Sophi Rutherford

It was February of 2022, one of those days where the sun was pleasantly warm, but it was cool enough for a jacket in the shade—a perfect winter day. I’d worked my way up the first pitch of the Jam Crack on the north side of Yosemite Valley to the belay ledge, where the warmth of the sharp, white granite seeped through the rubber of my shoes. Within minutes, I’d started to sweat. As my climbing partner Jason Pirolo and I waited for our third to join us at the start of the second pitch, we reflected on what it means to climb with other people of color.   

“It just feels different, maybe … less pressure? Or less performance anxiety?” I said.   

“Yeah, maybe fewer expectations. Definitely less pressure,” he replied. 

Climbing with Jason over the years had felt calming. I could climb anything I wanted, joke around and choose my own level of risk without being questioned about my abilities. Climbing felt freer, easier. Now, as I started up the next pitch, my own body seemed lighter as I moved over the familiar features of the Valley. Half Dome looked hazy in the midmorning light, and the warm scent of the pines and the glow of the sun felt welcoming. 

I started climbing in 2012 at a gym in the Bay Area as a sophomore in high school. Like many beginners, I took a class in toproping. I was so afraid of heights, I bawled like a child during the belay lesson, and the instructor became increasingly concerned as I cried the whole way up the wall. I continued to boulder until I found a regular partner to rope up with a few times a week. The exposure therapy from climbing became something I grew to love, and soon I found myself enjoying the excitement. 

I was intimidated by and excited about this new hobby in equal measure. Before long, climbing became a huge part of my identity. I surrounded myself with passionate climbers and started climbing outside a few days a week. My climbing partners were all white, and though I’m both Hispanic and Japanese and have darker skin, I didn’t think much about the lack of diversity in my climbing community at the time. Learning everything about strength and technique became the only thing I focused on. Even my school photography assignments and art class paintings began to revolve around climbing. I painted climbers into my watercolors of Japanese landscapes, and I centered an embarrassing number of drawings around Yosemite Valley and Half Dome. My photos included predictable black-and-white photos of chalky hands and close-ups of my climbing gear.

After graduating from high school, I started working at a climbing gym in the Bay Area in 2016. More than once, a customer came in and asked for someone with a “different background” while I was working at the front desk. One time a customer told me he had a gun and would not sign the waiver, and that he wanted “someone with lighter skin” to assist him. I said there was no one else to help him and thankfully he left with minimal hassle. 

Still, the weight of being a person of color lingered and the social challenges continued. I took my first trip to Yosemite National Park in 2017. I became fascinated with crack climbing, enjoying the movement and the security of feeling like my feet and hands were in total control. Soon I was dreaming of going on long expeditions out in the alpine and climbing big mountains.

The following year, on another trip to Yosemite, I joined some friends who were looking for a belayer for a multipitch project they were working on. The pair wanted someone to belay so the other climbing partner could take photos. But when I showed up to climb and we all realized that the lead climber had 100 pounds on me, we decided that I would take the photos of the route instead. At the top of the second pitch, I clipped into the anchor and pushed my body out from the wall to capture shots from above. As I looked through the photos later, I realized that this was what I wanted to do. I quit my job at the gym and devoted myself to photography and building a website and portfolio. 

Around the same time, I noticed that the makeup of my local climbing community was changing. I met Asian climbers to partner up with, and I felt like I stuck out a little less. But I also noticed more microaggressions from other climbers at the gym and the local crags, often from people I consider close friends and climbing partners. “You’re Asian, you must be a really good climber,” people would tell me. Although this might appear to be a compliment, it implies that I was a good climber because of something I was born with, not because of the hard work I put in or the challenges I have worked to overcome. Another frequent comment I encountered fell along the lines of “Ashima is Asian, so you can be as strong as her if you work harder.” 

When I met Jason at a gym in San Francisco in 2019, I finally experienced what it felt like to climb with someone who looks like me. Jason is also mixed race, with dark hair and skin. Over time, we opened up about how it felt to climb with someone who carries the same social weight on a day-to-day basis, and our bond as climbing partners grew. I was heartened to learn about the growing number of advocacy groups—such as Brothers of Climbing, Brown Girls Climb, Sending in Color and Climbers of Color, to name a few—that were validating and sharing what Jason and I experienced when we climbed together. 

Over the next year, in the wake of the protests over the murder of George Floyd, other leaders in the more traditional spaces of the climbing community undertook important racial reckoning work. In the spring of 2021, the American Alpine Club launched Climb United, “a new initiative centered around convening climbers, climbing organizations, and industry brands to transform the culture around inclusivity,” as stated in an announcement on the AAC website. The increased push for representation across climbing and the growth of affinity groups make the community feel more inclusive. I know there is more to change and more to be done, both within the climbing community and in society at large. But I am in the unique position of just now finding my place in the community and navigating where I fit in. I can be who I am, embrace my melanin and mindfully make choices within the community. 

The sand felt cool on my feet as I walked across the parking lot to the Sad Boulders in November 2022. I was attending the Bishop Craggin’ Classic’s Climb United event while shooting for a film. I hiked up the trail to the main bouldering area with a large pack of climbers. Soon we were scattered across different routes in smaller groups. As I walked around with my camera, I heard people shouting encouraging words to each other and witnessed new friendships being formed as climbers found their groove on fresh projects. 

I perched myself on a warm rock, waiting to document a few well-earned sends. Seeing so many faces, from all different places, I again experienced the sense of calm I recalled from that winter day with Jason in the Valley. There was common ground among us. Later in the day, I gathered with a group of five other spotters around the cratered face of a tall boulder, adding my own words of encouragement as a young woman, twelve feet off the ground, struggled to make the next move. Her feet shook, and her voice trembled as she called out for advice on where to go. Nearby, another group had paused to watch, cheering her on. As she committed to the final moves, I glanced around me. Six pairs of arms were raised to the sky, palms open, in a showing of support and solidarity—from all walks of life. 

—Sophi Rutherford, Bellingham, Washington