Gripped Magazine
Interview with Sonnie Trotter about his new book Uplifted
Canadian climber Sonnie Trotter released a book this year titled Uplifted, the evolution of a climbing. It’s one of the best climbing books of the year and a must-read for climbers everywhere.
Trotter started climbing in the late 1990s and quickly made history as the first Canadian to climb 5.14c, and the third North American to send 5.14d. Renowned for his trad prowess, he cemented his legacy with the first free ascent of the iconic Cobra Crack in Squamish at 5.14, and The Path 5.14R in the Rockies.
His achievements include the first ascent of an unrepeated 5.14d sport route, multi-pitch 5.14 climbs, gear ascents of bolted routes, and repeats of iconic test-piece lines. He has been a central figure in North American climbing for over two decades, continuing to take on challenging projects and inspire the next generation.
We touched base with Trotter shortly after Uplifted was released this summer. The following was printed in the recent Gripped magazine – for more info on Trotter’s new book visit here. Be sure to follow him on Instagram for more climbing.
Gripped: Your book often depends on memory. As you wrote, did you discover anything new about the adventures you wrote about?
Sonnie Trotter: I don’t think I discovered anything new as I wrote honestly speaking, but it was certainly interesting trying to isolate certain periods of life and trying to recount the details and feelings as best I could.
G: Your book is full of your personal history and the history of hard climbing over the past three decades. How did you decide who to invite in to your tales, and what to leave out? Were there any false starts with this project? Adventures or voices you abandoned as potential content?
ST: Absolutely, I had many stories that I thought would make it in initially, but as the rest of it got fleshed out, it was harder and harder to fit them all in. It wasn’t easy to be honest, but in the end, I decided on a balance between talking about pivotal moments (or people) in my life that changed my trajectory, and some of my most memorable days out, or meaningful projects.
G: This looks like you have been writing it in some form or another for a while. Can you describe your writing routine? Do you write at the crags, in the morning, or at the end of the day? When did you start keeping notes or journals during climbs? Were you always writing in the mountains, or did that come later?
ST: To some degree I’ve been writing on and off since I was a teenager, but more like trip reports and stuff. I do not consider myself a good writer by any means, but when I look back, I have been scribbling for many years, even in my journal. For the book, or as I like to call it, a “collection of short stories”, I wrote in very small batches, spread out over months and years. It took longer than I expected because of the phase of life I’m in. During Covid it was nearly impossible as our kids were so young, and energetic, and they were always home with us, and I just couldn’t concentrate, but as they went back to school, I got more time to chip away at it. At the end of the day, I think writing is just a practice like everything else, you devote a block of time to it, and put something down, some days are better than others, some paragraphs too, and some get deleted forever, ha ha, but that’s okay, that’s all part of the process.
G: What’s the first image or sentence that came to you for this book?
ST: The first image that came to me was probably my first outdoor rock climb, which I was lucky enough to have a friend take a picture of, because back then, in the mid 90’s, almost nobody had cameras, especially us teenagers, and it wasn’t often we’d take pictures. It was a black and white frame, of a 5.10a at Metcalfe Rock. That climb changed my life forever, I knew what I wanted to do with my short time on earth, play, travel, climb, it was all suddenly so clear to me. That’s a pretty lucky thing to have happened I guess.
G: How did you know it was finished?
ST: I didn’t. I still don’t know if it’s finished to be honest. Like anything, there’s always something I wish I could change, or add, or take away, but now that it’s done, I just have to move on. Turn the page. For example, it gets fairly technical at times, which in some ways shows my nerd side for history and statistics, some people might like that, but for others, it might become a little less “entertaining” maybe, and that’s just sometimes the way climbing is. It’s fun, adventurous, made up, and sometimes very technical. Maybe the hardest paragraph to write was when I called my mother at the hospital from when my friend Steve and I got hurt near Las Vegas. We were just kids. My eyes still well up with emotion when I think of that, some 25 years after.
G: What do you think memoir can do that other kinds of climbing writing—trip reports, essays, journalism—cannot?
ST: Honestly, I really don’t like using the word memoir, I don’t know why exactly. Maybe it feels a little too heavy for me. I prefer a collection of short stories, because I know not everything is in there, nor do I think anyone would actually care if it was, ha ha. At the end of the day, I think longer stories can help bring people back to times in their lives that were meaningful or joyous, times they can relate to. But also, with a more current perspective. Zooming out is important in life, to see the bigger picture sometimes, and I think books can often help with that.
G: There’s a tension in your book between the love of the cliffs and mountain and ambition, Did the act of writing change your relationship to either of these aspects of your life?
ST: I’m not sure how to best answer this question, but I will say that my love for climbing and being in the mountains is pretty constant, even now. I do certainly enjoy controlled risk, to an extent, but also, my love for my family and to be the best father and partner I can possibly be, can sometimes conflict with my inner desire to be outside, on the sharp end, pushing my personal comfort zone. I can’t be the best dad and husband if I’m hurt.
G: Were there other climbing memoirs—or adventure books—you tried not to write like?
ST: I’ll be honest, I haven’t read a full memoir in quite a long time. I read Barry Blanchard’s book in Patagonia, as well as chapters of Tommy Caldwell’s book, which he sent me specifically for that trip before it was published, but it was easier then because I was away from the distractions of home life. When I’m home, I’m either working, training, parenting, cleaning, fixing something or sleeping. There’s very little time for reading at the moment, and I wish I could make more time for it to be honest. I know I will one day.
G: How do you feel now when you return to those mountains—not as a climber, but as the author of your own past?
ST: I’m 45 and the mountains and rock features definitely still call, not all of them, (like they did in the past), but certainly most of them. However, I know that there is no way to do everything we desire to do, there simply isn’t enough time. Period. But I am very grateful for the experiences I have had so far, and I’m proud of the hard work myself and my friends have put in, to this point, in making a small contribution to climbing. It’s a collective effort, a community, and it’s been a very rewarding journey. I look forward to whatever’s next in mine and the lives of other climbers too. Climbing is such a beautiful activity, and I find it fascinating to see all the things people are doing all around the world.
Book Review of Uplifted, the evolution of a climbing life by Sonnie Trotter
Uncharacteristically, Sonnie Trotter wasn’t entirely committed to climbing Logical Progression in Mexico’s Copper Canyon. Freeing the twenty-eight-pitch rhyolite sport climb with Alex Honnold would be an area-defining accomplishment — an “in a day” free ascent even more so. Arguing against the sought-after objective were U.S. and Canadian government warnings about travel to the region, whose deep valleys and winding river basins hid many an illicit landing strip.
An exchange of emails with the legendary free soloist pulled Trotter away from his life as a professional climber (and husband-to-be) in Squamish and into a first-generation Toyota Tacoma — taking turns crouching in the back of the cab — en route to Rancho San Lorenzo, the customary staging ground for climbers heading to the area’s walls. There they met with the towering figure of Don Fernando, who stressed the need for a local guide to reach their goal of El Gigante (the El Cap of the area). A chrome six-shooter served as a paperweight as maps were laid out on the table. Years earlier, an elite team of German climbers had freed the first route on the massive formation, facing long runouts and loose rock over nine days. Don Fernando wasn’t convinced Alex and Sonnie were fit for purpose to endure the unforgiving approach — let alone the razor-sharp vegetation. Doubting their chances, he told them flatly, “I’m not so sure. The Germans were far superior beings.”
Digging deep on 5.13 terrain, pitch after pitch — fearful and sleepless nights notwithstanding — Alex and Sonnie prevailed, however unsuited they may have seemed to the skeptical patriarch. And, as the reader will find out, that was the less hazardous part of their outing. It was just one of the five thousand days Trotter has spent climbing since he discovered the sport as a teenager watching TV in suburban Toronto.
Told as a series of stories, Uplifted is as compelling an account of the pursuit of ambition — climbing or otherwise — as you’ll find. It’s as much a reflective Socratic investigation into the nature of the good as it is an adventure narrative chronicling Trotter’s evolution as a cutting-edge rock climber during the first quarter of the 21st century. Uplifted pulls us straight into the action, with an intuitive sense of characters at play that climbers will recognize from their own best days out. One can’t help but feel charmed by Sonnie’s sense of what’s possible — including his pursuit of family life. Not to mention the need to breathe deeply as swords of diorite threaten to sever the rope on the free version of North America Wall, or the youthful energy of the team that freed the Steinbok Arete — underestimating both the gear and clothing required. Climbing style is clearly important to Sonnie, connecting him to a continental tradition exploratory self-reliance that stretches back to the days of Chuck Pratt, if not John Muir.
Few climbers have stayed at the top of the game for so long, pursuing such a range of styles — from the career-catapulting FFA of Cobra Crack in 2006 to the completion of the Canadian Rockies Trilogy in 2017. It all began far from any mountain or notable crag, in a local gym built in a converted grain silo. Sonnie describes the moment he began to choose specific goals and commit to specific training — no longer just heading out with whoever was available. There was no trust fund, and his parents weren’t climbers themselves, but he did build upon a grade-school foundation in gymnastics combined with the freedom of life on farmland.
The personal growth Sonnie describes includes the understanding that no specific climb will “change everything” (though Cobra Crack did), and that in the end, it’s just another day out — glorious though it may be. He also acknowledges that environmental change is affecting the mountains and the routes themselves. Major rockfalls have obliterated routes in both Squamish and the Bugaboos.
One of the pleasures of Uplifted is Sonnie’s ability to bring his climbing partners to life. A late-day, somewhat unprepared ascent of The Naked Edge with Katie Brown. Fate, failure, and near-fatal tragedy on a sport climbing outing with Steve Townshend. The sheer vitality of climbing with Tommy Caldwell on big limestone faces in the Canadian Rockies. And, of course, what it’s like to be out with Alex Honnold, whose irrepressible calculus of risk and reward is always in play.
The decision to “go pro” — made in 1998 while still a teenager — meant graduating from high school with the sole intention of climbing as much and as well as possible. It meant working construction, hosting birthday parties at the climbing gym, and later, working at a climbing store in Squamish. Anything resembling being paid to climb came much later. If there was ever a backup plan, it’s not clear what it was. This was the only life Sonnie wanted — and still wants. It’s hard not to envy those thousands of days out. And it’s hard not to be impressed by his unwavering commitment to making them count.
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