Plus, park ranger fired, downgrading & more in “Routefinding” no. 8. ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌ ‌‌

THE OBJECTIVE
A PLACE FOR PARAGLIDING?

This past summer in Europe was one of heat waves and, consequently, crumbling mountains. Climbers in the Alps are changing the ways they move through the alpine as a direct result of climate change. On the ground, this is depressing and dangerous, but in the air, there is one silver lining to the heat domes and high-pressure systems: they make great conditions for paragliding. Hot valleys create thermals, and high pressure stabilizes the winds at altitude. I recently spent a few days with Mélissa Le Nevé—one of Europe’s top sport climbers—who, like so many European climbers these days, is also deeply involved in the fast-growing world of paragliding. It reminds me of Yosemite about a decade ago, when the Hubers’ big-budget film project on the Nose ended up funding half the Valley’s monkeys to take up BASE jumping. Every evening, I’d watch people launch from the top of El Cap, soaring past as the sun went down. It looked like one of the most incredible things a human could do. Some climbers even dreamed of replacing a rope and rack with a parachute. But the reality was different: safe exits were rare, logistics were tough and the risks were enormous. Many of those people are no longer with us.
A paraglider makes a banked turn around a mountain.
For a long time, I wrote flying off due to the dangers. But a few years ago, I noticed something happening in Europe: A huge percentage of the climbing community was taking up paragliding—a sport that seemed much more practical than BASE jumping. You don’t need a sheer cliff to launch, and you can carry climbing gear with you. The rigs are getting smaller and lighter (some under 1 kg), making it increasingly viable to approach or descend big mountains by air. In Patagonia, climbers are starting to paraglide into remote peaks, cutting days of hiking. In an article for the AAC, Fabian Buhl writes, “Mountains and clouds are intrinsically connected: Steep mountain faces create thermals of rising air, and thermals create clouds. For the alpine climber engulfed in ethereal whiteness, rapidly forming clouds may bring moments of beauty or terror. For the paraglider, rising currents of air provide opportunities. Bridging the two worlds is what compelled me to climb Cerro Torre with a paraglider in my pack.” Buhl flew off the summit of Cerro Torre in 2022, descending in 15 minutes what would typically take two days to rappel. Back in Europe, Mélissa told me that, when the weather lines up, she’ll literally fly from her home in Briançon, France, to Céüse for a climbing day. The two-hour flight replaces two and a half hours of driving and hiking. Practitioners even argue that, in the right situations, it can be safer than rappelling for hours down complex walls. It’s not just about saving effort—it’s about reimagining how we move through the mountains. For me, however, because I have a few friends who have died paragliding, I’ll stay on the ground and leave it for the newer generations.

YOUR LEAD
ON BELAY FOR SJ
Yosemite National Park ranger and wildlife biologist Dr. Shannon “SJ” Joslin was fired in August for displaying a transgender pride flag on El Capitan. Photo: Miya Tsudome

When Nate Vince and friends hung the upside-down American flag on El Capitan last March, I thought it was inspiring. So when Dr. Shannon “SJ” Joslin, Pattie Gonia and others (including Nate himself) hung the trans flag across El Capitan’s iconic heart, I again was moved—though this time I felt a flicker of concern. Should El Cap continue to be used as a place to make a statement, I wondered? Mountains and rock faces have historically been used as a platform to speak for the things we care about, but do we need to draw a line at some point? That was my mindset until I had a long, engaging conversation with SJ. What struck me most after we talked was how connected I felt to them. We both love Yosemite. We both love the mechanics and systems of big-wall climbing. We’re both fascinated by the creatures that somehow survive on El Cap—bats, frogs, mice and insects. SJ is a trained scientist, and in talking with them, I was excited by the many parallels I saw between climbing and science: As climbers, we analyze systems, test hypotheses, tweak variables and search for truth. When you really look at what happened, it’s hard to see SJ’s firing as anything other than bigotry. Flags have been hung on El Cap for as long as I’ve been climbing there. Only after the trans flag went up did the park create a law against it—and then tried to backdate the paperwork to make it seem like the rule had always been in place, according to SJ. That directive clearly came from high up, and it left me wondering what “freedom of speech” actually means on our public lands. In our conversation, SJ was clear that they do support the “no flags rule” moving forward. “It makes sense for them to create the rule for sure,” SJ said. “But my thought was, I’m just going to follow the rules that are currently established. Everyone in the group felt really invigorated to have this message, that the biggest flag to ever fly on El Cap would be one of love and acceptance.” Their intentionality and care were apparent when we talked about the planning and execution behind this project: Their team kept the rigging clear of climbing parties, made sure it didn’t impact wildlife and chose a quiet Tuesday morning. The flag was up for only two hours. And yet, SJ received a flood of messages from people saying it gave them hope—people who had contemplated suicide, people who felt like outsiders. If flying a flag on El Cap for a couple of hours can make that kind of positive impact, why wouldn’t we allow it? I felt my skepticism fading. Protest is good for the country—it’s what our nation was built on—but it has to be done with restraint and respect. And that’s precisely what they did. Later on in our chat, we started talking about all the ways the park will suffer without SJ as an employee. When I asked about their former role in Yosemite, they immediately lit up, diving into the details of their research, data collection and programs that they spearheaded. For most climbers, Yosemite’s walls are made up of crack systems and features, topo lines and crux pitches. When viewed through SJ’s eyes, the walls are living and breathing ecosystems, teeming with life that has barely been studied. From 2021 until their firing this past August, SJ ran the Big Wall Bats program, which involved studying bat roosts high on El Capitan and monitoring for white-nose syndrome—a disease that has been decimating bat populations across North America. They also managed and cataloged all the terrestrial wildlife data for the park, which included data on bats, peregrine falcons, the elusive fisher and other lesser-known species. I’m a science nerd at heart. I believe in funding science, and I see it as essential if we’re going to chart a future for the planet. Through talking with SJ, it was clear that the trans flag on El Cap wasn’t a message of division, but of hope and acceptance. It was thoughtful, temporary and deeply human. If climbing can play a role in that kind of protest, I’m all for it. And now, the climbing community owes it to SJ to rally in support of them getting their job back. For the sake of all of Yosemite’s inhabitants, human and otherwise, SJ’s presence in the Valley is something worth fighting for. TAKE ACTION Sign the petition supporting SJ and their crucial role in Yosemite. You can give the NPS an earful here (scroll down and click “Ask a question or make a comment”) or you can email the acting superintendent directly to show support for SJ.

THE TICK LIST > >
• | 16 days, 56 summits. Those are pretty good ratios.
• | Italians climbing beautiful climbs in beautiful weather. What’s not to love?
• | Shoutout to Kelly Cordes, who is receiving the Pinnacle Award this year from the AAC.
• | Cerro Torre winter solo, in Colin’s own words.
• | Nice one, Michaela Kiersch!
• | Interesting food for thought, especially as climbing just grows and grows in popularity.
• | 8000 meters at 86? Impressive.
• | Yosemite is far from tapped out.
• | 115 miles of travel and 14,000 feet of vertical gain per day for a month. Chew on that for a minute.
• | Lots of climbing in the Ak-Su Valley this summer.
• | He stood by the window and let the fire sink into his skin. Mark Twight reflects on the life of Balin Miller.

OFF ROUTE
IS DOWNGRADING A FLEX?

I once had a reputation as a prolific downgrader. I never felt like I did it intentionally. I wanted to keep it real, and leaning toward the lower grade often felt like the more honest choice. Most climbers, as they settle into middle age, tend to go the other direction—establishing routes that are later downgraded by others. I figured I was probably destined for that path as well. I recently set my sights on climbing 9a again, which I hadn’t climbed since the Dawn Wall in 2013, and started working on Empath, originally graded 9a+. When I first tried it, I found myself thinking it wasn’t quite that hard. Part of the difference came down to style: While the first ascensionist grabbed the sides of the slopey cracks and burled their way up, I used crack gloves and figured out sequences that made it flow more efficiently. The net effect was that I felt the climb landed about two full number grades easier than the original assessment. Other climbers who repeated it with similar methods quietly agreed it felt softer, but out of respect for the first ascensionist, they kept their opinions to themselves. It makes me wonder about what’s actually going on when we downgrade routes. Is it humility? Ego? A way to stabilize the standard? Personally, I think it can be any of these things. Grading will always be imperfect. Height, beta and technique can make the same climb feel wildly different from person to person. Some climbers, like Chris Sharma, have experimented with not assigning grades at all. Eventually, though, Chris came around and started grading his routes again, realizing that, although problematic, grades are actually useful for so many reasons. They act as a starting point to finding routes we want to climb and comparing them to others. They provide us with goals, inspiration and motivation. And, they give us something fun to debate. Although imperfect, number grades are here to stay. We might as well embrace it.

CORRECTIONS DEPARTMENT

In our last email, we erroneously called Erik Murdock the executive director at the Access Fund. His correct title is deputy director of programs, policy and government affairs. Sorry, Erik! And we were a little too hasty in writing our Zodiac caption: Jane Jackson holds the women’s speed record on Zodiac, not the overall speed record (which is 1 hour 51 minutes and has been held down by the Hubers since 2003).

THE LATEST FROM PATAGONIA CLIMB

Tommy chose to project the granite testpiece Empath (5.14d) in Kirkwood, California, as part of the “Gentlemen’s Race to 9a,” a friendly competition between himself, fellow Patagonia Ambassador Sonnie Trotter and their good friend Alex Honnold, to see who could repeat 9a first after a long hiatus from climbing at that level. Sonnie won the race when he sent Spirit Quest (5.14d) in Squamish last June, but Tommy’s not sure he can claim second after climbing Empath “like an old man.” Check out the Microbeta video of Tommy’s send and tell us what you think: Is Tommy keeping his prolific downgrader reputation alive? Email us at routefinding@patagonia.com.

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Masthead: Tommy Caldwell works the crux pitch of the Dawn Wall, a 5.14d traverse 15 pitches off the deck. Photo: Jeff Johnson

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