Why long, low-grade routes offer flow, friendship, resilience, and deeper meaning than chasing harder grades ever can.
“How have you climbed so much more than me this summer when you’re not even a real climber?” demanded an acquaintance as we shared a soak at Hilltop Hot Springs under a pale crescent moon. I’d just finished a breathless recap of half a dozen multi-pitch backcountry peaks I’d summited in the past few weeks, none of them harder than 5.8. His attitude is common — the idea that “real” climbing means pushing the grade, pulling harder, taking repeated whippers and working a single problem for hours.
Why does everything need to be bigger and bolder to be worthy? I love the flow of moving gracefully with ease and creativity, enjoying views, rock quality and my partner’s company as I climb. Life is hard enough, I don’t need my climbing to be hard too.
So imagine my relief when my post-cancer nutritionist told me my diet was great, but I needed to avoid stress. Doctor’s orders: I’m not allowed to flail frantically, reaching for crimpers while balancing on a nub the width of a dime. If I want to continue life at the end of a rope, I need to chill. Moderate climbs are better for my health and my personal anti-capitalist praxis. Here are three of my favorites and what they taught me. 
Mt. Starr King
Rising like an ice cream scoop of granite, the bulk of Starr King sparks debate: is it a dome or a peak? Whichever it is, the west face features a featureless 5.9 friction climb. My El Cap-climbing boyfriend was intent on the route but could not explain how to protect a long slab in the backcountry. His indifference to my concerns and ridicule of my insecurities was a bummer, so I bailed to climb it via an easier route with my buddy Bob and his wife Dawn.
At 60, Bob was still putting up bold 5.11 first ascents. Dawn rarely climbed anymore but happily joined for backcountry expeditions. “Can you believe how lucky I am that my wife of over 25 years still wants to climb with me?” Bob asked as we approached the base of the climb. “I mean, how many people get to share something they love so much with the person they love most in the world? I don’t even care if we summit, I just want to have a great day out here with my amazing wife!”
My hotshot climber boyfriend used to yell at me when I struggled; I thought that was normal. I watched in amazement as Bob encouraged and gently guided his wife past her fear and into the joy of climbing. At one point I belayed her while Bob downclimbed without protection to be by her side as she worked through a challenging section.
After summiting Starr King by the Southeast Face, I vowed to put teamwork and my teammates above our objective, grounding our experience in caring for each other. I still occasionally succumb to the siren call of a ridiculous adventure in bad company, but I always regret it. At the risk of parroting Che Guevara and sounding ridiculous: the ‘real’ climber is motivated by a great feeling of love.
Bear Creek Spire
In the wake of a crushing climber break-up, I convinced an old friend to climb Bear Creek Spire in early season, via the prominent Northeast Ridge. Rated between 4th class and 5.6, this climb offers astonishing views and the option to finish with the 5.8 North Arete, for those who need a bit more spice.
I’ve learned that sleeping out is as important as climbing, so we camped on snow under the ridge. Early season means early starts while the snow is still hard, so we left camp at 6am, ice axes in hand, with a 60-foot scrap of rope and a tiny rack of static gear.
The lower reaches of the ridge are fun physical Class 3 scrambling, but as the climbing got more technical, we started to rely on each other instead of our rope and rack. He’d offer a boost, I’d offer a hand; we spotted each other across challenges, searching for the sharpest point of the ridge, the most difficult moves. We climbed in complete concentration, each handhold and foot placement deliberate. Thoughts faded away as we trained our full attention on each other, the granite, the movement, the flow. We didn’t set out to free solo the climb, it just happened.
Relief and pride washed over us as we pulled the final summit mantle at 10am. The agony of my break-up, the rejection and failure, was a distant memory. While we climbed, all that mattered was the rock beneath us and not plummeting to our death. When we summited all that mattered was the expanse of bluebird sky above us, the jagged peaks stretching to the horizon, the barren distant desert to the east.
Climbing without a rope is a shortcut to mindfulness. Bear Creek Spire reminded me that being present in the here and now is our ultimate goal in life and climbing; our only job is to enjoy each moment to the best of our ability. Sometimes we can conjure that attentiveness with a single breath. Sometimes it requires hours of meditation. And sometimes all it takes is the willingness to risk your life on a long moderate climb.
Royal Arches
At 8am, the February morning had not yet cleared freezing so Steve and I were enjoying the warmth of Yosemite Lodge’s cafeteria when we ran into an old buddy of his. “You guys are planning to climb Royal Arches today?” he asked, surprised. “You better get going.” He watched with concern as we lazily gathered our belongings. “Do you have a lighter? You’re going to want a lighter.”
We shrugged and tucked the proffered gift into our bags. Then we set off to enjoy the mellowest route from the Valley floor to the rim, 1,400 vertical feet of 5.6 cruising. Two pitches up we stalled out behind the slowest couple in climbing history. They didn’t want to let us pass, and Steve was too polite or too laid back to press the issue. So my most lasting memory of climbing Royal Arches is relaxing on sunny belay ledges, admiring the view, while they worked through some couple drama and crawled their way up.
I guess we did some climbing, because we topped out just after sunset, onto a tiny flat area climbers call the Jungle. Mercifully the couple had disappeared into the night. Lights from Valley hotels, restaurants, and stores taunted us, glittering in the icy darkness below. We deemed the 4th class descent down North Dome Gully too dangerous for darkness and settled in for the longest night.
Though the rope failed as either a pillow or a blanket, a nearby spring provided water, my emergency jar of peanut butter kept us in calories and that lighter allowed a tiny fire which provided light and the illusion of warmth as we tossed and turned through an uncomfortable night. Royal Arches taught me to work out your relationship drama before attempting 16 pitches, let others pass when you’re holding them up, and always bring a lighter.
Even if you love the tricky technical challenge of bouldering, I challenge you to try a long moderate route; you may be surprised at the sheer joy of it. No matter your preferred climbing style, life’s too short to waste judging the value of other people’s climbing. Whatever the grade, if you’re having fun, it’s real climbing.
Editor’s note: Free soloing is extremely dangerous and not recommended. The experiences described here are Leonie Sherman’s own and are shared for storytelling, not as guidance.
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Read other stories by Leonie Sherman.
