Conquistadors of the useless

About Post-scarcity notes: As the staff of The Public Interest Network advocate for a cleaner, greener, healthier world, from time to time we’ll share observations on the larger challenge facing our network and our society: How do we shift the dominant paradigm — the very way in which we see and make sense of the world — from disposable to sustainable, from “never enough” to “enough,” from “making a living” to “living.” The views expressed in this space relate to our work, but do not necessarily represent the position of the network or its organizations.

A few years back, I had what some might call a quarter-life crisis.

Like most 20-somethings, I was looking for direction and I felt uninspired by many of the options presented to me, a lot of which seemed to involve spending 40 plus hours a week working towards a cause I found unimportant, or even harmful. So after saving up, I packed a car full of my dad’s old camping gear and spent some months living mostly in a tent and wandering through the desert mesas and mountains of the American West, hoping to find a more meaningful path along the way.

I found more than I bargained for.

I discovered that I didn’t need much to be happy, which led me to pursue work I cared about even when that meant taking pretty meager wages. I learned to appreciate idle time and gained a newfound reverence for the natural world. And, probably to my parent’s dismay, I started rock climbing. I’ve since moved to the Front Range to have access to the mountains and climbing and mountaineering have become huge parts of my life, especially now that I share an apartment and a dog with one particular climber I met on the road. We haven’t always had the most in terms of material things (our couch was a crash pad for a hot minute), but we’ve found a lot of happiness in simple days spent scouting routes in the canyon or toiling up frozen ridgelines.

When it comes to pursuing climbing, I’m in no way unique. There is a strong community surrounding the sport, and part of what drew me in was that this community does not abide by typical definitions of success. Unsurprisingly, a group whose heroes primarily live in vans or in the woods aren’t ones to scoff at a person for forgoing more lucrative or “impressive” lifestyles in exchange for more time spent in nature or on the wall.

And the community is only growing. Since the “golden age of mountaineering” in the late 1700’s — the first time in human history that we have a record of humans beginning to climb mountains purely for recreation — and especially since the post-war era, people have been taking up climbing and alpinism in droves and many are pushing the boundaries of the sports. I think some of the reason why has to do with economic progress:

1. We have more time for leisure (or, for scaling a cliff).

Considering that for much of human history, meeting our basic needs required massive amounts of time and labor, it’s incredible that we are now literally scaling mountains for the fun of it.

2. Technological advances have spread the word and made the previously impossible, possible.

The earliest mountaineers relied on hemp ropes and pegs, but today we have access to tools like crampons, pitons, ice axes and belay devices, allowing more people to venture into areas previously unclimbed or reserved for the superhuman. Simultaneously, social media has made a once relatively unknown sport visible and diminished barriers to entry.

3. Overall, we have more disposable income.

Gear is expensive. Hence the stereotypical broke “dirtbag climber” (and, in my case, an indebtedness to those who’ve donated to my second-hand trad gear rack). As our economy has grown, our relative collective affluence has meant not only that more individuals can climb, but also that organizations like the AAC can fund material and travel costs for months-long expeditions that push the boundaries of the sport.

4. Modern conditions require outlets like climbing.

Amid the rise of bullshit jobs and our seemingly ceaseless pursuit of “more,” it makes sense for people to gravitate towards alpinism to reconnect with nature and opt out of the rat race, if only for a while. Besides, being bombarded with information nearly constantly in the digital age, living under a rock for a weekend can start to sound like a welcome retreat.

Progress: The good, the bad and the ugly

As with many aspects of our lives influenced by rapid human progress, recreational mountaineering and climbing have changed a lot, in some ways for the better and in some ways for the worse.

Many native plant species call cliffs home, and the magnesium in chalk used by some rock climbers can disrupt ecosystems. Advances in equipment have made summiting the once-coveted peak of Everest a possibility for almost anyone with the right, often PFAS-laden gear and the funds to pay a sherpa guide. This has led to some insanities (see: trash heaps and summit traffic jams), especially as more people take up the sport without mentorship or education on climbing ethics related to conservation.

Last week on the first Flatiron, I noticed the rocks’ vibrant lichen becoming scarce in more heavily-climbed areas, and found one cliffside juniper stripped of bark, seemingly from an improper rappel.Photo by Zoe Locke | Used by permission

Climbing also hasn’t been immune to commodification. Erecting massive, air-conditioned buildings covered in plastic meant to mimic natural rock sounds almost satirical, but indoor climbing gyms are now a billion-dollar-a-year industry. While the sports’ newfound popularity has made it possible to pursue a career as a professional climber, I’m also struck by the irony that athletes rely on brand collaborations for their income. Their pursuit of a non-material endeavor still comes at the cost of having to convince people to buy things they don’t need.

Despite the caveats, I’m still inclined to think a proliferation of “conquistadors of the useless” isn’t entirely a bad thing.

Alpinists are especially perceptive to the loss of natural lands and the impacts of climate change such as disappearing ice routes, so many climbers are invested in conservation and climate initiatives. My local crag North Table is designated as open space and protected from mining and overgrazing thanks to the nonprofit Access Fund. Since the 70s, some climbers have been advocating for less destructive protection techniques, and professionals recently even testified in a Senate Special Committee on climate (albeit using a less than ideal framework focused mainly on industry and tourism). Even some climber-run companies have begun to produce campaigns against planned obsolescence and provide tools to help consumers repair products.

And while the author Edward Abbey poked fun at “frost-bitten, inarticulate (‘because it’s there’) mountain climbers,” distancing them from mountain-inspired philosophers like Rousseau, I think that by challenging the assumption that we need to produce anything for an effort to be meaningful, climbers have the potential to spur equally important intellectual conversations.

Alpinist Lionel Terray, who famously described mountaineers as “conquistadors of the useless”, seemed to suggest in his memoir that part of climbing’s intrinsic value is in its departure from the productive apparatus and a culture of consumption:

“the conquest of a great peak brings moments of exultation and bliss, which in the monotonous, materialistic existence of modern times nothing else can approach… On this proud and beautiful mountain we have lived hours of fraternal, warm and exalting nobility. Here for a few days we have ceased to be slaves and have really been men. It is hard to return to servitude.”

I think Terray’s onto something. Despite all of the comforts we now enjoy, some of my most joy-filled days have been spent with bloody hands or frostbitten cheeks, dining on boiled snow and instant rice, and sharing a freezing 6×4 tent.

Climbing and mountaineering help me, and many others, disconnect our brains from an unhealthy influx of digital ads and information, regain a connection with nature in a way that modern life doesn’t allow for, and develop community away from activities based around consumption.

And while I’m probably biased, I do believe that to fully take advantage of post-scarcity possibilities while preserving our planet, we’re surely going to need more “conquistadors of the useless” who embrace post-materialist experiences and challenge themselves with self-imposed, entirely immaterial goals (whether or not doing so involves being a “dirtbag” climber or sleeping in a bivy sack).

So despite Abbey’s objections, maybe there are deep thinkers above 13,000 feet — and maybe it’s a good thing we now have more of them.