Dear climber guys,
On this day, the day women celebrate each other internationally, when we are supposed to skip work to support the Women’s March, and only a few days after Flash Foxy’s Women’s Climbing Festival, I thought I’d take a moment or two to remind you that we haven’t forgotten about you.
Sure, we sometimes get mad when you give us unsolicited beta, and maybe we don’t always find your encouragement helpful, but you’re trying. You’re trying your best, dammit. I know it’s hard not to be invited to all of these lady-centric festivities, but it’s ok. You can still climb. You’ve been climbing for decades without us. Until Lynn Hill showed up, you boys were the uncontested kings of the mountains (we’ll just ignore the fact the Fanny Bullock founded the American Alpine Club and that Lynn Hill had plenty of women partners).
You know we’ll still climb with you. We don’t hate you. In fact, we think you’re pretty wonderful, and you guys have made some worthwhile and impressive contributions to climbing. Without John Muir there would be no Yosemite. If we didn’t have Yvon Chouinard, how would we have environmentally conscious clothing to climb in or a big and important player in the potential relocation of the Outdoor Retailer show. According to Mayan Smith Gobat, you boys put up the majority of first ascents and have gone through the effort to establish them, which is pretty dang awesome! Even after all those awesome things, a lot of you are still decent people with families and a strong desire to improve the world. I’ve climbed with many wonderful guys, I’m even dating one, and while if one of my girl friends invites me out bouldering I’ll probably jump on the opportunity, he’s still my go to climbing partner.
So please don’t think we don’t love you in your own special, smelly, dirt-covered, messy-haired, peanut butter-covered hands kind of way. We do.
But maybe put on some deodorant.