Guides Are Like Donkeys

The more they eat, the more they work

The best meal I ever had as a guide was a sandwich from Scratch Deli and Bakery in Estes Park, Colorado. It was a turkey and cheese. Provolone to be exact. The wheat bread was freshly baked that morning, and the turkey was juicy and well served, layered thick. The cross-section of the sandwich exposed a rainbow–slices of crimson-colored tomatoes, shredded green lettuce, and my favorite, red onion. (Which is more like purple if you ask me). Salt and pepper decorated the vegetables, and a layer of spread avocado glued it all together like a creamy and delectable mortar mix.

My location added to the artisanal quality of the sandwich, enhancing my eating experience. I was roughly 11,000 feet above sea level and five miles deep in the backcountry of Rocky Mountain National Park. The sun was out, baking the alpine landscape perfectly to about 72 degrees Fahrenheit. An occasional breeze blew, maintaining that perfect warm yet crisp sensation your body only experiences in the mountains.

Craggy cliffs surrounded me. If I looked in the correct spots, tiny specks of color revealed the whereabouts of climbers scaling Colorado’s most classic alpine rock spires, like the Sharktooth, Sabre, and Petit Grepon. In the belly of the glacial cirque, in front of where I sat plastered to a flat, warm rock, the green and cerulean waters of the Lake of Glass rippled in the breeze.

Between the impeccable weather, landscape, and delicious sandwich, if a black hole tore open the universe and swallowed everything inside as quickly as my dog inhales her kibble, I’d go contently. Luckily for me, it didn’t. And even luckier, I didn’t pay a dime for the sandwich.

The clients I was guiding paid for the sandwich. All I had to do was carry it, which seemed like a fair trade.

Lake of Glass, RMNP

I will always say yes to free food

It’s common for my clients to share their food. I get asked if I want handfuls of granola, the extra pizza slice, or a slice of apple. One time, I even traded my peanut butter and jelly on sourdough for a pork bun that a client brought up from NYC. (I know, what a deal.)

It’s not like I’m staring at these people, mouth agape, head cocked, slightly sideways, and drooling like a dog listening and smelling bacon being fried. I always have my own food. I’m a professional, for god sake. But I do love free food.

If I get asked if I want food, I typically respond, “Climbing guides always say yes to free food.” I don’t know if that’s scientifically proven, but it’s damn well true for me. That’s because when I’m out climbing, I’m like a garbage disposal wearing a helmet and harness. I will consume anything and everything in my lunch bag and then move on to yours.

From a practical and nutritional standpoint, the more carbs, sugar, protein, whatever I can eat, the better and longer I can work. It’s like feeding your donkey good hay, apples, and those uncharacteristically gigantic carrots. They’ll hoof loads for hours on end.

The kids I work with have the best hay, apples, and carrots. Or rather, potato chips, Oreos, and candy. Sharing the food of the kids on school trips or summer camps is like taking a culinary trip down memory lane. The high-fructose corn syrup and red dye 40 these kids are packing brings me straight back to the days of fruit roll-ups and gushers.

From a sociocultural perspective, my habitual welcoming of free food comes from my time living and traveling in South America. When I lived in Peru, I learned a lot about sharing food. If I visited someone’s house, they served me a bite to eat. If someone peeled an orange, they shared a slice. If someone went to dinner, they invited me to accompany them.

My favorite was that if someone opened a beverage, they poured an extra portion for me, even if it was “single serve.” Consequently, I got used to accepting food offerings.

I also got used to offering what I had. Over this winter, I spent a lot of time working with folks from Central and South America. During lunch, everyone would eat their own food, but there was always some sharing going on. One night, I bought pizza slices for my guys. Another time, I shared salsa I made. According to my taste buds, this stuff was lava, but my coworkers laid it on thick!

Sharing food while climbing is my favorite part of the day

There’s something about sharing sustenance while climbing that just feels different. For one, it’s nostalgic for me. It brings me back to the hospitality I received in South America.

But it also feels fun. It’s a symbiotic exchange of necessary resources to help the team. It’s fuel for the fire. Or coal that keeps the send train revving.

Also, it’s a great time to slow things down and take a break. Sitting back on a perfect rock and eating a snack while basking in dappled sunshine is one of my favorite things to do at the cliff.

Sharing a meal is also an opportune time to reflect on how the climbing is going. I love hearing folks talk about how exciting the last route was. And it’s a great time to make a plan for the rest of the day. With some food and water in the belly and sugar in the blood, it’s remarkable how psyched you can get for more pitches!

Well-fed guides are happy guides

So, if you are wondering how to show your guide that you appreciate them, try and feed them. (Tipping them is a good idea, too.) Watch their eyes light up like a child in an arcade when they consume your extra energy bar or when you invite them for burgers after everyone is down safe.

I’ll also share what I am packing if you don’t mind my grubby hands serving you.