Calico Basin, Red Rock Rendezvous, April 2016.
At a work holiday party in 2015 I won a $300 gift card and I immediately knew what I was supposed to spend it on – my kids, of course.
I’m a mom and a single mom, at that, and it would be the right thing to do, especially since money was tight that year. Christmas presents don’t buy themselves and lawyers and custody battles aren’t free. I was in the midst of an expensive legal tug of war and the implications of losing in court were terrifying. The judge’s decision was potentially life-changing and to say I was a bundle of nerves would be an understatement.
As I sat at my desk in my office and held that shiny card, something gnawed away at me and I couldn’t shake it. I was actually tempted to spend this money on myself and on something that sounded kind of frivolous – a weekend rock climbing course at Joshua Tree National Park. It felt incredibly selfish and so un-mom-like. I have three kids and, two of whom are young adults, and I had never done something like that before.
Rock climbing had always appeared daunting to me. What were all those weird metal gadgets? How in the hell do you hang onto a sheer rock wall? And knots? I can’t tie knots (this despite my four years spent as a sailor in the United States Navy, two of them spent living on a ship).
The more I told myself that I couldn’t do it for a fill-in-the-blank-with-a-self-doubting-reason, the more I knew I simply had to go for it. Before my negative thoughts took control and I lost my nerve, I made the call and booked the course.
Looking back, that weekend represented an important step in transforming my life from average to extraordinary.
The activity itself simultaneously kicked my butt and made me happy. Everyone should try this, I thought. But rock climbing, admittedly, is not for everyone. But, then again, it might be. More and more, people of color are flocking to indoor climbing gyms across the country. But outside? Not so much.
After a few more outside excursions, I ended up at Red Rock Rendezvous, the largest climbing festival in the country. Climbers of all levels fly in from around the country to meet other climbers, improve their skills in clinics taught by professional guides from the American Alpine Institute and drink fancy craft beer with the pros.
I attended as a volunteer ambassador for Latino Outdoors, a national, non-profit organization that promotes, among other things, encouraging diversity in outdoor spaces. Because I’m never able to take off my reporter hat, I ended up speaking to a number of individuals that weekend one year ago about the challenge of diversifying an activity that has many barriers to entry and what, if anything, could be done.
Even though the climbing community is incredibly welcoming, it was virtually a sea of white faces at the festival. At Red Rock Rendezvous and out of 1,300 participants, I noticed a handful of people of color. And by handful, I mean, counting the fingers of one hand.
Who notices that kind of thing? People of color do and it would be naïve to assume that we shouldn’t. Disclaimer: I’m a light-skinned Latina who passes as white, although I identify as a person of color.
From my perspective, climbers are mostly laid-back folk who appear to take life in stride, but when it comes to discussing diversity in the outdoors, some conversations can become stilted and self-defensive. Diversity in climbing is not a hot topic, but perhaps a simmering one.
One of my favorite groups pushing the boundaries in breaking perceptions of who climbs is Brothers of Climbing (BOC), an extraordinary crew of climbers based in Brooklyn, New York. Back in 2013, Mikhail Martin Googled, “Are there black climbers?” He found his answer in an online forum that claimed that, in fact, black people don’t climb. Not one to blindly accept societal mores, Martin co-founded the group, which is now thriving.
Having to purchase expensive gear, lack of exposure, access and opportunity, cultural stereotypes that exist when one dares to step outside perceived societal norms – these are all good reasons why few people of color climb outdoors. It’s not because the figurative doors are closed to us, but rather, it’s because many of us haven’t fully entered those spaces – yet.
From the executive director of the Access Fund, Brady Robinson, to pro climbers, experienced guides and outdoor retailers, most agreed and expressed a sincere desire to make climbing more inclusive. From a business point of view, it makes perfect sense to want to expand their main base of climbers who are white and aging, climbing advocates say.
Imagine if I brought a small group of climbers of color to next year’s event? I asked Paul Fish, the CEO and president of Mountain Gear, who organizes the festival. He was sitting next to Jason Martin, director of operations at the American Alpine Institute, who oversees all the guides who lead the clinics.
Latino Outdoors could publicize it and sponsor a social media contest. Sure, I added, it wouldn’t be large scale change, but it would help with this particular festival and add to the mix of all the other diversity initiatives currently underway.
From the start, they liked my idea and cheered me on enthusiastically.
“If five new people come to learn and two of them decide they are going to climb occasionally, I’m thrilled,” Fish said. “That’s a home run to me. I love climbing and to find a new group of people that I can maybe include and maybe share that with warms my heart.”
This upcoming weekend, five Latino climbers – four women and one man – will get three days of free personalized rock climbing instruction from world class athletes and top climbing guides at the festival – thanks to these two men. It’s not going to change the outdoor recreation world, but it might make a tiny dent in it.