{"id":2463246,"date":"2017-07-06T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2017-07-06T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/uncategorized\/patagonia-archives\/"},"modified":"2022-05-12T12:33:20","modified_gmt":"2022-05-12T18:33:20","slug":"patagonia-archives","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/outdoor-adventure\/climbing\/patagonia-archives\/","title":{"rendered":"Into the Heart of Patagonia\u2019s Secret Archives"},"content":{"rendered":"

On the morning after the 2016 presidential election, I skirted the Hells Angels\u2019 former Ventura, California, headquarters, and tapped on a barred door attached to a graffiti-tagged cinderblock warehouse. The 10,000-square-foot facility\u2014a former food canning operation, whose address I am not to reveal\u2014houses the Patagonia Archives<\/a>, a project recently launched by the clothing company to chronicle its storied past. No signage betrayed the identity of the building\u2019s occupant, or hinted at the work that was taking place within, because the Archives are not open to the public.<\/p>\n

Photos from the Archives<\/h3>\"A Some of the treasures Brad\u00a0found inside

See More <\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

Longtime Patagonia employee Val Franco tipped me off about the Archives. She was hired in 1973 by the founders, Yvon Chouinard<\/a>, and his wife, Malinda, to run the company\u2019s first sewing operation\u2014the same home-grown shop that launched the Patagonia brand in 1976. She is one of five archivists whose collective tenure exceeds 100 years. Of the five, Franco, 64, and Terri Laine, 61, are the Archives\u2019 only full-time employees. Their mission is to curate and protect anything ever sewn, snapped, hammered, stamped, or scrawled within or about Patagonia and Chouinard Equipment, from the present back to 1957, the year Chouinard paid cash for an Alcoa drop forging die, and began manufacturing pitons in his parents\u2019 Burbank backyard. \u201cIt will never be done,\u201d Franco said of the Archives, \u201cbut you want to give it your best effort to get it undiluted. Because when I die, and when we\u2019re all gone, you\u2019re gonna get a second-hand story. We have an amazing opportunity to get it firsthand right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

We entered the main space, with its\u00a0imbrication\u00a0of bays and sub-rooms stacked with tables of\u00a0ephemera: catalogs, company newsletters, posters, garment sketches,\u00a0hangtags, decals, a stacks upon stacks of photographs. <\/p><\/blockquote><\/div>\n

The company has not publicized the project, although the archivists have been quietly inviting friends and family to bring their Chouinard and Patagonia-branded products \u201chome,\u201d where they will be catalogued, exhibited, and stored. (I\u2019d hear that expression frequently during my visit.) Although Franco and Laine will not pay for these items\u2014they say they have no budget for such things\u2014they would rather see these products housed in Ventura than, say, moulder, forgotten, in a dank garage, donated to Goodwill, or sold on eBay, where a Chouinard-Frost Piolet can fetch in excess of $500<\/a>. The archivists\u2014in addition to Franco and Laine there are Karen Frishman, 59, Cheryl Endo, 50, and Rafael Dunn, 40\u2014do not begrudge their friends and former patrons their eBay lucre. But anyone who totes their trove home, they say, will be photographed and their stories will be recorded. The way Franco and Laine explained it (and the evidence of this was plain) is that the satisfaction of gifting a well-used rack of Chouinard Lost Arrow pitons, for example, and sharing their histories, far exceeds their resale value. Franco deems storytelling so critical to Patagonia\u2019s institutional memory that she is videoing donors\u2014members of the dirtbag tribe\u2014as they share their reminiscences of the company\u2019s early years. The sooner these interviews are captured, Franco told me, the better, because the problem, as she sees it, is that Patagonia\u2019s oldest friends, and those of Chouinard Equipment before it<\/a>, are dying. Most of Mr. Chouinard\u2019s former climbing cronies are in their late 70s or early 80s. The climbing legend, Fred Beckey<\/a>, who recently visited the Archives, is 94. Another recent guest, past president of the American Alpine Club<\/a>, Jim McCarthy<\/a>, is 83. Chouinard is 78. \u201cWe want to get them before they're no longer with us,\u201d says Franco. \u00a0<\/p>\n

\n

But for the famously media shy Malinda\u00a0Pennoyer Chouinard, Patagonia\u2019s eldest and best record keeper, there would be no Archives. (She did not agree to an interview for this story.) \u201cShe\u2019s the one who\u2019s always kept one eye on our history,\u201d Yvon explained in a prepared quote, his only response to my request to interview him. Climber and writer Doug Robinson<\/a>, who has known the Chouinards since 1969, remembers Malinda as the organization\u2019s social catalyst. \u201cBefore there was a Patagonia, Malinda knew there was something brewing by the scruffy goings on in the Tin Shed and beyond,\u201d he said, recalling how she began stuffing scrapbooks with photos and clippings nearly 50 years ago.<\/p>\n

If Malinda was the curator of the company\u2019s heritage, then Cheryl Endo wanted an archive of a different sort to address a persistent problem: Patagonia\u2019s next-gen clothing designers were reinventing features that had been invented decades before. \u201cSo a lot of times we\u2019d be talking about something and I\u2019d be standing there going, oh yeah, we did that in 1993. You should look at this pocket. They\u2019re like, \u2018What!?\u2019\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Some
Some of Patagonia's most iconic products live within the 10,000-square-foot facility. <\/span> (Terri Laine)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

As early as 2007, Endo was reading about Levi Strauss\u2019s clothing archive, and in 2014 she pitched the concept to her bosses. They bit. They recruited Rafael Dunn, the digital content manager, Franco, who had been assembling a Patagonia oral history, and Laine for her design savvy. \u201cWe\u2019re tinkerers. We had no budget, no facilities, and not really any resources,\u201d says Dunn, \u201cso we were trying to make do with what we had.\u201d<\/p>\n

They toured corporate archives at Nike and Eddie Bauer, among others. They took the advice of Rick Shannon, director of the Department of Nike Archives, or DNA<\/a>, who advised them to begin by collecting as much inventory possible. They placed bins around campus and asked people to donate the detritus occupying desk space, crawl space, or wherever. Endo recalled how Vincent Stanley, the company\u2019s director of philosophy, whose tenure dates back to the early \u201870s, fished an old garment out of the trunk of his car and presented it to her. \u201cHe throws this jacket at me,\u201d she remembered. \u201cIt\u2019s like this old, broken down fleece. \u00a0Turns out that this was the fabric that Malinda found at the California Merchandise Mart that was originally marketed as toilet seat covers. It was one of the original pieces that started the company.\u201d<\/p>\n

Donations straggled in from outside the company, too. Ric Hatch, who was a sales rep and later became the company\u2019s director of North American sales, gifted a box of samples dating back to \u201879, as did the \u201870s climbing ace and former sales manager, Henry Barber. \u201cIt\u2019s still sort of by organic word of mouth,\u201d Franco says. \u201cWhat\u2019s happening is that people are depositing their garage storage with us. And we\u2019ll take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

“When people ask me\u00a0what I do I tell them I\u2019m a seamstress and that my materials are people. So I\u2019m a connector of people and things.”<\/p><\/blockquote><\/div>\n

Of Yvon, Franco has asked virtually nothing\u2014not even for an interview. Hatch, who now lives in Flagstaff, traveled to Ventura to donate his motherlode. \u201cI asked Yvon if he had been to the Archives,\u201d Hatch told me, \u201cand he said, \u2018Nah, I don\u2019t need to go over there, that\u2019s the past.\u2019 \u00a0It was like he didn\u2019t want to have anything to do with it.\u201d Chouinard has since visited the Archives, is said to be supportive of the project, but doesn\u2019t spend much time there.<\/p>\n

It could be that the sight of a warehouse packed with seven decades of his company\u2019s makings discomfits Chouinard, given his disdain for stuff in general. After all, he has publicly angsted about being part of the environmental problem himself. This, even as he was morphing a humble blacksmith shop into an enterprise that today generates the better part of $1 billion in annual revenues and employs nearly 2,000 globally.<\/p>\n

What did I expect to find in the Archives? Stuff yes, but mainly the culture instilled by the Chouinards, the brand identity an outgrowth of their ideals, which academic historian Kerwin Klein likened to Stewart Brand\u2019s Whole Earth Catalog. \u201cChouinard seemed to me to have this evangelical, self-contained vision: a homemade Sixties style of politics built from semi-libertarian, semi-progressive, and entrepreneurial values,\u201d Klein told me by phone from the University of California at Berkeley.<\/p>\n

I became aware of Chouinard and his companies many years ago when I began to climb, and then later when I sold his wares while working at a San Diego outdoor outfitter to support that climbing habit. Even then, the brand was elevating the word \u201cdirtbag\u201d to an honorific, which came to stand for a renunciate of the popular culture, a picaro who lived to climb or surf, was penniless but happy, understood through voluntary privation that less was more, and would eat cat food if need be to sustain the sporting life. (When he was young and poor Chouinard ate cat food, not to fulfill some Romantic notion, but because he was hungry.) The company\u2019s collateral and catalog, especially, celebrated this dirtbag trope to spectacular effect and its brand of marketing shaped not only the outdoor industry but also leaked into the general culture. Chouinard, the iconoclastic warrior-athlete, a Cassandra concerning the world\u2019s fate, but a Prometheus in his crusade to unfuck it, built Patagonia in his own image, which was precisely why I\u2019d sojourned to Ventura. I wanted not only to peruse the Archives, but also to glimpse how the brand might have influenced my own path.<\/p>\n

\n

It was Terri Laine who opened the door. I slipped inside, and the pall of cinderblock gave way to a quiet and carpeted anteroom exploding with color. Opposite the doorway six or seven banners with the Fitz Roy logo arrayed in royal blue, purple, red, umber, and black: \u201cPataloha;\u201d \u201cGettin\u2019 Dirty Since 1973;\u201d \u201cCommitted to the Core;\u201d \u201cPatagonia Kids\u201d spelled out in mountains, surfboards, and rivers.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake a look around,\u201d said Laine, a soft-spoken photographer and visual display artist who rows crew on the weekends, serves on the board of Los Padres ForestWatch, and who has worked for Patagonia for 31 years.\u00a0<\/p>\n

The walls of the room were festooned with photographs in composite frames, most from the 1970s and \u201880s, and a few from the \u201850s, all of which painted a picture of the company\u2019s beginnings and adolescence. One, from 1986, pictured five of Chouinard\u2019s friends, the \u201cDo-Boys,\u201d clad in kayaking attire after a 3-day first descent of the Clarks Fork of the Yellowstone River. This photo was most remarkable in that Chouinard\u2019s close friend and sometime business mentor, the late Doug Tompkins<\/a>, is pictured grinning and rubbing his hands together, almost as if chilled. (Tompkins, the founder of the North Face) died in 2015 of hypothermia while on a sea kayaking trip<\/a> in Chile with Chouinard and others.)\u00a0<\/p>\n

Signs of the company\u2019s environmental activism<\/a> lay everywhere. In the recess of a window casement was the company\u2019s mission statement: \u201cBuild the best product, cause no unnecessary harm, use business to inspire and implement solutions to the environmental crisis.\u201d A \u201c1 percent for the Planet\u201d<\/a> pillow reposed on the sitting room couch. (Chouinard co-founded the organization.) Miniature bales of organic cotton were stacked next to a Trivial Pursuit-like board game used to educate employees about organic cotton\u2019s benefits over the pesticide-laced variety.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I backtracked to a cocktail round and found a spiral-bound book bearing the title, Patagonia History: A Collection of Memories from 1957 to the Present<\/em>, compiled by Malinda Chouinard, Vincent Stanley, editor. Inside the volume I found a treasure: a letter from the late Yosemite climber<\/a> Chuck Pratt<\/a>, whom Royal Robbins<\/a>, one of his cronies, once described as the best writer to come out of Yosemite\u2019s Golden Age. In the letter, Pratt describes a 1961 road trip that had Pratt and Chouinard hitchhiking and hopping freights across several western states, and doing three weeks of jail time in Grants, New Mexico and Winslow, Arizona. \u201cIt is a tale of rat-fucking such as you never heard before,\u201d wrote Pratt as prelude.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I followed the path of the anteroom as it doglegged right, and found a window to the main warehouse that yawned under an enormous curved roof supported by bowstring trusses: the 9,000-square-foot great belly of the Archives.<\/p>\n

\n

“When people ask me\u00a0what I do I tell them I\u2019m a seamstress and that my materials are people,\u201d Franco said, as she and Laine walked me into the Archives. \u201cSo I\u2019m a connector of people and things. I know I won\u2019t be able to finish anything I\u2019m doing right now because I\u2019ll be retired, but hopefully we\u2019ll have enough in place that the next generation can take it up and keep it alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Terri
Terri Laine (left) and Val Franco in the Archives. <\/span> (Terri Laine )<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

It was back in \u201873 when she strode into the Great Pacific Iron Works<\/a> to see a Mr. Chouinard about a possible job, the bundle of keys that hung from from her leather belt jingle jangling. Franco, then 20, was working as a school counselor, but had been sewing for most of her life. She was a Ventura native, the youngest of nine kids, had never spent a night outdoors, never climbed a rock, never used skis, never traveled out of California, but she had one thing Chouinard did not: sewing chops. He\u2019d been pounding out pitons for 15 years at miniscule margins, but had got it in his mind to make his own clothing, which he knew he could sell at \u201ckeystone,\u201d or a 100 percent markup, but he needed a lead seamstress. He offered Franco $3 an hour\u2014twice what she was making teaching school. She grabbed the gig.\u00a0<\/p>\n

We entered the main space, with its imbrication of bays and sub-rooms stacked with tables of ephemera: catalogs, company newsletters, posters, garment sketches, hangtags, decals, a stacks upon stacks of photographs. Scattered about the rooms rolling garment racks were pregnant with all manner of clothing from \u201876 onward, especially vintage fleece. A garment rack packed with vestments of purple, teal, green, blues of the \u201880s, reminded me of stuff I either owned and have since gifted. Here was a linked chain of Chouinard D-shaped carabiners like the first ones I\u2019d bought from a veteran San Diego climber. Garlands of Hexcentrics<\/a> and Stoppers dangled from frayed Chouinard gear slings, much like the ones I purchased 28 years ago to support a climbing addiction. These objects, all of which were stamped with the diamond C, weren\u2019t just tools\u2014they were talismans, signifiers of how far I\u2019d come from an overprotective Midwest upbringing.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Back in the go-go \u201880s, those who threw themselves headlong into the climbing lifestyle were still few. My parents couldn\u2019t fathom my motives when I jettisoned a professional gig to move to the Eastern Sierra to live the life. Patagonia\u2019s catalogs, however, always featured a gaggle of folks making the same choices. The meta-message of those slicks? Follow your Muirian muse and eff \u2018em if they can\u2019t take a joke. At the same time, Chouinard had dissed latecomers like me and the entire generation of climbers who had come before, in \u201cCoonyard Mouths Off,\u201d an essay in the \u201872 edition of Ascent<\/em>. \u201cWhat was once a way of life that only attracted the oddball individual is now a healthy, upstanding, recreation pastime enjoyed by thousands of average Joes,\u201d he wrote. \u201cThe climbing scene has become a fad and the common man is bringing the Art down to his own level of values and competence.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not reinventing the wheel, you\u2019re tweaking and you\u2019re moving things around, and you\u2019re finding ways to keep the image of the brand alive.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote><\/div>\n

I glimpsed some of the company\u2019s clinkers, too: a pair of soft shell climbing pants that had pilled so badly on a multi-day ski tour I did that the bottom came to resemble the texture of a chia pet. The Ultima Thule<\/a>, its design copped from Don Jensen, which required an engineering degree and the patience of Job to pack properly. The Foamback cagoule, Chouinard\u2019s attempt to replicate Gore Tex, and by all accounts made users feel like they were lounging in a steam shower. I also saw short-rise pants I had worn whose front pooched like a codpiece and back cleaved my bum into two asymmetrical loaves. I leafed through recent catalogs whose athletic models were so uniformly blanched, lean, and young, I wondered whether Patagonia realized that the lack of diversity contradicted its censure of monocultures<\/a>.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Franco and Laine later toured former Patagonia designer Richard Siberell<\/a> through the Archives. Each time Siberell, who has also designed gear for Simms and Arc\u2019Teryx, came upon one of his past products, he talked about the people who had inspired it. \u201cGod you guys,\u201d he said to Laine and Franco, a touch of awe in his voice, \u201cthis is like the real deal. I had no idea you were this serious about this. I had no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

After my mother died some years back, I was charged with the grim task of dealing with her household possessions. I might have hired a company to sell the stuff off, but that seemed like shortchanging a process that might allow me to parse her life, item by item, and thereby gain insight into who she was. Here, after all, was a completed archive; it had taken her seven decades to accrete the stuff, and if it wasn\u2019t my mother, it was certainly of her.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I became an anti-archivist, cataloging, and dismantling, and then dispersing the home\u2019s artifacts back into the world. In this manner I made my way through every item in every closet, cupboard, vitrine, dresser, and desk drawer, which included but was not limited to photographs, memoranda, bills of lading, old Daytimers, bills, correspondences, receipts, ledgers, catalogs, artwork, newspapers, marketing collateral, blueprints, furniture, emails, and boxes upon boxes of clothing\u2014and absolutely no gear. Combing through the house and conjuring a memory of its significance was emotionally draining work. At the end of each day, I\u2019d decant a couple of fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and numb out.<\/p>\n

Little by little, I dispossessed the home of its goods and shipped them off to gather new meaning elsewhere. With each leaving, my mother\u2019s archive became hollowed out, until one day everything was gone and so was she. Her stuff, of course, wasn\u2019t nearly as significant as the stories they contained, most of the artifacts hinting at a life that centered on knitting together family and friends. Like Patagonia\u2019s Franco, she was a kind of seamstress who weaved relationships. Connectedness had been the culture of her home. I began to understand how her interest in the lives of others connected me to her, and influenced my chosen vocation as a storyteller.<\/p>\n

\u201cCulture is not something you create intentionally; I think culture is something you grow,\u201d Vincent Stanley told me. \u201cSo the value of the Archives is that when we don\u2019t have very many people around from the early days the Archives helps create a bridge to the founding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Plenty of companies have established archives or museums to capture institutional memory, and an entire industry has arisen to help staffers build them. In terms of self-celebration, some corporations have gone huge: think Hershey, Pennsylvania, the entire town a paean to the chocolate company founded there.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I wanted to understand how a mature corporate archive operates, so I called Nike\u2019s Rick Shannon<\/a>. When he launched DNA in 2006, he had 25 years of paper records to work with, but little else. He now employs 20 full-time staff that manages 200,000 assets in a 150,000-square-foot facility. Today, the DNA headquarters itself functions like a library. Employees can view the collection online and request a portfolio of documents, along with a showing of the physical items in one of several Rig Rooms, with specific themes. The staff works up to three days to assemble a display. \u201cThey use white gloves,\u201d said Shannon. \u201cThe trick is to not treat the objects as historical, but to place them in context that gives them relevant meaning today.\u201d<\/p>\n

If that\u2019s true, then Franco and Laine, who eschew white gloves, appear to be on the right track. Miles Johnson, Patagonia\u2019s creative director, and a frequent user of the Archives, worked at Levi\u2019s before coming to the company. \u201cI mean I use to paw over that stuff at the Levi\u2019s archives because it was really, really important to get every detail exactly spot on, right?\u201d He\u2019s doing the same at Patagonia. \u201cYou\u2019re not reinventing the wheel, you\u2019re tweaking and you\u2019re moving things around, and you\u2019re finding ways to keep the image of the brand alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

If an archive is an embodied form of institutional memory, then it should be said that archives can be shaped to reinforce a kind of selective memory. And memory, of course, is malleable.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cOne thing that has impressed me about Patagonia was the desire for control,\u201d Klein said. Klein is both a longtime climber and a specialist in the history of both alpinism and California\u2019s mass culture. He also studies the artifacts upon which historical narratives rely, as well as the prevailing philosophical traditions informing them. He has studied the role of memory in constructing history, and in past conversations he\u2019s told me how unreliable memory is: how we start with the end in mind and cobble together the past based on what we want to believe in the present.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cSo there\u2019s a sense in which history is necessarily always constructionist and retrospective, right?\u201d he told me some years back for a piece I wrote for Alpinist<\/em> magazine. \u201cAnd it\u2019s informed by this sort of end that it\u2019s driving toward, the objective, and by the sort of setting in which that objective emerges.\u201d In other words, we construct the stories that bring us comfort, and they have little in common with reality. Ask a Patagonia stakeholder to recount their history with the company, and they\u2019ll likely deliver a message that\u2019s both flattering and entirely unreliable. \u201cOral sources tell us not just what people did, but what they wanted to do, what they believed they were doing and what they now think they did,\u201d writes the academic historian Alessandro Portelli<\/a>.\u00a0<\/p>\n

And what about mere stuff? Stories reside in them, too. I had watched how Richard Siberell reminisced each time he came across one of his designs, each object liberating a past memory, like Proust\u2019s famous madeleine. And might not a Lost Arrow piton be inhabited by the skill of the blacksmith who forged it, the bravery of the climber who hammered it into rock? Up in the Sierra foothills, where I live, a tattered Chouinard gear sling from the \u20188os sits on a shelf in my home. The label is frayed, the seatbelt-like webbing tattooed with grime and stained with chalk and sweat. No longer a tool, it\u2019s become a totem.<\/p>\n

My reasons for coming to Ventura had as much to do with the house that the Chouinards had built as the one I had created for myself. I had apparently quaffed the Kool-Aid in my youth, listened to the ironmonger-ragman-dirtbag visionary as he preached from the heights. He and his wife had reprogrammed my trajectory, damn them. And judging by the 10,000 square feet bursting with stories, I apparently hadn\u2019t been the only one.<\/p>\n

Have something to donate? Contact Franco and Laine at archives@patagonia.com<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On the morning after the 2016 presidential election, I skirted the Hells Angels\u2019 former Ventura, California, headquarters, and tapped on a barred door attached to a graffiti-tagged cinderblock warehouse. The 10,000-square-foot facility\u2014a former food canning operation, whose address I am not to reveal\u2014houses the Patagonia Archives, a project recently launched by the clothing company to chronicle its storied past. No signage betrayed the identity of the building\u2019s occupant, or hinted at the work that was taking place within, because the Archives are not open to the public.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":49896,"featured_media":2197381,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"uuid":"d265223ec262d5b5153be3ec5e1d8cb6","footnotes":""},"categories":[2543],"tags":[2640,3312],"byline":[919],"ad_cat":[],"legacy-category":[],"class_list":["post-2463246","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-climbing","tag-climbing","tag-patagonia","byline-brad-rassler"],"acf":[],"parsely":{"version":"1.1.0","meta":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@type":"NewsArticle","headline":"Into the Heart of Patagonia\u2019s Secret Archives","url":"https:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/outdoor-adventure\/climbing\/patagonia-archives\/","mainEntityOfPage":{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/outdoor-adventure\/climbing\/patagonia-archives\/"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/03\/patagonia-kris-design-lead_h.jpg","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","url":"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/03\/patagonia-kris-design-lead_h.jpg"},"articleSection":"Climbing","author":[{"@type":"Person","name":"oharlow"}],"creator":["oharlow"],"publisher":{"@type":"Organization","name":"ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Online","logo":"https:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/favicon-194x194-1.png"},"keywords":["climbing","patagonia"],"dateCreated":"2017-07-06T00:00:00Z","datePublished":"2017-07-06T00:00:00Z","dateModified":"2022-05-12T18:33:20Z"},"rendered":"