The Tools of Ascension

In 2020 Conrad reached out. He said he wanted to get me out of the city and take a trip. I had been in the field covering the George Floyd protests here in Memphis for 21 days; it felt like going to war every night, not knowing if I was going to go to jail, or die, or get home. Across the country, at his home in Bozeman, Montana, Conrad was following all this through my social media, seeing it all through my eyes, but also watching as a concerned parent figure. This trip he pitched was supposed to be a getaway trip, a nice vacation to relax and get out of all the hustle and stress of the city. Having just come off those protests, I was so rattled that I didn’t see the danger in a little expedition with Conrad. Plus I’m always up for crazy adventures, and I like to let my art and curiosity drive my interests. That’s how I ended up climbing the Grand with two of the world’s greatest climbers.

But before I get into this climbing story, I want to get this out there: I do not consider myself a climber. I am an artist. I only got into climbing after watching “The Dawn Wall” in 2017. It was the cinematography and artistic style that had my attention, not exactly the climbing. But I was up for the challenge of learning a new way to shoot and compose, so I went to our community climbing gym, Memphis Rox, that had just opened up in the neighborhood. Before that, it was in wanting to photograph my skater friends that I threw myself into learning photography basics, like switching up the shutter speed and figuring out different depths. And in the process, I learned to skate too. So no, I’m not a “climber.” I actually don't understand the person who hikes all the way into basecamp and sees the peak and is like, "You know what? I’m going to go right up there." I don't get it. But that person is Conrad Anker. We met when he came to Memphis Rox for the Global Climbing Day event in 2018. There had been some hype around him coming.I mean, he’s a big deal, and he was the climbing team lead for The North Face at that time. But I don’t like to hype folks up. I just like to meet them for myself. So don’t tell him ... but I didn’t watch his film “Meru” before meeting him.

Watching him climb was something else. By the time I climbed a route to take a picture, he done climbed it twice. I had just started climbing and was still scared of heights, but he never made me feel bad for the level I was on. He saw that photography was why I was there, so he helped me perfect my technique so I could go up on the wall to shoot down. Conrad recognized, respected, and fostered my natural curiosity and interest, and I appreciated that. Over the next year, we continued to stay in contact. He had been telling me about his buddy on The North Face Team, Manoah Ainuu, and wanting to put us in touch. Conrad has been a mentor to a lot of climbers over the years, and Manoah is one of them. Fast-forward a year to the next Global Climbing Day at Memphis Rox. Conrad wasn’t able to come, but Manoah did, and we hit it off.

Shortly after that I was hired to shoot the Color the Crag event at Horse Pens 40 in Steele, Alabama. That was my first time climbing outside, and I was excited for the opportunity to put my journalistic eye to work in a new setting. It was there that I started to get more serious about a future doing this. At Color the Crag pieces started aligning and eventually led to my working with Conrad, Manoah, and filmmakers Chris Murphy, and Conrad’s son Max Lowe, and ultimately setting up the ice climbing trip that became our film “Black Ice.”

Shooting “Black Ice” in Hyalite Canyon, Montana was when me and Conrad started really kickin’ it. Being out in the wilderness together offers opportunities to connect that can’t be manufactured. Our bonding time was in the mornings starting the fire together. Now, everyone knows Conrad wakes up insanely early. But since deep down I myself am an old man who wakes up early, and I had the time difference on my side, I was up earlier than Conrad. It became a whole thing. Those early mornings allowed us these quiet moments alone, working together to get the fire going.

It might seem like we couldn’t be more different. Conrad is so reserved and quiet and don't want to ruffle no feathers. And I'm the complete opposite. I'll ruffle all the feathers. Being young and Black in an industry that's always trying to exploit you at every corner — well, I’ve been into it with a few people. And Conrad will always try to be a mediator or give me his two cents, like, "Malik, I don't think you should set it off." And I'm like, "I already lit the matches. Too late." But he tries his best to keep me cool and from going off the edge, and he’s always there for me. By bringing me into his circle of influence, he’s helped legitimize me on another level in the industry. That’s why I call Conrad my “mountain dad.” He looks out for me and supports me in whatever I do.

And in those early mornings in Hyalite Canyon, we learned we share a deeper connection: He lost all his homies in the mountains. I lost all mine in the hood. We both understand this survivor’s guilt of, "I wish it was me."

Before our climbing expedition in the Grand, Manoah and Max joined me and Conrad to climb Granite Peak in Montana, the line of peaks in the Beartooth Mountains. My inexperience and lack of knowledge in mountaineering led me to think that this was going to be a local campground-adjacent kickback. Well, I was wrong. Conrad is one of the most heralded and revered rock climbers in the world, so I thought he’d know how to plan an expedition for a beginner. No. Easy mode for him is super-hard death mode for a normal human. 

Conrad told me it's a five- or six-mile hike to basecamp, where we’d rest before the summit climb. I’m thinking, “Cool, that sounds good.” Well, after the first four or five hours, I ask, "Uh, hey Conrad, are we almost there?” He says, "Yeah, you see that ridge over there? We’re going over that ridge." Okay. We go over the ridge. Then he says we’re crossing this meadow up ahead. Now, the meadow ain't like you can see the end of it. It's like, go east and just keep going east. Two hours later, I say to Conrad, "Okay, this is the end of the meadow. We good?" No. There’s still a talus field and a snow bridge in our future. But we have to keep going because we’re in the middle of bear country. We can’t stop to rest.

Conrad knew at this time that I had the idea to try to be the first Black photographer on The North Face climbing team. But after walking for 12 to 13 hours straight, Conrad told me, "If you want to be on The North Face team, this is your life." He probably meant to encourage me. But at that moment I was so exhausted, and instead I'm thinking, "What in the hell am I doing? This is not worth it.”

We finally get to basecamp. My feet are mashed potatoes. I set up my tent as quickly as possible. I'm still adjusting to the altitude, but I force myself to eat something and drink water anyway. We have a chill rest day. The next morning, we wake up at 1:00 A.M. for summit day. We make it all the way up 12,000 feet to the snow bridge area Conrad had said. Well, I took one look at that and I thought, "That don't look safe." It's a little wider than a couple of couch cushions, and that's what we’d be climbing. And we didn't have crampons or real ice picks or nothing because it's summertime, and it wasn’t meant to be an ice climb. Conrad says, "It's easy, just one foot in front of the other. But it’s a 13,000 foot drop if you mess up.”

I'm looking at this snow bridge and I don't know if it's fear or if it's my Black person's intuition, but I say, "Hmm, my dreadlocks are tingling. I don't think we should do this.” I'm not trying to ruin the expedition, but I really don't want to do this. I'm scared. But I'd rather be safe than dead. I might be the one person out of my whole family to change our lives financially – I can't mess around and die out here. If I perish in the mountains, there’s no glory in that for me. I got too many people counting on me.

Thankfully Manoah and Max both agreed, and so that was it. Expedition over and we turned around. It’s a very hollow feeling to climb something for eight or nine hours, then not summit and have to turn around. But that's the thing, the culture of mountains says, "Push it," and then people die.

You always think of adrenaline as a “rush,” but on this excursion, the adrenaline lasts for five or six hours, and soon as you get home, you collapse. Gallatin Tower was my first multi-pitch, and I ascended the Skyline Arete climb. I’m still proud of what we accomplished and what I personally and mentally overcame to do it.

After Granite Peak, we drove from Conrad’s in Bozeman down to Jackson Hole to meet up with Jimmy Chin for our climb on the Grand Teton. By this point I felt ready for the Grand because I knew I had already been through worse conditions. And even though I don’t hype up famous people, I was a little nervous about meeting Jimmy; I was hoping I was good enough of a photographer to have his respect.

The Grand is unlike anything. For Granite Peak, we had to drive to the middle of nowhere and then hike even farther to the middle of nowhere. But here, the Grand is always looming. It commands your attention. We camped outside at Jimmy’s house where we could see the Grand under the stars. Out here I can unplug. I feel more connected to my ancestry and the people who came before. I am able to reset to my primitiveness and the will to not perish. And I’m reminded I’m not out here for glory. Reconnecting to this mindset is really important for me before embarking on another climb, especially with Conrad and Jimmy.

I preach that it’s okay that the average mountaineer or backwoods-loving person isn't putting their life on the line. It doesn't have to be that you almost die before it's worthy. Because while I love the outdoors, when it comes to extremes, I’m still trying to find my place. Am I out here trying to be the first Black photographer on The North Face climbing team? Or is it simpler, more personal than that?

There was a time on the hike when I really had to get right with myself and consider my motivation. Growing up in South Memphis is a badge of honor; it’s such a hard and beautiful place. But it taught me to listen to my intuition and trust myself. I realize I can only venture into the backwoods with Conrad because the outdoors is like the life I was given – harsh and unforgiving. I always want to make Memphis proud because it gave me my tools for ascension: my artistic curiosity, my instincts, and eventually my relationship with Conrad. He gets the feeling of survivor guilt that I experience.

But he’s also taught me the value of suffering through the climb — choosing to let difficult experiences build me. All I can do is go out with the right tools to push through the suffering then look back and see how far we’ve come and who we’ve become along the way. After coming through the whole experience at Granite Peak and the Grand, I now look at suffering and being in the outdoors differently. I push myself to go further because I understand that it ain’t about me. It’s for other Black people. That’s why I go out there, to be the voice of my community.

I also see having that drive and willingness to get uncomfortable for a greater cause or a bigger goal as a special power. Getting out of my warm, cozy house to go freeze on the side of the peak for a couple weeks feeds a more basic need. It keeps my powers sharp. It’s why now I’ll find myself going for like a four, five, six-mile walk in the city. Because I felt like suffering that day.

I went back to Grand Teton this past year with a group of friends for our next documentary. And I really can’t believe I climbed it. That mountain is huge. I hope that when the average person looks at me, they think, “I can do that.” I want to inspire Black people from the hood. I want them to look at me and understand that more doors have been opened, and if they wanna go through them, there will be a world of wonders waiting for them. Maybe I can be an artist and “the common man’s climber” at the same time.