Nine-and-a-Half Ways to Identify Climbers in the Wild
In 1991, when I first moved to Boulder, Colorado, I often stayed out climbing past my college dining hall’s dinner time. This meant I was forced to grab food at the Wild Oats health-food market (RIP) at the corner of Broadway and Baseline en route back to my hot, miserable dorm room in the basement of Baker Hall.
I was so proud of being out climbing that I’d make sure I still had chalk residue on my hands before I stepped inside, hoping that one of the cute girls ringing up my organic cheese puffs and overpriced couscous salad would be impressed. (Unlike the girls back in Baker, who called me a “weirdo” for prioritizing climbing and what sleep I could get amidst CU Boulder’s raucous drinking culture.) Maybe I got asked once or twice if I’d been climbing, and stammered my way through an answer. But it never led anywhere; I had the pickup game of a wet Saltine.
The point was to let the world know that I was a climber and hence special—a desire that seems strange to me now that I’m in my fifties and basically just want the world to leave me alone. But I remember it. And I don’t think I’m unusual. Some of us really, really like identifying as climbers, and even folks like me, who keep it all lowkey, still look like climbers whether we want to or not. Because, well, we’re climbers.
Without further ado, then, the top nine ways* to identify climbers in the wild, in case you want to spray down an unsuspecting fellow vertical athlete while you’re out and about town.
1. We tell you
Back when it was fringe, climbing was a bit like Fight Club—the first rule and all that. But now it’s in the Olympics, and there are seven million rock gyms on Earth pumping out one billion new climbers a day, so you may as well tell everyone that you climb, because everyone else does too. The other day, my buddy Will overheard a guy at Great Clips telling the hairdresser he needed a special “Rifle mullet” because he “sends lots of 5.13 out there” and wanted his head to be aerodynamic or something. You can’t make this shit up.
2. Gnarled hands
When your hands are a geologic landscape of cracks, fissures, callus ridges, and healed-gobie scabs, you’re either a diehard climber or you work in the trades. Or both. The main difference is that tradespeople don’t seem to obsess over their skin like fairytale princesses, whereas climbers are always looking down at their tips and fussing about with files, clippers, ointments, and magical poultices.
3. Hideous feet
Sure, Anna Hazelnutt has a solid side hustle selling her “shitty foot pics (and videos)” on OnlyFans, but most of us have such disgusting dogs—from years of binding them inside tight, sweaty rock shoes—that people would pay us not to post foot content. So if you’re at the pool and see someone walk by in flip-flops and they have corns, bunions, missing toenails, and huge plateaus of yellow callus everywhere, they’re either an ultra-runner, a climber, a downhill skier—or Gollum.
4. Crag-chic attire
Certain brands (Patagonia, The North Face, Prana) used to only be worn by outdoorsfolks and climbers, so were dead giveaways. But now that outdoor apparel is mainstream-hip and Louis Vuitton has made a $1,590 chalk bag, you can’t be so sure. One telltale sign of an authentic climber is still an item from an outdoor brand, but this one is so shopworn and tattered that it’s held together with duct tape, body grease, and prayers.
5. Stickers—lots and lots of stickers
Not all climbers plaster stickers over everything they own, but many people who do are climbers. Our sticker-strewn bumpers, hatches, and roof boxes, among other things, let cops in places like Utah and Wyoming know to search our cars for weed. Back in the day, a friend who worked at a climbing hard-goods company used to joke that, amid the many requests for sponsorship, the lesser ones were relegated to a “Sticker Stokeout”—as in, “We can’t give you any free cams right now, but here’s 100 stickers.”
“Did it work?” I asked my friend.
“Oh yeah, they were psyched,” he replied.
6. Freeganism
In the spirit of old-school dirtbagging, if anything is free—food, climbing gear, whatever—we climbers will typically take it. Saving all our money for trips, gym memberships, and new gear, we can be among the cheapest people on Earth. That same first autumn I was in Boulder, I ended up with a climbing buddy at a Hare Krishna house near campus after an evening bouldering session. They served free dinner but asked for a donation. When I asked my friend if I should put a couple of bucks in the basket, he said, “Nah, man—I’ve been coming here for a year and never given them a dime.” That’s when I knew I’d found my people. (Note: Stickers are almost always free, hence their popularity.)
7. Chronic hunchback
Too many years of climbing in caves, without enough time spent doing core and oppositional weightlifting, will give you that look: the overdeveloped upper back. I had it by age 21 thanks to my first few seasons in Rifle (back before kneebars had turned every crux into uninspiring, V1 jackassery); today, I need to have special shirts made, with the “Quasimodo Cut”—tragic.
8. Veiny forearms
During blood draws, I’ve more than once been told that I’d make a “great heroin addict” because of all the visible veins. This is what decades at the rocks have garnered me, beyond a low-digit bank account and the social skills of a platypus. So, umm, like, thanks—I guess?
9. Vehicle
Google AI accurately says that most climbers drive a Subaru Outback, van, or Toyota Tacoma. Good one, Google AI, though you forgot to mention the stickers, you stupid fucking useless robot.
*Bonus Google AI tip for spotting a climber in the wild
“Standing on one leg: They are often seen standing on one leg with the other leg, both arms, and probably their head in an odd position.” To me, this sounds like my parakeets taking their afternoon naps. But perhaps AI has just been watching beta videos.
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