Should every clean be developed for every person — to be presented on a silver platter?
We find a proto-crag, load up one or two
people, burn fuel for 20 minutes, two hours,
whatever, and trim tree branches, hack trails,
and drill holes. We write guidebooks, and then we bring our dogs and our friends, and
we lay down rope tarps. We piss, we shit,
and we trample, and our plastic wrappers
blow away. We heap so much abuse on these
special places we supposedly love. We’re
all to blame — I’m simply stating how it is.
Without action, our impact will worsen.
These days, a new gym seems to open
every 10 minutes across North America.
Which means more people, more impact,
and more urbanites with Dasani water
bottles and Bosch Power Drills. It’s a fact:
climbing is growing. But with growth must
come responsibility, including environmental
education. I, too, love a good gym and I
do want others to experience the joy of their
first bloody flapper, but there’s a dark side,
and its name is progress. Which brings me
to my next point: Edward Abbey.
EDWARD ABBEY (1927-1989)
Abbey worked as a ranger during the 1960s at Utah’s Arches National Park. He wrote the timeless book Desert Solitaire, which
detailed his love for Arches’ expansiveness
and the “agony” of watching “Industrial
Tourism” f—k it all up. What once had been
an idyll became a paved highway through
the park so the lassitudinous could see this
sacred space without leaving their “mechanized
wheelchairs.” It sickened Abbey. Sure,
he wanted people to enjoy the area, but
why not let them walk a few miles? Or ride
bicycles? Was that so hard? (Apparently, yes,
because revenue plummets if people are too
inert to show up.)
Mr. Abbey also raised the question
of quantity vs. quality — why in our society
does more traffic equate to greater
perceived value? He asked us what accessibility
means: “Is there any spot on earth
that men have not proved accessible by thesimplest means — feet and legs and heart?”
Some people oppose this mindset, but
I can relate to it, and I’m hoping you can,
too — we need to maintain an area’s essence.
Take K2, the world’s second highest
mountain. It’s beautiful, it’s lethal, and it’s
demanding. But because it’s difficult, should
we fix lines to the summit so everyone can
climb it with little perceived risk? Perhaps
this mentality stacked the deck against the
11 people who died on K2 in one day in
2008 (see Climbing No. 270). Just because
we can fix every rope, pave every road, chop
down every shrub, and bolt every blank
face, doesn’t mean we should. We all have
to tightrope-walk the thin green line.
ENDGAME
After 14 years climbing, I’m beginning to feel our notions of accessibility and development are strictly based on convenience. Of course, climbing should be fun, but that doesn’t mean it should always be easy. It seems like the crags closest the road get hurt the most, especially the “sport” areas.
More climbers are on the way, and we
all need to be stewards. Our sport and our
crags will only be as healthy as we want
them to be. Happily, I’ve seen amazing
changes: outhouses installed at trailheads;
more people volunteering for trail days
and voicing their concerns; and more of
us packing out others’ trash and sticking
to designated trails. I’ve also seen more
climbers bringing refillable water bottles,
using reusable containers, buying recycled
clothing and hybrid cars, and carpooling.
It gives a glimmer of hope.
As for my story, removing the bolts on
The Path was not reactive but proactive, a
way to demonstrate that the easiest way to
do something isn’t necessarily the best. The
extra effort required to climb the face makes
success that much sweeter. But don’t take it
from me; take it from the great Edward Abbey.
“May your trails be crooked, winding,
lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most
amazing view,” he wrote. “May your mountains
rise into and above the clouds.”
Sonnie Trotter, a frequent contributor to
Climbing, is one of North America’s leading
rock climbers.
