Before undertaking a climb, countless elements may be subjected to analysis: equipment, conditions, timing. At a certain point, however, calculation must necessarily yield to intuition. It is perhaps within this tension that climbing assumes its most authentic form for Dörte. The wall is neither merely an obstacle to be overcome nor a surface upon which athletic achievement can be verified. It is an unresolved question, a geography awaiting interpretation. For this reason, opening a new route constitutes a gesture closer to art than to science: a mental line first imagined among the rocks and then inscribed into the landscape. It is this approach that has enabled the German climber to inhabit such altitudes with a rare degree of naturalness.

Through Field Reports, a project supported by Patagonia, her relationship with rock faces has also become a laboratory for observation and design development. Clothing is tested against climate, gravity and movement, without ever disrupting the intimacy between the mountaineer and the natural element. A dialogue in which Dörte’s experience and Patagonia’s sensibility ultimately converge.

Your biography seems to span several distinct worlds: physics, extreme mountaineering, and mountain guiding. How has your scientific background influenced your approach to climbing?

“I believe it has influenced me, although it is difficult to determine precisely how. More than anything, it has shaped my way of thinking. I have a strong need to understand how things work and to consider what the consequences might be when a particular variable changes. This way of reasoning is highly relevant to mountaineering, which involves a great deal of strategy. You are constantly trying to refine your equipment, logistics, and timing. In many areas of my life, I attempt to adopt a scientific approach: identifying the different variables, understanding the influence each of them may have, and planning accordingly.”

When did you first fall in love with being outdoors and spending time in the mountains? Was climbing something that came from your family, or did it emerge from a personal passion for the natural world?

“Initially, some new neighbours moved in, and they were ski mountaineers. They began taking my mother with them on excursions, and she thought it might be something I would enjoy as well. She contacted the German Alpine Club in Heidelberg, where she introduced me to a man who had recently moved there from Munich and was training a group of young alpinists. He began taking me into the mountains; first ski mountaineering and, later, climbing. My mother was right: I loved it immediately. Although I don’t think she quite realised what she was setting in motion at the time.”

Verticality has a powerful physical dimension, but also a philosophical one. What does climbing a big wall mean to you? What sensations and emotions does it evoke?

“For me, it is certainly much more than a sport. It is a way of life. Ever since I began, I have organised my existence around climbing and mountaineering. They have almost always been the most important activities in my life. What I particularly value is their intensity and complexity. Climbing encompasses so many different dimensions. It is profoundly physical, but equally psychological, and therefore demanding on many levels. It is one of those experiences that absorbs you completely. When I am climbing, nothing else exists. It requires 100% of me, physically and mentally, and I think it is precisely this combination that I find so compelling.

Over the past few years, I have spent most of my time rock climbing. I began with classical alpinism, and I still prefer alpine multi-pitch climbing to pure sport climbing because it contains more elements and offers a fuller, broader experience. That breadth is what I am drawn to. I simply love being outdoors and spending time on a wall. I particularly enjoy the exposure. Many people feel intimidated by it, by the immense amount of space beneath their feet, but I actually feel at ease. I cannot entirely explain why. Perhaps, when the ground is so far below you, it seems impossible to touch. The landscape surrounding you is extraordinarily beautiful, and I feel comfortable suspended within it. I also love sleeping on the wall and remaining there for several days. I genuinely enjoy that experience. For me, it’s the place to which I belong. Whenever I am climbing a big wall, I feel that I am exactly where I should be.”

You were the first woman to complete several major walls around the world. It is a historic achievement, but also a symbolic one. What do those walls represent to you, and how has your relationship with climbing changed after ascending them?

“I would not say that, after completing a climb, I suddenly feel as though I have become a different person. Nevertheless, the first truly significant ascent of my career was undoubtedly the West Face of Cerro Torre in Patagonia. That experience taught me that I was capable of achieving things that had previously existed only as dreams—things I had not even truly dared to imagine. It gave me confidence and showed me that certain ambitions could be pursued even when they appeared inaccessible, or beyond the limits of what I believed I could do. That was probably the most important lesson I took from the experience. Naturally, I have evolved through climbing. It has helped shape my personality and has changed me over time. Life changes us, and climbing constitutes an enormous part of my life. 

I have completed several difficult first ascents. Discovering a line and trying to understand whether it is possible involves a degree of uncertainty that I deeply appreciate. I don’t like having too much certainty in my life. Knowing exactly what I will be doing the following year is actually rather frightening to me. Climbing preserves this sense of the unknown. This is especially true of first ascents. You look at a wall and begin to imagine a line. Then you start climbing without knowing whether it will be possible, searching for a way through. I spent long periods working on certain ascents: several days on the wall, followed by further time devoted to understanding the individual movements, linking them together, and ultimately climbing the route free. It becomes a gradual process. The achievement doesn’t arrive entirely as a surprise. For that reason, I don’t experience a sharp transition between who I was before and who I become afterwards.

Sometimes, when a major project has demanded a great deal of time and energy, its end can even bring a certain sadness. After investing so much of yourself in something and finally achieving it, I do not necessarily want to move immediately on to the next project. Doing so would feel as not allowing sufficient space for what I had just experienced.”

At Athleta Magazine, we like to consider sport not merely as performance, but as a gateway through which to discuss art and culture. Have you ever thought of climbing as an art form, and of yourself as an artist?

“When you establish a new line that has never been climbed before, I certainly believe there is an artistic dimension to the process. It requires creativity and imagination. You are faced with an immense wall, but before you can climb it, you must first conceive of a possible line. You have to imagine whether it might work and, in a sense, draw that line across the surface of the wall. This requires considerable experience and an ability to interpret the terrain, but once the route has been realised and you have finally found your way through the wall, I believe the result can be understood as a work of art.

Creativity, in general, is intimately connected to art. Art requires an enormous degree of creativity, and so does climbing. Whenever you encounter a challenge that is unfamiliar or unexpected, you must respond inventively. Many situations in climbing demand precisely that kind of imagination, and this is what makes the experience comparable to artistic practice. There may not be a tangible object at the end of it: no drawing to hang on a wall, but there remains an experience that, to me, possesses an artistic quality.”

Climbing is often described as a relationship with nature. In your experience, what kind of relationship has it become—with the natural world and with yourself?

“For me, spending a great deal of time outdoors is essential. I believe I need it for my own well-being. My relationship with nature feels genuine. It is not something foreign or exceptional to me. It is where I feel I belong and where I am able to find peace. Spending time outdoors is a necessity. When I remain for too long inside buildings or in a big city, I begin to feel nervous and anxious.

My relationship with nature is also founded upon respect: for plants, animals, and the environments through which we move. As climbers and mountaineers, we often pass through terrain inhabited by countless living beings. It is, in a sense, their home. When somebody enters my home, I expect a certain standard of behaviour and a degree of respect. It is important to extend that same consideration when we enter the habitat of another living creature, which is something we do constantly whenever we move through the natural world. This principle is also one of Patagonia’s central values as a brand. It is something the company has stood for from the very beginning.”

Every vertical environment has its own identity: its climate, texture, and rhythm. How do these differences influence the way you move—and the way you dress—in relation to the wall?

“They are extremely important. When you want to climb at your limit while remaining comfortable, your clothing must correspond to the temperatures and weather conditions you are likely to encounter. Those conditions can vary enormously. Climbing in Patagonia, for instance, can be entirely different from climbing in the Alps, although there may also be certain similarities. Even within the same place, the experience of climbing in winter can be radically different from that of climbing in summer.

When you are attempting something difficult, it is essential to control as many of these variables as possible, because each one you manage effectively becomes one less thing to think about. When your clothing performs as it should, you are not conscious of it; everything simply functions. But the moment it fails, it occupies a substantial part of your attention and consumes both mental and physical energy. Dressing appropriately is therefore crucial, particularly because you do not want to carry unnecessary equipment. Everything has weight, and in climbing, weight is inseparable from gravity. You want to bring precisely what you need: neither too much nor too little. Finding the exact balance between necessity and excess is fundamental.”

In the Field Reports project, the wall is not merely a technical challenge, but also a space of observation and research. How did your relationship with the rock evolve, knowing that every gesture formed part of a process of development and refinement for a Patagonia climbing kit?

“In Madagascar, everyone was initially somewhat sceptical about whether it would be an appropriate location in which to test the free-wall kit, because the country is generally associated with very warm conditions. However, we  found a range from zero to twenty-five degrees Celsius at that time of year. In the end, it was indeed an excellent location because we encountered virtually every condition, from cold temperatures to considerable heat. We experienced the entire range, which made it an ideal environment in which to test the layering system. We moved through all the different layers: beginning with shorts and a top, then adding long trousers and additional layers, before eventually using windbreakers when the wind arrived.

Nevertheless, the wall itself never became merely a testing environment for me. I was there to climb, and my attention remained focused on the rock as a wall to be ascended, rather than as an instrument for evaluating clothing. The testing process certainly added another dimension somewhere in the back of my mind, but it did not alter my fundamental approach to the climb. The most significant difference was probably the presence of people with cameras. Most of the time, in situations of this kind, you are alone, and I value that solitude. This experience was different, but I loved the people who were there and deeply appreciated their support.”

In your work on the Patagonia Free Wall Kit, the product emerges from a continuous dialogue between experience and design. How important is it for you that the equipment is not only functional, but also reflects, in some way, your personality?

“I think it is important. Whether you like something and feel comfortable in it is always about more than functionality alone. It also has to do with the sensation of the garment, with how it feels, and whether you respond to it visually. I try not to pay too much attention to that aspect, but I think it inevitably influences you. I believe it is impossible to remove that dimension entirely. Colour and aesthetic details all play a role, even if functionality remains the foundation. If the functionality is not there, I will not like it. But in order for me to truly appreciate something, it needs to offer more than technical performance. I also need to feel comfortable in it. That has to do with how it feels on the skin, with the fit, and with the way the garment allows me to move. It does not only have to function well; it also has to feel right. You have to like it in some way.

With the Free Wall Kit, I had the opportunity to influence the creative process, and I really like the final result. The process itself was also extremely interesting. I have been involved in many development projects with Patagonia, but never quite from the very beginning. What was unique about this one was that nothing had truly been defined before we started. The designers wanted to understand what a day on the wall looked like for both Josh and me. They wanted to know every detail, even what we eat, how the day unfolds, and how everything feels. Gradually, the product began to take shape through a dialogue between the designers and us.”

Beyond the grades, and the first ascents, what would you like people to remember about your career and the way you climbed?

“I think I would like people to remember the belief that it is possible to achieve something if you truly want it. If there is something you want to do, you should fight for it, believe in it, and sooner or later it will happen. That is probably the most important lesson for me. It is what I would want people to understand: that if they have a dream, they should try to pursue it and continue moving towards it. Sooner or later, they will get there. I am sure of that.”