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Outside Magazine, April 2005
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1 2 3 4 5 6 7 

Climber Girls
Babes on Belay (cont.)

Sarah Garlick, Anne Skidmore, Sheyna Button, and Janet Bergman
THE NORTH CONWAY CREW: from left, Sarah Garlick, Anne Skidmore, Sheyna Button, and Janet Bergman (Jeff Lipsky)

"I'VE NEVER HAD GIRL POWER like this before," said Janet, crawling out from the tent she shared with Sheyna. Dark-haired, quiet, and freckle-faced, Janet was the group's de facto leader and its most committed climber, even toying with the idea of going pro. She sat in the morning sun, her blue eyes deep and clear as a piece of stained glass, stretching her powerful arms while Sheyna balanced on the slackline.

"Oh, my God, I'm glad I'm not a boy," Sheyna said as she fell, landing with the rope between her legs.

A few minutes later, Sarah emerged. She'd had a nightmare, she announced groggily—a man chasing her with a knife. Janet said she'd had one, too: She and Sarah had found a huge bin of Patagonia pants on sale but had to leave the store without buying any.

The crew took their time, warming themselves like lizards on the red earth, and it was noon before all the gear and lunches were packed and they made the short drive to a cliff called Scarface Wall.

In the warm early afternoon, Sheyna slouched on a marbled outcropping, contemplating a 5.10 route called Wavy Gravy. "Pretty gnarly roof move not very far off the ledge," she said. With her loose brown pigtails and comic-book-heroine figure, Sheyna was an incredible natural athlete. She was also the least experienced climber of the bunch.

"Do you think I should just do it?" she asked.

"You're all giggly—it's cute," said Anne, her thick waves pulled up against her head. Anne was easy to underestimate both on and off the rock. She'd been climbing longer than the others, having started in a gym, but she'd switched to traditional climbing only two years ago. In trad climbing, the climber places her own protection, whereas in sport climbing the routes are already bolted.

"I'm, like, nervous-excited," Sheyna said.

"Push it up, Sheneyney!" Sarah called out as Sheyna cinched her harness around her strong legs and left the ground.

"Way to go, honey," Anne said. "Killer."

As Sheyna laybacked up to the anchor, the shiny scar that ran the length of her spine shone in the sun. After lowering off the climb, she assessed the damage—chunks missing from her left hand and right index finger—and the group scrambled around the crag to watch Janet fist-jam up a long, hard line. The other girls stretched out on the trail below her, Sheyna's head on Anne's belly, thrift-store plaid shirts pulled over bright, tight sport tops. After nearly half an hour Anne called out, "I know you can do this, Janet!"

"I'm so, so exhausted," Janet replied.

"C'mon, J-Nut," said Sarah. "Fire it to the top."

In the sky, which they were now a part of, you could hear the clouds moving. The road looked as if it were miles below. Finally, Janet reached the top and sat in her harness, wiped out. "That squeeze chimney at the top was practically a joke," she said. "Do any of you guys want to follow?"

No one volunteered. The sun had nearly set anyway, so Janet came down, the girls restuffed their heavy packs, and everybody headed back to the car.

"Man, I'm so buzzed," said Sheyna. "That was so rad! My mom thinks all this stuff I do is dumb and that I should care more about work. But the only reason I ever work is so I can climb and snowboard and ride my bike."



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