Melissa Fields

“Um…I don’t know if I can get up there.” I run my hands over the smooth, granite expanse in front of me for what feels like the tenth time, scanning for something—anything—to hold onto. “No choice but to go up!” my partner calls down to me cheerfully. “All right then,” I mutter to myself and do what I’ve done countless times since I began rock climbing in Utah a little over three years ago: take a deep breath and figure out a way to move up the wall. When I eventually get to the top of the pitch, I am treated to a high-five, breathtaking birds-eye views of Utah’s West Desert and a giddy sense of accomplishment.

My first attempt at Yogini, a route within the remote West Desert’s climbing and bouldering area known as Ibex, is probably pretty unextraordinary to many seasoned rock climbers. This intermediate route would hardly qualify as a warm-up for a climbing superstar like Emily Harrington or Nathaniel Coleman, the Utah native who took silver at the Summer Olympics’ first climbing competition in 2021. But unlike those two and other sinewy 20- and 30-somethings I encounter in the climbing gym and out in the mountains, I have not been climbing since my teens. In fact, I picked up the sport just over three years ago just before I turned 50. And while rock climbing has certainly required much more commitment than other outdoor activities of mine do, the rewards are leaps and bounds ahead of the satisfaction I’ve ever gotten from skiing or riding my bike.

I previously considered rock climbing a fringe sport for the young, super fit and freakishly brave. But when my kids were in grade school, my daughter was invited by a friend to join a week-long summer day camp at the then-new Momentum Climbing Gym in Millcreek. My daughter loved climbing immediately and asked if I’d learn to belay so she could continue climbing after the day camp ended. I did and thought to myself, ‘If I’m going to stand here and belay, I’m going to climb, too.’

My first few gym-climbing sessions were, admittedly, terrifying. Until then, my at-height experience was limited to the ski resort chair lift. Moving up a vertical wall for the first time felt much different. Though I was attached to a secure top rope (a rope attached to an anchor at the top of the climb), and my belayer—most often my husband—was using an assisted-braking belay device, it felt like every cell in my body was screaming at me to stop and go down. But with each route I completed, the fear became a little bit more manageable. The more time I spent at the gym, the more that I noticed that my husband and I were far from the only middle-aged beginners there. Seeing climbers who looked like us, scaling walls, made it easier to let go of my age-based self-consciousness and focus on the unique delight of reaching the top of a route on the first try (a la “sending”) and how strong it makes me feel to use what seems like every muscle in my body to get myself to the top of a route. 

Eric Bollow, a 54-year-old loan officer from Cottonwood Heights (and dad to a friend my daughter made through climbing), grew up in Utah but had climbed just a few times in high school. But, like me, it wasn’t until the sport gained traction with his daughter that he began climbing in earnest. “I could go on and on about what I love about climbing, but a couple of things include how, as a person who has probably above-normal anxiety, climbing keeps me firmly planted in the moment,” he says. “I also love how much inspiration it’s given me to create new goals and seek out new places to climb.”

After about a year of top-roping in the gym, I decided to take a learn-to-lead class. Sport leading, which involves clipping a rope tied to your harness onto fixed anchors along a route as you ascend a wall, is essential to transitioning from gym to outside climbing. But unlike top-rope climbing, where a fall means descending just a few inches before being caught by your harness, the length of a lead fall is twice the length of the rope between the last clipped bolt and the climber. Leading also requires a skilled and confident lead belayer. Considering all this, lead climbing is often referred to as “getting on the sharp end.” Though learning to lead climb felt a lot like being a newbie all over again, it is also where I’ve realized the biggest rewards of rock climbing. It has increased my trust in myself as well as in others; expanded my grit, both physically and mentally; and helped me better cope with stress in other areas of my life. It’s also introduced me to a community of amazing people I would have probably not met if not for climbing.

Stefani Day is a 60-year-old family practice physician living in Salt Lake City and a member of my new-found climbing posse. Stefani also found climbing later in life. “I was in my late 30s when I came to Utah to do my residency,” she says. “On one of our rare days off, one of the other residents I worked with took me and another colleague climbing at the mouth of Parleys Canyon. I absolutely fell in love with it. I love the problem-solving nature of it, figuring out how to get from one hold to the next. I also love the community around climbing. There are not many other activities where you get to spend upwards of six hours or even a whole weekend outside with other people.”

Now, almost four years on from my first gym session and, while I still have lots to learn, I feel like I am making the transition from someone who climbs to being a rock climber. Thanks to the help of a few generous and much more experienced friends, I’ve climbed both close by and farther afield at places I’d never visited as a non-climber, including Maple Canyon, Indian Creek, the Tetons, and the City of Rocks. I certainly have days where I imagine how good I would be now if I had started climbing in my teens, 20s, or even 30s. But I also know that I still have decades of climbing ahead of me. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was still climbing well after I give up skiing and mountain biking. Rock climbing has illustrated the transformative power of finding and pursuing a new passion, embracing rather than shying away from challenge, and ignoring societal expectations, perceived and otherwise. The rewards I’ve reaped from confronting my fear and pushing my boundaries include gaining an incredible sense of achievement, being welcomed into a super-fun community, and realizing firsthand that age is just a number.  

Tips for Hitting the Crag, At Any Age

Age aside, the learning curve for rock climbing is much steeper and longer than other outdoor activities (another reason why it’s so rewarding). Following are a few steps I took along my journey from climbing newbie to neophyte.

Find a mentor: My first outdoor climbing session was with Julia Geisler, executive director of the Salt Lake Climbers Alliance. Since then, we’ve climbed together likely dozens if not hundreds of times, building both our friendship and my climbing skills along the way. While a pro like Julia is certainly not a requirement of mentorship, someone with patience, solid technique, and high safety standards is. The only prerequisite of being a mentee is having impeccable belay skills so you can give your teacher a catch while they are sending their project. That and always bringing good crag snacks.  

Take a class or hire a guide: The Learn-to-Lead class I took at my climbing gym was one of several formal instruction opportunities I’ve taken advantage of since I started climbing. Others include clinics offered through the Salt Lake Climber’s Alliance Climbing Festival (held annually in August) and hiring a guide. A few well-established local guides include Utah Mountain Adventures, Backcountry Pros, Inspired Summit Adventures, Red River Adventures and White Pine Touring.

This is my favorite part of the trail,” muses Julia Geisler, executive director of the Salt Lake Climbers Alliance (SLCA), as she steps over a series of large, flat granite stones, grouted with smaller versions of the same. The trail is the Alpenbock Loop, a new hiking, snowshoeing and climbing wall-access trail on the north side of the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. With its sections of cobble-like paths and tidy stone staircases, reminiscent of stone masonry walkways you’d find in a centuries-old English garden, sections of this trail do indeed have has an almost artistic quality. And then there’s the breathtaking scenery: soaring granite walls and long views both up the canyon and into the Salt Lake Valley. But this section of the canyon wasn’t always so idyllic. Just a few years ago, the land where the Alpenbock Loop and its accompanying Grit Mill parking area are now located was marred by a spiderweb of social trails (paths worn into the land where no one ever takes the same route twice) and abandoned industrial detritus. That was until the SLCA figured out a way to accomplish the goals of a few by creating a resource for many. 

Historically and generally speaking, crags are developed without foresight as to how climbers will get to them. And so, because they carry heavy packs filled with ropes, harnesses, and other climbing gear, the path or approach to a crag is usually a straight line with little regarding for topography and plant life. Over time, the paths climbers beat to a crag can cause irreparable scarring, erosion and unnecessary danger—the steep and loose social trails leading to the Little Cottonwood crags were more challenging than the climbing routes they accessed.

“The popularity of climbing was really beginning to explode then, and so we knew we needed to do something in Little Cottonwood before that area was loved to death.” 

It took three years of fundraising before replacement of the treacherous social trails could begin in 2017. The Alpenbock Loop and Grit Mill connector trails were completed in late 2018. And the project’s last piece, the 34-stall parking lot and restroom, was completed in November 2020.

To date, the Alpenbock Loop Trail is the largest climbing access trail project completed on U.S. Forest Service lands in the nation. It was a major catalyst in the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest’s current work in creating a rock climbing management plan. And, after cutting its teeth on this project, the SLCA is now focusing on more than just trails. They launched the Wasatch Anchor Replacement Initiative, a campaign to replace bolts and anchors on climbing routes throughout the state, some of which date to the Alpenbock Club’s active era.

Why should non-climbers care about the Alpenbock Loop Project? First, it’s an illustrative and refreshing example of how the public sector and private interests can work together for the benefit of many. Second, it is an important piece in a greater vision for potential connectivity to other trails in that area, including the Bonneville Shoreline Trail and Temple Quarry Trail (As it is now, this trail is not really a significant contribution to the Wasatch Mountain’s vast anthology of bucket-list trails—at just a mile-and-a-half long, most dedicated hikers will find it way too short.) Moreover, it is one more place where, during these tough times, families can get outside and immerse themselves in the healing power of nature. And maybe even meet their first dirt bagger along the way. 

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