Tuolomne Adventures with the Rooting Souls Team: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Zivia, Sof, and Rosemary on the Summit of Matthes Crest. PC: Miya Tsudome

By: Zivia Berkowitz

In August of 2021, I did a three-week backpacking trip on the Sierra High Route. Over the course of the expedition, we went up and down countless passes, and I stared in wonder at the sheer granite peaks of the Sierra Nevada. I had never led a trad climb or done any alpine climbing. On the trip, I made a promise to myself that my return to the Sierra High Country would be for a rock climbing trip. 

Sof and Zivia on the summit of Cathedral Peak. PC: Emmie Snead

My name is Zivia Berkowitz. I’m a climber and outdoor educator based in central Wyoming, and for the past two years, I’ve been working with a handful of close friends on a passion project—a documentary film called Rooting Souls. Rooting Souls is an expression of my desire, as a Black queer woman climber, to explore themes of community, connection, and sense of place through the trials and tribulations of expedition rock climbing. To achieve this goal, I am leading an expedition with Sof Petros and Rosemary Saal to climb the North Face Standard Route of Batian Peak (17,054 ft) on Mt. Kenya in September 2026, as a self-sufficient team of Black womxn climbers. 

Climbing a 22-pitch, 2,600ft technical rock route at altitude requires us to train individually but also to gain experience climbing together as a team. This August, the Rooting Souls climbing team received a Catalyst Grant from the American Alpine Club to go on a training trip in Tuolumne Meadows to sharpen our trad/alpine multi-pitch skills. I’m excited to share what we did on our training trip in the trip report below.

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Day 1 (8/30/25): After 12 hours of driving from my home in Lander, WY, I finally arrived in Bishop, California, buzzing with excitement to see my friends and climbing partners for the week. We all trickled into Bishop from various parts of the country. I drove from Wyoming, Sof flew from Seattle to Sacramento to meet Rosemary, and together they drove down to Bishop. Chey flew from Denver to Vegas and then rented a car and drove the rest of the way to Bishop. 

Between the giggles and gossip that come with friends reuniting after many months, we spent the evening grocery shopping, going over final logistics and plans with Jazz and Miya (who joined to help us document this trip), and making sure we had everything we needed to drive into Tuolumne Meadows the following morning. 

Day 2 (8/31/25): We departed Bishop around 8 a.m. and drove to Tioga Lake just outside of the Yosemite National Park entrance. We set up camp at the Tioga Lake Campground, fortuitously securing a spot in the campground just as the previous campers were packing up to leave. After camp was set up, we took time to recuperate from our extended travels, basking in the sun, jumping in the lake, and filming interviews. Restored by the downtime, we drove to Puppy Dome for the afternoon. At Puppy Dome, we experimented and refined our systems for traveling in low 5th-class terrain as a team (in anticipation of the following day's objectives). We caught a beautiful sunset at Puppy Dome before heading back to camp for dinner. The rest of the evening was spent preparing for our ascent of Matthes Crest the following day.

Sof leading on Matthes Crest. PC: Zivia Berkowitz

Day 3 (9/1/25): By 5:15 a.m, wheels were rolling, and we were on our way to the Cathedral Lakes Trailhead. We met up with Miya Tsudome and Gerry Egbalic, who were going to climb the objective ahead of us and help us document our time on the Crest. By 6:30 a.m., after some minor parking lot chaos, we began the approach to Matthes Crest. Approaching Matthes requires approximately three miles of hiking on trails, followed by another three miles off-trail with 1,700 ft of elevation gain. We reached the southern terminus of Matthes Crest just after 9:30 a.m. and began racking up in anticipation of our climb. There was one party ahead of us, and once they completed the first pitch, we began climbing. We pitched out the steeper terrain until we gained the ridge of Matthes. Once on the ridge, we simul-climbed most of the way. Sof and I took turns leading in blocks. This was my first time simul climbing, it was super valuable for me to practice simul-climbing in real time since it is a technique we are planning to use on Mt. Kenya. We reached our high point of the day on the North summit of Matthes (10,923 ft) around 3 p.m. At approximately 7 p.m, nearly nine hours after we started climbing, we completed our final downclimb of the day–we scrambled down off the ridge of Matthes back to the ground in the last light of the day. The apocalyptically vibrant and smoky sunset offered us a moment of reverence and awe for the beauty and power of the natural world. Once we were all on the ground, we took a beat to eat some food, reset, and begin our long walk back to the trailhead. We reached the trailhead just after 10 p.m., exhausted and elated by such a long and rewarding day in the High Sierra. 

Day 4 (9/2/25): We had a slow morning after our 16+ hour moving day on Matthes. We carved out time to debrief and process our ascent. In our debrief, we discussed what went well, what challenged us, and how we can apply our learnings on Matthes Crest to Mt. Kenya and other future objectives. Rain was forecasted for the afternoon and evening, so we thought it best to use the day as a rest day.  

Rosemary on lead. PC: Russell Woo

Day 5 (9/3/25): The forecast remained poor (significant afternoon precipitation). While we would’ve liked to climb another longer multipitch, the threat of aforementioned rain forced us to be flexible. As our time together is both precious and limited, we decided to see what we could climb. We compromised by choosing to attempt some lower-commitment routes at Stately Pleasure Dome. We went up Jabberwalky (5.5, 2 pitches) and Aoxomoxoa (5.5, 2 pitches), which proved more complex thanks to some chopped bolts. For me, the highlight of the day was when Rosemary came out of a lead climbing hiatus as she glided up Turkey Trot (5.8). Rosemary climbed with confidence and precision on the delicate slab, Tenaya Lake sparkling behind her. We all cheered with joy as Rosemary reached the anchor.

Day 6 (9/4/25): The weather cleared, and we were able to fit in one more day in the alpine. We chose to climb another Eastern Sierra classic, the Southeast Buttress of Cathedral Peak and Eichhorn Pinnacle. We began our approach at the Cathedral Lakes Trailhead around 7:15 a.m and reached the base of Cathedral Peak to begin our ascent around 9 a.m. We were familiar with most of the approach from our day on Matthes (although somehow that didn’t prevent us from walking in the wrong direction for a number of minutes). We simul-climbed most of Cathedral Peak, swapping leads, and summiting around 1 p.m. After descending the summit of Cathedral Peak, we traversed our way to the base of Eichorn Pinnacle for our last pitch and final summit of the trip. From the summit of Eichorn, we rappelled to the base of the pinnacle, then hiked to the Cathedral Peak walk-off. Once we were back at the base of Cathedral Peak, we started hiking back to the parking lot (with no misnavigations!). We were back to our vehicles before sunset, around 6 p.m. 

Day 7(9/5/25): We packed up camp in the morning and departed Tuolumne Meadows. On our drive to Bishop, we savored our final moments of the trip, exchanging music recommendations and reminiscing on our time together. At the Bishop Airport, we said our goodbyes, marking the end of a fruitful and memorable trip. Rosemary and I continued driving back to our respective homes thereafter. 

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Rosemary and Sof at an anchor on Stately Pleasure Dome. PC: Zivia Berkowitz.

This grant was quite literally the catalyst for an incredible climbing trip. There are so few Black women climbing traditional alpine style routes, and we come from and live in so many different places! Finding the resources and time to come together is often a challenge. It was a gift to climb historic routes like Matthes Crest and Cathedral Peak as a team. This group of people, the intentions we set to build our skills as alpinists, push ourselves, support each other, and have a blast while doing so, was soul-filling and inspiring.

On a practical level, we practiced new systems on lower 5th-class terrain and gained valuable experience and insights into how we can move as efficiently as possible in exposed, technical terrain. 

Descending Matthes Crest while the sunset glowed red on the horizon, with a team of fellow Black women climber baddies and the friends supporting us, instilled in me a deep sense of gratitude.  

As Black women alpinists, we are often isolated in our experiences. Through the Catalyst Grant, we grew and learned together. On this trip, community and affinity were sources of boundless motivation and inspiration. Our time together in the High Sierra offered opportunities for growth as a climbing team with an abundance of dreams and bigger objectives ahead. 

Learn more about Rooting Souls, support the project, and stay up to date with our antics at rootingsouls.net and @rootingsouls on Instagram. Thanks to the American Alpine Club and The Catalyst Grant for the support! 

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The Catalyst Grant is supported by:

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Queer Mountaineers, Kulshan Climb: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

PC: Sarina Pizzala

Queer Mountaineers is a Pacific Northwest based non-profit that aims to provide community, events, resources, and a safe space for outdoor enthusiasts of all backgrounds, genders, and sexualities. Founders and directors Sarina Pizzala and Jude Glenn had a dream to put on one of the first all-queer climbs of Kulshan (Mount Baker) in the North Cascades.

Kulshan is known as a mountaineering training ground with a relatively straightforward and beginner-friendly approach. They met Jack Bynum at Indigo Alpine Guides, who shared the same passion for creating safe spaces for the LGBTQIA+(Lesiban, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer/Questioning, Intersex, Asexual) community. Together, the three of them planned a four-day course that would cover basic mountaineering skills with funding from The American Alpine Club Catalyst grant.

Join the Queer Mountaineers for a climb up beautiful Kulshan and read their story below!

Immaterial Climbing: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Reported by Sierra McGivney

Photos by Ben Burch

Ben Burch climbing, featured in Immaterial Climbing. PC: Ashley Xu

In the backdrop of Northern Appalachia, Ben Burch (he/they) drove to nowhere. Like most high schoolers, driving was a source of relief and independence in the wake of an angsty breakup. Eventually, Burch needed to stop at a gas station, and the one they picked happened to be next to a climbing gym. Bored of driving aimlessly in their car, Burch wandered inside the climbing gym, opening the door to climbing and its community.  

Burch continued cultivating their passion for climbing in Philadelphia when he went to college. There, he worked with other queer climbers to create PHLash, a community-based, peer-led group that aims to bring together LGBTQIA+ individuals to climb and socialize. Burch found he loved leading and being a part of that community. It was a space that held community and understanding in a sport that traditionally has not always provided that. 

The mood shifted last year when West Virginia attempted to pass a law banning events based around queer affinity. West Virginia is only a stone's throw from Pennsylvania and hosts Homoclimbtastic, the world's largest queer-friendly climbing festival. Burch and his friends found themselves distressed about the status of Homoclimbtastic. This event, like PHLash, had enriched their climbing experience. It kept Burch climbing and invited others into the community. But now, they didn't know if it would ever exist again. Instinctively, Burch thought, I need to document this. 

"I just needed to have something recorded down so people know that this event was here and that we were here," said Burch. 

Their idea was to take photos from affinity groups and events they attended and post them on Instagram to exist somewhere in the ether. On a whim, Burch applied to the American Alpine Club's Catalyst Grant and was chosen. Their photos would no longer live just online but in a physical book: Immaterial Climbing: A Queer Climbing Photography Zine. 

Burch embarked on an East Coast climbing adventure, photographing and memorializing queer events, meetups, and climbers. 

Ultimately, the version of the bill that would outlaw Homoclimbtastic did not pass; however, the bill that did pass put restrictions on queer events. Minors are not allowed to be involved in any way in drag shows in West Virginia, and drag show organizers are responsible for checking the age of attendees. At the Homoclimbtastic Drag Show, participants had to wear a wristband and have their IDs checked. 

Despite the political backdrop, the high-energy drag show and dance party at Homoclimbtastic was one of the most fun nights Burch had in years. For some photographers, when they capture moments through the pictures they take, their memories bend to how they remember them. That night, Burch took a photo of someone dancing surrounded by a bunch of people, all wearing wristbands, and titled it Armbands Around Salamander because the person dancing in the center has a salamander tattoo on their shoulder. This ended up becoming one of Burch's favorite photos in the book. 

"They're really kind of lost in their moment of dance, and for me, even though it is kind of a reconstructed memory, I really think about that dance party as this moment of freedom and expression regardless of the circumstances that were trying to repress that," said Burch.

In the book, Burch focuses on his home base, too. 

One moment stuck out to Burch. A participant at PHLash wearing a Brittney Spears t-shirt said that climbing in Pennsylvania is like Spears' song …Baby One More Time. The rock climbing in the northeast is generally not friendly. Outside of Philadelphia, one of the main climbing areas, Hayock, is home to Solid Triassic Diabase, a type of rock that requires precision on unforgiving edges. Philadelphia feels like a city that embeds grit and determination in its residents, much like the climbing in the area. The lyric hit me baby one more time embodies the rough climbing and the determination of the climbers in the area. 

Photo by Ben Burch

Burch became interested in the idea that the city you're from—not just the culture–is reflected in the climber. In the book's PHLash section, he mixes photos from living in Philadelphia with climbing photos from the meetup. 

Next, Burch changed their aperture, widened their depth of field, and traveled down to Atlanta, Georgia, to the southeast bouldering scene. 

"[Bouldering in the southeast] is truly this perfect marriage of texture and shapes that force precise body positioning and control, mixed with the raw power to get through the fact that they're all just slopers disguising themselves as crimps," said Burch.

There, he participated in a meetup with the affinity group Unharnessed, an LGBT+ and allies climbing club. At this meetup, Burch was more of a wallflower; he had a couple of friends in the Atlanta area but was not a deep group member in the same way as Homoclimbtastic or PHLash. He listened in on the conversation between climbs and found it was not the idle talk that normally existed at the crag. People would talk about the climb or the person climbing, but then the conversation would shift to asking if anyone had extra food to put in the Atlanta community fridge or about the community resources near the gym. He was so struck by how focused the group was on building community through resources and knowledge. 

It reminded him of a quote by bell hooks, "I think that part of what a culture of domination has done is raise that romantic relationship up as the single most important bond, when of course the single most important bond is that of community."

In their portrait section, Burch created a shallow depth of field, softening the background and pulling queer climbers to the forefront. Andrew Izzo is a crusher. He has recently sent Bro-Zone (5.14b) in the Gunks and Proper Soul (5.14a) in the New River Gorge and is a consistent double-digit boulderer based in Philadelphia. He only came out recently and is featured in Immaterial Climbing: A Queer Climbing Photography Zine. Burch thought that taking and publishing these photos of him almost served as a coming-out party. Izzo felt like there was no better way for him to come out. The intersection of being part of the queer community and part of the climbing community showed all of him. "That was a special moment in taking these photos, serving as a space for someone to embrace all of themselves," said Burch.  

Everyone featured in the book's portrait section was chosen for their excellence in community work or climbing. Burch wanted to highlight these individuals who were balancing so many aspects of their identity and achieving so much within the climbing community.

The book revolves around the community Burch is most familiar with—that he could really speak to without fear of misrepresentation. 

"I think all climbers are in constant chase of flow, of that feeling when you are climbing, and it feels like your body is in perfect response to what it needs to do with the rock—this immovable object that you have rehearsed and understood. For me, the East Coast Climbing Scene feels like that state of flow.

“It feels like a place where you are understood, and people know who you are, even without thinking about the larger circumstances. It's this, like, perfect moment of escape in the larger challenge of—to complete the metaphor—trying to finish the climb," said Burch.

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More about Immaterial Climbing: A Queer Climbing Photography Zine and Ben Burch (he/they): 

PC: Ben Burch

Burch is a photographer and climber currently based out of Washington DC. Part of queer affinity groups since they began climbing, he wanted to use this zine as a love letter to the spaces that gave him so much. For more of their photography, please follow them @benjammin_burch on Instagram.

Immaterial Climbing is a photography zine which explores the world of queer climbing. Taken over the course of 2023, this book explores meet-ups, affinity groups, and climbers who are creating their own space of belonging. The project features the event Homoclimbtastic, affinity groups Unharnessed and Phlash, as well as portraits of queer climbers. It is a lovely coffee table book, a book to add to your gym's collection, or a reminder that we'll always be here. Grab your copy.

This project was made possible through the American Alpine Club and the bravery of the queer climbing community.

Climbing out of the Comfort Zone: A Story from the Catalyst grant

Mika and Tyler descending PC: Jay Louie

Climbing is a way Jay Louie, Mika Kie Weissbuch, and Tyler Poston build strength, deal with difficulty, and rejuvenate. They climbed Castleton Tower via the North Chimney (5.9) in April 2022, thanks to the Catalyst Grant. Jay, Mika, and Tyler are members of the queer, trans, and persons of color community, with jobs in social justice fields that require significant emotional investment and labor.

"Climbing is all about community. Although you can climb on your own and grow from there, if you really want to progress, especially into more advanced climbing styles like trad, big wall, and alpine, you can't learn it alone," said Jay.

The three climbers with different skills and backgrounds came together to cultivate a safe space to pursue a desert tower climb. Dive into their story, told from three different perspectives below!

A Trip To Remember: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Adapted from the 2021 trip report written by Adrien Costa.

The Catalyst Grant awards funds to individuals and teams who face barriers in accessing the climbing community and identify with an underrepresented group.

I free-wheeled down the tree-lined road, shaking out the legs that had just taken me up and over Tioga Pass from Lee Vining on yet another 5+ hour training ride. Up high, much higher than the tallest pines, loomed the world’s most famous granite wall. And up on El Cap, one could make out tiny dots stubbornly inching their way up, giving massive scale to the wall. At night, the dots turned into a constellation of stars, almost indistinguishable from the night sky. How I longed to be one of those dots, to feel the air and the wind below my feet, to see the trees in the meadow below as little crowns of broccoli, to have no concerns more pressing than scaling this cliff. But I had other things to do with my life. It was only 2014. My dream of becoming a professional road cyclist was turning closer to reality every day. All I had to do was keep pedaling. This improbable, half-insane climbing desire could find a resting place, for now, in the deepest corners of my brain.  

Seven years later, I whipped my truck into the small pullout below the boulder and scree field leading up to El Cap’s shorter, but ridiculously steep, southeast face. The clock reads 4:46 AM. I step out and stand on one leg of bone and flesh, the other of metal and hydraulics. I am no longer a professional road cyclist. I no longer have two legs. Looking up at the dark  outline of El Cap, I wonder whose life I am now living. I sure as hell never expected mine to look like this.  

Adrien on a previous climbing adventure.

The universe has this rather bothersome tendency to remind us that the only constant is  change, the only sure thing is that nothing is certain. I learned this the hard way. Us humans fight this, often subconsciously. We try to fight change by controlling everything we can, including our accomplishments and our material possessions. It can quickly become dangerously difficult to parse the imagined from the real, the tangible from the illusion.

I felt that I needed an adventure to shake myself out of the daze of daily life I found myself trapped in. I wanted to see if I could find a sliver of peace or wisdom up there. But I mostly just wanted to simplify my existence. It would be just me, my gear, and this rock. No illusions. Only, as I was about to find out, a whole lot of work.  

Climbing a full-length, Grade VI route on El Capitan, by myself, was my big goal for the second half of my rock climbing season. I see and feel, on a daily basis, how much assumption goes on in the climbing world around ability and disability. I wanted to shatter this paradigm; to prove that, with the right support, anybody can accomplish anything they put their heart and soul into. I wanted this climb to be a call for much-needed inclusion and open-mindedness in our climbing community.  

For me personally, this climb represented a big stepping-stone in my climbing, moving towards more committing, more involved multi-day objectives as I seek to continue developing myself as a versatile climber, comfortable in all media.  

Zodiac, Adrien’s original plan, was too wet.

I finished shuttling my two loads to the base just as the sun was rising. My original plan was to climb Zodiac (C3), a 16-pitch route of moderate, clean aid that has frequently been referred to as a good introduction to “real aid” on El Cap. But a recent storm had soaked the first few pitches of the route, and I didn’t want to start a 4-day odyssey soaking wet. Luckily, I had a topo and gear for the nearby Tangerine Trip (5.9 C3+), which appeared steep enough to be completely dry. Between its consistent overhang, a huge traverse on the fifth pitch, and the fact that this route sees a bit less traffic than Zodiac, it was all starting to feel much more committing, and exciting, than my original plan.

I decided to start the trip via the first pitch of Lost in America, shown as “C3F Bad Fall” in the  topo, which proved to be one of the cruxes of the route. I built my first anchor, cloved off a couple pieces low, and started up the pitch. My last piece of good protection was only 20 feet off the ground was well aware that blowing any piece on this first pitch could result in a ground fall. Very gingerly I inched my way up, breathing a huge sigh of relief upon regaining moderate terrain. I looked at my phone and realized that close to two hours had gone by. The next couple leads took some time as I got back in the rhythm of “real” aid climbing. I got my ropes fixed to the top of pitch 4, and having found a small ledge system below, decided to bivy there. It was a bit demoralizing to be just a couple hundred feet off the ground after a very long  day of work, but I set my alarm for early and tried to enjoy the opportunity to rest.  

The next morning, I broke down the portaledge, sipped my coffee, pooped in a homemade WAG bag, and jugged and hauled to my high point. Here, I finally joined Tangerine Trip proper for the committing 160-foot leftward traverse pitch. The lead was fine, albeit long, but rapping the lead line, and then cleaning the pitch, was as demanding as leading itself. The next couple pitches went well, but still slower than I would’ve liked.  

I forced down some plain ramen for dinner, and was stoked to be able to hang my prosthetic leg with me inside my small portaledge’s fly to charge its battery for the night. This is something I have to keep tabs on during any overnight adventure, and is something I have paid the cost of being complacent with.  

By the end of the following day, I was really starting to feel the stress simmering. A stuck tag line had cost me a lot of time and mental energy earlier in the day. I was also running out of water and knew I needed to top out the next day. But in order to do this, I’d need to fix one more pitch in the dark. The issue was that my headlamp was running out of juice, and my spare batteries were already dead. The stress and pressure was compounding. I had to act.

So I set off, keeping my headlamp as dim as possible, and hoping I wouldn’t get led astray. I tried to climb as efficiently as possible. It turns out that this pitch is also the route’s chossiest. It’s hard to believe there could be any loose rock up there, but I found it in spades as I quested upwards, always upwards, into the dark.  

This was by far the mental crux of the climb. I felt so alone, so vulnerable, so close yet so far from the top, with very little margin for error. I cannot describe the relief that swept through my body once I could faintly make out the line of bolts of the anchor.  

I tucked into my sleeping bag just before midnight, but was stoked on a good day of work, and confident that I’d be standing on top the next day.  

I definitely had not anticipated the nonstop focus that I had to endure for four days straight. It wore me down, but by the last day I found a good rhythm, and started letting my body move on autopilot through the steps. Stack haul line. Stack tag line. Set up lead anchor. Select gear for pitch. Put on GriGri and Microtrax. Climb the pitch. Tag up anchor and haul kit. Fix lead and haul lines. Rap the pitch. Release the bags. Clean the anchor. Jug and clean the pitch. Haul. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

While free-climbing on the last couple pitches, I finally let myself have dreams of pizza.  Touching the tree on top was surreal, and walking felt foreign, but more pressing at that moment were water, food, and figuring out how to get my 100+ lbs of gear, sprawled into various growing piles, off the mountain in one load.  

What ensued was hell. With my haulbag on my back, a light backpack on my chest, a trekking pole in one hand and my portaledge in another, I stumbled and yardsaled my way down the East Ledges descent. I broke my prosthetic foot on the descent—under so much weight, the carbon fiber splintered from nothing more than a little trip. I could still walk (or hobble), but I could hear the fibers crackling with every step.  

Four hours after leaving the tree on top, I walked in disbelief into the El Cap picnic area. The Trip was complete. 

Looking back, I realize that aid soloing is a lot like pressing the fast-forward button on life. Every minute action, every decision you make has consequences that are felt, and must be dealt with, without delay. And these consequences range from a minor inconvenience, and time wasted, to time not really existing anymore for you. The constant low grade stress for days on end was exhausting, and yet there was no room for fear, nor any time to sit back. Only action could push my ropes further up the wall. Perhaps this is indeed an apt metaphor for life.  

I have also come to realize that we have no option but to embrace change and make the most of the circumstances we are presented with. Life has taken me in directions I could never have envisioned as that fresh-faced boy riding his bike through the Valley. But by adapting and trusting the process, I was able to become, for a short little while, one of those tiny dots on that big, big wall.  

A Note of Thanks:

To see the AAC come out with the Catalyst Grant, promoting inclusion and diversity in a sport which needs it so desperately, was incredibly meaningful and motivating. I deeply value what results when we invite more diverse folks into our community. When we do, we strengthen and deepen the human connections we share while recreating in the natural world we all love.  

And I can honestly say that the folks at High-Fives Foundation are changing lives. Their work greatly decreases the barriers to adaptive athletes’ participation in our favorite outdoor sports. Having worked in the adaptive sports world, I cannot overstate the importance of the sense of agency, independence, and community that sport can bring an individual, and how these experiences can transform the course of someone’s life. Rock on!