*Lightly edited from the trip reports of Jay Louie, Mika Kie Weissbuch, and Tyler Poston*
Jay Louie, Mika Kie Weissbuch, and Tyler Poston climbed Castleton Tower via the North Chimney (5.9) in April 2022, thanks to the Catalyst Grant. This story is told from three perspectives highlighting each person's experience. Jay, Mika, and Tyler are members of the queer, trans, and persons of color community, with jobs in social justice fields that require significant emotional investment and labor. Climbing is a way they build strength, deal with difficulty, and rejuvenate.
"Climbing is all about community. Although you can climb on your own and grow from there, if you really want to progress, especially into more advanced climbing styles like trad, big wall, and alpine, you can't learn it alone," said Jay. The three climbers with different skills and backgrounds came together to cultivate a safe space to crush a desert tower climb.
JAY
(they/them)
Climbing a beautiful desert tower is one of the most significant experiences in my life. To make this happen, I got my driver's license at age thirty-five and went on my first solo road trip. Throughout my life, I had a terrible phobia of driving. With this and many more trips in mind, I conquered my phobia with helpful and supportive queer climbing friends who tutored me.
As a first-generation immigrant, I always felt more comfortable in big cities. Even though city life is overwhelming, I felt safer in places with the visible presence of other people of color. It really took the backing of the AAC grant for me to commit to going ‘as far’ as Utah. Driving is much scarier than trad-leading [for me]. As a newly licensed driver, I used my trad lead head to focus on driving. I imagined driving between the lines, like choosing correct trad placements, as both an art and a science.
Although you can climb on your own and grow from there, if you really want to progress, especially into more advanced climbing styles like trad, big wall, and alpine, you can't learn it alone. Even though famous films show free soloists moving on their own, they have a full team preparing and cheering them on behind the scenes. As it stands, a lot of famous climbers come from privileged identities and backgrounds that grant them access and resources to support their climbing careers.
But in the US climbing community, there has been a recent boom in recognizing the importance of gender diversity. In response, there's been a dramatic increase in offerings to support underrepresented and underserved queer and trans climbers in the form of scholarships, mentorships, and special spaces.
TYLER
(they/them)
On the drive towards Bears Ears National Monument I was texting with my Native Indian co-worker. We work together at the queer substance use disorder rehab on Kumeyaay land. She told me to stay safe, knowing where I was headed and who I am. She said prayers for Bears Ears—reminding me of NDN [Native American] goals and the goals that overlap with climbers': sacred land stewardship, protection, and recreation.
As one of my co-workers says, "we should all be continuously healing."
While activism is important, so is being here and appreciating what we're working for.
For me, food and climbing give opportunities for visceral grounding. They both engage our senses at the moment. It's hard to think of the land recovery to-do list when the fry bread is hot or when 5 feet above my last piece. Climbing and food offer nourishment, and breaks from the sense of having constant needs and goals. These experiences and breaks create space for actualizing and recognizing life as fulfilling.
Mika
(she/they)
As the least experienced climber in the group, I was initially worried I would not be able to complete the tower. The approach was steep and chossy, and there was a group on the route when we arrived.
The first pitch was challenging for me and took a long time. I suggested to the other team members that I could rappel down and leave the two of them to finish the second and third pitches so we would guarantee we got home before dark. They said we should stick together, so although I was nervous, I agreed to keep going.
The trip was the first time I did any significant crack or off-width climbing. I was quarantining and sick leading up to it, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to practice as much as I had anticipated.
My goals for the grant were to gain strength, confidence, and knowledge, and despite the lack of training, I am happy to report that I met each goal.
The second pitch was difficult but fun and mentally stimulating. I used all the techniques I had learned to get up a crack and then a chimney. I’m so glad I finished the route! The view from the top was spectacular.
Tyler
Climbing comes with elements of uncertainty. One of my uncertainties in a region I've never been in, having never climbed a multi-pitch desert tower before, was climbing with Mika for the first time. When I climb with new partners, to a reasonable degree, my most sensitive need is finding out how they treat others. I climbed El Capitan and bailed after flying the trans flag from a portaledge because my partner was being transphobic.
I knew our North Chimney team had aligned values from our virtual work together on the grant application. I was lucky to have trust in Jay, and Mika—vetted by Jay. However, I was still uneasy not having definitely experienced it. Going through the process of emotional safety with climbing partners is invaluable. Even though we all deserve it, it’s harder for some of us.
Jay
I planned to lead the first pitch and alternate with Tyler. At the first pitch, I wasn't sure where to go. I tried right, then left, then right again. I thought to myself, "I'm having trouble getting on this thing! Are we going to finish this?" I was intimidated and hung on to my first piece of gear.
Luckily that was the only piece I needed to hang on. Despite being a little burly, the first pitch was fun and stunning! Tyler wanted the second pitch to get some off-width action. The belay at the start of pitch two was challenging as Mika and I were freezing in the wind tunnel while Tyler ascended. We hugged and made jokes for warmth.
A party of two men started approaching us from below and asked if they could pass us. Tyler was starting the off-width and told us to say no. It’s hard for me to say no, as it’s challenging to take up space. However, using the backup of the AAC grant, I told them, “We received a grant as QTPOC climbers, it’s important for us to focus on this climb, so we will prioritize it.” It helped me establish a boundary and they were cool with it.
One man in the party was particularly friendly and disarming. He saw one of our member's "Queer Crush—Queer the Crag" T-shirt and used it as an opportunity to come out to his climbing partner and us as asexual and bicurious. His partner responded, "I will accept you and treat you the same as I always have." It was a beautiful and connective moment! We talked more intimately and had a gay old time. The party was local, so knowing they could come back easily, they descended the route. Later on, we met up with the person who came out and became social media buddies!
Tyler
It reminded me how new and old natural regions, teams, and pitches offer novelty for sensory engagement to come home to our bodies.
Jay
“Don’t Bail, We’re a Team!”
Mika seriously considered bailing but we insisted they stay! And they sure did! They fought hard and it was inspiring. Upon my arrival at the end of the second pitch, Mika and Tyler were sitting on a cozy bench; they were all smiles and had gotten to know one another. It was a pretty sweet moment. As I moved to complete the last pitch (linking the third and fourth to save time), I was especially careful not to fall on their comfortable stance. The choss gully was a little confusing, but I went the right way. The sparkling rocks and exposure at the end were rewarding.
As I topped out, a man was occupying the big rings on the anchor and belaying his partner up. I set up a belay on the chains and squished myself into a crevice to take up less space. Alone with him up there, he pushed conversations despite me saying I didn’t want to have them, and he physically touched me without my permission. I was shaken. It’s interpersonal situations like these that make climbing scary for me. Meanwhile, two additional parties of men came up, and they gave me space. I was somewhat relieved there was more company, but still distressed by his actions and didn't relax until he left.
Months later I am still processing this and wonder how the climb would have been overall more expansive and joyful had it not been overshadowed by that experience. It was stereotypical and disappointing how he decided to use his privilege over another more vulnerable person in a new place. Queer and femme-bodied folks experience this often.
I am thankful AAC gave me the support to push through my fears—not just the climbing itself, but mainly in getting my body out there to move in a space where many words and many actions done by other people say “I’m not welcome.” In many ways, it’s a defiance of what people’s perceptions of competent climbers are like and how we also deserve the right to enjoy beauty and nature like anyone else. I am excited to visit again, feeling more confident and having had more experience in navigating unfamiliar places.
In Reflection
Jay, Mika, and Tyler are deeply grateful for the folks putting together the AAC grant, which offset substantial barriers and instigated a commitment to the goal. Climbing North Chimney represented many 'firsts.' Being a classic, it pushed them to 'take up space' in ways they were not accustomed to.
Upon summiting, the lead encountered verbal and physical harassment from a man of another party. That situation affirms why these grants exist; it gives hope and real support to community members that are burdened by aggressions in the climbing world. The journey there was just as significant. Through humble exploration, they learned about themselves and others through the lands and people they encountered. Connections were genuine, and memories lifelong.