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The Squamish Chief ranks alongside Yosemite’s El Capitan as one of the premier rock climbing destinations in the world – and the word is out. Each summer a community of rock climbers congregate there for the pure joy of climbing, and numbers are growing. Robyn Cubie spent some time at the Chief to discover what draws people to the rock.

" Because it’s there ."

Asking a climber, "why do you do it?" is apparently as difficult and frustrating a question today as it was back in the early 1920s when British climber George Leigh Mallory was trying to raise money for his 1924 Everest attempt with Andrew Irvine. As Mallory implied, undertaking the venture just for the sake of climbing was reason enough to do it.

Put the same question to any of the hundreds of people who migrate to Squamish each summer specifically for that same purpose and the reaction is typical: a sudden screwing up of the face followed by a shrug and a gesture that seems to say; "How can I even start to put into words what climbing means to me?"

It’s a question that those who make climbing their lifestyle must face at some time, at least when talking to non-climbers who just don’t get it. Yet climbing fascinates nearly everyone. Take a drive along Highway 99 and it’s impossible to miss the impressive bulk of the Squamish Chief, rising almost 650 metres above the head of Howe Sound. Pull into the parking lot at the base of the chief and inevitably there are hordes of tourists peering into binoculars and pointing at the tiny specks that are climbers making their way up the near vertical face.

To mere mortals, the idea of climbing this huge granite monolith seems almost impossible.

Yet climbing has always been as much a part of the Squamish landscape as the mountains themselves, although always on the fringe. Last weekend saw the 40 th anniversary celebrations in Squamish of the first ascent of the Chief’s Grand Wall, by American Ed Cooper and the late B.C. climber, Jim Baldwin. Back in 1961 it took the pair several weeks of preparation and scouting of the lower reaches, and then four days to finally complete the 2,000 foot face. In the book Pushing the Limits; The Story of Canadian Mountaineering , Cooper recalled the huge media following and public interest their accomplishment generated.

" Soon small crowds would gather every night both on the highway and at the very foot of the wall to watch us descend. These small crowds grew to large crowds until one weekend the highway was jammed with 12,000 cars all attempting to get a look ."

Nowadays it’s not uncommon for the same climb to be completed in a single day. However as Cooper pointed out, the pair were not only finding the best route up but also pioneering a mental journey.

"The main barrier to big wall climbing at that time was psychological – there was a sort of big wall terror that accompanied us when going up our ropes to reach our previous high point. Manoeuvres that were easy enough on practice climbs seemed much more difficult on a big wall."

It’s a legacy that others have followed. Come summer, the Squamish Chief is dotted with climbers from all around the world – including some who will camp overnight on its huge, vertical face. But look closer and you will discover a transient community of several hundred people who live in the shadow of the Chief solely to explore the area’s granite walls, slabs and cracks.

The climbing community in Squamish regards itself as a united entity – a group of people brought together by their love of scaling rock. But as with any community, there are subsets within it comprising different ages, nationalities and backgrounds. Broadly speaking, they consist of locals, weekenders from the Lower Mainland and Washington, and travellers who move in for the summer, until the weather gets too cold or the money runs out, whichever comes first.

Climbers Roger Sarrasin, Bruce Stover, Jen Reilly and John Howe fall into the locals category – "local" in that they have moved to Squamish and created a niche for themselves in order to practise their sport. Sarrasin used to live in Whistler but has been climbing in the area for more than 10 years. He now works as a certified Association of Canadian Mountain Guides instructor in Squamish during the summer, and as a cat-ski guide near Nelson in winter. He says the growth in the climbing community over recent years has been phenomenal.

"There’s definitely a lot more people coming in the summer, either renting a place in town or camping by the river in tents or vans," he says. "The climbing here is endless and I think that’s what keeps you motivated, because you’re always seeing new routes to try."

Likewise, Howe says Squamish has become a definite stop-off point, as popular as Yosemite’s El Capitan, the Rockies and Joshua Tree National Park among the "girls of summer" – his term for summertime transient climbers. He says as a group, climbers are becoming an increasingly important economic force in Squamish. He adds that they are also changing its image from being a logging town or pit-stop on the way to Whistler, to being a world-class climbing destination.

With more than 20 years climbing experience under his belt, Howe can understand those who base their whole lives around the sport. He says he resisted the temptation to become a guide, preferring to keep climbing separate from his work. Instead he set up a forestry consulting business. Nevertheless, Howe remains heavily involved in the Squamish climbing community, being the main organizer of last weekend’s 40 th anniversary celebrations and the host of an annual rock climbing slide show.

"Through climbing I have managed to explore many exciting places around the world and climbing has created careers for many local people, especially in the movie business," Howe says.

Aside from the variety of locations and routes that climbing offers, climbers follow various climbing styles. There’s the traditional – "trad" – climbing using ropes and placing nuts and carabiners as you go; sport climbing on pre-bolted routes; low-level bouldering; and, most notoriously, solo free climbing without any protection. Sport climbing is commonly regarded as the most gymnastic style because climbers will make more extreme moves knowing they are safely bolted to the rock.

While some folk stick religiously to one form of climbing, Sarrasin likes all disciplines. He says each style brings its own challenges, and what motivates you to choose one form of climbing over another is very personal.

"For me it’s about spending my time with close friends, challenging myself, not knowing what the day has to bring or the adventure," he says.

Former Kamloops resident Jen Reilly also moved to Squamish for rock climbing and now works at a local climbing shop. She says it’s hard to define why she loves climbing but puts it down to accessing places and views that other people never get to see. Making your way up a route is an exercise in problem solving and that is part of the fun, she adds – as is the social side of the sport.

"When I first started climbing in 1993 there were hardly any women and now it’s close to 50:50, which is great," she says. "When Megan (Humphrey) and I went on a climbing trip to the States people were so surprised to see two women climbing together without a guy. Fortunately attitudes are changing."

Reilly has been instrumental is organizing the upcoming fifth annual Sheclimbs gathering in Squamish, Aug. 23- 26. It’s the first time the U.S.-derived event which celebrates women on the rocks – a.k.a. Rock Goddesses – has come to Canada. There will be clinics on everything from lead climbing and top rope anchors, to yoga and dealing with fear.

Humphrey says climbing with other women is inspiring as you relate to each other on a different level than with male climbers.

Ontarian Bruce Stover is part way through his climbing guide certification in Squamish. He says climbing is as much a mental challenge as a physical one, especially when you are on the 2,000 foot vertical face of the Chief.

"A lot of climbers are scared of heights," he laughs. "I don’t mind being a couple of thousand feet above the ground and attached to something because I have learned to trust my gear, but as soon as I get to the top and unrope, I think uh-oh I’m a long way up."

Fear it seems, is a necessary and not always unwelcome aspect of climbing. Or, as put by Outward Bound employee Tony Richardson, it lets you know you’re alive.

"I really like, not the danger, but the fact there are consequences when you do climb and that it is totally up to you how far you want to make those consequences go," he says. "You can make it so that if you fall you die, or you can make it as safe as walking down the street."

Richardson got into climbing "straight out of diapers," according to Reilly. Richardson says his mother sewed his first harness because, "They didn’t make them that small back then." He went on to chalk up a first ascent route in Penticton, subsequently named Tony The Tiger in his honour. Not a bad achievement for an eight year old.

Richardson says climbing has always been his lifestyle and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He spent all last summer living out of his van in Squamish and is now planning a climbing holiday in the Rockies with his dad and brother.

"I look at people who live in the city and think what I do is crazy, but how can they spend all their time in the city?" he grins. "You spend any time around rock and you definitely feel different energies from it – it can even get a little intense sometimes."

According to many climbers, other sports just don’t have the same pull. Take ACMG instructor Bob Allison who, along with his wife Corinne, runs The Great Wall climbing and guiding centre in Whistler. Allison has competed at the top levels in windsurfing, international wave riding, mountain bike riding and in skiing, as a member of the Canadian Alpine Ski Team. But he says no other sport is as addicting for him as climbing.

"It gets in your blood, and if you want to push it and do more difficult climbs you have got to stay in shape," he says. "I like the fact your improvement is measurable, as well as the psychological and physical side of it – it’s a gymnastic type sport."

Allison says the recent development of bouldering as a sport in its own right has opened the door for getting more people involved. Seeing someone heading out with a crash mat on their back is more common now that seeing someone with traditional climbing gear, he says. However there are some aspects of this new breed of climber he doesn’t care for.

"They often bring a mat and a stereo, which you don’t see with traditional climbers," he says. "When I’m outside I prefer to listen to the sounds of the wind on the rocks and trees. That’s the best kind of music."

Trampling of the fragile moss undergrowth around the base of the Chief is also a concern. "There’s just so many people making new access paths to the boulders that the environment is being harmed," he explains. "However it’s just a case of educating people into using a single path and this will develop over time through efforts being made locally."

With Allison’s words in mind, I follow a well-worn trail towards the base of the Chief, in search of boulderers. From what I’ve heard so far, one of the greatest appeals of rock climbing is its simplicity or purity, if you will. After all, there are no mechanical lifts or ticket lines to deal with, just the basic climbing equipment. Bouldering especially is just about rubber shoes, climbing chalk and a crash pad.

I come across a couple of people bouldering under the setting sun. Their movements are graceful and fluid, as they pull themselves up over rock faces as steep as a 45 degree angle. They work as a team, with one at the ready with a crash pad below, should the one climber fall. They explain the technique of finding a system of "holds" to grip onto and how boulders are ranked, from V0, being the easiest, to V15, being the hardest.

They also tell me how to find the semi-secret free campground where many climbers stay.

Approaching the site, I hear the sound of laughter, drumming and conversation and see the bright burning glow of several campfires. About 150 people are there in total. I sit down with the largest group and listen to a song led by a Spanish climber called Israel Crucos.

"Thank you for the fire,

thank you for the wood,

thank you for being,

in such a good mood

."

Sitting among the circle of smiling faces is Fraser Forsyth from Vancouver, who just climbed the Grand Wall that day. He says for him, climbing is on the edge of fun and excitement.

"I met this woman today and she asked me, what’s it like up there on the face?" he recalls. "I guess people don’t have any concept of it. They think it’s really dangerous and people die, but if it’s done properly it’s safe and fun – it’s just you and the rock."

Next to him is another Spanish climber named Raoul. He says Squamish is well known in Europe for its granite crack climbing, and is a different experience to the limestone conditions he is used to.

"It is fantastic living here by the river in my tent with all these good people – it’s fun," he says quietly. "I will probably stay the rest of the summer and then head south to climb in the States when the weather gets cold."

One of the lead drummers around the fire is a tall, blonde dread-locked climber called Dave, who hails from Ottawa. He says the resident campers all chipped in to buy a portable toilet for the site following concerns expressed by some Squamish residents. He says his climbing abilities are improving dramatically because he is spending time with so many good climbers.

"It’s like a big family – we’ve even got dogs, though no cats yet," he says. "I’ve been here for a month and am sticking around for the summer. It’s pretty cool."

A woman sitting beside him nods her head and adds: "We’re all living together and all here for the same reasons, so it’s fun. You go climbing with whoever wants to go that day and you are all there to help and encourage each other. Climbing is all about the good people."

As the moon comes up over this relaxed ad hoc community, people start to retire to their tents and vans to sleep. The forecast is for a hot day tomorrow and there’s a world of rocks to climb out there.

To some people perhaps, the question of "Why do they do it?" remains unanswered, despite the above testimonials. What inspires a person to give up their hometown, their job and their way of life to carve out a new existence in Squamish, either within the town or in a makeshift home at the base of the Chief, simply to climb rocks? Maybe the only true way to answer those questions is to step into their shoes – climbing shoes, that is – and try it yourself.



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