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K2 1938: The First American Karakoram Expedition

History of the Hueco Rock Ranch

Photo by AAC Member Merrick Ales

The Hueco Rock Ranch has a long history—it was originally built as a personal residence by Todd Skinner in the mid-nineties with friends John and Carol Gogas and climbing stars such as Scott Milton and Fred Nicole. Rob Rice took ownership of the Ranch in 2000 and became the first commercial guide under the new set of climbing requirements, beckoning in a new generation of climbers to enjoy this historic climbing mecca. “The place was built by climbers—for climbers—and has been a hub for the climbing community since day one,” says Rob Rice.

Rice, now living in Arkansas, reached out to Access Fund for assistance in finding a climber-friendly buyer who could manage the Ranch onsite. Working with Rice and fellow landowner Scott Rohde, Access Fund reached out to the AAC whose vision of supporting the climbing way of life by providing lodging facilities and logistical support seemed a perfect fit for the Rock Ranch.

“Not only is the Hueco Rock Ranch important historically, it has played an important role in climbing access to Hueco Tanks,” says Access Fund Executive Director Brady Robinson. “Through the Ranch, climbers have fostered and maintained a positive relationship with Texas State Parks. Maintaining strong climber management of the Ranch is important for all climbers, even those who choose to stay elsewhere during their visit.”

Access Fund went under contract to purchase the Ranch in May 2012, and at closing, assigned the properties to the AAC for long-term ownership and management.

“Lodging options within walking distance from great climbing supports the climbing lifestyle we all enjoy—and this purchase of the Hueco Rock Ranch can only expand the types of climbing that we’re able to support,” says AAC CEO Phil Powers. “We hope to create a facility that meets climbers’ needs and adds opportunities for climbers to gather and share their stories.” 

The AAC made improvements to the Ranch—committing over $15,000 to completely clean and renovate the structures and tent camping facilities. An AAC staff member will be onsite overseeing these improvements.

History of the Grand Teton Climbers Ranch

The Grand Teton Climbers’ Ranch opened in 1970 under a Special Use Permit granted by the National Park Service to the American Alpine Club for the establishment of a "Mountain Climbing Center" in Grand Teton National Park. That original Special Use Permit specifically recognized that "mountain climbing is one of the principal visitor recreational uses in Grand Teton." The Climbers’ Ranch thus became the successor to the famous Jenny Lake climbers’ camp, which had been used by Tetons climbers from the 1950s until its closure in 1966.

The Climbers’ Ranch is located four miles inside the entrance to Grand Teton National Park at Moose, Wyoming, about 20 miles north of the town of Jackson. The ranch occupies a sanctuary at the end of a winding lane off Teton Park Road, across a bridge spanning Cottonwood Creek, and nestled against the high glacial moraine impounding Taggart and Bradley Lakes. Base altitude at the ranch is nearly 6,700 feet. Three miles north is Jenny Lake, the epicenter of the Park for both climbers and tourists, and the location of the Jenny Lake Ranger Station, at which expert information about technical climbing routes throughout the Park can be secured. The central peaks of the Teton Range, including the Grand, Middle, and South Tetons, Cloudveil Dome, Nez Perce, Mt. Owen, Teewinot, and other high alpine peaks can be approached on trails directly from the ranch. There are 10 peaks and multiple pinnacles in the Teton Range over 12,000 feet high.

In it’s original life, the Climbers’ Ranch was known as the Double Diamond Dude Ranch, which opened in 1924 and remained in operation either as a dude ranch or tourist camp through 1964, when Grand Teton National Park acquired the property. In 1985 the Taggart Lake/Beaver Creek Fire destroyed half of the original structures on the property. The ranch was resurrected through the cooperation of the Park Service and the American Alpine Club. The Ortenburger Cabin is so-­named since it is the first cabin brought to the property after the fire, through the efforts of Leigh Ortenburger, a prominent member of the AAC and author of A Climber’s Guide to the Teton Range. The Historic Lodge, constructed in the late 1920s and enlarged in 1945, originally served as the Double Diamond dining hall, and was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1998.

History of AAC Snowbird Hut

The AAC acquired the land use permit for the Snowbird Hut in 2006. After reviewing the state of the original ‘space dome’ structure originally constructed in (approx.) 1985 it was determined to be at the end of its useful life. Alaska Section members Harry Hunt, James Brady, Cindi Squire, Cory Hinds, and Charlie Sassara led the charge to fund and construct the building of a replacement hut. Chronological postings and pictures of the volunteer work parties that have been ongoing since July 2010.

Access to the Snowbird Hut does not afford easy access if you are unfamiliar with the approach. 

Please note that winter travel to and from the Snowbird Hut requires that you be self sufficient, and able to make your way in the backcountry (very little, if any, cell phone service). Good route finding and good weather are major considerations for this trip. If you have not been to the hut previously, please know that you could have a very difficult time finding it the first time. It is best to partner with someone who has knowledge of the area to assist in locating and accessing the hut. In the summer time, there are cairns along the way to assist with route finding.

GPS Coordinates: 61 51.506” North by 149 12.113” West

The best way to approach is from Archangel Road, starting at the Reed Lakes trailhead. Note, that in the winter, Archangel Road is closed and this adds to your approach time. Begin at the trailhead and hike up the valley to the old cabin on the main valley floor (approximately 1.25 miles). From here, head north up into the Glacier Creek valley, passing the Snowbird Mine. The pass at the head of Glacier Creek drops you on to the Snowbird Glacier.

Be advised that it is a difficult wilderness trek and the hut is hard to locate (although the new hut is more prominent on the ridge line). There have been many competent wilderness trekkers who have been benighted searching for the hut. So if you haven’t been there before it would be smart to not rely on the hut for your overnight survival. In the summer, the hike can take from 2 ½ hours to 4 hours and in winter, five to eight hours. Pollux Aviation is available for helicopter charters into the hut and can be contacted through their website, www.polluxaviation.net or by phone at (907) 746-0673

The Prescription - February 2022

FALL FROM ANCHOR | TETHER CLIPPED INCORRECTLY

Arizona, Cochise Stronghold, Owl Rock

On the afternoon of January 31, 2021, Tim Parker (35) suffered a ground fall from the anchor above Naked Prey (5.12a) in Cochise Stronghold. Parker is a climber with over 15 years of experience. His partner, Darcy Mullen (32), is a climber of over 10 years. They are both mountaineering instructors for an international outdoor education organization.

The pair had decided to finish their day with several pitches on Owl Rock, a pinnacle with several high-quality one-pitch routes. Mullen led Nightstalker (5.9), a classic mixed gear/bolt route on the lower-angle front side of Owl Rock. She built an anchor and belayed Parker to the top.

Mullen rappelled the overhanging backside of the pinnacle, passing over the line of Naked Prey. Parker then rigged the two-bolt anchor with a quad cordelette in order to top-rope Naked Prey, and Mullen lowered him to the base of the climb. He then top-roped the route. Back on top, Parker decided it made more sense to rappel than be lowered due to the location of the anchor bolts.

Quad cordelette rigged at the rappel anchor on Owl Rock, as found the day after the accident. The carabiner on the shelf of the cordelette is still in place and locked.

For an anchor tether, he used a double-length sewn nylon runner girth-hitched around both hard points on his harness. Parker had pre-rigged the tether with two overhand knots, dividing the sling into three segments, to allow for various clip-in points and for extending his rappel device. He used a locking carabiner to clip the tether into the shelf of the cordelette anchor. Unbeknownst to him, the carabiner was not properly clipped to his tether, but this fact would not be revealed for several minutes. Parker did a visual double-check of his connection, asked for slack, and weighted the new system. With nearly full body weight on the tether and the carabiner locked, he told Mullen to take him off belay. After doing so, she walked around the formation to Nightstalker’s base, where she began packing their gear.

Meanwhile, Parker untied from the rope and threaded it through the rappel anchors, then pulled the rope through the rings until both ends were on the ground. Approximately five minutes after taking her partner off belay, Mullen heard a yell and watched Parker fall from the top of the climb. He free-fell approximately 60 feet, then fell another 30 feet down lower-angled rock (70–80°) before hitting the ground.

Mullen found him lying on his back. His head was approximately one foot away from a small boulder. A trained Wilderness First Responder, Mullen stabilized Parker until a nearby climbing party arrived to help. The other climbers dialed 911. The time was 5 p.m. Mullen then directed the other climbers to help take vital signs and stabilize Parker until paramedics arrived at about 5:30 p.m. He was airlifted to Banner University Medical Center in Tucson.

Parker spent about three and a half weeks in the hospital and rehab center, with many broken bones, extensive abrasions, a mild traumatic brain injury, a nearly severed left ear, and nerve damage. After being discharged, Parker spent about two and a half months in a wheelchair and another month on crutches. Though still recovering, he was able to return to working on expedition and climbing courses in November 2021.

ANALYSIS

Reconstruction of the Owl Rock anchor showing how an overhand knot in the tether sling likely jammed on the locking carabiner and held the climber’s weight temporarily. From the climber’s perspective, the sling appeared to be properly clipped.

Due to some memory loss from the accident, the precise cause of the fall—and the five to ten minutes leading up to it—can only be hypothesized. Parker believes he initially clipped the end of his tether into the cordelette but that this connection was too long to give him easy access to the anchor. He must have tried to shorten his tether by clipping the second knotted loop of the sling.

After the accident, his locking carabiner remained clipped to the cordelette and locked shut. The tether was not compromised in any way. Parker assumes that when he tried to clip in, he pushed the knot through the opening of the locking carabiner but did not clip the actual loop of webbing. When he weighted the system, it is believed the knot jammed against the edge of the carabiner just enough to hold his weight. Parker’s rappel device was still clipped to a gear loop on his harness after the fall. Likely the knot in the tether popped through the carabiner when his body weight shifted as he reached for the device.

Parker and Mullen recreated this scenario at home. They noted that while it was difficult to fully weight a knot placed in the carabiner this way, when it was set in a particular spot the knot could hold weight (especially when lodged in a smaller D-shaped locking carabiner). Once loaded, the jammed knot appeared similar to a properly clipped and loaded tether.

Many aspects of this accident line up with themes in other descending accidents. Since this was the last climb of the day, they felt pressure to depart for the two-hour drive back to Tucson. The couple were also about to start a three-week outdoor education course. Such transitions can be stressful and distracting. Parker reflected that the accident’s primary cause was complacency, as he ultimately failed to catch his own mistake.

Other aspects are important as well. Parker had used his tether system many times, but more often for rappelling multi-pitch climbs. Using a new system—or an old system in a new context—raises a yellow flag that should be recognized. Perhaps the better option would have been to rig the system he used more commonly for cleaning bolted anchors on sport climbs. The only reason he used the system in question was because it was already rigged from his previous climb on Nightstalker.

Lastly, Parker was not wearing a helmet. This was a conscious decision. Before this accident, he regularly wore a helmet while leading and/or when concerned about overhead hazards. But since Naked Prey is a short, steep pitch on small pinnacle of rock, rockfall was not an issue. As he was top-roping, there was little to no chance of hitting his head in a fall. Of all of the miracles herein, the greatest might be his avoidance of serious brain damage and/or death. Parker now wears his helmet in all outdoor roped climbing contexts. (Sources: Tim Parker and Darcy Mullen.)

EDITOR’S NOTES

Redundancy: Whether you clip an anchor with the rope, quickdraws, slings, or a commercial PAS, it usually takes little effort or extra gear to create a redundant connection. It’s true that climbers rely on equipment with zero redundancy all the time, including the belay loop on your harness or the rope while you’re climbing, lowering, or rappelling. But there’s seldom a good reason not to double up at an anchor.

Check It! Accidents and near misses with inadequate anchor connections occasionally involve outside forces (rockfall, for example). But most of the time they can be prevented by double- and triple-checking your connection.

Take it from Dougald MacDonald, past editor of ANAC: “One of my scariest moments in four-plus decades of climbing came during a long series of rappels with two partners in the French Alps. Midway through the descent, with all three of us perched on a sloping ice-covered ledge, one of the climbers hissed at me, “Do you know you’re not attached to anything?” In our rush to get down, I had unclipped from the ropes on the previous rappel without ever clipping the anchor. Fortunately, neither a nudge from my partners, a slip on my crampons, nor a gust of wind pushed me off the tiny ledge.”

Personal tether tied with a water knot that came undone at a rappel anchor on the Grand Teton in 2016, causing a tragic accident. NPS Photo

From the Archives: Here are two incidents from past ANACs indicating ways climbers can be disconnected from anchors. Tragically, both of these ended with fatal injuries.

PAS Disconnected on Half Dome’s Snake Dike (ANAC 2016)

Knotted Sling Comes Undone on Grand Teton (ANAC 2017)

In all of the cases discussed here, a closer look at the anchor connection might have prevented a disastrous accident. 

THE SHARP END: AN UNPLANNED BIVY

In Episode 73 of the Sharp End Podcast, Ashley and Christian Kiefer discuss a cold, uncomfortable, and unexpected night out at 13,000 feet on Mt. Emerson in California’s Sierra Nevada.

The monthly Prescription newsletter is supported by the members of the American Alpine Club. Questions? Suggestions? Write to us at [email protected]. 

Letter to Utah Gov. Cox: Protect the Antiquities Act + Public Lands

Chris Schulte squeezing his way up Airwolf (V6). Photo by AAC member Dawn Kish

February 8, 2022

The Honorable Spencer Cox
Governor
State Capitol
Salt Lake City, Utah 84114

Dear Governor Cox, 

On behalf of our 1,000 members in the state of Utah, and our 25,000 members nationally, the American Alpine Club (AAC) is writing to express our immense concern with your office's hiring of a law firm for the purposes of litigating the protections afforded via national monument designation to both Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante while simultaneously soliciting the Outdoor Retailer show to return to your state’s capitol. 

The AAC is a century-old, national non-profit organization that supports the climbing and human-powered outdoor recreation communities through education, community gatherings, stewardship, policy, advocacy, and scientific research. Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments are significant not only for our members who enjoy the climbing and other recreational opportunities afforded by these unique landscapes, but also for their extensive cultural and ecological values that have been cherished by Tribes such as the Navajo Nation, Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, Hopi Tribe, Pueblo of Zuni, and Ute Tribe for time immemorial. It is for these reasons we advocated for the restoration of these monuments, following their reduction during the Trump Administration, and celebrated when the Biden-Harris Administration made the profoundly important decision to honor the voices of Indigenous communities, climbers, and conservationists by reinstating their protections.

Our advocacy over the years has been clear - we oppose any action aimed at weakening the efficacy of the Antiquities Act or any other bedrock environmental law that protects our nation’s lands and waters. With more than 100,000 Native American cultural sites, countless scientific and historical objects, and several thousand individual rock climbs that attract climbers from across the globe, we believe that the proper care and management of these objects accurately reflects the size of the monuments as designated by the Biden Administration.

More than that, these protections are in line with the Biden Administration’s America the Beautiful initiative, which aims to tackle the climate crises at home and abroad by conserving 30% of land and water by 2030. Ensuring these landscapes are protected helps our country address not only the climate and extinction crises, but it bolsters recreation-based economies which rely on public lands as the infrastructure for activities like climbing.

While we find it egregious that your office would consider filing a lawsuit against the Federal Government to remove protections from these sacred, wild, and recreation rich landscapes, we do not share this note as a boycott of the State of Utah or the return of the Outdoor Retailer to the Beehive state. Salt Lake City is home to one of the largest climbing communities in the country, and the state to that of some of our nation's most significant and historical climbing areas. Access to the outdoors attracts many of our members to live and work in Utah, and is certainly a reason amongst many in our community for bringing Outdoor Retailer back to the state. 

However, if your office moves forward with its intended litigation to erode protections afforded by the Antiquities Act to monuments in Utah (and potentially across the country), we will urge that the Outdoor Retailer show not return to UT, or boycott the show itself. We stand with our partners at The Conservation Alliance and Outdoor Alliance, who have already asked your office to respect our industry's values and the lands we cherish.

We urge you to take our request seriously and abandon your efforts to remove protections to Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments. Instead, we welcome you to join the outdoor industry in creating a strong and vibrant future for the public lands and outdoor recreation economies across the American West, one that values the perspectives of tribal, outdoor, conservation, and local communities as well as the majority of Utahns and Americans.

Thank you, 

Jamie Logan, AAC Interim-CEO

AAC Policy Committee Members:

Peter Metcalf
Pete Ward
Rob Deconto
Graham Zimmerman
Katie Stahley
Nina Williams

CC:

Taylor Luneau, AAC Policy Manager
Amelia Howe, AAC Advocacy and Government Affairs Manager
The Honorable Deb Haaland, Secretary of the Department of Interior
Herve Sedky, CEO, Emerald
Lise Aangenbrug, Executive Director, Outdoor Industry Association
Adam Cramer, Executive Director, Outdoor Alliance
Shoren Brown, Interim Executive Director, The Conservation Alliance
President Stuart Adams, UT State Senate
Speaker Brad Wilson, UT State House





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A Day of Climbing: Climb United Highlights A Day of Climbing for 5 Climbers Across the Country

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Climb United is about bringing us all together, through the thing that unites us: our passion for climbing. In many ways, fully sharing our passion for climbing requires us to break down the barriers that make it harder for some individuals and communities to access climbing. In other instances, it means highlighting that we are all climbers. But even as we are all climbers, we each experience climbing, and any given climbing day, in our own way.

Below, dive into a day of climbing, with our friends Eddie, Genevive, Mario, Sonya, and Rodel.

A Day in Climbing

CLIMB: Soloing El Cap With Adrien Costa

That’s right. You can now take a deep dive into your favorite American Alpine Club content via your headphones, car stereo, and more. The drive to work—or your favorite hang board routine—just got way more interesting.

Episode 02

CLIMB: Soloing El Cap with Adrien Costa, Catalyst Grant Winner and Adaptive Climber

Adrien Costa never imagined he would be looking up at El Cap, ready to put in his own attempt on the wall, with one leg of flesh and bone and the other made of metal and hydraulics. In this episode, the AAC interviews Adrien about his journey from pro cyclist to daring adaptive climber with a taste for soloing, and digs into the details of his proud rope solo ascent of El Cap funded by an AAC Catalyst grant.

“That’s all anyone really wants is just to be seen for who you they are, and not to be judged by the way they look or the things they struggle with. Cause at the end of the day, we all struggle with things, just some struggles are more visible than others.”
— Adrien Costa

Episodes will typically fall into four categories: Climb; Protect; Educate; Connect.

Climb episodes will be just that—about climbs big and small, and the things they make us realize, in conversation with AAC community members.

Protect episodes will dive into the nuances of policy and advocacy issues that matter most to climbers.

Educate episodes will span the logistics of safety and accidents, as well as the history of climbing and how it can inform our present.

Connect episodes will cover the social side of our climbing community, including important conversations about equity and inclusion that have emerged from our work with the Climb United initiative.

Check back here, the AAC Stories Archive, to find the latest episodes and show notes, and subscribe to the American Alpine Club Podcast at your favorite podcast source: Soundcloud, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Podcasts.

A Trip To Remember: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Adapted from the 2021 trip report written by Adrien Costa.

The Catalyst Grant awards funds to individuals and teams who face barriers in accessing the climbing community and identify with an underrepresented group.


I free-wheeled down the tree-lined road, shaking out the legs that had just taken me up and over Tioga Pass from Lee Vining on yet another 5+ hour training ride. Up high, much higher than the tallest pines, loomed the world’s most famous granite wall. And up on El Cap, one could make out tiny dots stubbornly inching their way up, giving massive scale to the wall. At night, the dots turned into a constellation of stars, almost indistinguishable from the night sky. How I longed to be one of those dots, to feel the air and the wind below my feet, to see the trees in the meadow below as little crowns of broccoli, to have no concerns more pressing than scaling this cliff. But I had other things to do with my life. It was only 2014. My dream of becoming a professional road cyclist was turning closer to reality every day. All I had to do was keep pedaling. This improbable, half-insane climbing desire could find a resting place, for now, in the deepest corners of my brain.  

Seven years later, I whipped my truck into the small pullout below the boulder and scree field leading up to El Cap’s shorter, but ridiculously steep, southeast face. The clock reads 4:46 AM. I step out and stand on one leg of bone and flesh, the other of metal and hydraulics. I am no longer a professional road cyclist. I no longer have two legs. Looking up at the dark  outline of El Cap, I wonder whose life I am now living. I sure as hell never expected mine to look like this.  

The universe has this rather bothersome tendency to remind us that the only constant is  change, the only sure thing is that nothing is certain. I learned this the hard way. Us humans fight this, often subconsciously. We try to fight change by controlling everything we can, including our accomplishments and our material possessions. It can quickly become dangerously difficult to parse the imagined from the real, the tangible from the illusion.

I felt that I needed an adventure to shake myself out of the daze of daily life I found myself trapped in. I wanted to see if I could find a sliver of peace or wisdom up there. But I mostly just wanted to simplify my existence. It would be just me, my gear, and this rock. No illusions. Only, as I was about to find out, a whole lot of work.  

Climbing a full-length, Grade VI route on El Capitan, by myself, was my big goal for the second half of my rock climbing season. I see and feel, on a daily basis, how much assumption goes on in the climbing world around ability and disability. I wanted to shatter this paradigm; to prove that, with the right support, anybody can accomplish anything they put their heart and soul into. I wanted this climb to be a call for much-needed inclusion and open-mindedness in our climbing community.  

For me personally, this climb represented a big stepping-stone in my climbing, moving towards more committing, more involved multi-day objectives as I seek to continue developing myself as a versatile climber, comfortable in all media.  

Zodiac, Adrien’s original plan, was too wet.

I finished shuttling my two loads to the base just as the sun was rising. My original plan was to climb Zodiac (C3), a 16-pitch route of moderate, clean aid that has frequently been referred to as a good introduction to “real aid” on El Cap. But a recent storm had soaked the first few pitches of the route, and I didn’t want to start a 4-day odyssey soaking wet. Luckily, I had a topo and gear for the nearby Tangerine Trip (5.9 C3+), which appeared steep enough to be completely dry. Between its consistent overhang, a huge traverse on the fifth pitch, and the fact that this route sees a bit less traffic than Zodiac, it was all starting to feel much more committing, and exciting, than my original plan.

I decided to start the trip via the first pitch of Lost in America, shown as “C3F Bad Fall” in the  topo, which proved to be one of the cruxes of the route. I built my first anchor, cloved off a couple pieces low, and started up the pitch. My last piece of good protection was only 20 feet off the ground was well aware that blowing any piece on this first pitch could result in a ground fall. Very gingerly I inched my way up, breathing a huge sigh of relief upon regaining moderate terrain. I looked at my phone and realized that close to two hours had gone by. The next couple leads took some time as I got back in the rhythm of “real” aid climbing. I got my ropes fixed to the top of pitch 4, and having found a small ledge system below, decided to bivy there. It was a bit demoralizing to be just a couple hundred feet off the ground after a very long  day of work, but I set my alarm for early and tried to enjoy the opportunity to rest.  

The next morning, I broke down the portaledge, sipped my coffee, pooped in a homemade WAG bag, and jugged and hauled to my high point. Here, I finally joined Tangerine Trip proper for the committing 160-foot leftward traverse pitch. The lead was fine, albeit long, but rapping the lead line, and then cleaning the pitch, was as demanding as leading itself. The next couple pitches went well, but still slower than I would’ve liked.  

I forced down some plain ramen for dinner, and was stoked to be able to hang my prosthetic leg with me inside my small portaledge’s fly to charge its battery for the night. This is something I have to keep tabs on during any overnight adventure, and is something I have paid the cost of being complacent with.  

By the end of the following day, I was really starting to feel the stress simmering. A stuck tag line had cost me a lot of time and mental energy earlier in the day. I was also running out of water and knew I needed to top out the next day. But in order to do this, I’d need to fix one more pitch in the dark. The issue was that my headlamp was running out of juice, and my spare batteries were already dead. The stress and pressure was compounding. I had to act.

So I set off, keeping my headlamp as dim as possible, and hoping I wouldn’t get led astray. I tried to climb as efficiently as possible. It turns out that this pitch is also the route’s chossiest. It’s hard to believe there could be any loose rock up there, but I found it in spades as I quested upwards, always upwards, into the dark.  

This was by far the mental crux of the climb. I felt so alone, so vulnerable, so close yet so far from the top, with very little margin for error. I cannot describe the relief that swept through my body once I could faintly make out the line of bolts of the anchor.  

I tucked into my sleeping bag just before midnight, but was stoked on a good day of work, and confident that I’d be standing on top the next day.  

I definitely had not anticipated the nonstop focus that I had to endure for four days straight. It wore me down, but by the last day I found a good rhythm, and started letting my body move on autopilot through the steps. Stack haul line. Stack tag line. Set up lead anchor. Select gear for pitch. Put on GriGri and Microtrax. Climb the pitch. Tag up anchor and haul kit. Fix lead and haul lines. Rap the pitch. Release the bags. Clean the anchor. Jug and clean the pitch. Haul. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

While free-climbing on the last couple pitches, I finally let myself have dreams of pizza.  Touching the tree on top was surreal, and walking felt foreign, but more pressing at that moment were water, food, and figuring out how to get my 100+ lbs of gear, sprawled into various growing piles, off the mountain in one load.  

What ensued was hell. With my haulbag on my back, a light backpack on my chest, a trekking pole in one hand and my portaledge in another, I stumbled and yardsaled my way down the East Ledges descent. I broke my prosthetic foot on the descent—under so much weight, the carbon fiber splintered from nothing more than a little trip. I could still walk (or hobble), but I could hear the fibers crackling with every step.  

Four hours after leaving the tree on top, I walked in disbelief into the El Cap picnic area. The Trip was complete. 

Looking back, I realize that aid soloing is a lot like pressing the fast-forward button on life. Every minute action, every decision you make has consequences that are felt, and must be dealt with, without delay. And these consequences range from a minor inconvenience, and time wasted, to time not really existing anymore for you. The constant low grade stress for days on end was exhausting, and yet there was no room for fear, nor any time to sit back. Only action could push my ropes further up the wall. Perhaps this is indeed an apt metaphor for life.  

I have also come to realize that we have no option but to embrace change and make the most of the circumstances we are presented with. Life has taken me in directions I could never have envisioned as that fresh-faced boy riding his bike through the Valley. But by adapting and trusting the process, I was able to become, for a short little while, one of those tiny dots on that big, big wall.  

A Note of Thanks:

To see the AAC come out with the Catalyst Grant, promoting inclusion and diversity in a sport which needs it so desperately, was incredibly meaningful and motivating. I deeply value what results when we invite more diverse folks into our community. When we do, we strengthen and deepen the human connections we share while recreating in the natural world we all love.  

And I can honestly say that the folks at High-Fives Foundation are changing lives. Their work greatly decreases the barriers to adaptive athletes’ participation in our favorite outdoor sports. Having worked in the adaptive sports world, I cannot overstate the importance of the sense of agency, independence, and community that sport can bring an individual, and how these experiences can transform the course of someone’s life. Rock on!

Rewind the Climb: Pete Schoening’s Miracle Belay on K2

by Grey Satterfield

artwork by James Adams

photos from the Dee Molenaar Collection

It happens every day, in every climbing gym across the country: the belay check. It can swell up a wave of anxiety for new climbers or a wave of frustration for more experienced ones, but no matter where you are in your climbing journey, you’ve done it. Everyone has demonstrated their ability to stop a falling climber. But what about stopping two climbers? What about stopping five? And what about stopping five without the convenience of a Gri-Gri, in a raging storm at 8,000 meters, hanging off the side of the second highest mountain in the world?

Pete Schoening checks all those boxes, and his miracle belay during an early attempt of K2 is one of the most famous in all of climbing history. It’s an awesome reminder that in climbing, much like in life, a lot of things change, but a lot of things don’t.

In 1953, during the third American expedition to K2, eight climbers funded by the American Alpine Club built their high camp at nearly 7,700m. The team consisted of Pete Schoening, Charles Houston, Robert Bates, George Bell, Robert Craig, Art Gilkey, Dee Molenaar, and Tony Streather.

On the seventh day of the ascent, climbing without oxygen, Schoening and his partners were within reach of the summit. With the first ascent of the long-sought peak tantalizingly close, the weather turned, trapping the climbers for10 days at nearly 8,000m. The storm raged on, destroying tents and dwindling supplies. Then Gilkey developed thrombophlebitis—a life-threatening condition of blood clots brought on by high altitude. If these clots made it into his lungs, he’d die. The team had no choice but to descend. Without hesitation, they abandoned the summit attempt and put themselves to work getting Gilkey to safety. With an 80mph blizzard compounding their effort, the climbing team bundled their injured comrade in a sleeping bag and a tent and, belayed by Schoening, began to lower him down the perilous walls of rock and ice.

After an exhausting day of descending, they had made it only 300m but were in sight of Camp VII, which was perched on a ledge another 180m further across the icy slope. Craig was the first to reach the site and began building camp. Then the real disaster struck.

As Bell was working his way across the steep face, he slipped and began to rocket down the side of the mountain. Bell was tied to Streather, who was also pulled off his feet and down the slope. The rope between the two climbers then became entangled with those connecting the team of Bates, Houston, and Molenaar, pulling them off in turn. The five climbers, along with the tethered Gilkey, began careening down the near vertical face, rag-dolling down the mountain over 100m and speeding towards the edge: a 2,000m fall to the glacier below.

At the last second—as the weight of six climbers slammed into him— Schoening thrust his ice axe into the snow behind a boulder and, with a hip belay, brought the climbers to a stop. The nylon rope (a relatively new piece of climbing gear at the time) went taught and shrank to half its diameter, but it did not snap. The hickory axe held the strain. Schoening, rope wrapped tightly around his shoulders, had performed what is considered one of the greatest saves in mountaineering history—known now and forever known as “The Belay.”

“When you get into something like mountain climbing,” Schoening said afterwards, “I’m sure you do things automatically. It’s a mechanical func- tion. You do it when necessary without giving it a thought of how or why.”

However, the incident was not without tragedy. As the team recovered from the fall and established a forced bivy, they discovered that Gilkey, bundled in sleeping bag and tent, had vanished. There is speculation that he cut himself free in order to save the lives of his friends above.

Schoening, always humble about the feat, was later awarded the David A. Sowles Memorial Award for his heroics by the American Alpine Club in 1981 as a “mountaineer who has distinguished himself, with unselfish devotion at personal risk or sacrifice of a major objective, in going to the assistance of fellow climbers imperiled in the mountains.”

Fifty-three years later, in 2006, 28 descendants of the surviving team gathered, calling themselves “The Children of ‘The Belay.’” All owed their lives to Schoening—and his ice axe—high on K2. The axe, which some have called the holy grail of mountaineering artifacts, is on permanent display at the American Mountaineering Museum in Golden, Colorado.

Much has changed in the world of climbing over the past 70 years. When Schoening headed up K2 in 1953, assisted-braking belay devices were yet to be invented. The AAC provided no rescue services as a benefit of membership. Nobody owned an InReach or a satellite phone. To survive in the mountains in that era was to rely solely on your team—on the trust that comes with tying in together and the knowledge that a friend is watching your back.

So we would do well to remember Pete Schoening and his belay—to hold the other end of the rope is a serious affair. The next time you go out climbing, don’t forget to give your belayer a high-five and a hug.

Grey Satterfield is the digital marketing manager for the AAC. He has a decade of experience managing climbing gyms and loves to share his passion for climbing with anyone who will listen, be it through writing, photography, or swapping stories around the campfire.

Researching Glacial Recession in Chilean Patagonia: A Story from the AAC Research Grant

Bernardo Fjord and one of the main locations for Scott’s research. Pictured are Bernardo Glacier (lower left), the refugio or cabin (lower center) and Lautaro Volcano, the highest point in Bernard O’Higgins National Park (top center).

Scott Braddock was awarded the AAC’s Research Grant in 2019 to study glacial recession in Patagonia. Specifically, Scott and his team were studying the Southern Patagonian Icefield. With the Southern Patagonian Icefield contributing a disproportionate amount of ice loss relative to the size of the icefield when compared with other mountain glaciers around the world, better understanding the mechanisms for tidewater glacier retreat in this region are critical for projections of future ice loss. Below is a quick summary of his project, and a report on the initial findings. 

Why This Research? Why now?

Like most glaciers around the world, the Southern Patagonian Icefield (SPI) is retreating in the face of rising atmospheric and ocean temperatures. The SPI is particularly susceptible to a changing climate because of its relative proximity to the equator and the fact that it is made up of low-elevation alpine and tidewater glaciers that are highly sensitive to changes in temperature and precipitation. Past studies have shown that ice mass loss from the Southern Patagonian Icefield contributes a large amount of water to global sea level rise, especially relative to the size of the icefield, with rates increasing in recent decades. However, how quickly the SPI is continuing to respond to warmer conditions and the primary mechanisms behind ice mass loss remain important questions to be answered. Scott’s team is attempting to investigate these very questions.

The research boat, the Aguilaf (bottom left), in Bernardo Fjord. In the background is Bernardo Glacier.

The glaciers of the SPI are located in Chile’s largest protected area, Bernard O’Higgins National Park (BONP), which hosts the largest known population of the endangered huemul deer–a species whose health is connected with recently-deglaciated habitat. Under the supervision of Coporacion Nacional Forestral (CONAF), limited in situ research exists in the BONP due to the frequent inclement weather, poor access, and only a handful of CONAF park guards and scientists to protect and manage a large area. Given the results of studies highlighting the accelerated retreat of the SPI in the past several decades, further work is necessary to better constrain estimates of ice loss and glacier stability as well as impacts on biodiversity in BONP.

The Grant Funded Trip & Moving Beyond Covid

AAC Research Grant recipient, Scott Braddock, in front of Calluqueo Glacier, San Lorenzo Mountain, Chile.

In October 2019, supported by research grants from the American Alpine Club, Churchill Foundation, and the Geological Society of America, Scott’s team traveled to Chilean Patagonia to sample ocean water in contact with several glaciers to understand how this interaction may influence rapid retreat of ice in the region. The team sampled water temperature and salinity at the surface and to depths up to 10 m and collected data on surface reflectance, suspended sediment and plankton in front of two tidewater glaciers, Bernardo and Témpano, in Bernard O’Higgins National Park, Chile. Results show a clear boundary between fresh glacial runoff and warm ocean water around 6 m depth close to the terminus of Témpano Glacier. 

Kristin Schild (left) and Scott Braddock (right) conducting CTD sampling in Témpano fjord. Photo by Fernando Iglesias.

In coordination with sampling efforts, Scott’s team set up time-lapse cameras overlooking both glaciers to track iceberg movement and try to observe sediment plumes and surface currents. Additionally, they witnessed one of the earliest-known glacial lake outburst floods (GLOF) in a summer season at Bernardo Glacier. 

In witnessing this event, it is clear that to fully understand this dynamic ice-ocean system, we need longer duration measurements to capture both episodic events (GLOFs) and persistent forcing (ocean warming). To aid in long-term monitoring of ice/ocean interactions and GLOF events in this region, Scott’s team facilitated an agreement between three organizations participating in this project—Coporacion Nacional Forestral (CONAF), Round River Conservation Studies (RRCS), and UMaine Ice/Ocean group to continue this research in the coming years by sharing logistical support, scientific equipment, and data. 

In the context of Covid, the collaborative nature of this project has been crucial to its continuity. The project included team members from three organizations and many backgrounds coming together to work in such a remote, challenging environment. The glaciology portion of this research project was designed and led by Dr. Kristin Schild, University of Maine School of Earth and Climate Sciences. The marine biology part of the project was designed and led by Raúl Pereda, a Marine Biologist with CONAF. Logistics, help with the science, and local knowledge and expertise were provided by Felidor Paredes, CONAF Park Guard and Fernando Iglesias Letelier, Chilean Program Director for RRCS.

Team members Raúl Pereda (left) and Kristin Schild (right) install a time lapse camera in Témpano Fjord to monitor sediment plumes and ice berg movement. Photo by Scott Braddock.

Like most international research, COVID has disrupted the US team’s return to Patagonia for the last two years. However, to keep the project moving forward, Scott’s team will ship equipment to Chile so that team members from CONAF can continue taking measurements of ocean water in front of these tide water glaciers to monitor how ocean properties are influencing glacial retreat of the Southern Patagonian Icefield as well as impacts retreating glaciers might have on the marine biology. 

A Snapshot of the Science Behind Glacial Recession:

The speed at which glaciers of the Southern Patagonian Icefield (SPI) flow could be driven in two distinct ways: from the top-down, or the bottom-up (Figure 2a-e). How fast the glacier moves or flows influences how quickly it retreats and thins over longer time scales.

In the top-down scenario, warm air temperatures melt the glacier ice and, when combined with precipitation, the glaciers are inundated with liquid water (Figure 2a). This water flows under the glacier, lubricating the interface between the glacier and the bedrock, and accelerates the speed at which the glacier moves due to a decrease in friction (Figure 2b).

In the bottom-up scenario, the warm ocean water melts all contacting terminus ice, undercutting the glacier at the waterline and facilitates iceberg calving, or breaking off more icebergs (Figure 2c,d). This removal of terminus ice decreases the amount of ice that the glacier has to move, thereby also leading to increased glacier velocities due to a decrease in back pressure (Figure 2e). 

Figure 2: Schematic illustrating the two end-member scenarios of glacier acceleration, top-down (a,b) and bottom-up (c-e). In top-down acceleration, water from melting ice and precipitation pools in crevasses and topographic lows on the glacier surface (a) until weaknesses in the ice are exploited and water flows between the glacier and glacier bed (b) reducing friction and leading to glacier acceleration. Bottom-up acceleration is initiated at the glacier terminus with warm ocean water melting away the glacier at the waterline, leading to an undercut terminus (c), which initiates subsequent mass loss through calving (d). This decrease in mass reduces the back pressure (e) leading to glacier acceleration.

While two distinct scenarios are presented above, a combination of mechanisms most often controls glacier acceleration. For example, recent studies in Greenland have shown that ocean warming has been the controlling mechanism in glacier instability while in Svalbard both ocean and air temperatures appear to balance each other in driving glacier change.

However, how quickly the Southern Patagonian Icefield is responding to warmer conditions and the primary mechanisms behind ice mass loss remain important questions to be addressed, that Scott’s project will hopefully illuminate over time.

“The research grant awarded by the American Alpine Club and other organizations made it possible for our team to collect preliminary data, create working relationships with CONAF and RRCS to ensure we are working alongside Chilean colleagues, and for us to apply for additional grants that will ensure this work continues for many years. We will be excited to share future results and info in the coming years as we finally are able to return to Chile and continue this important science in a part of the world that is so challenging to reach and conduct research. ”
— Scott Braddock

From Ocean to Peak: A Story from the Live Your Dream Grant

Sinclair is a dramatic, 6,800-ft granite peak rising above the Lynn Canal, across the water from Haines, AK. Reaching the top involves kayaking across the canal, landing on the beach by Yaldagalga Creek, bushwhacking to the back of the valley, and scrambling to the ridge where the technical climbing begins.

In this exhibit, Ceri Godinez shares the story of her ascent of Sinclair through the Live Your Dream Grant. The epic pictures will have you begging to climb it yourself.

From Ocean To Peak

The Live Your Dream Grant is powered by The North Face.

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In Search of Yosemite's Heart: One Writer's Journey Into the Valley of Giants

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by Lauren DeLaunay Miller

photos by the Ellie Hawkins and Molly Higgins collections

Ellie Hawkins during an early ascent of the North America Wall, 1973, Yosemite National Park, CA. Land of the Central Sierra Miwok people. Keith Nannery.

To steal from author John Green, I fell in love with rock climbing the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. I was an indoorsy undergraduate at the University of North Carolina when I fell face-first into the world of climbing, thanks in large part to a picture in a magazine. My love for climbing has always been attached to an obsession with Yosemite, that ultimate proving ground of American rock climbers, but before I could make my way out there myself, I tried as hard as I could to connect with that world while still confined to the walls of libraries in Chapel Hill. Climbing literature was my portal, but it didn’t take long to exhaust my options. I don’t know if I could have articulated to you then why—or even that I was—searching for books written by women, but what I did know was that I was going to learn as much as I could about my heroes and try as best as I could to follow in their footsteps.

Five years after graduating, I moved into my new home in the back of Camp 4. The Yosemite Search & Rescue site has a mystical, magical air. To walk into the site is to, quite literally, walk in the footsteps of giants. I’ve climbed at a lot of American climbing destinations, from the New and Red River Gorges in the East, to Indian Creek, Joshua Tree, Red Rock Canyon, and Rocky Mountain National Park, but nowhere have I found the lore as strong as in Yosemite.

At my now-local crag, we often refer to routes as “that 10b arete” or “the 5.11 crack to the left of the 12a.” But in Yosemite, routes have names. Astroman, the Central Pillar of Frenzy, Steck-Salathé, The Nose! We know their first ascensionists, and we know their stories. And these stories get passed down, sometimes in writing but often at campfires and dinner parties, fueled by whiskey or coffee or both. So while it didn’t take long for me to realize that there was a gap between the women’s stories I was hearing and those I was reading, it did take me a few years to muster up the courage to try to close that gap myself.

The idea for the book lived quietly in my head, but as it became louder and louder, I started to shyly share it with my climbing partners. “Don’t you think it would be cool,” I’d mutter, “if there were a whole book about women climbing in Yosemite?” The more I shared my vision, the more it grew. I started scanning old climbing magazines, making lists of the women I’d need to include. Friends started sending me articles they came across, screenshots of Supertopo forums and Mountain Project threads. I spent days at the new Yosemite Climbing Association museum in Mariposa going through thousands of pages of old magazines. At first, everything was centered on building “the list,” my dream list of contributors, and eventually I thought it might just be enough to submit as a book proposal.

Ellie Hawkins gets prepped for the void on the first ascent of Dyslexia (VI 5.10d A4), completed solo, 1985. Bruce Hawkins

I’ve always been the type of person who gets stuck on an idea and can’t shake it until I’ve seen it through. When I started climbing, I gave myself five years to climb El Cap, even though at the time I barely knew how to belay. Nearly every decision I made from that moment propelled me toward my goal, and I recognized the same level of obsession once I became hooked on the idea for this book. I made my proposal and sent it off to three publishing companies. I was living in a tent cabin in Camp 4 by then, and while my own world was consumed by Yosemite, I didn’t know if my idea would resonate outside of my community. But my first conversation with Emily White at Mountaineers Books soothed my concerns, and I knew my project would be safe under her supervision. I signed on the dotted line; I had just over a year to make this thing happen.

I started with the people I knew or could get personal introductions to. I met with Babsi Zangerl in her campervan in the Valley, and she was eager to be a part of the book. That was the moment I thought that I might actually be able to pull this off. Soon, Liz Robbins called, thanks to some coaxing by Ken Yager at the Yosemite Climbing Association. I drew on all the connections I’d made through my climbing career, and every response gave me a jolt of electricity. Fourteen months later, I turned in everything I had: 38 stories, totaling over 76,000 words.

Molly Higgins and Barb Eastman atop El Cap after the first all-female ascent of The Nose, 1977. Larry Bruce

Molly Higgins leading to The Nose’s famous feature, the Great Roof. AAC member Barb Eastman

When Molly Higgins mentioned to Lauren that she had some old boxes of slides from her time in Yosemite, Lauren knew she had to see them. Prepared to see some faded, blurry images at best, she unearthed dozens of boxes—slide after slide of perfectly preserved photographs documenting some of the most courageous ascents of a generation, including images from the first all-female ascent of The Nose on El Cap in 1977. With the tremendous help of the AAC Library, Lauren organized Molly’s collection into an online exhibit which can be viewed at here.

Ellie Hawkins—the other photo contributer for this piece—might not be a household name in the world of Yosemite climbing, but she certainly should be. She’s the only woman to ever establish a Yosemite big wall first ascent completely solo, with Dyslexia (VI 5.10d A4) in the Ribbon Falls Amphitheater. The route was aptly named. Ellie battled a terrible case of dyslexia that often complicated her climbing. Despite these challenges, an early ascent of El Cap’s North America Wall (5.8 C3) and a solo of Never Never Land (5.10a) earned Ellie’s place among the Valley’s legends. Lauren was able to digitize and preserve Ellie’s collection of slides and prints as well, a few of which are featured here.

One of the greatest gifts of working on this book came in the form of a few phone conversations with Liz Robbins. Liz is the author of one of my favorite pieces in the book, a story written years ago for Alpinist magazine that tells of her experience establishing the first ascent of The Nutcracker Suite (5.8), the first route in Yosemite to be climbed entirely on clean protection. The Nutcracker, as it is commonly known today, was the first route I ever climbed in Yosemite, years before I ended up working on the Search & Rescue team. Having driven all through the night from the mountain West, across the wide open sagebrush of Nevada, up through the winding granite slabs of Tuolumne, and down, at long last, to Yosemite Valley, I woke up at dawn, claimed my spot in Camp 4, and went straight to the Manure Pile Buttress. I once read that a “classic” climb must be at least one, if not all, of these three things: aesthetically pleasing, historically significant, and full of spectacular climbing. The Nutcracker Suite has it all, and it made for an unforgettable first Yosemite experience.

Ellie Hawkins on a solo ascent of Never Never Land (5.10a), Yosemite Valley National Park, CA. Land of the Central Sierra Miwok people. Bruce Hawkins

It’s been more than five years since that first Valley climb, and when I told Liz about my experience climbing it, we realized that because of her and Royal’s decision not to place pitons, the route climbs just about the same way today as it did during her first ascent. Of course, it is greasy with chalk and rubber from thousands of ascents, but it is not scarred the way other Yosemite routes are. Where I smeared, Liz had smeared, and where I stuffed my fingers in the crack, so had she.

Barb Eastman walking out the infamous Thank God Ledge during the first all-female ascent of Half Dome’s Regular Northwest Face(5.9C1),1976. AAC member Molly Higgins

At the end of the story, Liz expresses the mental tug-of-war she often engaged in when climbing. Her doubts about her abilities echoed my own insecurities about the making of this book. Who was I to engage in such an important project? But, as did Liz, I found time and time again that I’d yet to come across the problem that demanded more of me than I could give. Of course, this book is not perfect. There are holes—gaping ones—ones that jump out at me baring teeth and ones that, surely, I will see more clearly with time. But soon we will have in our hands the stories of 38 women who have, at one time or another, found themselves at the center of Yosemite climbing. We start in 1938 and run smack into the present, and it would horrify my editor if she knew that I were still adding stories the day before my first draft was due. But just as Steck & Roper implored us to think of their 50 Classic Climbs as some classic climbs and not the classic climbs, so too do these stories tell of the experiences of some women, not the women. Because there are so many more stories, so many more voices, so many more experiences worth telling and retelling. And as Liz so eloquently writes: I’ve only just begun the excavation.

Lauren DeLaunay Miller served on the Yosemite Search & Rescue team while completing her book, Valley of Giants: Stories from Women at the Heart of Yosemite Climbing (Mountaineers Books, Spring 2022), an anthology of stories that document the history of women’s climbing in Yosemite National Park. Lauren lives in Bishop, CA where she is a founding board member of the Bishop Climbers Coalition and Coordinator for the AAC’s Bishop Highball Craggin’ Classic. She is currently pursuing her master’s degree in Journalism at the University of California in Berkeley.

Overarching Community: A Story from the Live Your Dream Grant

Adapted from the 2019 Live Your Dream Grant trip report by James Xu.

In November 2019, a team of Americans and Canadians, including AAC Member and Live Your Dream Grant recipient, James Xu, met up with a team of Chinese highliners and embarked on a trip to the Getu River village, located in the province of Guizhou, China. Located south of the provincial capital of Guiyang, it is home to the ethnic Miao Chinese and large karst-limestone mountains with massive caves carved out by ancient rivers. This beautiful rural region of China experienced a boom in climbing development in 2011 with the Petzl Roctrip, and since then has seen more development catering to climbers and tourists. The team’s goal was to connect with the Chinese highline community and to rig an aesthetic line in the Great Arch and another highline between the CMDI Wall and Pussa Yan, as well as climb around the area.

Explore the exhibit below to get a taste of James’ epic trip.

Overarching Community

You can experience James’ trip in video form thanks to Canadian-Chinese slackliner Gerald Situ, who captured a beautiful snapshot of the experience.

The Live Your Dream Grant is powered by The North Face.

Museum of Movement: A Story from the 2021 GTM

Artist Spotlight: Route Setter Aroldo Silva

by Holly Yu Tung Chen

photos by Grey Satterfield

“PAINTER. MUSICIAN. DESIGNER... PEOPLE TEND TO END THE CONVERSATION THERE. YOU’RE EITHER IN A BOX OR YOU’RE NOT, AND THAT’S IT.”
— Aroldo Silva

The boulder problem reminded Aroldo of the Florida coastline. He stepped back and spun a long steel bolt between his fingers like a pencil. Then stared down his handiwork built from bright yellow tufas. They started in the bottom corner and slithered all the way to the top of the blue and gray wall.

It was in the Sunshine State where lightning struck. A much younger Aroldo Silva found the art of route setting in a small gym built inside an old warehouse. Route setting wasn’t a paid job then. He started with some old-school wrenches and solid plastic holds. Back then, gyms stripped all the holds off the wall and cleaned them with acid and dishwasher fluid, putting them back up with a kaleidoscope of duct tape marking the path. A “choose your own adventure” to the uninitiated.

The boulder problems he puts up today are made of color-coded fiberglass; three times the size of what he used to work with in the small Florida gym and one-third the weight. Now, Aroldo is the Head Setter at Earth Treks Englewood in Colorado. It’s a full-time job.

“Jobs,” Aroldo corrected. A route setter is at once an artist, a teacher, a janitor, the customer service rep, a product manager, the curator, and the quality control team.

Aroldo studied sculpture and media in college. He focused on installation and performative art and took time to dive deep into fine arts theory. The professors Aroldo respected told him, “focus on understanding.” Once you begin to practice for mastery, you will develop your creative process. He walked away from his degree with a lot more questions than answers.

“What does being an artist mean to you?”

The tool belt on his hip jingled. Aroldo laughed with his shoulders and torso. “People like to define art with a lot of titles, don’t they? Painter. Musician. Designer. People tend to end the conversation there. You’re either in a box or you’re not, and that’s it. You’re a musician? You must make music. I don’t think it matters.” Creation needs no bounds.

He pushed up his safety goggles with a gloved hand, stepped nimbly up the ladder, and bolted a bright-yellow jib to the wall. Below him on the bouldering mat was an array of holds, neatly laid out from largest to smallest, with a handful of foot chips scattered about like seasoning.

There seems to be no line between art and climbing, with set routes akin to exhibits in a museum. A route may appeal to one, yet be detested by another. It’s all contained within the work.

Movement is Aroldo’s medium, which he uses to explore the concept of meaningful play. He understands that climbing allures because of the perfect challenge: a problem which demands both mentally and physically, yet is just attainable so long as we try hard enough.

Likewise, Aroldo believes all approaches and ideas are valid, both for the setter as well as the climber. “Your hands and your body are only so good at recreating what your mind has designed,” he said. “But you can chase them. I want to chase them. I want my setters and our climbers to chase them.” After all, it is the space between the routes which is most important—the environment where people can develop their individuality, explore alternate solutions, and flourish on the wall. To Aroldo and his team, this is facilitated through a setting philosophy: not forcing movement, but sharing it.

Earth Treks Englewood is a 53,000 square-foot canvas, with more than 200 boulder problems and sport routes available to interpret. If someone grabs a foot? Great. If someone busts a sequence? Great. Maybe it feels hard or maybe it feels weird. Maybe somebody will say, “you have to try this,” while another says, “don’t even bother.” Flash or fall, love it or hate it, they are engaging with the problem and exploring what they’re capable of. For Aroldo, this is the art of climbing.

Holly Yu Tung Chen is a freelance writer, digital marketer, and route setter at several Colorado climbing gyms—she enjoys the duality of these wildly opposing jobs. (Holly’s motto has always been: “keep it interesting.”) In 2019, she kick-started her career as an intern for the American Alpine Club producing content and working in the digital marketing space. Beyond the Club, her writing has been published by Gym Climber, Sharp End Publishing, and the Climbing Wall Association.

The Prescription - January 2022

TRIGGERED SLAB | INCONSISTENT SNOW DEPTH

Montana, Absaroka Range, Republic Mountain

Three of the six skiers on this tour were avalanched into dangerous tree-covered slopes.

The following report analyzes an avalanche incident one year ago in Montana. This report was included in the new backcountry avalanche section in the 2021 edition of Accidents in North American Climbing. There are some great lessons here for backcountry travelers this winter.

On the morning of January 8, 2021, a group of six skiers (one female and five males) met in Cooke City, Montana, and decided to ski the Fin on Republic Mountain. None of them had been to this particular slope or mountain before. All members carried an avalanche transceiver, shovel, and probe, and three were wearing helmets. Two carried avalanche airbag packs. All had at least some avalanche education. They had read the local avalanche forecast the day before, but not the day of this incident (the danger had not changed).

On their ascent, visibility was poor and they could not see the entire slope or the ridge line they intended to climb. As they left the trees, they dug two pits and performed [stability] tests. One later wrote, “Though we identified potential weak layers at 60 cm and a deeper one…we got minimal failure and no propagation. What we saw in the pits was a nice right-side-up snowpack. However, we knew if we skinned along the ridge to the southwest, the snowpack would change due to wind exposure. We discussed mitigating this by skinning close to the ridge and skiing back down our skin track if we saw warning signs.”

As they continued and “when those in the skin track crossed over a wind lip into a slightly more southerly aspect,” they felt the slope collapse and watched a crack propagate 250 feet upslope. The avalanche broke 1.5 to two feet deep, 200 feet wide, and ran 700 feet vertically. Skiers 1 and 2 were carried the full distance to the base of the slope. Skier 3 was carried about midway downslope. Skier 4 was at the edge of the slide and able to hold their position, and Skiers 5 and 6 were further back in the skin track.

Skier 1 deployed his airbag and was partially buried. He freed himself from the debris and began a transceiver search. He followed the signal to Skier 2, whose head was buried more than two feet deep; the skier was unconscious and not breathing. Skier 1 cleared Skier 2’s airway, and Skier 2 began breathing and regained consciousness. Skier 2 sustained injuries to his leg, but later made it out under his own power.

Skiers 4, 5, and 6 quickly skied down to help Skier 3, who was partially buried about halfway down the slide path and sustained serious injuries to his ribs and lungs. Skiers 4 and 6 had two-way radios and called for help. (There is no cell service in this region.) They were able to contact someone with a radio in Cooke City, who reported it to Park County Search and Rescue. Because Skier 3 could not move, the group eventually congregated at Skier 3’s position, where they built a fire and waited for rescuers. Skier 3 was evacuated by helicopter at about 4 p.m., and the rest of the party was able to get out under their own power with the help of rescuers.

ANALYSIS

Investigating the Republic Mountain avalanche one day after the slide.

The avalanche occurred on an east aspect at 9,700 feet. The average slope angle was 37 degrees (33 degrees at the crown). The mountains near Cooke City had received heavy snow in October and November, which formed a dense, two- to four-foot-deep snowpack on many slopes. In late November to December, minimal snowfall and cold temperatures led to the formation of weak layers of sugary facets on some slopes, especially where the snowpack was relatively shallow. These layers were buried by subsequent heavy snowfall in late December, followed by small storms through the first week of January.

The skiers dug a six-foot-deep snow pit close to where the avalanche was triggered. They found good snow structure and good stability in their pit, which investigators confirmed the next day when they dug in the same spot. Approximately 100 feet away, with a slight change in aspect, the snowpack thinned from six feet to two to three feet deep. This thin area is where they initiated a fracture in the faceted grains.

In a video produced after the investigation at the accident scene (see video below) and in comments to viewers, Doug Chabot of Gallatin National Forest Avalanche Center [and a former AAC board member] warned skiers to “be really careful and paying attention to if the snowpack is changing as you’re skinning along. As soon as [these skiers] wrapped around to a slightly different aspect, the depth and snow structure changed. A stability test is one of many pieces of info that goes into deciding whether to ski or not. A poor test result is enough to turn around, yet the absence of that is not a green light to move forward…. The bottom line is that you should know that the snow is very stable if you are considering entering large, highly consequential avalanche terrain like the Fin.” (Source: Gallatin National Forest Avalanche Center.)

AVALANCHE COVERAGE IN ANAC: WHAT DO YOU THINK?

The 2021 edition of Accidents in North American Climbing introduced a new section of reports on backcountry skiing and snowboarding avalanches. Accidents has always covered mountaineering avalanches (including some ski mountaineering incidents), but the new 15-page section expanded our coverage to backcountry ski touring and snowboarding terrain, with 10 detailed reports and photos from December 2020 to April 2021. We’d like to know what you think: Did you read the new avalanche section? Did you think it was helpful and educational? Do you think this section was an appropriate use of pages in ANAC, or should the book stick exclusively with its traditional subject matter? Please fill out the 2 minutes survey. Thank you!

BACKCOUNTRY MEDICINE ON YOUR PHONE

Wilderness Medicine Reference is an information-packed app with diagnosis and treatment recommendations for many backcountry medical situations, plus prevention and evacuation checklists and strategies. Created by Karen Lapides, a longtime Colorado-based paramedic, wilderness medicine instructor, and Outward Bound mountaineering course director, the app is aimed at backcountry travelers with little medical training up to those with wilderness EMT certification. Nothing can replace formal wilderness medical training and practice, but for just 99 cents, this app offers an inexpensive and convenient field reference or backup.

THE SHARP END: GROUND FALL NEAR LAKE TAHOE

In Episode 72 of the Sharp End Podcast, climber Kyle Broxterman describes a serious trad climbing accident near Lake Tahoe, California. His attempt on a 5.11 trad climb ended when he fell and pulled out three wired nuts he’d placed for protection. Hear why Kyle is taking a step back from letting his ego drive his climbing and how he is managing his recovery from a terrible fall.

The monthly Prescription newsletter is supported by adidas Outdoor and the members of the American Alpine Club. Questions? Suggestions? Write to us at [email protected].

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Introducing the American Alpine Club Podcast: Episode 01

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Designed by Jeff Deikis

2 min read

The American Alpine Club Podcast: Our Vision

That’s right. You can now take a deep dive into your favorite American Alpine Club content via your headphones, car stereo, and more. The drive to work—or your favorite hang board routine—just got way more interesting. Episodes will typically fall into four categories: Climb; Protect; Educate; Connect.

Climb episodes will be just that—about climbs big and small, and the things they make us realize, in conversation with AAC community members.

Protect episodes will dive into the nuances of policy and advocacy issues that matter most to climbers.

Educate episodes will span the logistics of safety and accidents, as well as the history of climbing and how it can inform our present.

Connect episodes will cover the social side of our climbing community, including important conversations about equity and inclusion that have emerged from our work with the Climb United initiative.

Check back here, the AAC Stories Archive, to find the latest episodes and show notes, and subscribe to the American Alpine Club Podcast at your favorite podcast source: Soundcloud, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Podcasts.

Episode 01

Protect: An Interview on Climate with Graham Zimmerman and Jill Pelto

“Graham Zimmerman is an alpinist and climate advocate–scaling the highest mountains in the world and energizing climbers around taking action to fight climate change. Jill Pelto is a climate artist whose aesthetic tactics of combining climate data with artistic expression is striking and thought-provoking. In this discussion, the AAC dives in with Graham and Jill about communicating the intricacies of climate change, climate impacts they’ve personally witnessed in the mountains, what motivates them to advocate, and why it matters to climbers so damn much.”

Buried Treasure

Symon Welfringer during acclimatization for the south face of Sani Pakkush in Pakistan. The view is over the Toltar Glacier and up the Baltar Glacier, looking into the heart of the Batura Muztagh and beyond. Photo by Pierrick Fine

11 Minute Read

A Personal Guide to the 2021 AAJ

By Dougald MacDonald, Editor

Even though COVID-19 forced an abridgment of the American Alpine Journal—about 150 pages shorter than normal—it’s still very unlikely anyone has read the 2021 edition cover to cover, except for the editor in chief. That’s me. Each year, while editing the AAJ, I see gems in these pages that many readers may miss. So, here’s my annual insider’s guide to some memorable pieces from the 2021 edition, plus bonus photos that appear exclusively online. (To see the Buried Treasure guide to the 2020 AAJ, click here.) I hope these notes inspire you to take a second look at that AAJ sitting on your bedside table or in the reading basket in your bathroom. You never know what you might find!

This online feature is made possible by Hilleberg the Tentmaker, lead sponsor of the AAJ’s Cutting Edge Podcast. 

North Howser Tower, Canada

Enticing double cracks on Voodoo Chile, a new route in the Bugaboos. Photo by Alik Berg

If you judge by Instagram likes, the most popular AAJ story of 2021 was Uisdean Hawthorn’s report about a new route up North Howser Tower in the Bugaboos. Yet I’m betting most people didn’t even notice the short report in the AAJ, mainly because this cool photo of an alluring double-cracks pitch—which attracted all the Instagram attention—appeared only online. With 11 pitches and a short 5.11+ crux, Voodoo Chile is a relatively accessible route up North Howser’s daunting west face—at least compared with the huge routes farther left. Every AAJ is packed with enticing objectives, but nothing is more enticing than a route one might actually try someday!

Photo by Bradford McArthur

Call of the Sirens, Canada

The AAJ is filled with great writing, but unless you’re interested in a particular climb or region, you might never read many stand-out pieces. Lots of readers likely missed Jacob Cook’s saga about his three-year quest to climb a multi-pitch slab testpiece in Squamish, British Columbia, originally bolted by the late Marc-André Leclerc. In my opinion, no writer has done a better job of capturing the frustrating and occasionally magical intricacies of high-end slab climbing. Plus, the story has a cool surprise ending. If you didn’t see it, turn to page 103 of this year’s AAJ or read the full story here.

Sani Pakkush, Pakistan

Symon Welfringer during acclimatization for the south face of Sani Pakkush in Pakistan. The view is over the Toltar Glacier and up the Baltar Glacier, looking into the heart of the Batura Muztagh and beyond. Photo by Pierrick Fine

It’s difficult to publish panoramic photos effectively in the AAJ, especially when there’s a climber or other key element right in the middle of the photo, as is the case with the gorgeous image above. To make the most of a panorama in our 6-by-9-inch format, you’d have to run it across a full spread in the book, and in this case the climber would have disappeared into the “gutter” between the pages.

I always encourage readers to visit the online versions of stories like Symon Welfringer’s article about the south face of Sani Pakkush, because most of our stories have extra photos at the website. Pro tip: Drag photos of interesting peaks and walls to the desktop of your computer to blow them up for close examination.

 Pik Communism, Tajikistan

Iron-hard ice on the bitterly cold north face of Pik Communism in January 2020.

While editing the AAJ, I often think of the classic essay “Games Climbers Play,” by Lito Tejada-Flores, originally published in the 1967 Ascent. In a concept that seems obvious today but was novel at the time, Lito proposed that climbing was no longer one sport but instead “a collection of differing (though) related activities, each with its own adepts, distinctive terrain, problems and satisfactions, and perhaps most important, its own rules.” The games he outlined included bouldering, crag climbing, big walls, super-alpine, and more. Since then, the “games climbers play” have continued to expand in number and complexity, often providing new ways for climbers to enjoy mountains relatively close to home. 

All of which is a roundabout way to call attention to a report from Tajikistan in AAJ 2021, describing a new route up 7,495-meter Pik Communism, climbed by a Kyrgyz and Russian team in January 2020. The story also reveals a new “game” pursued by certain climbers in the former Soviet Union: the Winter Snow Leopard. Traditionally, Snow Leopards are mountaineers who have climbed the five great high-altitude mountains of the former USSR. Until 2020, this feat had never been completed in winter, though Kazakh climber Valery Khrishchaty climbed four of the five during the late 1980s and early ’90s. With his ascent of Pik Communism in January 2020, Sergey Seliverstov completed the quintet, followed shortly thereafter by Alexey Usatykh and Mikail Danichkin during the same expedition.

Mt. Logan, Canada

A long way from anywhere during the 2019 ski around Mt. Logan. Photo by Thomas Delfino

We used the COVID-19 travel hiatus to catch up on some expeditions in the AAJ that we had missed earlier. Among these reports, my personal favorite is one that I’d been chasing for a couple of years: an extraordinary French expedition to Mt. Logan in Canada in the spring of 2019. Thomas Delfino, Grégory Douillard, Alexandre Marchesseau, and Hélias Millerioux started from the village of Yakutat, Alaska, and over the next 48 days, team members walked, skied, and rafted more than 650 kilometers in a great arc around Mt. Logan. Along the way, three of the climbers summited Canada’s highest peak and made the most complete ski (and snowboard and monoski) descent of the enormous and technical east ridge. It was a tour de force, and as often happens in the AAJ, we had nowhere near enough pages to highlight their incredible story, but at the AAJ website you’ll find a map, lots of good photos, and a wonderful film of the expedition.

Oso Scary, Wyoming

The roped-solo first free ascent of the north face of Sundance Pinnacle in the Wind River Range was impressive. But it’s the subsequent bear story (and the brilliant route name) that’s most memorable in Kevin Heinrich's short report in AAJ 2021. His topo is pretty classy, too. Find Kevin’s Oso Scary story at publications.americanalpineclub.org.

Joe Brown, 1930 – 2020

Photo by John Cleare

In AAJ 2021 we published In Memoriam tributes to three great mountaineers from the United Kingdom: Joe Brown, Hamish MacInnes, and Doug Scott. The Joe Brown tribute was written by Ed Douglas, the leading mountaineering journalist in Great Britain in recent years. As with many of Ed’s articles, it is filled with insights and personal remembrances made possible by a long career of writing about (and climbing with) legends of the sport. I encourage you to read it at page 210 of this year’s book or at our website, or check out the longer version from which our piece was adapted, originally published at the British Mountaineering Council website. Ed serves as editor of The Alpine Journal, the annual publication of the Alpine Club in the U.K., which has been published since 1863—that’s more than 65 years older than the American Alpine Journal. Each year, Ed helps out the AAJ in many ways—it’s an honor to collaborate with him. 

Gros Morne National Park, Canada

Casey Shaw and Joe Terravechhia in Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland.

Since the 1990s, successive editors of the AAJ have been hoping to publish a comprehensive article on the gigantic ice climbs of western Newfoundland. Joe Terravecchia and Casey Shaw, the leading protagonists of ice climbing in Gros Morne National Park, weren’t exactly opposed to publishing their climbs, but they did seem to stall for quite a long time—just long enough to climb all the plums. More recently, they’ve both been too busy with work and other pursuits to invest much time in writing an article. It took a third party—Alden Pellett from Vermont, himself one of the leading activists in Newfoundland ice climbing—to herd the cats and make this story happen.

I was especially happy to cajole Casey Shaw and Bernie Mailhot into writing personal accounts of some of their Newfoundland climbs. Both are delightful stories—Casey’s a loving account of the 1999 first ascent of  Captains Courageous, the tallest ice climb in eastern North America, and Bernie’s a very funny tale about a 2004 trip that epitomized the area’s difficult and rapidly changing conditions. Both pieces focused on the Newfoundlanders the two men befriended—a rich reminder that climbing expeditions are almost always as much about the people you meet as the routes you climb. 

This year in review and the AAJ’s Cutting Edge podcast are both presented by Hilleberg the Tentmaker. 2021 was Hilleberg’s 50th year in business; it started as a forestry products company in Sweden and morphed into the tent maker we know today. Visit Hilleberg’s website to order “The Tent Handbook,” their uniquely informative catalog.

Give a Damn

Climbers gather around the Sprinter to talk about how they can be better stewards of climbing areas while climbing at Wall Street during this year’s Moab Craggin Classic. Lands of the Ute, Dine, and Ancestral Puebloan peoples. AAC member Levi Harrell

5 minute read

Summit Register 004—Letter from the Editor

AAC Policy Team

As climbers we have an extraordinarily intimate relationship with our landscapes, whether that be high alpine environments, our local crag, bouldering spot, or our gyms. Since 1902, the AAC has been committed to protecting these spaces. As our definition of what climbing spaces are and what it means to protect and conserve them have evolved, we have come to firmly believe that protecting communities, people, and culture is as important as protecting physical spaces. Our renewed focus on people and communities in concert with protecting and preserving our landscapes is an expression of this belief.

Photo by AAC member Bryan Miller

Over the last few months, we’ve reflected on our strengths and most pressing needs as a Club. These conversations have led to restating our policy and advocacy vision: We envision a future in which 5 million climbers are united in protecting the climbing places we love for current and future generations.

The foundation of our policy and advocacy strategy centers on actively engaged climbers. This is reflected both in our community organizing work and in a government affairs approach, which elevates climber experiences and stories. Climbers are our lifeblood and our work is member-centered and volunteer-powered. We will engage local and national issues with the collective voice of our 25,000 members and thereby activate the climbing communities that surround them. Our community gives a damn. And because we know that politics, policy, and advocacy is predominantly local, we’re building the Climbers Advocacy Network (CAN) to activate the most effective advocates to inform local issues such as climbing management plans and permitting. We plan to feature the work of the CAN in upcoming issues of the Summit Register.

Building the CAN has already started, with a small, passionate group of member-volunteers raising their hands to lead their regions. As we build the network and empower the CAN with information, we’ll lean into supporting 30x30 legislation, land policies impacting climbers, equity and inclusion, and amplifying work of non-profit partners and community groups, among other pressing issues. In our conversations with AAC members, land managers, lawmakers, adjacent non-profits, and community based organizations, there’s been great enthusiasm for this vision.

Our collective voice has the strength to create new ideas, move conversations, and give direction to the climbing community. As we educate and begin funneling resources to building the CAN, we take time in this issue of the Summit Register to consider some key issues for climbers at the national level, and steps we can each take to support national legislation. But with the CAN as inspiration, it is clear that advocacy goes beyond Capitol Hill.

This issue of our quarterly policy zine explores the nuances of advocacy, and the many creative ways individuals and local climbing organizations (LCOs) can advocate to protect our communities and physical spaces. In one feature article, AAC policy manager Taylor Luneau considers the role of local climbing organizations and local climbers in fostering effective and accessible climbing management plans for our overcrowded public lands. In another article, climber and advocate Kate Rutherford describes the power of eating local organic foods in the regions where you climb. Advocacy has many avenues, and we know our work ahead will ultimately lead to further engagement with lawmakers and change makers who can broaden our impact. We are looking forward to working side by side with all of you towards this future.

The New Era of Climbing Management Plans & Regulations

Climbers gazing up at Middle Cathedral from the floor of Yosemite Valley. Yosemite was recently the scene of a new permitting process for big wall climbers. Lands of the Central Sierra Miwok peoples. AAC Member Bryan Meyer

5 minute read

The New Era of Climbing Management Plans & Regulations

Taylor Luneau, AAC Policy Manager

Across the country, people are flocking to recreate on our nations’ public lands in record setting numbers. Calico Basin, found within the world famous Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, experienced a 340% increase in visitation over the past decade. Across the West, peak season campsite occupancy rates have risen by an estimated 47% since 2014. The phenomena, which Colorado State University’s Public Land History Center is aptly calling “the Public Landemic” has been widely reported on and our climbing areas are feeling the pressure like everywhere else.

While the pandemic pushed people out of climbing gyms and up to our local crags, the climbing communities’ massive growth can also be attributed to, among other things, the explosion of climbing gyms across the country, the emergence of climbers at the Oscars, and the long awaited appearance of climbing in the Olympics—outcomes that naturally, we would all celebrate. But with growth comes growing pains. The flood of climbers into the outdoors is creating a tipping point for land managers who, due to lack of sustained funding and staff capacity, struggle to mitigate the increased stress on infrastructure caused by overcrowding. In response, the climbing community is experiencing a notable uptick in new regulations such as permit programs, timed entry and fee systems as well as other restrictions to our favorite climbing destinations.

Climbers at a busy crag at Calico Basin in Red Rocks Canyon National Conservation Area. These popular sport climbing areas outside Las Vegas, NV have seen some of the highest increase in use over the past 10 years. Lands of the Southern Paiute, & Newe peoples. AAC member Jon Glassberg

While I do not openly welcome any limitations on our communities’ access to climbing, I do understand that there are certain limits of unacceptable impacts to ecological and cultural resources as well as the recreational experience itself, that land managers are tasked with monitoring and mitigating. In the best case scenario, agency officials will make management recommendations that are supported by authentic community engagement, grounded in science, and adaptable to new information and recreation trends. Where in some areas a timed entry program may be a useful management tool, in others, that tool may be totally misapplied. This gets to the heart of why the AAC continues to fight for the public process and transparency embodied in the National Environmental Policy Act—the Magna Carta of environmental law and the legal basis that allows the public to comment on the management of our public lands. The land management programs that are being proposed to address overcrowding on our public lands must be tailored to the needs and specifics of the given landscape and its affiliated communities; this public comment process allows this to manifest.

Over the past year I’ve witnessed our community lean into this reality in a big way. Climbers stepped up to engage in difficult discussions on how to establish route development ethics in Ten Sleep (a plan that was recently abandoned due to US Forest Service staffing shortages), they provided critical insights on how our community interacts with wilderness climbing resources in Joshua Tree and Yosemite, they shared feedback on use patterns in Calico Basin, and they offered valuable knowledge on access points to Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park – just to name a few.

Advocacy doesn’t just happen on Capitol Hill. You
can always get involved with a trail maintenance or clean up day at your local climbing area. Here, climbers give back to the crags they love during the Smith Rock Craggin Classic. Lands of the Tenino peoples and Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. AAC member Luke Humphrey

At several recent public hearings regarding management plans for climbing areas across the country (such as the Calico Basin RAMP/EA where hundreds of climbers showed up to share their thoughts) I’ve heard comments regarding these rules as stifling the spontaneous nature of climbing and limiting the freedom we’ve experienced as a user group for decades. These are valuable and important concerns that must be communicated to land management agencies. Climbers must actively engage in these regulatory discussions and call attention to when agencies can be doing better. In doing so, we can emphasize a deep understanding of our user groups’ distinct needs, movement patterns, and cultural values. When appropriate, we must hold decision makers accountable, and request they go back to the drawing board to reconsider their plans and evaluate their intentions.

We must also understand that growth in our sport is a great thing. Consider the many wild adventures and profound relationships that you’ve developed through your own climbing experiences. It’s well documented that recreation outdoors supports public health and wellbeing, not to mention endless economic benefits for local communities. As the AAC reflects on our own history, we’re challenging ourselves to be more inclusive and welcoming to a broader, bigger, and more diverse community of climbers. Welcoming a bigger community of climbers to the outdoors will undoubtedly make our advocacy for access challenging and nuanced, but our community will be more vibrant, rich, and dare I say more politically powerful because of it.

The era we live in as climbers is a unique one and represents a significant departure from the past. With management plans popping up across the country, we have an opportunity to ensure that our climbing areas are properly cared for, that access to these spaces is more equitable, that local Tribes have better opportunities to guide the management of their ancestral lands (there is still much room for improvement), and that the character of these important places continues to offer unique experiences for generations of climbers to come. The great thing is that climbers have done this before. We’ve worked hard to educate each other about respecting culturally sensitive sites, we’ve observed and successfully self enforced raptor closures, and we’ve stewarded the trails and local infrastructure at our climbing areas. We need to carry these successes forward.

Right now, a local climbing organization or AAC chapter in your area can undoubtedly use your help, your unique experience and your voice to protect our climbing areas. Many of these local advocacy groups have developed strong relationships with land managers and are currently assisting them with the management of local crags and public lands. I encourage you to seek out these groups, offer your time and professional expertise, join public meetings with land managers to share your insights, submit substantive comments on management plans, and look for action alerts from national organizations like the Access Fund and American Alpine Club. Through your efforts we may see our climbing areas change in positive ways, like newly graded roads, parking lots, bathrooms and more sustainably built trails — not to mention acknowledgement as an important user group and thought partner in the stewardship of our public lands.

The times are changing, but we don’t have to simply accept it for what it is. We can play a critical role in coming up with creative solutions alongside land managers. Your voice matters: get involved.

Farm to Crag

Kate has always known that food is the fuel for success while climbing. Here she fires up breakfast before a day of climbing on the Incredible Hulk in the Eastern Sierra. Land of the Northern Paiute, Eastern Mono/Monache, and Newe peoples. AAC member Ken Etzel

5 minute read

Food As a Form of Climate Activism

Kate Rutherford, Farm to Crag Founder

Climbers thrive when we have a hard objective—a project that pushes our mental and physical capacity. We love far away summits, intricate logistics, and the emotional commitment to our partners. With all of our training and strength, we are perfectly poised to be powerful advocates for what we love, and are able to apply our creative talents to finding climate solutions, protecting biodiversity, and prioritizing the health of the planet for all people.

Farm To Crag is one of those creative climate solutions. As a climber driven non-profit, we work to connect climbers with sustainable, locally grown food wherever you climb by offering an easy to use map to local sustainable food. It was born as one climber’s joyful response to the scary prospect of the climate crisis. We believe that sometimes advocacy can look like eating a delicious snack.

Author Kate Rutherford rappelling off a route in the high alpine of the Eastern Sierras. Land of the Northern Paiute, Eastern Mono/Monache, and Newe peoples. AAC member Ken Etzel

Throughout my climbing travels, global communities welcomed me, fed me, maintained the gardens at the base of cliffs, and kept the lights on late when my partners and I bit off more than we could chew. How would I find another local food community as I migrated with the climbing seasons?

How would the gardens that had fed us on those trips fare with the changing climate in the mountains? Would they fare better if climbers invested in them? In this worry, I felt like Sisyphus, rolling the boulder of this challenge up the hill every day. Finally, my friend and mentor Yvon Chouinard told me that investing in regenerative organic agriculture was “the number one thing climbers can do to reverse climate change.” This quote became my route topo, my project, the summit to train for. This was a hopeful way to confront climate change—one meal at a time.

I dove into the science of organic gardening, soil health, and regenerative farming. I read books like there would be an exam. I found mentors who helped write the Farm Bill; they explained the disproportionately high federal assistance that conventional farmers received compared to the low funding for small farmers or organic research. I began to understand the power of lobbying and went to talk with lawmakers on Capitol Hill during Organic Week. I also spent many hours sleuthing out locally raised veggies, meats, and dairy.

Then, I sat down with two amazing humans at my kitchen table. We were craving seasonal vegetables that were locally grown in the places we love to climb. We wanted a map to local gardens, handmade kimchi, hometown bread bakers, and lovingly raised lamb chops. Our bodies needed nutrients. We wanted to host dinner parties at our kitchen table, or in the van while on the road. We wanted to celebrate seasonal foods, fresh greens and sun-warmed strawberries. Thus, Farm to Crag was born.

Farm to Crag was born to celebrate locally grown, fresh, organic vegetables. These foods are the fuel climbers need to reach the biggest summits of their imaginations. Viktor Pravdica

We know that soil free of pesticides and rich in mycorrhizal fungi, protozoa and nematodes, mites, springtails, and earthworms help break down organic matter and minerals. This creates useful vitamins, hormones, and disease-suppressing compounds that plants need to be healthy. These tiny creatures also aerate the ground, allowing for deeper roots, better water retention capacity, and greater survival rates in extreme weather events. Research shows that healthy soil encourages deep-rooted plants, which draw carbon further down into the soil. There, it’s shared with diverse flora and fauna, and stored out of the harmful green-house gas cycle. Food has also become a purposeful means for climbing performance.

Food is nutrition and nutrition is performance. Organic, regenerative local food is the pinnacle of both. By uniting our community around this sustainable food practice, we believe that we will dramatically improve the health of our bodies, our communities, and our planet.

Through food, we become a part of our destination climbing areas. And with every dollar we exchange for food, we support the health of those economies—therefore ensuring their ability to cultivate healthy soil, a necessity for drawing carbon out of the ever warming atmosphere and making nourishing food for climbers.

This became the foundation for my favorite Farm To Crag mantra:

soil health = nutrient-dense veggies = climbers on summits

We believe the switch to regenerative organic farming will draw enough carbon out of the atmosphere and store it in the ground to reverse climate change. But we need your help! If climbers supported local farms and sustainable businesses, would that be enough? Perhaps, but better yet would be all climbers, bikers, skiers, surfers, and runners thinking about the Farm Bill or state legislation supporting small local farmers who care about soil health, biodiversity, clean water, and healthy livestock. Then we could start making policy changes to shift the food paradigm.

Maps are one of my favorite parts about big adventures—and one of our favorite parts about Farm To Crag. We have a map of local farms, farmers’ markets, and artisan food producers near our favorite crags. You can become part of this movement! Check it out, go shop at one, and cook a fully local meal for your friends and family. If your local farms are not on the map, you can add them at farmtocrag.org/ contribute.

Join us. Connect the dots between the places we play and the foods we eat, with a soil that sustains both and provides a future for our species.