How I Became a Climber

The Jonathan Belden Daniels climbing gym occupies the space of two retired squash courts in a dormitory basement at Dartmouth College, with a smattering of polished holds strewn across 12-foot-high plywood walls. A humble facility for a college with such a prominent climbing community, this space provided the foundation for my enduring pursuit of the world’s most revered rock formations. During my first visit to the gym, I met three exuberant classmates who remain as some of my closest friends today. We encouraged and heckled each other to climb harder and repeatedly crashed to the floor with a cloud of chalk dust. Exhausted and inspired, we left the gym to dine at Dartmouth’s finest eating establishment upon overcooked chicken, mealy rice, and vegetables having been steamed to the point of disintegration. After dinner we strolled through the brisk autumn New England dusk, stopping periodically to take in the rural silence and calming scent of dry leaves. Our friendship was sealed, and a flame was ignited beneath me that would fuel my lifelong passion for climbing.

The following week I followed some older students to a film premier of Reel Rock’s “Valley Uprising” beneath the bulletproof schist crags of Rumney, New Hampshire. We spent the day clipping bolts and pulling hard on steep single-pitch routes in the welcome sunlight of a Saturday in October. Utterly spent, we settled down beneath emerging stars in the soft grass of Rattlesnake Campground. I watched an inflatable screen light up with images of Yosemite Valley’s sweeping granite walls fractured by a network of interconnected cracks. The film wove through narratives of roughneck pioneers in the 1950s, paisley-clad wide-eyed maniacs of the 1970s, and the brutally strong athletes of the 1990s. I imagined the sense of fulfillment held by these climbers after venturing into uncharted vertical territory, pushing the standards of what was deemed to be possible, and sharing a camaraderie among the Yosemite climbing community. I yearned to stand in their shoes, clinging to the glassy stone with shredded fingertips and thousands of feet of air beneath my feet.

During the following year, the allure of such rock formations grew so intense that I decided to pursue a degree in Geology, punctuated by a ten-week long road trip across the American West from the Canadian Rockies to the Grand Canyon. With rope and rack in tow, I leapt at every possible opportunity to tie in. I begged my professors and teaching assistants to drop me off at renowned climbing areas such as Tensleep Canyon, Castle Valley, Red Rock Canyon, and the Owens River Gorge. I cancelled my flight home from Flagstaff for a trip back to Vegas. My eyes had been scorched by the vibrant walls and soaring towers of the western desert. I begrudgingly returned to New Hampshire to finish my degree, finding solace in the few and far between dry-spells in the wet climate of the Northeast.

Upon graduating I moved to Seattle with two friends from college and began working as an EHS consultant contracted by The Boeing Company. I worked long hours surveying airplane factories to put gas in my car for the grueling commutes to western Washington’s “local” climbing areas. Here, upon the streaked walls of immaculate granite residing above the quaint town of Index, WA, I found the ultimate dojo to cut my teeth in crack climbing. I cannot overstate the quality and abundance of fine-grained granite splitters gracing the Index Town Walls; the rock is simply too good to describe and you need to touch it to believe that it’s real. I was intimidated by the lack of easy and moderate climbs in the area, but quickly developed the mental fortitude to trust my gear, try as hard as I could on onsight burns, and jam the rand of my shoes into imaginary cracks formed by sealed-shut 90-degree corners. I felt an unprecedented motivation to climb harder cracks, supported by the effervescent zeal of my climbing partners, and realized my potential to take on bigger objectives with style.

Unsatisfied with the mundanity of my consulting role, I reoriented my career goals to pursue a Ph.D. in geology. I applied to several graduate programs and returned to New Hampshire to work as a lab technician in Dartmouth’s Earth Sciences department. As I gained experience in sample processing and academic writing, I also rediscovered the bountiful ice flows of northern New England. Within a twenty-minute drive from home I could practice swinging tools on magnificent pillars of gooey ice, expanding my climbing objectives to include alpine terrain demanding a mix of climbing techniques. I set my sights towards the greater ranges and planned a trip to Denali this upcoming spring.

While career development has primarily driven my choices since graduating college, I am inclined to formulate my life around climbing access. I aim to balance my progression as a climber with my advancement as an academic geologist. I push myself to incorporate a consistent training regimen with my busy work schedule, and I constantly grapple with time management and budgeting for climbing trips. While my love for geology is intellectual and genuine, my love for climbing is innate and unprecedented. In establishing this blog, I hope to divulge my sentiments on climbing in balance with life, and to share stories of my most impactful adventures. I hope to develop a platform for promoting stewardship in climbing—the keystone in maintaining future access for our community. I hope that you enjoy reading about my vertical pursuits, and that you may find inspiration to take on your own objectives, whether in climbing or elsewhere. That’s it for now, I’m off to enjoy some springtime snow in the Tetons. Oh, did I mention that I’m also a skier?