HC was featured in the Danish magazine Homotropolis. You can view the full issue here.

My brother lives in Sweden. By Sarah Palin standards, Denmark is in his living room.

I think this article is proof that the new way forward for HC is for me and Kelly to write blog posts, have them professionally translated into Danish, and then Google Translate them back into English.

I’m not sure how I feel that the Google Translation of what we’re saying is funnier than anything we’ve originally said in English when we were trying to be funny on purpose, but who am I to deny advances in technology?  Thus, I present to you the Google translation of the article:

A feeling of being the only gay in the world with an interest in climbing gave Alex Rowland idea for ‘HomoClimbtastic’ – a spacious association that aims to lead climb lustful LGBTQ’er together. The club is today both incredibly popular and respected, and the reason lies in the culture that we have managed to create.

“Although we are most LGBTQ’er, so the door is open to all. It turns out that many heterosexuals are at least as interested in stepping out of the hetero-sexist culture we are. And it’s not so much that they want to be with us because we are queer, but more about that we all have in common that we appreciate diversity, “says founder Alex Rowland.

Talking more about dick than other climbing clubs Kelly Gray, a climber from Austin, Texas who has been with the ‘HomoClimbtastic’ for several years, says that one of the benefits of being part of a LGBTQ club just the freedom to be themselves .

“We talk a lot more about dick here than they do in the other clubs. Both cock, wax treatments, the lesbian scissors, gay movies and drag queens come regularly to the court and it would never talk about in a ‘regular’ climbing club ‘.

“To climb with an LGBTQ group means that I can be myself all the way through. I do not hide my sexuality or worry about whether I get thrown somewhere back in the face because I talk about my husband, “said Kelly Gray.

Both the heart and brain are

Regardless common denominators as sexual orientation, gender identity and queerness, it’s rock climbing that binds members ‘HomoClimbtastic’ together.
The hearts banks of the great moments in the company of nature’s self-created challenges. It’s all about unique experiences seen from angles that only those people ever, and so challenging at the same time the brain.

“It requires full brain activity and a really intense focus when you have to figure out how best to forcing a cliff,” says Alex Rowland, whose
most unforgettable experience with climbing is at least as much about romance.

“My guy and I was in New Zealand, where we hired a boat to take us out of this one small, secluded bay with instructions to pick us up again exactly the same place 48 hours later. We steamed mussels, was naked and read books, climbed part and had more sex in two days than I thought was humanly possible. It was really amazing times, “recalls Alex, who normally works as a lawyer and lives in a small town in the state of Georgia.

For Kelly Gray is rock climbing also to see the world from new angles:

“I love to dwell outdoors, I love the equipment, and I love how a climber will be able to see amazing places from a completely different perspective. Yosemite National Park in California look, for example, much more spectacular from a high rock face than it does from hiking trails. As a climber you get the opportunity to see the world in a different way. “

And the Danish original:
En følelse af at være den eneste homo i verden med interesse for klatring gav Alex Rowland idéen til ‘HomoClimbtastic’ – en rummelig forening der har til formål at føre klatrelystne LGBTQ’er sammen. Klubben er i dag både utrolig populær og respekteret, og årsagen skal findes i den kultur, som det er lykkedes at skabe.

»Selv om vi er flest LGBTQ’er, så står døren åben for alle. Det viser sig nemlig, at rigtig mange heteroseksuelle er mindst lige så interesserede i at træde ud af den heterosexistiske kultur, som vi selv er. Og det handler ikke så meget om, at de ønsker at være sammen med os, fordi vi er queer, men mere om at vi allesammen har det til fælles, at vi værdsætter forskelligheder«, siger stifteren Alex Rowland.

Taler mere om pik end andre klatreklubber Kelly Gray, en klatrer fra Austin i Texas som har været med i ‘HomoClimbtastic’ i adskillige år, fortæller at en af fordelene ved at være med i en LGBTQ-klub netop er friheden til at være sig selv.

»Vi taler en hel del mere om pik her, end man gør i de andre klubber. Både pik, voksbehandlinger, den lesbiske saks, homofilm og dragdronninger kommer jævnligt på banen, og det ville man jo aldrig snakke om i en ‘almindelig’ klatreklub«.

»At klatre sammen med en LGBTQ-gruppe betyder, at jeg kan være mig selv hele vejen igennem. Jeg behøver ikke lægge skjul på min seksualitet eller bekymre mig om, hvorvidt jeg får smidt et eller andet tilbage i ansigtet, fordi jeg taler om min mand«, siger Kelly Gray.

Både hjertet og hjernen er med

Uanset fællesnævnere som seksuel orientering, kønsidentitet og queerness, så er det klippeklatring der binder medlemmerne i ‘HomoClimbtastic’ sammen.
Hjerterne banker for de storslåede øjeblikke i selskab med naturens selvskabte udfordringer. Det handler om unikke oplevelser set fra vinkler der kun er de færreste forundt, og så udfordrer det samtidig hjernen.

»Det kræver fuld hjerneaktivitet og et virkelig intenst fokus, når man skal regne ud, hvordan man bedst muligt forcerer en klippe«, fortæller Alex Rowland, hvis
mest uforglemmelige oplevelse med klatring handler mindst lige så meget om romantik.

»Min fyr og jeg var på New Zealand, hvor vi hyrede en båd til at sejle os ud til denne her lille, afsidesliggende  bugt med instruktioner om at hente os igen nøjagtig samme sted 48 timer senere. Vi dampede muslinger, lå nøgne og læste bøger, klatrede en del og havde mere sex på to døgn end jeg troede var menneskeligt muligt. Det var virkelig fantastiske tider«, mindes Alex, der til daglig arbejder som advokat og bor i en mindre by i staten Georgia.

For Kelly Gray handler klippeklatring også om at se verden fra nye vinkler:

»Jeg elsker at opholde mig udendørs, jeg elsker udstyret, og jeg elsker hvordan man som klatrer får mulighed for at se fantastiske steder fra et helt andet perspektiv. Yosemite National Park i Californien ser for eksempel meget mere spektakulær ud fra en høj klippeside, end den gør fra vandrestierne. Som klatrer får man mulighed for at se verden på en anden måde«.

I was prompted to write this blog (updated for factual accuracy) after several friends asked me recently who Craig Pack is.  My answer is about five years late (for which I apologize to Craig), but perhaps it will shed some more light on the history of homo climbing and the importance of mentoring in the gay climbing community.  Thanks for reading!  — Todd

—

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to create and sustain an intergenerational community of queer climbers who learn from one another, share experiences, and become responsible for passing knowledge down to others.  For me (as with Erik Carlson and many other climbers in the San Francisco bay area), our climbing “careers” started with Craig Pack.

I started climbing sometime in 1998, and it was shortly thereafter (probably early 2000) that I first met Craig at the Mission Cliffs climbing gym in San Francisco.  Craig grew up in Fresno, California, a short drive from the Yosemite valley, where he learned to climb as a kid from the masters.  But it wasn’t the most welcoming place for gay people, and he experienced tremendous bigotry, some within the climbing community itself. When I met Craig, he was splitting his time between San Francisco and Truckee, near Donner Summit in Lake Tahoe.

Craig had been climbing for decades and had scaled miles upon miles of vertical terrain.  For Craig, climbing was as natural as walking, and anyone who climbed with Craig was always amazed that he seemed to walk up unprotected, slabby, vertical faces (in Joshua Tree, in Yosemite, in Tahoe, in Tuolumne), as if he was on level ground.  He was never flustered when climbing; his legs never shook; he just stepped with elegance, regardless of whether or not there was protection.  I would call it the grace of a dancer who just intuits where to step and how to move.

As I would later find out, Craig was not only one of the founding leaders of Stonewall Climbers (purportedly “Earth’s first lesbian, gay, and bisexual climbing club”), but he also won the gold at the Gay Games in Amsterdam in 1998.  He had established climbs in the Needles and the Sierras, with several first ascents and many seconds under his belt.  Shortly after we met, he taught me how to lead climb and helped me get (quite modestly!) “lead certified” at the gym.  I wasn’t the only one that he mentored.  There was easily a half-dozen or more gay climbers that Craig was patiently training, not to mention a network of LGBT climbers across north America with whom he climbed.  In the early 2000s, we began making multi-day climbing trips all over California and Nevada, mostly climbing trad (and mostly me following).  He was a generous and extraordinarily patient leader.  He taught me how to build and equalize anchors, how to place and remove gear, how to climb multi-pitch, and how to read routes and understand sequences.  He also trusted me to catch his falls (which rarely happened).  Although perhaps one of the easier routes we did together, the Regular Route on Fairview Dome in Tuolumne Meadows is one of my most memorable: At nearly 1,000 feet, the climb starts with a 5.9 crack, before culminating in a stemming sequence leading to a four-foot roof, and topping out on large flakes and ledgy features.  It’s widely considered one of the 50 best climbs in North America.  As I got stronger, we started doing more sport climbing, pushing and inspiring each other.  We climbed in Joshua Tree, Donner Summit, Lover’s Leap, Big Chief, Red Rocks, Bishop, the high Sierras, and many other places.  He not only taught me how to climb, but he also taught me (perhaps without consciously knowing it) how to teach others to climb.  In essence, he taught me to share the love, experience, and knowledge of climbing with others.

Five years ago this October, Craig was climbing alone in Donner Summit when he slipped, falling to the ground.  He was found hours later (thankfully his cell phone worked), with two shattered ankles, head trauma, and massive disc compression in his back.  He had to wear a mobility-limiting “turtle cast” for months and later, when the cast came off, he hauled his decimated body up and down the stairs in his house by his hands.  Full of pins and metal plates, both ankles became infected and required numerous surgeries.  The road to recovery has been unimaginably long and arduous.

Many people shake their heads when I bring up the issue of soloing, muttering things like ‘how can you be so crazy/stupid?’ or ‘I would never free solo’ (as if roped climbing will keep you 100% safe).  Craig had bouldered alone and soloed countless times before.  He was on his home terrain, climbing well within his ability, although the weather conditions were hardly ideal.  He wasn’t, comparatively speaking, that far off the ground (I remember how, to my astonishment, he free soloed the first 70 foot pitch of Prince of Darkness in Red Rocks, belayed me up, then lowered to get his jacket, and soloed it again).  I truly believe that soloing is right—and even sane and meaningful—for some people.  Craig climbed with such grace that “protection” was, perhaps, intended for others, like me, who over-thought climbing, who hesitated, whose feet fumbled and whose hands clenched the rock too tightly.  Every once in a while, when I stop thinking and simply climb, I embody—if only for a moment—that grace and elegance of movement that defined Craig’s style.

Since his accident, I find myself wanting to share climbing with other gay climbers by helping to create a community of people, who will, in turn, mentor other young climbers. In its best sense, mentoring is not one-directional, but rather a recursive relationship, in which the seasoned climber both shares his or her wealth of experience with others and is open to learning new things from (and approaching new challenges with) lesser experienced climbers.  After Craig’s accident, I felt a strange emptiness, but I also realized that my own role in the climbing community was changing – and that, perhaps, like Craig, I could give something back by sharing the knowledge, enthusiasm, and experiences that he shared with me.

In climbing, we are all somewhere along the shifting continuum of mentors and mentees.  Every mentor has something to learn from others and has something to teach.  And every mentee has something to teach and also has something to learn.  Sometimes our primary roles reverse themselves, unexpectedly, as mine did after Craig’s accident.  These interactions and relationships of teaching one another through respect and caring are what constitute a climbing community.  It’s something that I find to be the most compelling part of participating in Homo Climbtastic.  And I would be remiss if I didn’t add, as I’m sure Craig would appreciate, the unending stream of eye-candy is a nice touch, too.