by Rebecca Moelle
I remember the first time I climbed outside. The Women’s Lead Club (WLC) had organized an outing to Goat Rock on the Sonoma County Coast. I remember driving up Highway 1; it was a sunny day in December 2024, and I was happy and nervous, looking for the unassuming boulders along the coast. I was new to climbing and not sure what to expect. That morning, I tossed the small collection of gear that belonged to my gym set-up – a harness, shoes, grigri, and chalk bag – in my car and followed a dropped pin from the group chat. I was greeted at the rock by a bunch of women laughing and talking over a buffet of pastries, fruit, and tea.
“You want to jump on this route?” The end of a rope dangled in front of me, accompanied by a smile. The more experienced ladies in the group had set up anchors and top ropes. Someone handed me a helmet, and I tied into my figure eight knot, checked by my belay partner, whom I had just met that day. We had come from all corners of the Bay Area and Sonoma County. I touched the rock, fingers searching for cracks and holds in the texture of stone, feet following, my body moving in ways it rarely did. I heard words of encouragement from my belay partner, while the group below continued chattering about climbing and life, exchanging climbing beta and chalk bags, getting ready for the next climb.
At the top, I took a moment. I never thought I’d live in California. I had moved here for a job two years ago and had little idea what this place would be like. In Germany, there are no rocks next to the Pacific Ocean, amidst the fragrance of coastal shrubs and salty wind. I had felt disoriented and overwhelmed when I first arrived. Yet here I was, present. This moment felt precious, as did many others since, climbing local crags at Mount Saint Helena, Vent 5, or Salt Point. I felt the beauty of the land quite literally touch me when climbing, and could easily connect with the people I spend time with at climbing crags.
I made the one-hour commute to Session twice a week in the evening and went to several WLC meet-up nights. I had taken an intro class to top rope climbing three months before Goat Rock. This class was my first encounter with climbing. I had not pictured myself climbing in a gym when I first thought about it. I love being outdoors, spending a lot of time hiking and cycling, and I wanted to climb outside. Yet, without any prior knowledge or personal connections to climbers, the gym was my gateway into a world I would not want to miss.
The first visits to the gym were overstimulating: the stinging smell of sweat, chalk, and rubber, a constant soundscape of music, chatter, and ventilators, trying to keep up with conversations while focusing on exercise. However, over time, climbing at the gym became a high point of my week. I spent long nights top-roping, getting more familiar with the sport, and having fun while connecting to new climbing partners who became friends beyond the gym.
It was climbing and sharing life with them that gave my experience in California a new texture. They took me foraging for mushrooms, mussels, and clams, which I’d never tasted before. We went tide pooling and rock scrambling along the coastline, volunteered at clean-up events, and backpacked in the redwoods. We shared many dinners and board game nights. During the past year and a half, I felt I had really arrived here, been here, on the land, with the people.
During my second outdoor WLC meet-up at Mount Saint Helena in the spring of 2025, I watched my fellow climbers lead climb, clipping draws, and setting anchors, knowing I’d have to learn myself if I wanted to climb outdoors. I took the lead climbing class at Session together with a friend I met through WLC. I practiced mock leading and clipping, and watched my more experienced friends lead-belaying in the gym over and over. I felt I was slowly getting stronger and more confident.
I had to take a long break that summer due to work travel, missing out on climbing opportunities. When I resumed climbing in the fall, my progress was slow; it felt like starting over in many ways. Lead belaying still scared me; feeling the weight of responsibility for my climbing partner’s safety. With much encouragement and patience from friends, I got lead certified by the end of the year, bought a gym rope, and practiced falling and belaying at the lead wall.
I went to Red Rock Canyon, Nevada, with a bunch of friends in December 2025, a little over a year into my climbing journey. I was able to put many of the skills I learned in the gym to use, often gently challenged by the people around me. I led my first route outdoors and was able to catch falls while lead-belaying, outside. I climbed an easy two-pitch route with a friend I had met through WLC. She showed me all the skills involved, and I rappelled for the first time. I watched others in our group trad-climb and place their gear, and then top-roped the routes after them, looking at their placements and getting a sense of what is involved in trad climbing. I had never been to the desert before, and the landscape drew me in. It was a high point in my climbing journey so far, but also marked the beginning of my closing chapter of climbing in the US.
My time in California is coming to an end, and I am headed back to Europe. I know I will continue climbing. The sport and the way of life I experienced around it have been a gift, and I am deeply grateful to WLC and everyone who played a part in it and to the land that held it.
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