I Hated Ice Climbing the First Time I Tried It. 17 Years Later, I’m Hooked—and I Have Some Confessions.

I went ice climbing for the first time at Ouray Ice Park in 2008. I had no idea what I was doing. I had only gone rock climbing a handful of times and came from an unathletic background in Washington, D.C. My sphere was the arts—writing, illustration, art history—and I was wildly out of my element. Needless to say, I didn’t really like ice climbing. Actually, I hated it.

It took a few winters before I started to get the hang of the sport and a couple more before I started to love it. Now, 17 years after my first time, there are few things that give me more euphoria and confidence than swinging a tool and feeling it sink firmly into good ice.

I’ll happily talk your ear off about more reasons why I now love ice climbing, but instead I’m going to share some secrets—some funny, others arguably embarrassing, all true. Without further rambling, here are eight confessions I’d like to get off my chest, as a long-time, below-average ice climber.

1. I got my first pair of ice boots in exchange for a six pack. They were three sizes too big.

As you might have gathered, I wasn’t exactly stoked on ice climbing from the get-go. Yet as someone who was new to the mountains in general, I wasn’t into skiing yet either. And what my boyfriend at the time and our group of friends did come winter was go ice climbing, mostly at the Lake City Ice Park.

So no, I didn’t want to drop a few hundred dollars on ice boots, nor could I afford to as a 21-year-old nonprofit employee moonlighting as a restaurant server. Luckily, my boyfriend had a climber friend in Lake City, who happened to have an extra pair of women’s boots—maybe his ex-girlfriend’s? The agreeable price was a six-pack of beer. He left the boots on his front porch and I swapped them out for half a dozen Odell IPAs.

The boots were a pair of double plastic “moon boots,” as I liked to call them, because I felt like an astronaut on a moonwalk when wearing these behemoths. They were size nine. My feet are size six. I wore them with three pairs of thick socks. And I would climb in them for the next 10 or so years, which in retrospect, is insane. My environmentalist ethos of “tough it out with the gear you’ve got!” held me back from buying my La Sportiva Nepal Cubes for far too long.

2. I competed in a small town ice climbing competition to prove that I wasn’t a “beached whale.”

The first time I climbed back in 2008, as I fearfully attempted to rest without hanging in my harness by pressing my entire body against the ice, my boyfriend observed that I resembled a “beached whale.” By the time we broke up four or so years later, I was finally a proficient ice climber—and wanted to prove it.

In some ways, our breakup and the anger I held as a result of it, fueled my progression in ice climbing—and a newfound passion for it. So on a whim, I signed up for the women’s speed top-rope competition at the Lake City Ice Festival. I got second place and won a blue Black Diamond helmet, which in keeping with my use-old-gear ethos, I only retired a couple years ago. Beached whale claps back.

3. I wore a scarf the first time I went ice climbing.

Yes, a scarf. The least athletic winter accessory—maybe besides earmuffs—of all time. Did I mention I also wore earmuffs? Don’t worry, I left those in the car. I can’t recall if I actually wore the scarf while flailing up the ice, or if I left it somewhere in the snow along with my entire ego. But generally my first-time ice climbing outfit of borrowed snow pants that were far too big and shitty goggles that fogged up before I’d finished tying my Figure 8 was a sight to behold.

4. I’m an ice park rat.

Easy anchor setups. Walking distance from town. No sketchy raps required! A friendly community of fellow ice climbers. These are a few reasons why I love ice parks. Or maybe it’s just the urbanist in me—you can take the girl out of the nation’s capital, but you can’t take the nation’s capital out of the girl.

For me, ice climbing is about getting in a high volume of fun and diverse pitches. It’s about the satisfaction of swinging tools until my forearms are toast. It’s about the camaraderie of others who love climbing with sharp objects. It’s not about incurring more risk than the basic act of ice climbing entails. And the best place to do that is at the ice park.

Yes, I’ve climbed ice in the backcountry. I’ve slogged through snow in Black Canyon and Rocky Mountain National Parks, where the approach time greatly exceeded ice climbing time. More often than I’d like, I’ve made the sketchy hike up to Provo Canyon’s Bridalveil Falls, as climbers above us rained down ice chunks and rocks to dodge. I’ve gotten at least a little lost on the way to Hard-to-Find Falls in the Uinta Mountains. And I’d always rather be in Ouray. Because I’m an ice park rat and that’s where I belong.

5. I once ice climbed high. I will never do that again.

Years ago, as a friend and I parked along a pullout in Boulder Canyon, he started rolling a J. I decided to roll with it and took a few hits. Paranoia started setting in before we even reached the base of the climb. Why was I so out of breath? Was this avalanche terrain?

Unfortunately, the climbing was no cruise. There were sections of WI5 and the chandelier-like ice required grace and precision. I was in my head and the only way out was time. After I finished the climb, I made a note to myself that while marijuana may mix well with many things, ice isn’t one of them.

6. I will ice climb on a powder day.

This February, I realized that the downside of planning an ice climbing trip eight months in advance is that you might end up climbing on a powder day. A really good powder day.

But when you’ve booked the Airbnb in Ouray months in advance (as we do every year) and flew a grandparent halfway across the country for childcare, you will ice climb on a powder day and you will like it.

As snow covered our packs and jackets and a fresh blanket of fluff coated anything below WI4, I will admit that it was hard not to be a little regretful. But since this was our big weekend of ice climbing for the season, we tried to embrace the situation as best we could and avoid visualizing the dreamy powder piling up on the other side of Red Mountain Pass in Silverton.

7. I will also ice climb on a warm, sunny day in which the very future of the sport seems tenuous at best.

While I know that near 50-degree-Fahrenheit temps and a blazing sun above in December or February spell disaster for the future of the sport, I’m not going to lie: I like it. Yes, I absolutely love abandoning the belay jacket, climbing in baselayers, and cracking a cool one while basking in the sun between pitches.

Yet as someone who has worked in the sustainability field and went to grad school for “environmental humanities,” I know that climate change is impacting ice climbing. We’re seeing shorter seasons, climbs that no longer reliably come in, and degraded ice quality as our planet warms. Warmer temps even make ice climbing more dangerous, with an increase in ice fall, rock fall, and avalanches. Like skiing, the future of the sport is in jeopardy.

So the fact that I enjoy ice climbing in unseasonably warm temperatures feels a bit like attending a party at the end of the world with a secretly heavy conscience.

8. I’ve never led ice and I probably never will.

One of the reasons why it took me so long to warm up to ice climbing is that I have Raynaud’s, which restricts blood flow to my extremities. Even as I type this by my wood-burning stove, my fingertips are white and frigid.

After many encounters with screaming barfies and burning through hand warmers with mixed results, I finally tried ice climbing with a pair of Hestra heated gloves that my mother-in-law gave me. I will never go back! What I lose in dexterity—the gloves are quite bulky—I gain in comfort and the ability to actually feel my fingers and the tools they’re gripping. But between my numb digits of yore and the restricted mobility of these gloves, I truly suck at placing screws. In fact, the only falls I’ve taken in the past few years have been while trying to practice placing screws on top rope.

Limited dexterity aside, I’m a risk-averse climber. Ever since I first heard the adage “ice climbers can’t fall on lead,” I assumed leading ice wasn’t for me. That assumption has stuck. Over the years—especially after hearing about various accidents, then having kids—my risk tolerance has only decreased, making me less inclined to suddenly take up leading ice.

While I can confidently get up a WI5 pitch, one would reason that I could lead WI2 or WI3 without a hitch. But my challenges placing screws and the suspicion that they would all rip out as I clumsily stab myself with my tools and break my ankle keep me from trying. Maybe one day that will change. Maybe it won’t. Only time will tell and I will be a happy ice park rat either way.