I published a book about Schurman Rock in 2018. For those who don't know (or who for some unexplained reason have not yet purchased my book on Amazon (here https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0692068015/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0) and read it cover to cover), the book includes a history of the development and construction of the first known man-made artificial climbing wall. Originally called Monitor Rock, it was the brainchild of Clark Schurman, a local scoutmaster and climbing guide, "a boulder to teach as many rock-climbing skills as might be built into one mass within a given budget, and yet, that would be as safe for an unsupervised group of wandering small boys as their own dooryards" as he described it. Completed in 1939, Monitor Rock (later renamed Schurman Rock in honor of its designer) is still standing and climbed by thousands of visitors each year.
Above: Friction practice on the low boulders at Monitor Rock c. 1943. Below: A Cheval and hand traverse.
Photos by Clark Schurman, UW Special Collections.
In researching the history of Schurman Rock, I came across an article by Clark Schurman published in the 1938 edition of the Mountaineer journal, in which Schurman proudly shows off his new climbing wall, and even describes some of the climbing problems ("short bits") that can be done. Being a fictsaxophile (a word I just made up that combines fictus (fake), saxum (rock), and -phile (fondness for) that means someone with a perverse fondness for artificial climbing walls), I was delighted to find that Schurman had given names to many of the features of the wall and had even named individual "short bits" in the same way modern climbers name routes and boulder problems—"A Cheval" (a technique involving scooting up or across a ridge of rock in the manner of riding a horse), "Shoulder Stand" (which involved standing on a fellow climber to gain a finger-traverse ledge), and "Needle by Lariat" (describing the lassoing of the top of the "Needle" and prusiking up the rope as the means of gaining the summit).
One of the names Schurman used gave me pause, though. On the east side of the Schurman Rock is a broad ledge, wide enough for an adult to crawl across on hands and knees, a technique he referred to as "cooning." Schurman's article referred to the ledge as the "Cooning Place." Having never heard of cooning, I looked it up. Various online dictionaries say it means "raccoon hunting." I could imagine that in the 1930s, raccoon hunting was not an unfamiliar sport even in a city like Seattle, where there are still a lot of raccoons. If you've read Where the Red Fern Grows you may remember the coon-hunting contest as one of the more riveting chapters. And back in the 1930s, before the development of Camp Long and construction of Schurman Rock, the area was a swampy forest that was probably infested with all sorts of critters including raccoons. So, fair enough: “cooning” means raccoon hunting which, translated to climbing technique, means to crawl along stealthily as if through the brush trying to sneak up on a racoon, not much different than A Cheval describing climbing as if riding a horse.
But there is a different, more-modern definition of "cooning," that was a bit more troubling given its racial implications. I’d heard the word “coon” before; it’s an "insulting and contemptuous term for a black person" the dictionaries tell us. The term "cooning" is also problematic; it has been defined as "buffoonery" to satirize racial or ethnic groups based on their stereotypical characteristics, such as white actors wearing blackface to mock or satirize Black people. According to Muhammad Rasheed, a cartoonist and socio-political analyst, "cooning" describes "a self-hating African-American [who] plays the fool for a white audience in exchange for the limited social acceptance the latter are willing to give within their racial hierarchy." According to Rasheed, "Black people who act this way are referred to as 'coons' by other disgusted blacks, who view the behavior as treacherous in nature."
Given that the term "cooning" is a term that originally did not but now has racial implications and the capacity to offend, I considered how to include it in the book without running the risk that someone would read it and think I was racist or at least racially insensitive or in any case be offended or discouraged. It didn't seem appropriate to leave the term out entirely; after all, it was the historical name for the ledge in question, and it wasn't outright offensive since it had an innocent origin. But still, I could imagine an impressionable young person of color picking up my book, excited about climbing and eager to try it, then reading the word "cooning" out of context and being discouraged or even outraged. I planned to donate my book to Camp Long to sell to raise money for youth programs (you can buy a copy at the front desk while supplies last), and knowing they strive to be diverse, equitable, and inclusive, I had to consider carefully how to use the word, if at all. Words that have perfectly innocent meanings sometimes cause hurt. The word "'biner" (a contraction of carabiner that climbers have used since I can remember), for instance, which sounds like a slur to a certain demographic. Some people scoff at the idea that they shouldn't say 'biner, and accuse those who suggest they use a different word as being "woke" or "PC." I think if if a word has the capacity to be racially offensive, I can be a mindful person and not use it or come up with a different word to express myself.
In the end, I didn't entirely exorcise the word "cooning" from the book. It's still there, but in context. I included Schurman's original article in the book for historical reference, and where I used the term later in the book, I used it sparingly (only once in fact) and noted that it was Schurman's original term for the technique of crawling on hands and knees across a ledge. It's a lost art anyway; if you ask most climbers what "cooning" is, they have no idea. Besides, it's a lot easier to stand up and walk across the ledge and more fun to hand traverse across it. I still see kids doing it, though, getting down on hands and knees and crawling across the ledge. I don't tell them there's a name for what they're doing. It's probably best they don't know. As far as they know, they’re just having fun, which is mostly the point of rock climbing, isn’t it?