A small group of rock climbers, all women, are gathered for a workshop in Hendersonville, North Carolina. With rain pouring down on a screened in porch, they pay close attention to their instructor, Shelby Treichler.
A climber-turned-crafter, Shelby saves old climbing gear from landfills, by upcycling the ropes, harness straps and buckles into beautiful vases, bowls and wall hangings. She usually works with donated ropes that are too old to use safely anymore. But sometimes, she is asked to craft pieces in memory of loved ones – using their old climbing gear.
At the workshop, Shelby is teaching the women how to make a “can cozie.” She shows them how to coil the old rope to make the flat base and then bring the rope up and around the can, forming the walls of the holder. “The dirtbag climbing community is very resourceful,” Shelby says, using the term “dirtbag” affectionately to refer to climbers who reuse everything from backpack straps to food containers. Shelby says at some point, almost every climber tries making a woven or knotted rope rug, and her work exists within this dirtbag lineage. But when she started turning her art into a business, Cactus to Pine, around 2019, there weren’t that many people treating it as a craft, and selling their work.
Shelby’s mug “cozies” are neatly placed on a green metal shelf. Each of the four “cozies” is made from a different color rope – blue, lime green, blue/gray stripes, and a soft green and lavender mix. The rope is coiled in a cylinder shape to make each one with a loop for a handle and a “Cactus-Pine” label. Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting
Now, with her workshops, she shares important tidbits she’s learned along the way, like how not to glue your can to your cozie while you’re making it. “Just twist your can every now and then and make sure it’s not getting stuck,” Shelby instructs the workshop participants.
She says a few times, she’s glued a can of warm beer to a cozie she’s making. “I’ll just go ahead and crack it and drink it, because it’s easier to get an empty can out than a full can…Waste not, want not, right?” Shelby has also developed a signature aesthetic with her work. The pieces she makes with coiled rope seem to have no beginning and no end, the rope mysteriously folding in on itself. Other pieces require her to delicately remove the inner core from the sheath of the rope, which she dyes to make colorful wall hangings. She does all of this in a twelve-by-six foot trailer on a five-acre plot, north of Asheville.
Shelby Treichler’s workbench is centered in the photograph with a bundle of old climbing ropes hanging to the right, spools of thread above it and a flannel shirt hung over her chair in front of the old wooden table. Amongst the various donated rope pieces and hardware, sits her sewing machine and her grandmother’s sewing tape. Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting
“It’s a small space, so we’ve gotta maneuver some things,” Shelby cautions as she steps into her workshop. The trailer has wood paneling inside, and as Shelby says, it kind of feels like the hull of a ship. Her grandfather’s workbench is the center piece, surrounded by climbing ropes, spools of thread and various tools. It has a wooden top, “like old grain wood, you can tell that the grain is really tight on it. And it’s just covered in dings and scrapes and burns, and pieces of tape from where my grandfather worked on it,” she says. “My dad remembers sitting at it when he was a kid, and now I’m putting my own dings into it.”
She started working with climbing ropes after seeing old ones being thrown away at the gym where she climbed. (Gyms are often required to get rid of old ropes for liability reasons.) She picked up weaving and knot-tying skills from climbing and nautical books — and from YouTube. But she says her connection to the materials and the craft comes from her mother and her grandmother, a seamstress who worked in a tuxedo shop.
Shelby and her sister would help her grandmother at the tuxedo shop during prom season. “They would just slip us some cash to break down the tuxes as they were coming back after prom,” she says. “Anything we found in the pockets we would get to keep, which was always really exciting.”
Small craps of brightly colored rope are seen on a wooden table. Neon pink, orange, mustard yellow and a faded green are some of the colors. Each piece is flat because the core of the rope has been removed. Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting.
Shelby treats all the found and donated materials she works with now with great care, throwing nothing away. She makes another version of can holder that uses flattened rope, with the inner core removed. She essentially turns the flattened rope into fabric pieces, and then sews them together. “Eventually they become one can sleeve,” she says.
Her wall hangings are made from the ropes’ white inner core. She dyes the core strands various colors, then glues them onto a wooden backing to create her designs – flowers, fruits and vegetables. This way, she is truly upcycling the whole rope.
Shelby isn’t just on a mission to save these materials, she’s also preserving the stories held by these old harness buckles, ropes and hardware. Whenever she can, she makes sure whoever buys her products knows where they came from, especially when she’s upcycling climbing hardware, called bolt hangers, that are actually drilled into the rock at specific locations.“So, when I’m building these pieces, I can tell people, ‘Oh yeah, that one came from Linville Gorge, you might have climbed on this,’” she says.
Shelby Treichler stands smiling holding a wall hanging she’s made out of the inner core pieces of old climbing rope. The wall hanging, artfully designed to look like a bright red flower encircled by sage green leaves, is about the size of a placemat. Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting.
Sometimes, though, the stories carried by the ropes and hardware are heavier than just a casual day of climbing. “Recently, I had a person contact me that had lost their spouse, and asked if I would make an urn cover for them,” she says, choking up. ”That one was … kind of hard.”
Shelby says the person sent her the ropes they had climbed on together. She describes it as a sense of honor and responsibility to take on this kind of a project, “It’s just so much bigger than just climbing rope …It’s not just a sport. Like for a lot of us, it’s a lifestyle. Even though I don’t climb as much as I used to, I still consider myself a climber.”
Shelby Treichler stands smiling holding a wall hanging she’s made out of the inner core pieces of old climbing rope. The wall hanging, artfully designed to look like a bright red flower encircled by sage green leaves, is about the size of a placemat. Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting
Her work has become so well known in the climbing community, that when a young climber named Annabelle McClure was killed in a car accident several years ago, one of her friends brought the young climber’s ropes to Shelby.
“When Annabelle climbed, she just looked like a dancer on the rock,” says her friend, Andrea Hassler. “It would often just stop people in their tracks, if they were walking by. She was just the climber you’d want to watch…because it was just so beautiful.”
Annabelle McClure climbs up a pocketed limestone wall in Ten Sleep, Wyoming. With the camera above her, you can see her clipping the rope into a carabiner with one hand while holding onto the canvas-colored rock with the other. Courtesy Andres Hassler.
Andrea and Annabelle were close climbing partners, and with the type of climbing they did – multi-day trips on big, difficult stone – that relationship is a tight bond.“Your joy and successes, as well as your failures and fears…you experience it all together, and you can feel it, like viscerally, through the rope,” Andrea says. “You’re both tied into either ends of this rope, and that is your literal lifeline.”
So, even though the family gave away some of their late daughter’s climbing hardware to friends, it just never felt right to Andrea, to climb on her friend’s old ropes. And after she explained the ropes might not be safe as they got older, Annabelle’s mother, Dana, agreed.
“You know, Dana is a very strong willed, smart and decisive person. She goes, ‘Okay, we are not climbing on these ropes, I’ve made the decision,’” Andrea says.
With the McClures’ approval, Andrea reached out to Shelby to make some pieces for the family out of the rope. Also, for Annabelle’s close friends, Shelby made a batch of can cozies with neck straps – they call them “cruizies.”
“I pretty much designed this product with her in mind,” Shelby says. And the fact that Shelby’s business, Cactus to Pine, is based in North Carolina made the whole project feel like a homecoming in honor of Annabelle. The McClure family’s roots run deep through North Carolina. Dana was from a small town outside of Winston Salem, and Annabelle’s father moved there for the climbing when he was young. Andrea says when she and Annabelle traveled to the state, she could tell her friend felt at home.
“It was unlike any other place that we had been to. It was just very obvious that she had this very deep connection,” Andrea explains. “Because it wasn’t just connection to the climbing, it was connection to the place…like a coming home.”
So, Andrea picked up Annabelle’s rope in Colorado where her parents now live, and drove it across the country to North Carolina. “I met up with Shelby in North Carolina in the Linville Gorge,” says Andrea. “We went and climbed with Annabelle’s rope…And Shelby hiked the rope out.”
Andrea Hassler is in the foreground smiling wide in a white climbing helmet and blue windbreaker. Annabelle McClure, in a purple helmet with a rope draped over her shoulders, holds up a peace sign, sitting on a boulder behind Hassler. Orange rock and pine trees make up the view around them of the Pericle on Pikes Peak. Courtesy Andres Hassler.
The items Shelby made from that rope, now scattered across the country, are part of how Annabelle lives on. Each piece of rope core and thread are put to use. That’s exactly what Annabelle would have wanted, Andrea says. The obituary written by Annabelle’s mother makes that clear.
“Even after her time on this earth has passed, Annabelle is still giving by being a tissue donor. Her legacy now includes helping someone else see, have a heartbeat, feel the sun or take a walk. Please go for a walk, hike, ride or climb, and keep ‘sending it’ to remember our Annabelle.”
Andrea does climb and hike in Annabelle’s honor, often with her “can cruizie” around her neck. “If I’m sitting around a fire drinking beer, it’s like with her rope,” Andrea says. “She would just love that. It’s like a little piece of her that gets to live on in another way. [It’s] like we’re tied in.”
Sitting in front of her grandfather’s workbench, Shelby Treichler says she’s honored to be a caretaker of these objects and their stories. “I am surrounded by things from loved ones that aren’t here any more. And to me, the best way to honor them is to keep using their stuff, and have their stories become part of our stories.”
She says that taking care of the “heavier stories” is part of the job but, through her art, those stories are woven into new stories that live on.
Special thanks to Folkways reporter Rebecca Williams for the interviews and photos from North Carolina for this story.
Shelby Treichler, her dog, and the Cactus to Pine workshop-trailer are all safe after Hurricane Helene. Her art can be found at North Carolina Farmers’ Markets, climbing festivals across the country and online.
Climbing rope is meant to last, but eventually wears out.
Outdoor gear can last a long time, but it wears out. Most of it, you have to throw away.
In western North Carolina, though, there’s a climber-turned-crafter who keeps old climbing gear out of the landfill and turns it into art. Folkways reporter Emily Chen-Newton had this story.
Neighbors Helping Neighbors After Flooding
Flooding caused by Hurricane Helene has devastated communities across western North Carolina and east Tennessee.
Recovery efforts in western North Carolina continue. After the storm, neighbors jumped in to help each other before government officials and outside help could arrive. They’re still holding each other up. Blue Ridge Public Radio’s Gerard Albert III, reported.
Surf’s Up On The Gauley River
Part of the journey to the river includes crossing a tall, narrow old railroad bridge that crosses the river.
Briana Heaney/ West Virginia Public Broadcasting
You wouldn’t think so, but yes, you can surf in landlocked West Virginia. During the Gauley river’s rafting season, surf’s up –at least for a while. WVPB’s Briana Heaney had more.
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Our theme music is by Matt Jackfert. Other music this week was provided by Christian Lopez, Caleb Caudle, Steve Earle, Sierra Ferrell, Appalachian Road Show and Blue Dot Sessions…
Bill Lynch is our producer. Zander Aloi is our associate producer. Our executive producer is Eric Douglas. Kelley Libby is our editor. Our audio mixer is Patrick Stephens. We had help this week from folkways editor Jennifer Goren.
You can send us an email: InsideAppalachia@wvpublic.org.
This week on Inside Appalachia, rock climbers with disabilities have found a home in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, which offers some pumpy crags. Climbers have also been working to make West Virginia’s New River Gorge more inclusive. And a master craftsman, who makes one of a kind whitewater paddles remembers some advice.
This week, rock climbers with disabilities have found a home in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, which offers some pumpy crags.
Climbers have also been working to make West Virginia’s New River Gorge more inclusive.
And a master craftsman, who makes one of a kind whitewater paddles remembers some advice.
You’ll hear these stories and more this week, Inside Appalachia.
The mountains of Appalachia are home to some killer rock climbing, but they’re also accessible for some groups who’ve felt excluded in the past.
Adaptive Sports Reporter Emily Chen-Newton covers athletes with disabilities. She brings us this story, exploring why climbing festivals are making a home in Appalachia.
Removing Racist Language From Rock Climbing
In West Virginia, one of the most popular climbing destinations is the New River Gorge. Advanced rock climbers continue to pioneer new climbing routes there. The first people to climb these new routes are called “first ascensionists.” And they get the privilege of naming the routes. But what happens when dozens of those route names are plainly and clearly offensive?
In 2020 and 2021, Zack Harold followed the story of a climber at the New River Gorge who wanted to make the sport he loved more inclusive for his son.
Crafting A Classic Paddle
Jon Rugh with his wooden paddle at the New River near Blacksburg, VA.
Photo Credit: Clara Haizlett/West Virginia Public Broadcasting
Appalachia has several huge rivers — the New River, the Youghigheny, the Pigeon — so, it’s no surprise whitewater paddling is popular across the region, but it wasn’t all that long ago that modern paddlers first started exploring these rivers, designing their own gear and even building their own paddles. Some of those DIY paddle makers became master crafters.
Folkways Reporter Clara Haizlett followed one.
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Our theme music is by Matt Jackfert. Other music this week was provided by Sturgeon Creek, Anthony Vega, Oakfield, the Delorian, Biba Dupont, Marissa Anderson, Tyler Childers, Jerry Douglas and John Blissard.
Bill Lynch is our producer. Zander Aloi is our associate producer. Our executive producer is Eric Douglas. Kelley Libby is our editor. Our audio mixer is Patrick Stephens.
You can send us an email: InsideAppalachia@wvpublic.org.
It’s mid-October in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge and the trees are just beginning to take on their autumn colors, as rock climbers from around the world flock to the region. The crunching of dried leaves and clanking of metal safety gear creates a type of rock climber’s soundtrack. But, on this particular weekend, you might also hear ATVs grinding up the trails, bringing wheelchair users to the area.
This story originally aired in the Dec. 17, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.
Two wheelchairs are strapped to the back of an ATV driven by a Lee County Search and Rescue volunteer. The ATV plods down a wide path surrounded by trees full of golden leaves.
It’s mid-October in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge and the trees are just beginning to take on their autumn colors, as rock climbers from around the world flock to the region. The crunching of dried leaves and clanking of metal safety gear creates a type of rock climber’s soundtrack. But, on this particular weekend, you might also hear ATVs grinding up the trails, bringing wheelchair users to the area.
Sporting a goofy smile and “surfs up” hand wave, Jono Lewis crouches in an alcove about 30 feet up a climbing route. He’s tied into a neon green rope and using a prosthetic climbing foot he made himself.
This is the Fourth Annual Adaptive Climbers Festival, which brings together climbers with disabilities from across North America. Sydney Kessler is one of those climbers.
“I’ve been climbing outdoors for now, two days,” Kessler said.
Sitting in the shade of the cliff, Kessler explains she started climbing indoors about a year ago. There, she learned some tricks like wearing knee pads to avoid bruises, because she doesn’t have much feeling or use of her legs from a spinal cord injury.
“For me, my climbing, it’s basically 20 pull ups in a row,” she said. “And to figure out where I can grab my fingers into a hole or use a palm down method and try to push with one hand and pull with the other.”
Every climber at this festival finds their own adaptations and accommodations to their different disabilities – visual and neurological or limb differences. And the camping and transportation accommodations are just as varied as the climbing styles. The festival planning crew considered all of this when choosing the location.
Wearing an orange helmet and royal blue harness, Brian Liebenow holds onto the rock above his head looking down for the best place to move his feet. The green tinted sandstone looks like dragon scales in the morning light.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
“For the Adaptive Climbers Festival, we have such a very specific list of needs,” said Maureen Beck, who goes by Mo.
Mo is an internationally decorated climber born without her lower left arm and one of the festival organizers.
The Red River Gorge is known simply as “The Red” to climbers. And while it’s renowned as some of the best climbing in the world for its overhanging sandstone cliffs or “crags,” Mo says that’s not why the festival landed here.
“As you can imagine, there’s world class climbing, you know, all over the country that have excellent, world class festivals,” she said. “But you can’t get a wheelchair to the base of the crag, or you don’t have enough cabins for people to sleep in because they can’t sleep in tents because of their medical conditions.”
“And so, for us, The Red fit this very narrow need of: accessible crags, accessible lodging and camping. And then a community that can support it. Because we’ve had this festival in two other locations, and the support we have gotten from the local climbers, local business owners here is unparalleled to any place we’ve had this.”
Mo said, “The owners here at Lago Linda’s are going above and beyond to retrofit their bathrooms to meet ADA compliance. They’re adding ramps to all of their cabins and buildings. They off the cuff, booked a band for Saturday night because they want everybody to have a good time.”
Larry and Elaine Fredrickson run Lago Linda’s Hideaway. They’ve added grab bars to the shared bathrooms and ensured the showers are large enough for wheelchairs and other mobility aids.
Before the event kicked off, Elaine explained the simple reason why they do all this.
She said, “Once you sit up and look at the sky at night and you see those stars, it’s just beautiful and peaceful. Nobody should be denied that. Nobody.”
Larry and Elaine Fredrickson stand next to one another, both smiling. Elaine is in a dark blue Lago Linda t-shirt. Larry, with his arm around Elaine, is wearing their campground branded sweatshirt with the image of a hiker, a biker and a climbing woman on the front.
Another major part of the community system for the festival is the Muir Valley Nature Preserve and Climbing Area where the adaptive athletes climb and teach their clinics.
Like at the campground, ramps and railings were added for the event.
Zane Paff, a local search and rescue volunteer and one of the valley’s caretakers, says Muir Valley and the search and rescue crews from surrounding counties support the festival with transportation in ATV buggies.
“Lee County will bring in their buggy and the Wolfe County will bring in their buggy, which these are just razors,” Paff said. “We call them our rescue buggies. And then it’s just a day of playing taxi and having fun.”
He says riding in an ATV was new for most of the climbers last year.
Paff said, “I mean they were joking around having a blast and psyching me up. None of them been in an ATV. So, I’m like, ‘well, hold on.’”
“I had a little bit of fun with it, but made sure we were being safe, too.”
He said, “And Muir Valley doesn’t allow any electric or motorized vehicles except for this event, actually. And we’re only using it for like anybody in a wheelchair if they’re missing a limb, can’t get themselves too ‘bruise brothers.’ We’ll drop them right off at the climb that they want to go up.”
In a bright teal shirt and white helmet, Sydney Kessler looks down after climbing to the top of a beautiful gray and orange rock face. She smiles as she steadies herself with her hands at the top of the sandstone wall.
After Kessler finished one of those climbing routes, which is one of the many climbs she’s done with the help of Paff and his ATV, she says this sport reminds her of her recovery.
“When you go on a wall, you don’t exactly know what’s ahead, and you just kind of figure it out as you go. And then eventually make it to the top. So, I feel like it shows you how to do hard things and that gives you the confidence to believe that you can continue to do hard things, even if you don’t really know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”
Something else she learned she could do this weekend was camping.
“I was like, I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep in a tent,” Kessler said. “And like pressures – like there’s a lot of things that you have to think about when you have a disability … like pressure points or just getting in and out of a tent, like transferring from a wheelchair to a tent.
“I didn’t know how exactly that would work, but I went straight from the chair down to the tent floor.”
A climber in a dark blue, puffy coat holds a plate of pancakes and bacon while they choose between different types of syrup. A label reading “blueberry” can be seen on one of the mason jars of sweet homemade goodness. Every meal at the Adaptive Climbers Festival is shared, including breakfast.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
She says it’s the support of her adaptive family that makes it possible.
“Even just a couple minutes ago, I was at the top, my arms were burning, I had to give it a little shakeout,” she said. “And you listen to it, when you’re up on the wall. You listen to all the people behind you, cheering you on. And it’s a truly supportive community. It’s hard to find that supportive community that doesn’t treat you in a certain way because of your disability, but they’re there to support you. And however they can, to help you do what you want to do.
“It’s literally like a mindset of whatever it takes to get you to where you want to go, that you have the people power to do it.”
And the “people power” is exactly what Mo emphasizes, too. Much of the climbable land in The Red, and throughout Appalachia, is owned by individual people or private organizations.
This is in contrast to the western United States where many climbing areas fall under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Land Management, or other public land governance.
In fact, nearly 60 percent of all climbing in the U.S. is on federally managed land, making The Red, and other such areas in and around Appalachia, unique. The folks who run Muir Valley can reserve cliffs for special groups because they own the land. It was a quick conversation, Mo says, when they asked to use the area for the festival.
“They were more than willing to shut down crags for us. One of them was one of the most popular crags in the entire gorge.”
And that’s not the only part of the Appalachian landscape that makes it a good fit for this event.
Mo said, “Most of the walking paths here are dirt and soft and gentle. They’re not like rocky scraggy things. And when you stop to think about it, so many of them are on these old, or even currently used, oil roads or logging roads, and it’s just gentle.”
Climbing areas throughout Appalachia feature these access roads that are currently used by or left by extractive industries like timber, natural gas and oil.
With trails originally forged as logging or oil access roads, they’re much wider, more even and more accessible than what you get at other climbing destinations.
Many of the trails in Muir Valley are modified logging cuts, making them great for ATVs. You might not be able to follow an access road all the way to the base of a climb, but you can get pretty dang close. This is the case for one of The Red’s most famous areas: The Mother Lode.
“So, like, we were able to bring one of our wheelchair athletes to The Mother Lode last year. And most of the time, he was still in his chair,” Mo said. “And that’s always a big goal with folks who use chairs, is to keep them in it. A little bit he had to get backpacked and carried. But it’s like a huge dignity and safety thing — the more they can be in their chair, the better for that human.”
A colorful scene of athletes, climbing gear, wheelchairs and trekking poles are scattered at the base of a cliff. Everything has a golden glow from the light beaming through the fall foliage. Ropes of various colors hang in front of the wall waiting to be used.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
“And yeah, for The Motherlode, it was like 80 percent of the time he was in that chair. And you know, not not all of our athletes … I think when people think disabled athletes, I think they think a lot of wheelchairs, but we have a lot of folks with walkers or who use side sticks or who just use trekking poles or you know, we have a lot of athletes whose like, legs work fine, but maybe they can’t carry a pack that far.”
And no matter a person’s disability, they’re welcomed as part of the family. One big family reunion is something heard over and over again.
So, it makes sense that the small, family run businesses are such an integral part of the gathering.
Miguel’s Pizza is one of the most well-known local businesses and a staple of the festival lunches.
With hands covered in white chalk, a climber reaches for a slice of Miguel’s Pizza. The cardboard pizza box is open showing off slices full of cheese, mushrooms, onions and green peppers.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
Paff says Miguel’s is emblematic of the festival vibe.
“Like you see over at Miguel’s, it’s just like families running businesses and even Lago Linda’s is family owned and operated. So, like, you’re just getting a big, warm welcome when you come down here.”
But Kentucky’s Red River Gorge isn’t the only Appalachian climbing destination serving as a home base for niche festivals. HomoClimbtastic is the largest, queer-friendly climbing gathering in the world.
And for over a decade, they’ve called Fayetteville, West Virginia their home, climbing in the New River Gorge.
“They’re putting together window displays full of color for us, right? To see pride flags all over town, at almost every business, it can make you cry. Yeah,” said Jay Dempsey, on how the town shows their support.
He says Fayetteville being a small town facilitates climbers and locals actually connecting. For example, when picking out a place for dinner.
“You’re gonna choose from one of, you know, 10 restaurants, probably a locally-owned, family restaurant. You’re going to feel more connected to the town where you’re staying. You’re going to feel that reason why all the locals choose to live there.”
Several colorful hammocks hang in between trees near the base of a cliff in the New River Gorge for the 2019 HomoClimbtastic event. A large silver gray rock is in the foreground with small brown lichen speckled across it. Below the rocks climbers organize their gear.
Credit: Taylor Smith/HomoClimbtastic, 2019
For nearly the whole life of the festival, HomoClimbtastic has been hosted at the whitewater guide company and campground, Cantrell Ultimate Rafting.
“I don’t have anybody else on the phones this time of year because we’re getting ready to shut her down,” said Cantrell Ultimate Rafting owner Nancy Cantrell.
Cantrell’s is the only family owned and operated raft guide company in West Virginia. Cantrell and her husband Richie are ‘West by God’ born and raised, and they’ve seen the shift in the economy in Fayetteville over the years, spurred on by groups of rafters and climbers.
Cantrell said, “We grew up here. We grew up in Hinton, an hour and 15 minutes south and, of course, rural West Virginia and southern West Virginia is not greatest for employment anymore, because we’ve lost the coal industry.”
“So, high price jobs aren’t there.”
“Most of us are dependent on the tourist industry, unless you’re a school teacher, pretty much. So, any type of gathering like this and events and large numbers of people that come in really helps that economy. But, the HomoClimbtastics, they go out, they eat at several different local eateries. They shop in the outfitter stores for equipment. I mean, they bring a lot of additional income into the area that helps sponsor jobs that people really need in this area.”
Just like how the folks who run the campground in Kentucky installed ramps and grab bars for their camper’s safety, Cantrell also takes precautions to make sure everyone at the queer-friendly event is safe while at Cantrell’s.
She said, “Now, I close my campus when they come. It is their campus. This is their home while they’re here. You got a common bathhouse, I don’t have to worry that there’s any kind of altercation going on or an issue, things like that. It’s just a nice safe environment for em.”
The support and protection is certainly felt by the climbers.
“In a world where there is a difference between accepting and welcoming, they’re incredibly welcoming,” Dempsey said. “It’s warm … they learn everyone’s name. It’s just a great place to kind of call home for our weekend.”
Chris Jones climbs an intimidating overhang. His chalk bag dangles from his harness emphasizing the steepness of the climb and his blue rope trails behind him popping against the yellow colored West Virginia rock.
Credit: Taylor Smith/HomoClimbtastic, 2019
Jason Traylor, another member of the HomoClimbtastic crew, said Fayetteville feels like a safe location because it’s rural, but not totally isolated.
“Having a place that’s not remote allows you to have more safety protocols and things of that nature. Because that’s like a huge thing with any queer event — to be able to get help that we may need.”
Jason Traylor holds onto a rocky cliff face in West Virginia’s New River Gorge during HomoClimbtastic 2022. With his arms reaching high, he bends deep into his right leg while fully extending his left, to balance his body on the wall.
Credit: Jason Traylor/HomoClimbtastic, 2022
Both the adaptive and queer climbing communities have within them even more diversity than their niche names suggest. And it’s important to say that many climbers of color within these communities and beyond, don’t always feel at home in Appalachian climbing destinations. Jason, who’s Black, says he’s always felt safe and welcomed at HomoClimbtastic, but…
“I’ve talked to like other BIPOC [Black, indigenous, and people of color] people, when I go in these areas. They feel, you know, just the stares even if they’re not judgmental stares. They’re just stares, but who’s to say what they mean?”
Back in Kentucky, festival goers sit on a long wooden bench waiting to climb. Kareemah Batts, a Black adaptive climber, waits for her turn. And she says there’s safety in numbers.
“Oh, I feel safe right here with my homies. I feel great. When I’m on my way here, no, no,” Batts said.
She goes on to say that she would not feel safe coming to The Red on her own. “I gotta be with a safe group of some sort. Something.”
It’s only in recent years that conversations about race and inclusion have been embraced by climbing culture as a whole.
Kareemah Batts ties a knot in her climbing rope attaching it to her harness. The sun shines across her face, illuminating her smile as she looks out at her fellow climbers at the Adaptive Climbers Festival. Yellow and orange ropes are suspended around her for others to use.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
“Things happening in 2020 allowed me to be a little bit more open about how I’ve always felt like the last 12 years, because I’ve always been the Black paraclimber — all the time,” Batts said.
“I enjoy being in the space. I enjoy my community overall. But there’s there’s certain instances when I’ve traveled or, you know, I kind of feel like I’m on the outside looking in,” she said.
There are some initiatives within the climbing community at large to do things like change the names of climbing routes, originally using racist or bigoted terms. Batts has been part of some of these efforts.
“Are you gonna make everyone feel safe? Impossible, but can you improve it? Yes,” she said.
Jason Traylor from HomoClimbtastic says the name changes benefit everyone, not just select groups of people.
“I think it makes it more welcoming as, like, not just like for individuals, but also for the mainstream family, you know,” Traylor said. “And just like to understand, we as human beings evolve. And so that means if we as human beings evolve, that means our communities must evolve with it.”
Nancy Cantrell has been around long enough to see her community of Fayetteville, West Virginia evolve, because she says, of the influence of those who came originally for the whitewater and the rocks.
“A lot of those initial outdoor adventurers that came into the area to enjoy the area, ended up moving here,” she said. “They’re adults now. Some of them are in their 60s.”
“So, their kids have come up in the school system. And now their kids have got kids in the school system. They’ve certainly demonstrated their commitment to the area and proven it. And I think the locals that actually were born here, see that and respect that. And, you know, it’s a very blended, eclectic, little community.”
“For southern West Virginia, it’s an anomaly. And it’s been because of the outdoor adventure community that, that is how it’s evolved.”
The outdoor adventure economy, and Kentucky’s Red River Gorge isn’t quite as mature as Fayetteville, but it’s heading in that direction with new signs for kayak and cabin rentals popping up each year.
Hanna Zook hangs from one arm and a carefully placed foot. Gripping the yellow colored sandstone, she balances herself by dangling her right leg.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
John May, chief of the Wolfe County Search and Rescue, which provides ATVs for the adaptive festival, waves toward a cliff line in the distance from Miguel’s Pizza.
“It used to be a pasture up there with cattle roaming, and now you might see a cabin,” he said. “You still see the pastures, too. You know, some people don’t want to give that up, but it’s given the local community a way to maybe live a little better life.”
“A lot of my friends now, they’re building cabins. We built a couple of cabins, and it’s good. It’s a good business.”
May has lived here his whole life, and he says that climbing is bringing a new perspective about the value of the land in the area.
“Because we mainly have farmers and people that work in coal, coal industry, and cliff lines were just a way cattle would fall off and die,” he said with a laugh “and now it’s like, you know, I can build a cabin on that. I can rent that cabin out.”
“So, I think people are starting to see the opportunity in it — not just if you own a business selling food. But maybe you’re a guide. You can go out and make a good living doing that.”
“And it’s really changed how people look at some of the property that they owned for generations, and now they’re gonna make money off of it instead of just raising farm animals.”
The change in perspective goes both ways, though. Mo, the adaptive festival organizer, has climbed all over the world, and she says her opinion of Kentucky changed after actually spending time here.
“Even when I had heard of the Red River Gorge, I was like, ‘ah, Kentucky, like I’ll never love Kentucky,’ like ‘what’s Kentucky?’ Now I’m like, ‘oh my god, can I buy a house in Kentucky, please? It’s one of my favorite places.’”
“Like, climbing is amazing like that, though. It’s this activity. It’s this hobby. It’s this passion that just lets you see the world through a different lens. Not only because you’re literally on a cliff, a hundred feet up, but because you’re just experiencing places that you’d never think about otherwise.”
And wanting to become even more involved, Mo says they plan to add a community service project to the festival.
“Because, like, I think so many people in our community are used to being served. And I think people are used to serving us. And I would love to flip that around and be like, no, we can also be a part of this community and give service back to it.”
HomoClimbtastic has their own way of giving back. They raise money with their annual drag show for local causes. Last year, the money was given to a safe house for queer youth in Morgantown, West Virginia. And efforts like these are how they’ve become part of the eclectic community in Fayetteville.
At the annual HomoClimbtastic drag show (2019), Queen Madison S. Monroe checks her nails, showing off her perfectly done makeup including fuchsia eye shadow, long lashes and a burgundy lip. The blue and black sequins of her dress shimmer as she sits dramatically lit waiting for her next cue.
Credit: Taylor Smith/HomoClimbtastic, 2019
Nancy Cantrell says they’re like family.
“We just fell in love with them. And it is like a reunion for us now.”
This is just how Larry and Elaine Fredrickson talk about the adaptive climbers who come to their campground.
It’s the last night of the gathering and they heard two climbers who met at the Kentucky Festival last year wanted to get married this year.
So, they’re pulling out all the stops. Unprompted, arranged for a bluegrass band and a hairdresser for the bride.
“I love what you did here. So beautiful,” said Elaine, as she brings candles and mason jars to her crew working on the ceremony archway.
She says the archway and homemade cake are decorated with flowers from the surrounding woods.
“They’re working with natural flowers and lights, all from this area. And we do have some that’s plastic, but, it’s because it’s October.”
They’re busy getting ready, but she gives a quick tour of the party supplies inside.
“We got lights. We got decorations. We have tablecloths. We have champagne for them. It will be on ice, but it’s in the fridge right now.” She says, “We have a guest book, which I think is the most important thing. So, they can go back and see who has attended their wedding.”
Olivia Conforti, the official bride of the Adaptive Climbers Festival in 2023, smiles looking down at a necklace in her hands while getting her hair done. She’s wearing a flower crown of roses and baby’s breath.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
The ceremony was beautiful. And as the night went on, the blended community that’s forming here was on full display. The wooden slats of the dance floor vibrated with bluegrass tunes and rock climbers, some in wheelchairs, some with prosthetics, all dancing.
Kessler says this was an important moment for her.
“Like, usually if I’m dancing, I’m with people that are, like, jumping. And that’s great, but I’m usually the only chair user. And so the fact that I’m dancing with other chair users and people that maybe they don’t have your exact circumstance, but they have something or they’re here for some reason … There’s literally no other community like it.”
Mo says that their community service next year could be an accessible trail project or trash cleanup, but no matter what they plan on calling this place home for a while.
Climbers and volunteers from the festival dance at the wedding reception, serving as the event’s big party for 2023. Climbers clap in a circle as the dancer in the middle shows off her wheelchair moves.
Credit: Katie Jo Myers/Adaptive Climbers Festival, 2023
This week on Inside Appalachia, rock climbers with disabilities have found a home in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, which offers some pumpy crags… Climbers have also been working to make West Virginia’s New River Gorge more inclusive. And a master craftsman, who makes one of a kind whitewater paddles remembers some advice.
This week, rock climbers with disabilities have found a home in Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, which offers some pumpy crags…
Climbers have also been working to make West Virginia’s New River Gorge more inclusive.
And a master craftsman, who makes one of a kind whitewater paddles remembers some advice.
You’ll hear these stories and more this week, Inside Appalachia.
The mountains of Appalachia are home to some killer rock climbing, but they’re also accessible for some groups who’ve felt excluded in the past.
Adaptive sports reporter Emily Chen-Newton covers athletes with disabilities. She brings us this story, exploring why climbing festivals are making a home in Appalachia.
Removing Racist Language From Rock Climbing
In West Virginia, one of the most popular climbing destinations is the New River Gorge. Advanced rock climbers continue to pioneer new climbing routes there. The first people to climb these new routes are called “first ascensionists.” And they get the privilege of naming the routes. But what happens when dozens of those route names are plainly and clearly offensive?
In 2020 and 2021, Zack Harold followed the story of a climber at the New River Gorge who wanted to make the sport he loved more inclusive for his son.
Crafting A Classic Paddle
Jon Rugh with his wooden paddle at the New River near Blacksburg, VA.
Credit: Clara Haizlett/West Virginia Public Broadcasting
Appalachia has several huge rivers — the New River, the Youghigheny, the Pigeon — so, it’s no surprise whitewater paddling is popular across the region, but it wasn’t all that long ago that modern paddlers first started exploring these rivers, designing their own gear and even building their own paddles. Some of those DIY paddle makers became master crafters.
Folkways Reporter Clara Haizlett followed one.
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Our theme music is by Matt Jackfert. Other music this week was provided by Sturgeon Creek, Anthony Vega, Oakfield, the Delorian, Biba Dupont, Marissa Anderson, Tyler Childers, Jerry Douglas and John Blissard.
Bill Lynch is our producer. Zander Aloi is our associate producer. Our executive producer is Eric Douglas. Kelley Libby is our editor. Our audio mixer is Patrick Stephens.
You can send us an email: InsideAppalachia@wvpublic.org.
On this West Virginia Morning, Appalachia has been a destination for rock climbers for decades, but now more rock-climbing groups are choosing Appalachia as a destination because of its accessibility and inclusiveness. Adaptive sports reporter Emily Chen-Newton has this story.
On this West Virginia Morning, Appalachia has been a destination for rock climbers for decades, but now more rock-climbing groups are choosing Appalachia as a destination because of its accessibility and inclusiveness. Adaptive sports reporter Emily Chen-Newton has this story.
Also, in this show, our Mountain Stage Song of the Week comes to us from West Virginia native, singer, songwriter, fiddler and TikTok sensation Philip Bowen. Bowen has been named TikTok’s Gamers Greatest Talent and has reached one million followers on the platform. We listen to his performance of his original song “Old Kanawha.”
West Virginia Morning is a production of West Virginia Public Broadcasting which is solely responsible for its content.
Support for our news bureaus comes from Shepherd University.
Our Appalachia Health News project is made possible with support from CAMC and Marshall Health.
West Virginia Morning is produced with help from Bill Lynch, Briana Heaney, Caroline MacGregor, Chris Schulz, Curtis Tate, Emily Rice, Eric Douglas, Liz McCormick, and Randy Yohe.
Eric Douglas is our news director. Caroline MacGregor is our assistant news director and producer.
Listen to West Virginia Morning weekdays at 7:43 a.m. on WVPB Radio or subscribe to the podcast and never miss an episode. #WVMorning
