April: Being the New Climber on the Bouldering Wall

A social analysis of bouldering culture sourced entirely from my experience at one university gym.

Photo by Tofan Teodor on Unsplash.

Walking into the UW bouldering gym is like walking into wildfire. Or a cafe. Or a Nickleback concert. Or a hall of mirrors you were originally excited to visit but now second guess whether you should’ve come because there are a bunch of boys in beanies flipped above their ears watching you navigate the hall of mirrors, and you watch them watch you and watch yourself watching them.

It is a wormhole of white chalk, pop music, obscure terminology, grunting, physical challenge, deep satisfaction, and crushing self-consciousness.

My partner and I have been bouldering in the campus gym now for two semesters now. Two. Its fun. Its free. Its a nice break from grad school. It really has become “a mirror,” as the wall is called in outdoor education, a reflection of my limiting beliefs (the blue route is physically impossible) and a vehicle for spiritual osmosis — If I can do this thing I previously thought was impossible, what else can I do?

And. Not but, but ‘and’…As a new climber, the vibe in the bouldering gym can feel very strange. Bouldering feels exclusive and intimidating to an extent that is not as present in other outdoor circles. I can’t think of another activity with such a low bar of entry — its free as a student — with such a high social barrier: terminology, norms, odd social interactions.

Not only do you have to struggle to climb up a wall, there’s other people watching you do it — sometimes critically.

To combat the feeling of being judged and watched in the bouldering gym, as a new climber, I have judged and categorized the types of climbers you will bump into in the gym (perhaps unfairly, but probably not), so as to instill some semblance of order in what is often a petri dish of chaotic self-consciousness.

1. Climber Bros

Climber bros often recreate in groups of 3–5. Their hands are coated in a film of chalk. Many of them like to brush hand holds clear of chalk and call out obscure movements to one another — Dino to the crag! Dino, Jason!— sending moderate and hard routes technically and with style. They’re fun to watch.

Climber bros aren’t inherently rude or judgmental. Most are normal people who just really like to climb. Like anyone who gets really into anything, there’s a new vocabulary that emerges along with new norms and rules — don’t stand under the wall. Some of that can feel intimidating to beginners, but can easily be offset by some good energy, of which many climber bros at the UW gym certainly have.

There is still a gate into any outdoor activity. Sometimes its money. Sometimes its access. Most of the time its the fear of being a beginner, to look clumsy and clueless in front of people who know what they’re doing.

The first result that caught my eye when I searched ‘Bro’ on Unsplash. Photo by Taylor Deas-Melesh on Unsplash

Some climber bros do suck. They start to suck when, instead of helping people new climbers feel more comfortable on the wall — saying hello, or saying nothing at all — they exude an aura of exclusion and arrogance, pointing out your wrong moves on the wall unsolicited, reminding you of arbitrary rules, policing when you’re just trying to play.

Climber Bros suck when they become Unsolicited Advisors.

2. Unsolicited Advisors

The Unsolicited Advisor is always male and he is always right. He can tell right away if you’re a new climber (because you use the free liquid wall chalk and rent shoes, like me), and because you are new he will watch you. The moment you hesitate on a route, he is likely to shout advice at you from the floor.

“Left hand needs to get higher — no, not there; there!”

Then you will fall, mostly because he has just interrupted all the focus and enjoyment you were once feeling, and he will tell you why you fell in climber terms. Then he will climb the route you just tried and get to the top on the first try. “You’ll get it,” he might say afterward, and will then proceed to climb a hard route.

After you leave, you might question whether you’re being overly sensitive, or just plain judgmental — why are you giving so much attention (500 words of it) to him? I mean, maybe he was trying to help me? Maybe he’s lonely.

No. He is not trying to help. He’s a fuck-head. He’s dressing up arrogance with niche advice and imposing himself on you. Hiss at him next time. Make a funny nose. Or, if you can set stronger boundaries than I can, tell him that “I don’t really want advice right now.”

A helpful infographic illustrating the cycle of unsolicited advice. Credit: A fun blogger lady named “Karla Starr.” She describes how unsolicited advice usually is given to people ‘low on the totem pole,’ i.e., beginners. Or women. Too bad climbers are afraid to look women in the eye or talk to them. Source: Reports of interactions between UW bouldering folx and the one woman I climb with.

The first day I bouldered alone in the gym, an Unsolicited Advisor came to me while I struggled on an ‘easy’ yellow route.

“Too straight,” He called out from below.

“Huh?”

“Too straight. Your legs are too straight. You got a hold by your knee.”

A moment later, I fell. He then proceeded to climb it himself. After he leapt back to the floor with a loud grunt, he began to show me unsolicited videos on his phone of him and his friends climbing some 250 foot dome-thing in Montana. Even after offering up a dozen, “Wow, that’s so cool,” and several, “Damn, that’s crazy,” he continued to scroll.

I left, furious at myself for not telling him to buzz off.

I realize that maybe I come off as an unfriendly asshole. I really don’t think I am. But that’s possible. Maybe I just want to be left alone?

However. I bumped into him the other day as I tried to climb a ‘moderate’ blue route.

“Your static start is driving me crazy,” he said. “You can’t touch a part of the wall that doesn’t have tape. You need to dino.” Again, he climbed the route, then watched me try to do it, and explained why I failed.

I left furious. All day long I came up with witty rebuttals I should’ve made. Boundaries I should’ve set. I should’ve told him what a fuck he’s being. I should’ve hit him with a broom!

Me trying to get rid of self-consciousness by beating an unsolicited advisor with a broom.

These guys are the gatekeepers of bouldering. They are the same kids who quit mid-way through a game of “The Floor is Lava” because your big toe touched the bottom part of the pillow and technically the bottom part of the pillow is lava!

3. Helpers?

In the same way that Falmer in Skyrim were once High elves, it is believed that Unsolicited Advisors were once Helpers.

High elf proto-Falmer vampire on the left, Falmer on the right. Credit: Game Rant

Helpers will often notice you struggling repeatedly on a route and then they might ask, “Would you like some tips?” in a way that sounds very respectful.

If you’re like me, you’ll probably say, “Uh, yeah, sure,” even if you don’t really want any.

They will then tell you to put your knee somewhere your knee is physically incapable of being put, and you’ll say, “Thanks!” and go climb a different route, hoping to God they don’t speak to you again.

Helpers are still kind of annoying, even if they don’t do anything overtly wrong to you. Perhaps this speaks to my preferences of receiving feedback rather than reporting something meaningful about the objective qualities of these people.

4. The Dirtbags

One raunchy, old-school dirtbag. Photo by Peter Stevens, Fred Beckey in Patagonia’s Fall 2004 Catalog.

Though that dirtbag is older, most dirtbags at the UW tend to be young. To provide a stereotype: with shoulder-long, greasy hair, a Thrasher 5-panel, black jeans caked with chalk and old carabiners jingling from the belt loops, these dudes are cool. Like, climbing magazine cool. He’ll work on the challenge route all morning and won’t talk to anyone besides his friend.

Or he looks totally unsuspecting. Or she. Whatever they look like, they’re fun to watch (especially when you can’t send the Easy+ route) and just great to be around. A ‘climbing dirtbag’ defined on ClimbingZine.com is a person who dedicates her or his entire existence to the pursuit of climbing, making ends meet using creative means.

If it were up to me, the gym would be full of dirtbags and “normal humans.” But then I would be the gatekeeper…

5. Normal Humans

Photo taken straight from SpongeBob — ha ha ha. The best part of writing Unpublishable essays that few people read is that I can use Copyrighted images……... Maybe this will come crashing to a halt now that I have said it. This reminds me of when I worked as a janitor and one day I flexed to a friend how I always eat as much food as I want from the buffet section, even take some home for groceries. Then one day — like, the next day — a cashier I never saw before scolded me. “Sir, you need to pay for that!” she cried, drawing all eyes to my plate of free food. And I was like, lady, I work here. But she didn’t care. She went to management and got us janitors all in trouble for eating free food. No more freebies, Mike said. I quit the next week. If this could be the case here, and Nickelodeon did try and sue me for Copyright, that would imply that they noticed this article, which would imply that more people would be reading my work. Which would be great... But then I’d have to take this article down. Or at the very least, I’d need to remove the image. Maybe these wonderful readers would stop reading then. My claim to fame would fall. Maybe I’d refuse. Maybe this would launch me into a court case in which I would announce, via Zoom, while I hid out in eastern Russia, “I fully understand, your honor. But what about the views?”

Just when you thought that everyone in the bouldering gym is an obnoxious douchebag, there will come a day when its full of normal humans. Maybe you’ll talk with them. Maybe not. Maybe they’re great climbers. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter how good they are. Like you, they’re here to have fun. And being around them will be fun.

Ending this Unpublishable Essay, I can’t help but feel like I’m being a judgmental, whiny little bitch. Perhaps I just feel horribly insecure about my climbing and my body. I mean, if I felt super confident in myself, wouldn’t all this be rendered irrelevant?

Maybe. But these characters at the gym really do exist. And I wouldn’t pin the blame on another new climber. Besides. As judgmental as I’ve come across here, I think I have a case.

My case: other sports don’t exude the same level of exclusiveness as climbing does. Even park skiing, which also involves watching other people recreate, and also creates and rewards big egos. But I’ve never, ever heard a good skier talk down to a bad one, or give unsolicited advice that made the other person feel stupid and self-conscious. How’s that for anecdotal evidence to back up an anecdotal claim?

Nevertheless, the conversation can’t end here, on the judging I’ve had so much fun with. There are questions. Questions that need answering.

Questions: What about the bouldering gym makes it so conducive to weird social dynamics (i.e., gatekeeping Unsolicited Advisors) that other outdoor sports do not have? Is it unique to just this place? Or is it related to outdoor recreation at large? How much internal self-esteem would offset the exclusivity of cultures like climbing, and how do you honestly, humbly cultivate that?

Here is a well-written Medium article that explores these questions in greater depth than I’m willing to attempt here because I really want to get out of here and do other things.