Twenty-four years ago, I was lucky enough to be born in Jackson, Wyoming, home to some of the most beautiful climbing in America. My mom, Tammy, was a professional mountain guide and taught me how to climb when I turned six. But my fascination with the sport started much earlier. When I was a toddler she’d bring me to Grand Teton National Park with my dad and older sister, Kayla. She’d boulder, Dad would spot her, and Kayla would watch me watch Mom. Kayla says that I used to stare up with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. I thought Mom moved like a cute monkey and would clap and laugh whenever she swung from one handhold to the next. Mom said that it was the best beta she ever got.
The Rocky Mountains were basically my playground growing up, so I feel more comfortable climbing up solid granite than the colorful handholds at the local rock climbing gym. I boulder and climb indoors during the winter months, but sometimes those colors just confuse me. I like to make things up as I go. I compete internationally, but still live in Jackson, close to my parents, sister and nieces. I still do climbs with my mom and together—much to my sister’s chagrin—we’re starting to teach Kayla’s girls. I’m hoping to take them with me to my next competition at Lake Tahoe, California.