Latest VIP Interviews for the American Alpine Club

Alan Watts (Bend, Oregon 2024)

Jim Karn (Bend, Oregon 2024)

Long before the term "sport climbing" was coined, American climbers had a contentious relationship with bolting on rapel and "hang dogging," or the practice of rehearsing a climb from bolt to bolt in order to piece together a red point. However, certain climbers like Alan Watts saw the potential for the sport to move forward if it embraced a more sporting technique, letting the gymnastic challenge of a climb become the primary focus when boldness and style had previously been the more important metrics. In 1986, the American Alpine Club called a meeting of the country's luminaries to discuss the conflict between the "traditionalists" (those committed to the ground-up free climbing ethics) and the "tricksters" (whom we could now call sport climbers). They called it The Great Debate, featuring climbers like Alan Watts, Lynn Hill, Ron Kauk, John Bachar, Henry Barber, Rob Robinson, Todd Skinner and Christian Griffith. Though it didn't settle the issue once and for all, it brought the conversation into the open and thus American sport climbing was born, primarily on the welded tuff faces of Oregon's Smith Rock. Last week's interviews with the godfather of American sport climbing Alan Watts and competition legend Jim Karn shed new light on this fascinating time in climbing history—and how different things would be today if not for their innovation and persistence. 

Artificial Intelligence in Creative Industries

Aurora Borealis near the northern border between Washington and Idaho. No AI was used in the creation of this image.

As an English Literature major in college, on exam day I would head to the book store and pick up an authorized Blue Book. This ensured there were no notes, passages, or otherwise illicit content that I could draw from in my exam. I would sit in a room with all the other students and all of their authorized Blue Books under the close watch of my professor(s) who would roam the hall like a sentry. All of this was to make sure that the ideas in my writing were mine; the grammar and structure of my writing were based on my personal grasp of the English language; and most importantly, the concepts and arguments were based on my own critical thinking. In fact, I would say that more than anything else, my college education was intended to teach me the meaning of authorship and how important it is that the ideas I present—and how I present them—come from my mind alone.

This the fundamental basis of my anxiety around the current use of AI (Artificial Intelligence) in the creative industry. Many of my colleagues utilize this "agent" to craft words, sentences, paragraphs and more that they claim as their own. There are no mechanisms or regulations in place to prohibit this, no professor(s) standing at the front of the lecture hall, and thus no real barriers against this type of publication... except, of course, the moral barriers. And this causes me a great deal of hand wringing frustration as I see the entire concept of authorship undermined by this behavior. I don't know what the answer is but my hope is that the creative industry will do a better job of owning up when an idea or it's presentation are not entirely one’s own. Otherwise we are looking at the utter erosion of authorial integrity, a value that I've been trained my whole life to defend.

2020

During the 2020 protests in Portland, Oregon, anyone planning to video or photograph the demonstrations was asked to avoid identifiable faces or traits that could implicate protestors, for a variety reasons. For one reason: people were organizing complex acts of resistance that needed to remain anonymous. For another reason: a lot of what was happening was illegal.

Think what you want about that time, it was no "one thing". It was as nuanced as the fabric of our society.

As a Portland resident who marched against injustice, it was a meaningful act of participation in something I care about. For some others, it became a rallying call for their very soul. For others still, it was simply an opportunity to f**k sh*t up.

As the year continued to devolved and the protests became riots, going on for more than 100 consecutive nights while the worst global pandemic in 100 years raged on, everyone was wondering what the hell was going on in Portland—home of "put a bird on it" and kooky airport carpet.

It became an interesting challenge to document something without revealing too much, especially during daylight hours, and this photo has haunted me the most from that time because of the murkiness of certain details and the clarity of others. It bears an uncanny resemblance of my memories from that summer.

Whatever your opinion, know that it was complicated, and I personally hope that someday the whole story gets told with the compassion and accuracy that was so impossible to find in the moment. It will be a tough nut to crack as a documentary, but utterly essential.

Militarization of Conservation

It was just after dusk, the first moments of pure night, when we spotted a juvenile leopard stalking a herd of impala. We were quietly following it along the bushveld in our safari vehicle, trying not to startle it. Our guide, the owner of the private reserve we were currently touring, advised us to avoid distracting the animal, or interrupting its hunt—to remain still, calm and poised.

It was an incredible moment that demonstrated the many contradictions of wildlife conservation in South Africa.

Bedrock traveled to South Africa to begin production of a documentary film that starts with a simple question: Why has conservation become a military operation? 

Through a twisty sequence of circumstances, the pandemic, a death in the crew, and four years of research, Bedrock finally embarked. We were collaborating with a non-profit conservation group called Soldiers for Wildlife and funded by an American foundation, with whom we shared a quixotic vision of a new kind of conservation story. It was a constructive trip that opened a lot of doors, and gave us a crash course in what is perhaps Africa's most well-known national park: The Kruger.

But we came home with even more questions.

Kruger National Park is a low lying veld sandwiched between the dramatic Drakkensburg mountains to the west and Mozambique and the Indian Ocean to the east (six hours northeast from the concrete jungles of Johannesburg).

First and foremost, one thing became painfully clear: Conservation is complex. Attempts to simplify it do no favors for either side of the conflict, and yet that is what constantly happens in the media coverage that surrounds it. Look a little closer, and conservation manages to defy traditional politics, drawing support and ire in equal measure from both the left and the right. And yet, it unites these opposing sides of the aisle over a singular goal, however much they might disagree on how to reach it. 

The diverse landscapes of sub-saharan Africa have been called the "Crucible of Creation," where humanity's oldest ancestors lived and advanced, evolving and proliferating into the world we now call home. Much later, before South Africa was a cohesive, sovereign state, it became a major hub for world travelers bringing goods and (sadly) people between the “East" and "West", sailing around the southern tip of Africa to get between Europe and Asia. This brought cultural influences and money to the area and started its ultimate rise to the global stage.

Later, a gold rush in the late 19th century brought people from around the world, creating the melting pot of ethnicities and nationalities that live there now, as well as the enormous discrepancy between white and non-white labor compensation that created apartheid (and continues to this day). Not only that, the land was violently taken from the black natives and given to predominantly European settlers, without compensation. The settlement of southern Africa has always sought to “civilize a savage landscape,” imposing Anglo structures of leadership and ownership. And it persists, even in how we approach and treat wildlife today. 

Throughout this historical process, the wildlife had no voice. A culture of capitalism and resource exploitation gave value to inert objects like gold, ivory, diamonds, rhino horns and especially the land itself, while anything with a pulse was only standing in the way, especially the African people.

Fast forward to today and South Africa is still available to the highest bidders, a supposedly “post-colonial” nation that is being bought up by the Chinese, India and the United States. And the rest of the world treats the whole continent like it didn’t already belong to the people and animals that have been there for thousands of years. So it doesn’t take a historian to see where that leads - war after war fought over finite resources that will ultimately dry up, and then what?

I was constantly scratching my head: Why do humans lack the foresight to see that we’re walking off a cliff? Led one by one into a system of consumerism that most people have no idea they are participating in. Within my lifetime, I will see mass extinctions on a level that humankind has never witnessed; species that have been here for a whole lot longer than us will be gone - forever. The tragedy of the commons is one thing - this is suicide in slow motion, or communal matricide. 

The details matter in this conversation - it is too nuanced to boil down, too multifaceted for a headline, too many shades of gray for unilateral legislative action. But one thing did become starkly clear to me: money wins. Conservation is (scarcely) funded by NGO's and philanthropists empowering wildlife warriors from all walks of life to bring their own unique perspectives to the table. Resource exploitation, on the other hand, is funded by multinational investors who couldn’t care less about collateral damage on the road to profit. It’s David versus a herd of Goliaths.

But again, nobody wins when this is viewed through such a simple lens. Terms like “Rhino Wars'' lack complexity and actually contribute to the problem. It simplifies the subject beyond recognition with sensational headlines that turn poachers and other bad actors into armies of faceless enemies that must be eradicated, instead of real people in struggling communities trying to feed their families, and subject to the criminal justice system.

Because this is not a war—and that is a dangerous misnomer—it’s a crisis of law enforcement, political will and, most importantly, education.

Another major factor complicating this fight is identity politics and social justice, with pronounced winners and losers. We have (predominantly white) people coming from around the world to argue about the best approach to the conservation of wildlife and land where they are merely interloping. These men and women have all made significant sacrifices to fight for a just cause, and make no mistake - their hearts are in the right place. But again, it’s complicated. Is this their battle to fight? From a global perspective, yes: we should all defend biodiversity. From a local perspective? I’m not sure…

It’s a social justice conundrum in the sense that local community members don't get any value from the animals, mostly because it is too expensive and logistically challenging for them to even engage with them and develop that affection that many westerners enjoy. Most school kids who live within a short drive of Kruger National Park have never even been there. Imagine instead: if a living rhino had more value to a poor community member than its horn, they wouldn’t turn to poaching. Instead, many black Africans feel like the animals are their natural heritage—that they’ve been appropriated by outsiders and colonizers—and exploiting them is their way to take back some economic value from what was stolen from them. It’s a conflict of identities that we’re seeing in every corner of the world. Unfortunately for Africa, it comes at the expense of thousands of animal species. 

As an outsider, I’d like to see that national heritage mean something more for Africans than the economic value of a rhino horn—that the people with the most rightful claim to the land and its resources care as much (or more) about protecting it than the outsiders that want to impose their own views (even if those views do come from an informed and altruistic place). 

As an outsider myself, it’s easy for me to talk about what I’d like to happen. Without the will of the Africans, my wishes are moot. I suppose that comes down to education, and that’s where the work of all these “outsiders” that have come to southern Africa to try and help is critical—they are the ones with the resources to chart a path to that future. But social justice is an incredibly important nuance in this whole conflict that needs to be considered right up front within each decision point: to include Africans in the future of Africa. And I was inspired to see things moving in that direction during our time “in the bush.”

And that brings us back to the animals - the wildlife that inspires so many people to enter a career in conservation, donate to conservation foundations, and fill their homes with mementos of the natural world. So more questions arise: Why is wildlife important? Why is biodiversity important? Yes, for all the reasons that keep the planet healthy, but what about the human experience? Which is, after all, the only entree into a conversation that will engage many people to actually care about this subject: How does this affect me? 

Rhinos grab our attention as the cute “chubby unicorns” that they are, but serve relatively little ecological function in the animal kingdom. Instead, they act as an important ambassador to bring attention to the problem, even though the fate of the lowly termite is more important to the overall health of a holistic environment. And yet, it’s all interconnected: the termite needs the rhino as much as the soil needs the termites. And most people don’t realize just how much the wellbeing of every living thing is connected. The domino effects of losing species in South Africa or South America ultimately ripples back to humanity dying a slow, lonely death on a blighted planet.

And these are all big concepts, not easily communicated to a family of 15 in Salt Lake City or the Africaaners in Johannesburg. It will take individual and political will around the world to fight for change, and the fight will never be over. 

That’s what this project is about, beating the drum for a righteous cause with the African people at the front of the charge. Telling the real story, not a sensationalized version that gets clicks but completely adulterates the reality to attract eyeballs.

So… did we find a solution? Not exactly - and the situation is pretty dire. But good work is being done and there is reason for hope.

African Rangers are getting trauma resources after horrific experiences in the field.

Canine trackers are making a difference in tracking poachers without human casualties.

US Veterans are treating their PTSD by connecting with the environment.

China is taking a harder look at illicit animal trades that underwrite most of the poaching.

But there’s so much more to do.

Which brings me to the closest thing to a conclusion that I left Africa with last month: Despite how urgent and violent this situation is, we must shift the narrative. We must stop referring to it as a war and demilitarize the “parks industrial complex.” We must bring science back to the table and make decisions informed by current data, not emotions or political affiliations. 

For the better part of twenty years, resources have been poured into arming park rangers with bigger and better weaponry, teaching them how to fight like soldiers, to fight this “war for the wild” that has led to so many thousands of deaths. But that has been at the expense of scientific training, ecological education and a better understanding of how the environment and its wildlife actually survive. Anecdotally, the only ecologist I could actually track down and interview on the expedition told me that Kruger National Park doesn’t even have a bird expert on staff. On the other hand, it would be hard to count how many automatic weapons are in every park office.

It’s ludicrous, and we need to return the hierarchy of management to something more closely resembling an actual park, not a war zone. Most importantly, we need to give the animals value to the people that live next door to them—not just the American kids seeing The Lion King on Broadway. 

And so the story ends where it began: the crucible of creation; the African plains where human life began and is now the battlefield for its very future. I’m convinced there is a right way to do that, informed by science, community and education. But we must first admit, to ourselves and each other, that this is a fundamental crisis of identity as stewards of the planet, responsible for restoring that vital balance between humans and nature. 

LOOK FOR THE NEW DOCUMENTARY FROM BEDROCK, COMING SOON!

Tom Hornbein

Tom Hornbein, one of my personal heroes and a dear friend, passed away at his home in the spring of 2023. In the the fall, we gathered in Estes Park, Colorado to celebrate the profound impact that he had on so many people he touched as a climber, doctor, mentor, friend, and more. To use a word he seldom left out of a correspondence, it was a truly "precious" opportunity to tell stories, marvel at his legacy, and make permanent the bold impressions left on us all.

As a filmmaker and storyteller, I am sometimes blessed with the opportunity to know a person to a depth I couldn't otherwise access. It's a special opportunity and the main reason I love this craft, but it is also a strange and lopsided relationship. I study their childhoods, writing, careers, etc, and they might only know how I got to their home that day, least of all that I could know more about them than do some of their closest friends. And then come the interviews - that crystalized window where I get to ask anything I want, and they are compelled to answer without pretense or the chance to demur or obfuscate. In Tom's case, I don't think there were too many times that he sat down and told the entire story of his West Ridge climb on Mt Everest, outside of writing his legendary book. It's not that he was withholding, but never liked to talk about his achievements - epic though they were - choosing instead to discuss others and bring his kindness to bear on the vagaries of modern life.

When I was asked in 2011 by Dave Morton and Jake Norton to help with a film about Tom and his Everest climb, it was early in my career and I thought that this might be the most important storytelling opportunity I'd ever get. It may well have been. I certainly approached it as such, throwing all of my weight behind it in a tenacious and probably obnoxious way. But Tom never saw it that way - he saw me as a hungry young talent that maybe shared some of his relentless devotion to goals, in spite of the obstacles or objections. I'd never compare myself to him, but the support and recognition he showed me changed my life and made me feel seen by a hero with whom I never thought I'd ever even share the same room.

After finishing the film, we set out on some tour dates around the country, with the film in tow and surviving Everest team members. Tom never went on stage without his climbing partner Willi Unsoeld's frost bitten toes preserved in a mason jar (Willi died in 1979) to share with audiences. That brought us closer still, and I'll never forget how honored and proud I felt to be included. The funny thing was, Tom always made me feel like he was the one who was honored, always tickled that we went to all this trouble to tell his story, maybe not even realizing how monumental the whole thing was for me.

After that, Tom and Jim McCarthy (another legend of climbing lore) approached me to help with their pet project: documenting the oral history of American climbing for the American Alpine Club. Over the next 12 years, we would travel the country to interview the pioneers of American climbing, starting with the oldest and most vulnerable and working our way to more than 70 interviews and counting. It was because of Jim and Tom's vision and support that this program has gotten this far and will continue into the future.

I was able to visit with Tom for a day at his home in Estes Park back in February of 2023, a couple months before he passed away. He was vivid and sharp, sharing memories and talking about the future. At a certain point, he'd had his fill and suggested it might be time to call it a day. I knew it was probably the last time we would see each other and hugged him extra tight.

Tom summited Mt Everest in May of 1963 - almost exactly 60 years before his death. On that fateful day, he and Willi climbed beyond the point of retreat, their only option to continue up and over the other side, facing the unknown in the way only a hero can. Of course, I always understood the significance of their commitment as a climber, but only now grasp how truly poignant a metaphor that is for his life - and mine. As he said, "risk is but a spice in the essential seasoning of life." Boldness never came in a more powerful little package than Tom Hornbein.

Rest in peace my friend.