
Foxy Fridays: Josie McKee
I’ll never forget the time I saw Josie in her element. My friend Gwen and I made the unwise choice to do Matthes Crest. It was unwise because it would be Gwen’s ninth day on climbing in the East Sierras, and she wasn’t at 100% to begin with as she was recovering from a very serious back surgery. I knew we were in trouble when it took us like three hours to just get up to the ridge itself–I was feeling the altitude, and Gwen was in pain. As we simul-climbed like snails across the narrow and radical razor blade ridge, I caught something in the corner of my eye. We stopped to rest, and suddenly…there was another person, two people, behind us. Where did they come from? In our sad state, I remember feeling sort of unnerved. And then this form in front said, “Hey you guys!” I looked up, squinting into the sun. It was Josie! She was beaming, a rope slung across her shoulder casually in an alpine coil. She looked so…happy, and alive. I felt like I was dying. She sort of skipped past us–she and her partner were clearly in a hurry–asked us how we were doing (obviously, we had been better), and then, they were gone as quickly as they had appeared. We bailed shortly after.
Josie and I grew up in a very small, very intimate climbing community in a beachside town in California called Santa Cruz. We were some of the few kids in town who competed on plastic: we were part of a new generation of climbers who had coaches, and traveled in minivans around the state to regional (and then, if you were good enough, national) competitions under YCL and then JCCA (which soon after became USA Climbing).
My shot memory doesn’t hold on to much, but I remember that Josie always tried harder than anyone else. Climbing was handed to me, it was always there–I had inherited it from my dad, so sometimes I took it for granted. I was really motivated by competition as a teenager, but was too distracted by the popularity contest that was high school to care about going on real outdoor adventures. Josie was a different story. She got a taste for alpine and big-wall climbing young and took off. Every time I saw her in town she had traveled somewhere new–Southeast Asia, Mexico, South America. Then it was YOSAR, Fitz Roy. This year she did the Nose solo in a push. I’m in awe of this woman, and can’t wait to see what she does next. I also hope that someday she can teach me some of her mad skills. -Sasha Turrentine

Totally exhausted, hr ~24, solo on the Nose
JOSIE MCKEE
Within the next few years, I began working seasonally as a climbing/backpacking instructor and living on the road. I went from one climbing destination to the next – around the western US, southeast Asia, Mexico, south America. In all my travels, three places always hold a place in my heart: The high Sierra, Patagonia and Yosemite valley. I think more than anywhere I find the most joy and freedom climbing in the high Sierra. It’s just plain fun!

The Rainbow Wall, Red Rocks. Photo: Richard Shore
ST: You’ve got to have some pretty good epics. Does any one stand out?
The day started off on the wrong foot as I realized that my bike had a flat and my dry bag had a hole. I got my things in working order, but started out a little later than I’d hoped. By the time I was at the base of the west ridge there were clouds building. I’d done the ridge a couple of times before and was confident I could get up the peak before the storm hit. Which I did. At the summit (one of the highest points around) I reassessed: the clouds had turned dark and ominous, I heard a distant rumble of thunder. I debated bailing down the walk-off, but again, having done the north ridge a couple of times, I figured I could cruise it before the storm hit. Which, again, I did. Mostly. What I hadn’t thought about was the fact that even once you’re done with the technical terrain on the ridge, you’re still really exposed. By the time I hit the boulder field the thunder was rumbling from multiple directions. I saw a flash. I started running. It felt like I was being chased by an angry beast. As the rain began dumping out of the sky, I realized that though the lightning might not strike me, a trip and fall would certainly break, or kill me. So I slowed down. A simultaneous flash and bang came with an onslaught of marble-sized hail. Soaked and cold, I squatted under the first boulder I could find that lent some level of shelter. There was no escape – I just had to wait it out. Within a few minutes I was shivering violently. It occurred to me that the one thing I had in my backpack worth anything was the thin wetsuit I’d brought for the swim across the 40 degree alpine lake. I put it on and hunkered under the boulder. I sat praying I wouldn’t get struck by lightning for about 45 minutes while the storm raged around me. Looking back, I wish I had a photo or that someone had come upon me. It must’ve been a hilarious sight!

Car to car push (~36hrs) on the Evolution Traverse outside of Bishop, CA – 25 miles of hiking, 9 13,000′ peaks, 8 miles of climbing (the traverse continues across the distant skyline in the back of the photo). Photo: Drew Smith
I think one of the things that I’ve become aware of within the gender imbalance is that I feel the need to prove myself. It never seemed enough to be as good as the dudes–it’s almost as if I had to be better than them to feel worthy. I have a number of memories of sitting around listening to guys make plans to climb bigger, badder stuff – stuff that I was plenty capable of doing, but I wan’t getting invited because “most girls” don’t climb those things. I don’t know if it was just in my head or if I really had to do extra to prove myself. I do know that I always kinda felt like I wanted to be one of the dudes, just casually making plans to do whatever – but it just isn’t the case.
I’ve done a lot of work with visualization before big climbs. That helps. Doing it in your head beforehand makes it easier to deal with the more real objective hazards. Then breathing – before and during a climb. Constantly returning to the breath and that rhythm really calms me. Another thing that my boyfriend recently told me (he said he got this from Ron Kauk) is to enjoy every move. This not only calms me down, but it actually helps make hard moves easier.

Building a flat bivy high on the Minaret Traverse outside of Mammoth Lakes, CA. Photo: Elliot Bernhagen

Aguja de l’S, Patagonia on a blustery day. Photo: Richard Shore

Starry bivy on the Minaret Traverse. Photo: Elliot Bernhagen