Wired - Exploring The Adventure Gap

Despite better opportunities than ever for all people to explore the farthest reaches of the planet and the edges of human endeavor, the American adventure scene is still primarily populated by college-educated, upwardly mobile white men. Just as the 2012 presidential election demonstrated the shrinking cultural dominance of this particular demographic, so must we realize that in order to preserve the natural places that climbers love, a more diverse constituency of environmental activists and supporters is critical. There's a racially significant divide between those who choose to recreate outdoors and those who do not. I call it The Adventure Gap.

—James Mills

Sophia Danenberg on Ama Dablam (6812m), Himalaya, Nepal. In 2003 Bruce Braun noted that photos of African Americans rarely appeared in outdoor magazines, an absence he attributed partly to the repetition of assumptions that began to seem like norms. "The image of the [white] climber makes sense because readers can readily draw on other images of climbers—George Leigh Mallory, Edmund Hillary, Reinhold Messner.... Other [nonwhite] narratives of adventure exist, but they are not readily available" in Race, Nature and the Politics of Difference, ed. Donald S. Moore et al. [Photo] Sophia Danenberg collection. [Photo] Jost von Allmen

In 2006, with little fanfare, Sophia Danenberg reached the top of Mt. Everest. She was one of 493 climbers to summit that season, and her story was not widely reported. Nonetheless, there was a historical significance: Danenberg was the first African

American to ascend the mountain. Thus, for the first time, a black climber who was descended from our nation's past of racial oppression had succeeded in elevating herself to the highest physical point on earth. But Danenberg was not eager for any recognition. "I just look at myself as a pretty average amateur mountaineer," she said in an interview. "The things I climb are the things that people climb. Some are technical, sure, but nothing spectacular.... I climb because I like to climb. And to have my birth bring more significance to it is tough for me. I know that it has significance for other people, but I struggle with it in my head. It's almost embarrassing."

In some ways, for so little attention to be paid to Danenberg's race is a testament to how far we've come. Today, many Americans would like to believe that race doesn't matter when it comes to the career choices we make, where we live, where we play or how we relate to the communities around us. And for the most part, it really doesn't. Thanks to the hard work, courage and sacrifices of previous generations, the institutions that once prevented people of color from participating fully as citizens no longer exist. Traditional slavery is long gone, as are legal segregation and employment discrimination. The scale of racially motivated violence that was rampant through the 1960s—the cross burnings and the black men hung from trees—is a nightmare of the past.

But what does remain are cultural artifacts, social cues that define the unwritten codes setting up expectations of what people of a certain racial or ethnic background are "supposed" to do as part of "normal behavior." For many minorities in this country, these expectations do not include climbing. Despite increasing equality in other aspects of our society, there is an apparent racial divide between those who participate in outdoor sports and those who don't. This "adventure gap" represents a yawning, and at-times forgotten, chasm in our community, like an invisible crevasse covered white with snow.

Record keepers like the great Elizabeth Hawley of Nepal or the editors of The American Alpine Journal don't account for racial heritage in their mountaineering statistics. Yet general research suggests that African Americans spend significantly less time in nature than their white counterparts do. In 2010 an Outdoor Foundation survey reported that out of the 137.8 million US citizens engaged in outdoor activities, 80 percent are Caucasian. That same year, the National Park Service stated that roughly 80 percent of its employees were white. According to Dr. Nina Roberts, a social scientist from San Francisco State University, although African Americans represent 12.6 percent of the US population, they typically make up a lower proportion of national park visitors (e.g. 5-6 percent, depending on geography). They are more likely to visit parks and monuments of historical significance, often in urban areas like Washington DC, than to travel to natural sites such as Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon. In her 2012 film, The Way Home, Amy Marquis of the National Park Conservation Association reports that only 1 percent of all visitors to Yosemite, one of the world's most-renowned climbing areas, are African American.

National media and popular culture further reinforce the perception of this under-represented population. American articles and films still portray most mountaineers as relatively affluent Caucasians. Across the racial spectrum, many Americans view climbing as one of the "things white people do." Economic inequality may play a role. According to the 2010 Outdoor Foundation survey, 61 percent of those who take part in outdoor recreation had personal incomes that exceed the national average of $41,000 per year. Travel, new technical gear and clothing are expensive, especially for mountaineering. The average consumer might easily spend $2,000 on a traditional rack, ice screws, ropes, ice axes, slings, crampons, rock shoes, not to mention camping and skiing equipment. In 2011 the National Bureau of Economic Research reported that African Americans bring in, on average, about $.75 for every dollar earned by whites. Although some climbers lead a hand-to-mouth existence in pursuit of their sport, the "dirtbag" lifestyle could have little appeal to emerging black professionals who are the first of their families to attend college.

Historical reasons might also preclude some African Americans from taking pleasure in outside experiences. After centuries of slavery and forced outdoor labor, African Americans migrated en masse to major US cities during the post-Civil War and Great Depression eras. Jim Crow laws and other forms of discrimination restricted their movements and segregated them to urban enclaves all the way until the Civil Rights Act of 1964. White supremacist groups typically perpetrated their acts of racial violence in wooded areas beyond city limits. Given this legacy, it's no wonder that African Americans have often preferred to remain indoors or to visit urban parks closer to home. "Factors such as perceived discrimination, socialization and upbringing, fear [for] personal safety, concern about not having the right outdoor gear or equipment, and/or lack of knowledge and awareness," Roberts says, "are a few of the many reasons [African Americans] provided for lack of visitation to outdoor environments."

Though legal segregation no longer exists and hate crimes are rare, the adventure gap remains as a mysterious cultural barrier forged in social memory. While collectively we enjoy greater freedom to go wherever we wish, as individuals we might question whether or not we are all welcome when we arrive. In the wilds of nature, without the safety of numbers and locked doors, people of color may feel more vulnerable. So they may simply opt to stay home, denying themselves and, potentially, future generations the opportunity to establish and enjoy a comfortable relationship with the outdoors.

Long term, the adventure gap could impact the preservation of the environment as a whole. As the populations of racially and ethnically diverse people continue to rise in the US, the Census Bureau predicts that "minorities" will outnumber whites by 2042. If this growing demographic has little vested interest in environmental conservation, there will be fewer people to advocate for wilderness. It is at this point that the need for greater diversity in outdoor recreation becomes more than a matter of race. Inclusiveness will be a critical factor in the continuing viability of the environmental movement and in the protection of the landscapes that climbers love.