Why are ice climbers afraid to talk about climate change?

Posted on April 15, 2026 by Griffin Lawrence

I woke up at 4 a.m. on the floor of the Cody Legacy Inn. It was the first weekend of the new year, and our alarm kicked off a routine I’ve come to look forward to. My friends and I microwaved a quick breakfast, then hit the road toward one of the most legendary ice climbing destinations on earth.

We were in Cody for the Wyoming Ice Festival, an event that brings together new and veteran climbers to enjoy the wild west of ice climbing. Over the past decade I’ve worked and volunteered at many ice festivals from Colorado to Alaska. I have a lot of affection for these events, which combine expert instruction, gear demos, legendary presentations, and quality socializing. They make an intimidating sport accessible, and are an all-around good time.

This year felt different, though, and we weren’t sure what to expect. Despite being early January, temperatures were getting up into the 50s — ominous conditions for climbing ice. This would add risk and uncertainty to our climbs, so we needed to start early in search of cooler temps.

Far up the South Fork of the Shoshone, we hit the trail under starry skies. The previous time we were there, we had broken trail through deep snow. This time we balanced across barely-frozen bootprints in mud.

After hours of sweaty hiking, we reached the base of our climb. This route had historically formed as a long, gorgeous flow of blue-and-white ice. But today, we found ourselves staring at long sections of steep dirt interspersed with thin ice.

We shook our heads; climbing the route in these conditions would be not just miserable, but also dangerous. None of us were interested in attempting it, so we headed back to the car.

That evening at the ice festival, the tone was somber. Normally a high-stoke gathering of old and new friends, this year we quietly drank beer in a big open room. At times it had the melancholy, slightly awkward air of a funeral.

I experienced this with a feeling of unhappy recognition. For decades we’ve been warned that our society’s pollution would warm the planet. Now here it is, the widely predicted consequence of our actions. We’re finally looking climate change in the eye.

But to my surprise, it seemed that no one else wanted to talk about it. Climbers acknowledged the terrible quality of the ice, but avoided any mention of this season’s context within a warming world.

This got me wondering: Why are ice climbers afraid to talk about climate change? These bold individuals spend their weekends carrying sharp objects up frozen waterfalls. Climbing ice requires learning to recognize and engage with fear, but even we aren’t courageous enough to talk about the climate.

It’s hard to say what we’re so afraid of. Maybe we’re superstitious that if we acknowledge the rapid disappearance of winter, it will leave even sooner. We knew the climate would warm eventually, but it’s hard to admit that eventually has arrived.

Maybe we’re afraid of saying something incorrect. It’s not uncommon for well-meaning people to argue that we’re seeing weather, not climate. “Corrections” like this discourage discussion while missing the forest for the trees. One tree is a tree, and a group of them is a forest. Climate is by definition not just one experience; it’s a pattern of weather over time. One warm season could be a fluke, but a decade of rapid warming is nothing to ignore.

Or perhaps climbers are simply desperate to avoid “political” discussion, which is legitimate given the fury of our current partisan system. In a society where park rangers are fired for talking about pollution, this is an understandable fear, but a very slippery slope. Those of us who are still allowed to acknowledge the climate crisis have a duty to do so.

Whatever is keeping us silent, there seems to be an underlying assumption that talking about the climate crisis won’t help us fix it. This leads us to give up, before we’ve even started. This attitude of giving up flies in the face of the loud-and-clear messaging from experts, who remind us that we already have all the tools we need to reverse planetary warming. Somehow hopelessness has crept into our winter sports, and it’s keeping us quiet as we lose our way of life.

Our silence is fascinating because climate change is getting so hard to ignore. Over a third of the years in my life have broken the record for the hottest ever recorded. The consequences are now plainly visible, and surveys have found that the majority of Wyomingites believe in climate change. Despite this, only 28 percent of us talk about it even occasionally. We’re all worried about the same thing, but ignoring it makes it seem like no one cares.

Climate hopelessness grows easily because it’s so difficult to see the impacts of our positive actions. We don’t get immediate feedback when we do the right thing, but it’s worth remembering that our decisions do impact the day-to-day lived realities of future generations. One person’s actions could easily save a species they’ve never heard of from extinction. A simple conversation today could encourage actions that save a firefighter’s life in 20 years. We’ll never know the outcome, so we need to trust the process.

This is why I go out of my way to reduce my personal pollution, offset my carbon, and talk openly about building a better future. It’s also why I get up at 4 a.m. and continue the hunt for mythic ice. Some days the outcome is more favorable than others, but we don’t know until we get out there and try.

It’s looking unlikely that snowmobiling and ice climbing will support Cody’s economy a decade from now. In the meantime, the majority of people are thinking about it, just waiting for someone to start the conversation. So when others hesitatingly mention poor skiing or wildfire anxiety, don’t hold back or deny reality. There’s something liberating about calling it what it is, and doing so can help others push past their fears so we can move forward together.

Banner photo: Chewool Kim on Unsplash