By Laura May (she/they)

Laura May has been climbing for just over four years. Thry quite literally stumbled across a bouldering gym called Northside Boulders in Brunswick, gave it go and was immediately hooked. It’s become her second home and place where she has met some of her favourite humans and an incredible community. Tackling fear and anxiety, figuring out a sense of belonging, and developing a positive relationship with body and identity are just some of the many benefits and highlights. Laura May has been a part of the ClimbingQTs community since the beginning, giving their time, energy, friendship and amazing sense of humour. In recognition of Trans Day of Visibility, Laura May spoke with Nikki Smith a climber, adventurer, photographer, artist, writer and LGBTQ+ advocate.

Nikki Smith working Philadelphia Handshake M10, Joes Valley, Utah. Photo by Jake Hirschi.

Would you like to share your pronouns and how you identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community?

She, her, hers. I’m a woman who happens to be transgender and queer.

So where are you based, what got you into climbing? When did you start?

Salt Lake City, Utah. I started climbing in 1992. I was 16, and a few friends took me climbing. I was afraid of heights, but tried it anyway and fell in love instantly.

Were you navigating a specific aspect of your identity while already entrenched in the climbing or outdoor community?

I’ve worked in the climbing/outdoor industry for 22 years now. For a time, I felt like I belonged and climbed constantly. I made a career in climbing. I guided, wrote guidebooks, and did first ascents. I wrote and photographed for the climbing magazines and worked for climbing companies. But over time, I realized that I didn’t really belong. Every accomplishment felt empty. The person everyone thought I was didn’t really exist. I always thought, “if they knew who I really was, they wouldn’t accept me. They only like and accept the character I portray.”

For years, I looked for others like me in climbing but came up short. I listened to climbing partners and outdoor industry co-workers regularly making homophobic and transphobic jokes or derogatory comments. Because of this, my world got smaller, and I began to withdraw from climbing, from friends, from family, from everything. It almost cost me my life, but slowly, I came to finally accept who I am. It wasn’t until summer of 2018 that I came out publicly.

Nikki Smith on Deer Creek Falls W13, Uintas, Utah. Photo by Jake Hirschi.

Was there anything that climbing organisations/gyms did that made navigating climbing spaces as a transgender person easier, or that you wish they done?

Unfortunately, I never had any support to look to in the climbing world. It’s changing and there are more local queer climbing groups, and more people advocating/educating the climbing industry on queer/trans issues. It can still be uncomfortable, scary, and dangerous to navigate the climbing world.

How has climbing impacted your relationship with self/body, your identity, and your wellbeing overall?

It’s been good overall. Climbing has been my life since 1992, and my profession since 1998. My body has been shaped by constant activity, but it can still be tricky. There are days when I’m climbing at the gym or with friends and seeing these amazing, perfect, fit, beautiful, cis female bodies all around me can be very dysmorphic.

Have others contacted you about your story’s impact on them since you shared it publicly?

Yes. So many. It’s not always easy to be a public “face” for trans/queer climbers, but then I have someone reach out to me who needed to see themselves, or a parent who needed to see someone like their child who is thriving and supported. These interactions keep me going and give me hope for change.

What does climbing, and the climbing community, help give you? What have you found in it?

Climbing gives me a way to tune out everything else and just focus on being in the moment. It’s an excuse to separate myself from the city and re-connect with nature. It’s allowed me to travel the world and meet so many amazing people.

Nikki Smith on Fear of Gear 5.7, Stonegarden, Uintas, Utah. Photo by Ryan-Paul Collins.

How do you feel the outdoor/climbing community – or society more broadly – has been evolving in regards to LGBTQ+ inclusion?

Climbing still has a long way to go in regards to inclusion of all underrepresented groups. The discussion can no longer be ignored though, and so many people are advocating for change. Unfortunately, for trans folks, the visibility and change has led to a lot of pushback which has made life more difficult in many ways, but overall, society in general is slowly (too slowly) moving forward.

What are some of the best moments you’ve experienced in climbing?

There are so many. Most involve sharing experiences in the mountains with partners who have become really close friends. Some of the best, more recently, have been climbing with other trans climbers.

We (ClimbingQTs) are an Australian climbing club, so as you can imagine most of us have no experience with ice climbing, but your Insta is filled with spectacular shots! Can you tell us a bit more about ice climbing and what draws you to it?

Thanks! Ice climbing is an odd sport, and my relationship with it has changed as my body continues to change. I love the sense of adventure it provides. It takes me to amazing places in the winter and it’s constantly changing. It’s more of a “do not fall” type of climbing than sport or trad, and I seem to thrive on that. I can tune out the fear better on ice than rock.

Has affirming your gender affected your relationship with climbing, or vice versa? If so, how?

Yes. So much! For quite a while, I used climbing negatively. I always had to stay busy and have projects in order to avoid dealing with who I was. Over time I realized I was climbing for avoidance, rather than pleasure. Now I’m back to climbing because I love it. If I don’t feel great that day or don’t get out, it’s not a big deal.

Nikki on pitch 3 (W13) of Malans Falls W15, Ogden, Utah. Photo by Jason Hall.

How would you describe your life as it now? And how would you explain that to people that might not understand so much about gender/sexual diversity?

My life is very different in climbing and the world now. Three years ago, I could walk safely around town. I could go to any climbing area or gym and not have to give a second thought. Nobody was going to mess with me.

Now... I’m always afraid. In the US last year, 23 known trans people were murdered. Last fall, a trans woman was almost beaten to death after using a bathroom at an Oregon beach state park.

I’ve been harassed, threatened, groped, had objects thrown at me, in towns, and on hiking trails or crags. Now I have to constantly worry whether I’m going to be attacked for using the bathroom in the small-town gas station on the way to the crag? Or will some of the people staring and laughing at me in the restaurant or bar wait for me and try to hurt me after I leave? Can I hold my wife’s hand or kiss her at a busy crag or campground? Can I safely use a bathroom or changing room in a climbing gym without being harassed or arrested for indecent exposure?

My access to climbing and outdoor areas is now limited. My identity as a woman who happens to be transgender limits my access to public spaces in many states due to public bathroom laws. It limits my ability to employment. Last fall, the U.S. Supreme Court heard arguments that could take away even more protections for trans and queer individuals. The state or city I live in could be a determining factor on whether or not I can now access climbing safely.

These are all real worries that I have to continually think about now just to leave my house. My identity, like that of many others in under-represented groups in climbing, follows me. I don’t have to speak about it or bring it up. It’s always there, and it puts me at risk. I can’t separate my “transness” or “queerness” from climbing or any other part of my life.

Nikki Smith self portrait Ruth Lake, Uintas, Utah. Photo by Nikki Smith - Pull Photography.

Do you have any climbing role models?

Yes. There are definitely pro climbers that I’ve looked up to for years, but they are my role models, not just for their climbing accomplishments, but more for how they use their platform to advocate for others. Conrad Anker and Lynn Hill are two that quickly come to mind. Many of my other role models in climbing are not as well known, but they are making a huge impact on climbing through advocacy. These are the founders or leaders of groups like: Flash Foxy, Brown Girls Climb, Brothers of Climbing, Native Women’s Wilderness, Latino Outdoors, Outdoor Afro, Big Girls Climb Too, Brown Ascenders, Queer Crush, and so many others.

Can you tell us about the sense of responsibility you feel toward LGBTQ+ persons, particularly within the climbing community?

I didn’t have anybody to look up to or help me out in my journey. Being in a visible role has allowed me to try to be the person I needed earlier in my life. I know how much representation could have impacted me, and I want to be sure that others are able to see that it is possible to be yourself in climbing and the outdoors.

What are you looking forward to most this year?

I want to try to find balance. Advocating for our community is so important, but I often feel reduced to just being the “trans climber” with most of the work I’m doing now. I want to have a more even balance of advocacy, my photography, design work, writing, teaching, etc. We are all more than just one aspect of our identity. I want to be able to give equal time to all my passions.

What advice would you give to others that are experiencing a difficult time navigating their trans and gender diverse identities in the outdoor and climbing space?

Know that you are not alone. There are millions of us out there and more and more are revealing themselves. It’s not always easy, but waking up and seeing myself in the mirror every morning makes it worth it. I’d rather have people hate me for who I am than like me for someone I’m pretending to be. You are valid. You are enough. And you deserve to be happy.

Nikki Smith repeating her route God’s Sad Cowoy 5.11a, Stonegarden, Uintas, Utah. Photo by Ryan-Paul Collins.

In conversation with Nikki Smith