my friend Tasha that the approach to Sheepshead dome followed by a 5 pitch slabby 5.8+ climb would be worth a potentially grueling 6 or more hours. Tasha is a friend from my home climbing gym in Milwaukee, WI. She’s a really good crack climber! In a gym full of sport climbers and boulderers, I was pretty psyched to have some variety in my climbing partners when I met her. On top her crack climbing skills, she is an emotionally intelligent and deep thinking, logical person. She is also way more confident at renting cars, buying rental insurance, making phone calls and picking plane flights than me. What I learned about Tasha on this trip is that she apparently had never before gone 7 days without a shower or had to hike an hour up hill to get to a multi pitch climb and that she isn’t the biggest fan of slab climbing. She also gets really cold really easily and doesn’t love scrambling up and down boulders. Strength and ability plays a very small factor in my climbing partner selection. I mostly pick people for their companionship, intelligence, attitude, and availability.

Tasha tried this approach before - off trail. This time it was a much more pleasant experience. 7:30AM in AZ in January is pretty nice.

I used to be pickier about climbing partners. I would see people climbing with the same partner for years, both strong, experienced, and competent people. I so wanted that. Years late I still don’t quite have that yet, but it doesn’t matter because I know I can create it. This is a story of building each other up, because people aren’t born with that wisdom, competence, and strength, but I have learned it can be developed much faster than we expect. All successes come from a very human place.

The route up Sheepshead is called Ewephoria. On this same trip, I attempted to take two other friends up. After an hour long approach, I started leading the first pitch, which is surprisingly much harder than it looks. After placing a small TCU, which I didn’t love, and crawling out onto the face to look up at a long run out to a bolt 20 feet up, I realized pretty quickly that I was not in the zone. This felt like a familiar old feeling of being too slow at making hard decisions, overly cautious, in over my head, afraid of the unknown, and not ready to carry the mental burden of this entire route, especially if the first pitch was anything like the rest. Other parties were starting to line up behind us, all looking very athletic, psyched, and confident. Ugh. I just knew something doesn’t feel right about this.

Coming off the route, I realized I didn’t feel sorry at all for dragging my two friends up to the start of this climb. I brought the gear I thought I needed and I made a decision and that was that. Today was not the day. I had nothing to apologize for.

I told myself that it has been two years since I climbed up real granite slab like that. I have been too busy in nursing school to practice my trad climbing. I wish my partners were more experienced because judgement and decision making is exhausting and I’d rather share that responsibility. I wasn’t born out west and didn’t start doing this kind of stuff until my mid-twenties. It’s really human not to want to take risks like that.

I texted a friend explaining that when I know that my belayer knows what it is like to be up there on the sharp end on a long multi-pitch, I become so much braver, but that I would not have that on this trip. Almost immediately upon sending that, while drinking wine out of an orange juice bottle and watching the sunset, I realized I had just stated a problem which had a very clear and defined solution. Tasha is an emotionally intelligent and logical person. I am putting her in a box of a gym climber who won’t understand what leading run-out slab will feel like. Any emotionally intelligent person would be receptive if I explain what I need from them to feel like a team up there. This can’t feel like I am guiding her. This has to feel like we are a team and that we are both fully in it, both constantly thinking ahead, even if I am the leader and she is the follower. I need to know that we’re on the same wavelength.

AZ sunset

So, here we are, at the start of Ewephoria, way earlier that anyone else. It’s only 8:30am! Some people show up at 11am and summit by 2pm. I love our time buffer. I have one follower instead of two and almost twice as much gear so I can head off onto the mystery slab knowing a solid #2 cam will catch me if it’s my worst nightmare up there.

The first pitch is a success, and my trepidation about the whole adventure decreases by half. Phew! However, I am belaying from an icebox. My puffy is down at the base in Tasha’s backpack and I am standing in the shade with a cold north wind wicking away my body heat as I stand in a thin long sleeved shirt and a wind shirt. I am literally shivering, belaying Tasha up, waiting for my puffy to show up, knowing that pitch will probably be a tedious challenge for her (we don’t have weird slopey granite diherals inWisconsin). Also, she is going to hate this freezing belay ledge even more than I do! Tasha arrives to the icebox. I warn her she is probably about to freeze, grab some water, my jacket and the gear and announce we should get out of this place ASAP! Without thinking too hard, I head back out onto the slab to a bolt, small cam placements, and then who knows what…

I feel a tug of the rope on my harness and calmly freeze.

“Hold on Kaybe… Sorry…”

“Is that because of the rope or because of your belaying? I just need to know we need to fix the rope.”

“Umm… A bit of both.”

“OK, no worries, thanks for telling me. Let me know if you need me to slow down.”

I pull out onto lower angle rock moving slowly but smoothly, clip a bolt, then look up about 30 feet to the next bolt. Standing with the last bolt at my feet, I attempt to sling a chicken head, but moving a little higher the rope whips the sling right off the rock. I laugh to myself. Yep, I expected that! I look up and look down. I smile. This isn’t scary. This is 5.5 probably and I am so strong. In fact, the fact that the route is bolted like this feels like a compliment. It’s set for a 5.8+ climber. I am easily a 5.8+ climber. I know that. I quickly move on to the next bolt. Around then I start hearing hooting and hollering from my left. I look over to see two yahoos practically running up the rock helmetless on a harder route about 100 feet away, boasting their recklessness and speed for all on the mountain to hear. I roll my eyes. This is why I take chances on people like Tasha over the really strong climbers. I laugh knowing for sure that I am in the right and they are frankly acting like they are adolescent boys (which they are not). Shame on them. I am so happy to be my cautious humble self up here and not one of them.

Looking down at the first run-out. Easier than it looks, still eerie.

A few more moves on rounded, rough granite slopers takes me to the anchors. “Woohoo!”

I get Tasha on belay, thinking how she’s probably freezing down there, poor thing. As she starts climbing up to me, I start hearing more voices. “Damn it!” I think. More parties. Well, we’re already 2 pitches up. They can’t move THAT fast. This should be okay. Hopefully we don’t slow them down. I always think I’m more likely to slow someone down than to catch up to someone else.

The third pitch is tightly bolted slab, but no matter how tightly bolted it is, it doesn’t change the fact that there literally are no holds, and this rock is surprisingly not that low angle. Two pitches up reminds me to make quick decisions. Going down isn’t really an option and that’s okay. Trust your feet. You’ve done this before. It’s been 2.5 years, but you haven’t forgotten how to walk on this stuff. You know this kind of rock. Off to the left is a water streak, with little edges, but it’s actually dripping with water. Stand on the wet edge and risk slipping later due to a wet shoe? Or continue on the pure slab? Slab it is. Perfect. I am making decisions out of logic and not fear. This feels good. About 40 feet later I reach the first actually hold. “Holy crap! Tasha I just walked up vertical rock. Oh my goddess. Ahhhh!” I flow gracefully through a few last moves using a big step across and balance thinking that a 6’ tall person probably just reaches out and grabs the jug. I’m back on a bit of run-out 5.4 slab and then perched at another anchor.

Water streak slab!!

For some reason I thought the fourth pitch was going to be a breeze, but once again, I got sent off onto a bolt line of very vertical slopey rock. For the first time I question whether or not there may be a variation of this pitch which is harder than I bargained for. I look around and see no better way up. Well, if this route goes at 5.8+ and the bolter thought I could do this, then I can do this. Calmly breathing and carefully balancing my way up another 50 feet or so of slab, I sling one last chicken head and look at one last 6’-person-step-across. I smile. “This should be fun” I think as I smoothly lean across to a few jugs and pull up and over a bulge right up to the anchor which is on the first big comfy ledge we’ve seen all day. Yessssss! Fourth pitch down. Holy crap! We’re going to do this whole thing no problem! It’s sunny and beautiful and only about 1:30pm. Not bad for someone leading trad near their limit (as far as I know) and a sport/gym climber following! Tasha makes it up and we both realize we need food and water and a break. She looks pretty tired. I’ve been chasing the sunshine and trying to stay well before the second party so I haven’t eaten much since we left the ground. The second party catches up to us. Perfect timing. At this point if they want to pass us I frankly don’t care. 

The group turns out to be a super nice group of college kids, very humble and friendly. One guy commented on my slinging of chicken heads. “I didn’t know how to do that! I saw you do it so I thought I’d try it, but I don’t think mine would have worked.”

I laugh, “To be honest I don’t think mine would have worked either. Those were some poor excuses for chicken heads… More like fins. One of mine just fell off on the second pitch anyways!” We talk about the fourth pitch and I realize that they are just as human as I am and it doesn’t matter how much more they get to climb outside on this kind of rock. Once the basic strength and competence is there, the rest comes from trusting myself and loving the climb.

Proof of rough granite. It was worth it.

The final pitch is a “chimney” which is so wide it’s really just a slightly overhanging 5.7 which involves an awkward heel hook mantle with a wall behind you. Like, really, I’m only 5’2”, but I think you’d have to be 8’ tall to stem in that thing. I stand on a little ledge and try to clip the last bolt before I pull over onto the summit. I’m not tall enough. I laugh. Story of my life. Sometimes one of my excuses which keeps me from the zone is that most backcountry/alpine/trad climbers seem to be at least 5’6” tall. I’m more built like a sport climber, but honestly, that has never kept me from any 5.7 move. I enjoy proving to gym climbers that short people can do any route. So if it’s a move on this route, I can do the move and then clip the bolt. The extra spice just makes me more badass than the (probably) 6’ person who put the bolt there! One last friction mantle and I’m on top!!!! “Woohoo!!”

“How was it??” Tasha calls up.

“Hahaha uhhhh… You’ll see. It’s one of the harder 5.7s I’ve ever climbed…”

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all!”

Working through the moves, Tasha gradually makes it up into the sunshine. To the very last move, every friction move is heady for her. That makes for a lot of heady moves on a route that is 750 feet long. She has been working so hard and she stayed mentally with me the whole way up. We all have a different degree of risk tolerance and a person can feel just as exhausted following a multi-pitch as someone else does leading it. Hard moves, exposure, understanding and trusting gear, prior experiences all factor into how quickly our risk tolerance is used up. The more we pile on the more exhausted we become. We have to remember that because what affects one person in one state of mind can affect someone else way more. Tasha has been a really awesome partner today, given how out of her comfort zone she really was. We un-rope and stand in slight disbelief thinking about everything that we did to get here. She’s standing well away from the edge and on low angle terrain so I run over and give her a big hug.

750 feet of this is a lot to ask of anyone!

“Ahhh” she yelps, still not 100% comfortable standing on slightly angled rock all the way up here.

“Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy and for agreeing to do that whole approach with me and the climb!!! I can’t believe what an adventure that was. Holy crap I’m so glad we did that!”

For the first time I feel like I totally belonged on a long moderate multipitch. It is a freeing feeling to have mutual but unspoken trust with whoever bolted this route. Their work would keep me safe if I knew myself well enough to know if I should be on the route. I used to meticulously write down the entire route, draw my own topo, and try to take out as much mystery I could from the route. Today I knew with the right gear and time and just enough research, whatever was thrown at me, I would be capable of navigating.

Today I was in the zone all day. I trusted a less experienced climber because I knew what I needed from her didn’t require her to be extremely experienced. It just required teamwork, trust, a willingness to try something new, and communication. I trusted my internal strength and mental calm, rather than the number of granite pitches I climbed in the last year or the amount of cams I placed in my life. People don't forget skills like that too fast. While this is the longest and hardest multi pitch I have led, it feels like it unlocked a door. It taught me that I am capable of so much more, and reminded me that those people out there leading longer and harder multi-pitches are human too. So here’s to new friends and partners, being strong, competent and humble, and many more days in an ever expanding mental zone.

See that one? The biggest one?!? We'll never look at that quite the same again.

Alpine Stoicism, Gym Psych, and Being Human

Over the past six years I have moved through many roles in the climbing community – the psyched newbie, a key member of a bunch of “lady crushers”, part of many bouldering send trains, the student, the instructor, the backcountry greenhorn, the burned out climber, and the really awkwardly shy new girl in town.

First non-instructor led backcountry experience - that snow field freaked me out.

Through all this, the climbing community is a place where I have felt at times very accepted and at other times extremely lonely. It can be an intimidating group to fit in with. They are intelligent, energetic, able to take calculated risks, and super athletic.

This is written to anyone who has felt at any time that they didn't measure up. The inspiration for writing this stems from witnessing many climbers get shut down from their own mental state, other life commitments, or physical insecurities. At times I have been in that place and I will likely visit it again. Emotions happen and suddenly I show up to the gym feeling lost in a sea of climber psych, techno music, confusing social dynamics and badass stories. I get instant total sensory overload.

To some extent my emotions affect my focus at school, my social skills, my work, my climbing, my eating habits, and my sleep, yet when I visualize a successful climber, I see a cool, collected, stoic person or someone with just never ending energy and psych. Sometimes I have one or the other and sometimes both, and sometimes they are just not there.

I freaking love teaching this stuff

Recently I confided in a friend that I wish I could ignore these emotions. Life would be easier then. If I always ate healthy, never got illogically scared, and always felt like trying hard - heck, I’d probably climb 5.13 and be a financially stable engineer right now. He responded he had made a habit of ignoring his emotions all his life and that he wishes he couldn’t.

What? For the first time a strong white guy told me he wishes he wasn’t cool and collected.

This led me to think back to when I was 13 and first felt a new stab of the gender roles defined. I was so angry at what people assumed of me. Among other attributes I was supposedly more in touch with my feelings, more social, and more scared of things because I was female. Whether these were true or not didn’t matter. What frustrated me was that it was assumed because of one chromosome that that’s who I was and what frustrated me even more was that men would now get a free pass like “I’m a dude, I don’t get it, so there.” I thought the whole thing was bullshit. Until recently, I thought females got the short end of the straw, but I have realized that maybe it is the opposite. Through the lens of our culture, I perceive emotions as weakness and stoicism as strength, but that is just what I have been taught, not what is necessarily true.

Now that's a genuine outfit - especially with the pooper scooper we brought just in case...

I started thinking about the people I climb with and the people I avoid climbing with and realized how hypocritical I have been in the past. I seek strong reliable people to climb with and yet I fluctuate between feeling strong and fearless, crappy and tired, or insecure and weak. I can get frustrated listening to people talk about how they are too scared to fall or that they should push themselves more or lose weight and yet sometimes I start those conversations.

I think, though, that I have found a better way to include these emotions into my climbing:

On a recent climbing trip, I looked up at a 95 foot beautiful route which started with an intimidating roof leading to a long, slight overhang. I looked at the route, and then looked at my partner and said,

“I am currently afraid of becoming afraid up there.”

He nodded and said he understood the feeling. Just in saying that and being validated, I felt better. Still felt scared, but better.

In a week where all my usual climbing partners were too busy to climb with me, I finally told them,

“I know you’re busy, but I have felt really sad and lonely this whole week because no one has time to climb with me and I’m tired of bouldering by myself!!! It's not as fun and I climb like shit!”

Rather than trying to be that totally self-reliant climber, I decided to just be human and I again, instantly felt better.

I got to listen to a women’s panel on climbing, and a conversation on emotions came up among these very established professional climbers. One woman mentioned that her climbing partner would cry in stressful situations.

Her partner interrupted,

“Are you saying I cry a lot?”

“You cry more than anyone I have ever climbed with... And because of that I trust you the most.”

One of my most spontaneous and random sport climbing days, loved climbing with these crazy ladies!

In none of these are people apologizing for their feelings or even dwelling on them. They are accepting them. I have found accepting feelings a lot less detrimental to my focus or climbing or social life. I don’t have to be a stoic person or even a positive person, emotions aren’t really holding me back, and life is really meaningful and deep if I accept the wild ride they take me on. Alex Honnold is in a completely different emotional place than me: he knows he won’t fall, so why he even need a rope? I will never be where he is. I think leading outdoor 5.11 sport is spicy enough right now because I’m carrying a bunch of fear, excitement, and expectations with me up a cliff (along with a rope and some gear) and that’s a lot of work!

Sometimes life beats you down and you just don't give a shit...

I think back to conversations which annoy me at the gym and how drained I can feel after listening to someone battle their mental game or get down on themselves for the recent plateau they have found themselves on. I don’t think it’s their emotions that I find draining, so much as it’s the talking about them, dwelling on them, and rationalizing or defending them that I have to listen to. It’s also that when there is too much of it, I don’t feel like I can add my own insecurities or we’ll all just spiral down into a bunch of self-critical rambling. It’s the fact that you feel bad for having emotions, the fact that it feels like you can’t be real around me, that it feels like you aren’t present with me, that all we are connecting over is negative self-talk - that is what I find draining.

...And sometimes you need a nap...

Do you remember your first day of climbing? Do you remember how playful it felt to be horizontal or to try to stretch out as far as you possibly could to grab something you could just barely reach? I think I climbed a couple weird boulder problems and spent the rest of the time doing gymnastics on the mats. I didn’t analyze my progress or my fears; I did what I felt like doing. I would like to invite you back to that day, and to keep that day with you every time you climb. Let your training and experience only enhance that feeling and never detract from it. And I would invite you to accept your fluctuating emotions and your own ever changing motivation for being at the gym or outside on a cliff. Maybe one day you can be the stoic trad climber and the next you’ll feel like the stoic trad climber’s hyper little sibling, and the next day you’ll feel like a lazy bum – and that is so totally fine! I won’t judge you for it if you don’t judge yourself for it. 

...And sometimes you get up at 4 in the morning and
get to see this beautiful valley before anyone else.

So, do you want to climb hard things with me and get scared with me and tell me that you’re scared? Do you want to try things that frustrate you and tell me straight up that it drives you nuts? Do you want to practice complex rope systems with me until we either feel like geniuses or our heads hurt and we wonder how we made it through college? Do you want to get burned out for a few days and realize we need to go make friends with some random non-climbing strangers for a while? If the answer is yes, then cool, let’s climb together. I think we could really go places.

Decision to Bail

The Alpine - It's Really Real out Here The Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range, WY, from the summit of Pingora, 2016

A partner with a fractured pelvis, a sleepless night shivering on top of Haystack Mountain – why is the aftermath of this climbing season so rough? Where are the celebratory beers with good friends and the success stories? The mountains this year seem to be telling me that this just isn’t my year. This year I have been navigating the foggy question of “should we bail?” A question that is nearly impossible to get perspective on when you are in the middle of it. I’m about to tell you the unfortunate events of climbing in the Winds this year followed by how I plan to navigate this question in the future.

The stories begin on day one of my first personal trip of the year, a ten-day trip in East Fork Meadows, 12 miles into the Wind River Range, where my partner and I attempted Midsummer's Dome, a 5.7+ grade III route. It was my partner’s first alpine climb and her first time climbing the slabby, weird granite cracks that are characteristic of the Winds. I was watching puffy clouds get bigger on every pitch, trying to calm my weather stress, knowing that it is a peak we can walk off and that we were making progress, just not quickly. I was trying not to be frustrated by our experience level and speed as a team. After all, there is nothing I can do to change our performance and I am by no means a rock star climber myself. On pitch 5, as I was standing, belaying my partner from below a ledge, I heard a shriek and a thud. “Oh no…” I thought. “That type of sound can’t be good.”

She had fallen and hit the ledge below her and was in pain. With one and a half pitches left to a walk-off-summit, we started making our way down and after two rappels we were within third class terrain of our starting point. At that moment, the puffy white clouds turned dark and a major thunderstorm complete with hail swept in.

We made it back to camp safe and sound that evening, and, after the sky cleared, we discussed where we were at. We made the decision to stick it out for a few more days, the first of which would be a rest day. On day four, after a long but fun day on Tower Peak, we started off on an easier climb on Midsummer’s Dome. After taking one look at the climb, my partner was already mentally struggling. I agreed to lead everything. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but today I was feeling shaky, tired from the day before. I was tired of mental and emotional struggles… We made the decision to bail. Neither one of us were “feeling it”.

Back on the ground, the decision to bail on the trip as a whole was made, and we would hike out the next day.  I had no problem with this decision, but for some reason I just didn’t feel like talking about it. I didn’t feel like reassuring my partner that it was okay to leave early (for at least the 3rd time), that our friendship was still okay, that it doesn’t mean we aren’t capable of climbing this. I just wanted to be alone. It had been an emotionally charged few days and I was just over it. I wanted to leave at that point too. I was disappointed and didn’t want to talk about it, but I didn’t want to be on this trip anymore. It wasn’t fun. I didn’t feel like being bright and upbeat or supportive. I just felt confused.

You never know what the day will bring. Taken before a successful day on the K-Cracks of Pingora in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range, 2016 Photo Credit: Molly Herber

Fast forward about two weeks, I find myself on Haystack Mountain around 10:30AM on a 5.8 climb that is testing my head far more than I expected it to. I have led this grade before and consider it my “baseline” trad lead grade, but this feels hard and scary to me. We are climbing in two groups of two and are not climbing as fast as we should be. Every pitch is a rope stretcher, even though the guidebook says otherwise and the route finding is confusing. This just is not what anyone was expecting.

“How do you feel about going down? This is harder and scary than either you or I was expecting.” I ask the other leader.

“And leave all this gear?” she asked.

She explained to me that she would not want to bail based off of the pitch we just climbed, but only if we were really not feeling comfortable with the rest of the climb. I asked if she would be okay with leading the rest, because I was tired and felt shaky and she said she would be. She was clearly in a better mental place than I was at the time.

I certainly don’t want a long  list of bails on my climbing resume, especially if there is no clear reason to bail. I can’t figure out exactly why I want to go down and it is only 10:30AM. According to the guidebook we should be through at least half of the difficult sections, so a quick decision was made to go up.

We continue on, but as a party of four with only one lead climbing, climbing this thing feels like pulling teeth. Standing on a ledge, watching the sun begin its descent towards the horizon, waiting for everyone to go up before you can start the next pitch is awful. Watching hours tick by and little progress being made while you are stuck in a small, uncomfortable spot is the worst experience I have ever had climbing. The difficulty remains consistent and route finding remains exciting. It is downright stressful. At this point neither verbal nor physical mutiny will not be productive. We are in this together whether we like it or not.

At 10:30 in the morning, you don’t look ahead 10 hours and consider that you might only be getting to the summit at about 8:30pm. You don’t think about the fact that daylight has a definite end. At 10:30 in the morning, it feels like time passage can only be an inconvenience, not a hazard. At 10:30AM you don’t think that you might miss work in 22 hours. Well, as the last streaks of sunlight disappear and we are still searching for the descent trail, the reality of time is upon us. Time has gone from being a stress, to a frustration, to a scary reality. The world is getting colder and colder and we don’t have tons of food and water, as no one was really planning on this turn of events.

I don’t regret anything in life, normally, because I figure I clearly survived it all and learned from it all, but I really wish I could go back to that moment at 10:30AM so that I could change what happened that night. It was not worth scaring a novice climber by testing how long she could mentally stay calm in an exposed environment. It was not worth how awful I felt for not showing up to work a day camp for kids the next day. It was not worth making loved ones worry about us that night when we didn’t text them to say we were back safe and sound. It was not worth the possibility that it could have rained and only three of us had raincoats and only one of us had a puffy. It wasn’t worth it to have a crazy story to tell. It wasn’t fun, it was stressful, it made me not want to rock climb for a while. It simply wasn’t worth it at all and the stupid thing is that is was completely avoidable, but, of course, hindsight is 20/20.

When you are bailing, you are making a time sensitive decision based on many subjective and objective factors that involves and affects you and only a few other people. It is never easy to be in this moment. I want to figure out if there is a way to come up with (similar to the WMI evacuation guidelines) clear-cut guidelines to bail on subjective factors. Commence “experiment decision to bail – objectifying the subjective.”

I have created a rating system to attempt to objectify the subjective. This system takes into account the five factors that you are always climbing with: the mountain, your body, your mind, your teammates, and time. It can be difficult to figure out when these factors are in your favor or working against you. In this rating system, each of the five can be ideal, realistic, un-ideal, scary, or a reason to bail. I have left in “ideal” and “un-ideal” because I think it is important to be okay with the un-ideal and not to just get in the habit of bailing because something is un-ideal. Remember also that sometimes you have golden, ideal experiences, just maybe not today. Don’t be too hard on yourself when you are in the gray area.

The Mountain:

Ideal (0 points) – This is the best climb of your life, you think as you gaze up at the beautiful crack system above you. Your feet slide in and out of foot jams with ease and the rock is just made to take your protection. You knew people liked this climb, but this is better than you ever expected.

Realistic (1 point) –Route finding is “exciting” and keeps you on your toes, but no more than you would expect. Rock quality is usually good, but every once in awhile you can move a rock. It is protected enough that you are rarely actually scared.

Un-ideal (2 points) – Multiple times you wonder if you are actually going the right way. Sometimes loose rocks fall and you remind yourself that’s why you are wearing a helmet. This climbing sandbagged in spots. Sometimes you can’t place protection and you wish you could. There’s lichen, grass, and or dirt all over the place.

Scary (3 points) – You get to the next belay ledge thanking your lucky stars you have enough gear to build an anchor. This climb is at least a grade above what you thought. You don’t place much gear because either A. you cannot because this is freaking slab, B. none of the rocks feel solid enough for it, C. you just don’t have enough gear. Rocks are falling everywhere. Why would anyone put a route here? Why am I still here?

Decision to bail (veto power) – The climb is sandbagged above what the leader can lead OR the mountain is “scary” for at least two of the above reasons.

Sometimes mountains are, like, really really windy, too. Midsummer NOLS Instructor Course 2015, Wind River Range, WY Photo Credit: Jared Spaulding

Your Mind:

Ideal (0 points) – You are having a blast! Every move you make you reminds why you love this sport. You could do this forever!

Realistic (1 point) – You are nervous sometimes but generally are having a great time.

Un-ideal (2 points) – You feel shaky and keep second-guessing the next move. Every time you get onto a small ledge you have trouble forcing yourself to leave it for the next few moves.

Scary (3 points) – When you close your eyes your imagination runs wild and you imagine the worse case scenario.

Decision to bail (veto power) – You are going into the “panic zone.”

Your Body:

Ideal (0 points) – You feel strong and have lots of energy.

Realistic (1 point) – You feel a little tired after the lack of sleep last night or from the pitches you have climbed already. Your stomach feels a little funky from waking up so early. Who can poop at 4am anyways?

Un-ideal (2 points) – You feel really tired. The last couple pitches or the last couple days really took it out of you. This might be a struggle. Your stomach hurts from stress and waking up too early.

Scary (3 points) – You are exhausted and worried about falling on easy things because you are so tired. You feel a little nauseous from dehydration, stress, and waking up too early.

Decision to bail (veto power) – You or anyone on your team is actually physically injured or sick. (go down, duh!)

Definitely not going about this the most efficient way. Steeple Peak, Wind River Range, WY, August 2014 Photo Credit: Nate Meltzer

Your Teammates:

Ideal (0 points) – They are having a good time and you feel like a solid team! Everyone is on the same page and demonstrates the competence and confidence you expected of them! You feel nothing but support and good vibes from your friends!

Realistic (1 point) – Mostly people are having a good time and are a productive team. That said, you are not BFFs but that is okay. People have confidence and competence.

Un-ideal (2 points) – People seem shakier and more nervous than you expected. People are stubborn to do things their way and time and energy is wasted in unproductive ways.

Scary (3 points) – What is a team? Maybe we should all go bouldering instead.

Decision to bail (veto power) –Were you expecting to have to manage mutiny? It is likely people will leave and hitch hike home tonight and spread rumors about each other later.

Time:

Ideal (0 points) – There are birds singing in the distance, a light breeze, blue skies and you are climbing fast and smooth!

Realistic (1 point) – You are moving sometimes faster and sometimes slower than planned but it averages out. Things are going pretty smoothly. There are some puffy white clouds and wind to remind you that weather can change at any time.

Un-ideal (2 points) – You are moving slower than planned. There are puffy white clouds and wind that are building and you feel stressed.

Scary (3 points) – You are moving far slower than planned and there are puffy white clouds that have gotten bigger and darker. A storm could come before you summit.

Decision to Bail (veto power) – So… It’s going to storm or get dark on us unless we choose to ditch the ropes and free solo this thing.

If your situation does not fall into any clear “decision to bail”, but multiple things aren’t ideal either, when do you decide to go down in this gray area? How many “scary things” outweigh the ideal? If you notice, each statement has a point value. I think the maximum number of points I can cope with and continue climbing is eight and I say this because at 10:30AM on Haystack, we were at a 9 and I wish we had gone down. This could be 4 un-ideal things and one realistic thing as the softest, grayest area bail for me.

So this seems pretty black and white. No matter how strong I am or how much gear I have or what rating I am climbing or happy I am, I think the magic number 8 and the automatic “decision to bail” scenarios can always apply. Your number is likely different than my number, and maybe my number will change with added experience, but your number should not change between when you leave the ground and when you are making this decision.

Of course, there is a bigger picture. How far are you? Can you bail? Is it actually easier to finish the climb and walk off? This factor will generally have pretty good veto power over all “gray area” bails.

I like thinking of bailing this way, because it reminds me that I will move around between scary and ideal all the time and it helps me separate my mental state from my physical state and my climbing partners so I don’t get sucked into beating myself up about not wanting to climb something I am fully capable of climbing.

Super mega ideal moment on Steeple Peak, Wind River Range, WY, 2014

Photo Credit: Nate Meltzer

So now that we have the guidelines, imagine yourself at a “9” and yet the voices in your head are telling you all of the following:

- I (or someone in my group) will regret not finishing this.

- I can climb better than this grade normally, what is wrong with me?

- What will we say to people when we get back?

- My climbing partners seem to want to keep going, why am I the weakest link right now?

- We will lose gear / money by bailing.

- Other people I know have done this. They aren’t superhuman. I can do this too!

- I’ve been in harder situations and I toughed it out then. I can tough it out now.

- I feel stupid for getting myself into a situation where I feel overwhelmed. The only way to fix that is to summit and prove that I am not overwhelmed.

Now that you hear these reasons to keep going, weighed against the decision to bail, maybe it feels clearer that these are not the “objectifyable subjective factors”. These are not real reasons. They are just voices in your head. Maybe now you’ll feel more confident telling someone “I’m just not feeling it today.”

Lastly, I want to reiterate that there is nothing wrong with bailing. I had a thought on Haystack that on a sport climb normally you can project hard climbs, but in the mountains, is the rule that you should only take on what you know you can complete? That seems harsh. How does anyone get better? Am I an idiot for wanting to push myself? Let’s edit this: only take on what you know you can complete or can bail from. You can push yourself in the mountains if you give yourself the option to bail.

On that note I will leave you with some last words of wisdom:

Have fun, commit and don’t look back, take chances, be yourself and ignore the FOMO (fear of missing out for those you who have not spent time with 12 – 22 year olds recently). This is the first day of the rest of your life, and it doesn’t HAVE to be a heroic success because there is always tomorrow. Many people you look up to have bailed as well, they just didn’t tell you about it. Turn the judgmental voices in your head into support and concern for your wellbeing. There are many more peaks to climb and better times to be shared. The rest of the world doesn’t REALLY care if you go up or down at this point.

Good luck out there and may the world give you well deserved bluebird skies and beautiful summits, a strong mind and body whenever you need them, and an amazing person holding the end of your rope who supports and respects you and to whom you would trust your life. I hope you have many laughs and stories to tell. I hope your friendships deepen and your love of the mountains only grows with every time you “get after it.”