In 1923, when asked why anyone would climb a mountain, George

Mallory famously quipped: Because it’s there.

To Mallory’s legendary quote, we add a single word.

“Because it’s still there.”

the
COMMUNITY
ISSUE
Celebrating the Spirit
of Climbing

Vertical Mile Offensive Routes Nonbinary Climbers

1 YE AR, 5,280 SHOULD WE SOUND OFF ON
FEET OF FAs RENA ME THEM? DISCRIMINATION
the
COMMUNITY
ISSUE
Celebrating the Spirit
of Climbing

Vertical Mile Offensive Routes Nonbinary Climbers

1 YE AR, 5,280 SHOULD WE SOUND OFF ON
FEET OF FAs RENA ME THEM? DISCRIMINATION
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2 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

 CO N T E N T S //

FALL 2020

F E AT U R E S

40 The Dark Side of Liberty

Inside Shanjean Lee and Mikey
Schaefer’s 5.13+ Liberty Bell FA.
STORY BY SHANJEAN LEE
PHOTOS BY AUSTIN SIADAK

52 The Vertical Mile

Follow the author on his journey, in
2019, to climb 5,280 vertical feet
of FAs in the American Southwest.
STORY BY DAKOTA WALZ

62 Hammers of the Gods

Braving the wild, multi-pitch
conglomerate spires of Riglos
in the hills of Northern Spain.
STORY AND PHOTOS BY JIM THORNBURG

D E PA R T M E N T S

5 Editor’s Note
6 Chosspile
8 Talk of the Crag
16 Tested
18 Training
22 The Place
26 For the Love of Climbing
28 Topo
30 Onsight
34 Faces
72 Rock Art

Laur Sabourin (see p.12) sending

the 5.13a Desert Gold first go
PHOTO BY DRE W SMITH

ON THE COVER: Maiza Lima on Fresh

of the day, Red Rock, Nevada. Air (5.12b), Sandy Corridor, Red Rock,
Las Vegas, Nevada. Photo by Irene Yee

Issue 374. Climbing (USPS No. 0919-220, ISSN No. 0045-7159) is published five times per year with combined issues in Aug (Fall), Oct (Winter), and Dec (Annual) for 5 issues (Mar [Spring], Jun [Summer], Aug [Fall], Oct [Winter], Dec [Annual]) by Cruz Bay
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CLIMBING.COM 3
 ALIEN REVOLUTION

The Mother of Modern Cams

FIXEhardware Made In
Spain

Benjamin Head, spotted by Luis
Diaz, on Tequila Sunset (V3),
Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah.
I grew up in a multiracial, multicultural city: Albuquerque, New
Mexico, home to a mix of Latinx, Native American, Black, Asian, and
Anglo people. The city’s Mexican and Spanish roots run deep, a fact that’s
reflected in its populace, dining (some of the best Mexican food around),
language, and street names (Rio Grande, Paseo del Norte, etc.). My high
school was a blend of races, as were my school friends. But at the rock,
it was another matter: In the late-1980s New Mexico climbing scene,
we were all pretty much white, save a few climbers of Latinx or Native
American heritage. I didn’t pay it much thought: I was a teenager caught
up in this new obsession and pretty oblivious to social issues.
I moved to Boulder, Colorado, in 1991 to attend college. Boulder is
88.1 percent white (source: bouldercolorado.gov), and its climbing scene
seems whiter yet. I remain here for the killer climbing, which makes
me just one more middle-class Boulder white guy with the time and
money to pursue his hobby. That’s privilege. I don’t have to worry about
being killed by racists while out for a jog (Ahmaud Arbery), suffocated
by police for allegedly passing a fake $20 bill (George Floyd), or shot to
death in my home because of a mixed-up no-knock warrant (Breonna
Taylor). Yet that’s the reality Black Americans—and really anyone in this
country who’s not white-skinned—face day after day, not to mention the
redlining, economic oppression, carceral state, and other insidious forms
of white supremacy that have for far too long formed the cruel fabric of
American society.
I lived in Italy in the mid-1990s when the country was amidst an
influx of Eastern European immigrants. I’m half Russian, with a strong,
PHOTO BY ANDRE W BURR
Slavic jawline, and this caused problems with Italy’s xenophobic security
forces: detainments in airports, stop-and-frisks on the streets of Turin,
plainclothes security following me around shops. The discrimination
filled me with a formless rage that had no particular target. What’s wrong
with me, that you feel like you can treat me this way? I wondered. Leave me
alone! Still, I had the luxury of leaving Italy, and what I experienced was
E D I TO R ' S NOT E //
THE
COMMUNITY
ISSUE
BY MATT SAMET
just a taste of the nightmarish racism facing BIPOC Americans.
With Climbing’s media platform, it’s incumbent upon us to try to
make things better. As the US witnesses civil-rights protests the likes of
which we haven’t seen since the Rodney King verdict in 1992, the timing
is right for our Community Issue, which celebrates our community’s
breadth and depth. In Talk of the Crag (p.8), we cover the reality of our
sport for nonbinary climbers and look at whether problematic route
names—including ones with racist or seemingly racist overtones—
should be changed. Meanwhile, our contributor roster remains a blend of
men and women alike from many different backgrounds.
Still, we need to do more—every issue of this magazine needs to better
reflect all members of our community. I would love to see more BIPOC
climbers contributing to the title and the website, and reaching out with
pitches. And we’ll be working to find those contributors as well—you
can find us at queries@climbing.com. I’d also like to call on photographers
to shoot more photos of BIPOC climbers. The storytelling in Climbing
relies so acutely on the visual impact of your imagery. Expand your bench
of friends and models, take amazing pictures, and send them our way.
Climbers of all shapes, sizes, and colors should see themselves on our
pages and be inspired—and, above all, feel welcome.
I’d also urge those of you who think that racism isn’t a problem in
the climbing community to do some research (start here: climbing.com/
antiracismresources) and learn how climbers of color are often ignored,
mistreated, or “othered” at the gym, the cliffs, or in the outdoor industry.
Or to simply consider how discomfiting it might be to be the only
dark-skinned person at the crag or to be visiting a cliff, say in the South,
where you have to drive past Confederate flags flying in front yards. Our
contributor Kathy Karlo’s excellent podcast For the Love of Climbing—
also the name of her column (p.26)—dives into this very story in episode
17, an interview with the Black climber Brandon Belcher. Yet Brandon’s is
just one tale. There are so many others. It’s time to start listening.
CLIMBING.COM 5
CHOSSPILE //

Caption Contest
Flash it! @YKBA234 is the winner
of our Caption Contest,
which we roll out each issue
with hilarious cartoons
from Jordan Peterson (@
jordankpeterson_). For this
winning caption, @ykba234
wins a Meteor helmet from
Petzl. Stay tuned to our site
and social channels for the
next contest, and see climbing
.com/captioncontest374 for
the honorable mentions.

CORRECTION In Gear: Comp Shoes (No. 373), we mistakenly wrote that the Scarpa Drago/Drago LV do not have a
midsole, when in fact they do. Climbing apologizes for the error.
QUICK CLIPS RE-GRAM
Each issue, we pick the best Quick Clip to run in print and then post it This issue, we put out a call for
and other submissions online (climbing.com/quickclips374). “veiny forearm” photos—shots
of your mutant, bionic, perma-
“Cycling caps are perfect for climbing: They’re pumped climber forearms.
designed to be worn under a helmet; the bill is short For this image of his epic
so you can look up at the climb and it will still shield guns, toned by “working out
your eyes from the sun; and the bill flips up and at home during the pandemic
down, so when you need to study the next sequence, doing a lot of human flag holds
and front/back levers,” Sam
you can just flip it out of your way.”
Hollrah wins a pair of Upshot
–DAN SCHOO
Belay Glasses from Metolius
Climbing. See climbing.com/
regram374 for more.

Got a climbing hack for us?

Hit us up at letters@climbing.com.
For this issue’s winning tip, Dan
Schoo wins a 60m Swift Protect
dynamic rope from Edelrid.

TECH TIP: BELAYING WITH A GRIGRI

Basic techniques
Taking up slack Giving slack Stopping a fall Lowering

Pay attention

Always hold
the brake-side
rope

Giving slack quickly

1. 2.

Tie a knot at
The index finger The thumb presses
the end of supports the GRIGRI on the cam
the rope

Remember that before using your equipment, you must

have read and understood the supplied Instructions for Use.

Available at
TA L K O F T H E C R AG //
GENDER BIAS
Nonbinary climbers sound off
on discrimination in climbing
BY ARI SCHNEIDER
R
in Gentry, 24, knows most people look at them and assume they
are a woman. Their style is spunky and colorful. They have bright-
pink hair and a high ponytail with bangs. They dress in Spandex
and cropped tank tops. They don’t deny they appear feminine. “But I’m
not a strong female climber,” they say. “I hate when people call me that.”
Gentry, a nonbinary person who uses they/them pronouns, is a strong
climber, with ticks including Spray-a-Thon (5.13c) and Tomb Raider (5.13d)
in Rifle, and Atomic Fireballs (5.13d) in the Red River Gorge. Gentry
also won back-to-back Collegiate Sport Regionals in Colorado in 2018
and 2019, took fourth place at Collegiate Nationals in Murfreesboro,
Tennessee, in 2019, and third place in CityROCK’s Battle Royale in
Colorado Springs in 2019. However, despite their impressive résumé,
Gentry and other nonbinary climbers often find themselves silenced
about their identity or excluded from the climbing community.
Gentry grew up in Berkeley, California, and started competing
when they were 13. At 18, Gentry moved to Colorado Springs to attend
Colorado College. They competed in collegiate and open competitions,
Comp crusher Rin Gentry on
The Path (5.13c), Rifle, CO.
8 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
and also fell in love with sport climbing. “Once I discovered Rifle, I was
getting out there every weekend,” Gentry says. In winter 2019, during
their senior year of college, Gentry changed their name and came out as
nonbinary. “That’s when everything kind of clicked,” they say. Up until
then, Gentry had been struggling with their assigned gender.
They found a relatively welcoming space at their liberal arts
college. But coming out in the rather bro-y climbing community posed
difficulties. Many of Gentry’s climber friends didn’t understand or
hadn’t heard the term “nonbinary” before. In Colorado Springs and Rifle,
Gentry faced pushback when they tried to get people to stop using their
deadname (unchosen birth name). After graduating from college in
2019, Gentry lived in their Subaru Forester for a few months at the Red.
However, deep in the hills of Appalachia, Gentry felt uncomfortable.
“It was probably the least safe space I’ve ever been in as someone who
identifies as nonbinary,” Gentry says. The Red’s culture, even in the local
climbing scene, is still very much connected to the South. It was the first
time since Gentry came out that they felt the need to remain closeted.
PHOTO BYJ J EFF HANSEN
In climbing, we view walls not as
obstacles, but as opportunities.

We believe that equitable access

to those opportunities makes our thenorthface.com/walls
communities and our world stronger. #WallsAreMeantForClimbing
TA L K O F T H E C R AG //

When Gentry applied for a job at a local restaurant, they

were told: “Oh yeah, you’re a cute girl—they’ll hire you
right away.” Gentry didn’t mention that this wasn’t exactly
the case. Though their interview went well, when Gentry
followed up with the manager a couple weeks later,
they got a short text back saying, “We’re good, thanks.”
Gentry later heard from a friend living with some of the
restaurant’s employees that they’d learned of Gentry’s
nonbinary identity through the grapevine. According to
Gentry, the employees said something like, “Oh, we don’t
need that in our restaurant. This isn’t a safe space.”
“That was really hard,” Gentry says. “In restaurants and
seasonal work, it’s all about toughness and grit. Nobody
wants to hear about how you identify.”
Gentry has also faced similar barriers in the
competition scene. Gentry competes in the female
category because “that’s just the line of least resistance,”
they say. “I’m not trying to cause any problems, but it
is a problem for me to show up, and from the get-go
my identity is erased”—referring to event announcers’
tendency to use incorrect pronouns when announcing
Gentry, even when Gentry requests otherwise. In February
2019, Gentry competed in the Battle Royale in Colorado
Springs—their first competition after they came out—and
when the announcers used “she” as they began to climb,
Gentry was thrown off their game.
Gentry would like to see competitions have more-
AMGA instructor Sean Taft-Morales
inclusive gender categories. Right now, all major comps—
at San Vito lo Capo, Sicily.
including Nationals, World Cups, and the Olympics—
have binary categories. At present, the USA Climbing
rulebook stipulates that a competitor may register for a
membership as either male or female, whichever is more
aligned with the competitor’s identity. If that gender is different from of Sportrock Climbing Center in Alexandria, Virginia. They’re also an
what’s on the competitor’s birth certificate, then the competitor must American Mountain Guides Association (AMGA) Single Pitch Instructor
provide proof—like a government-issued ID or a document prepared and an SPI Provider. Taft-Morales says while they’ve found a relatively
by a healthcare provider. There is no option for a nonbinary category. good community in climbing, it hasn’t always been the most inclusive.
Interim Chair of USA Climbing’s Diversity, Equity, Inclusion Task Force Taft-Morales, 33, born and raised in Washington, DC, has been
Melanie Zurek said the inclusion of transgender climbers is on the task climbing since age 12. From a young age, masculinity never really
force’s radar. But Zurek clarified that they’re a volunteer group making resonated. “I danced classical ballet as a kid,” they say. “I wore a lot of
recommendations to the USAC staff and board—and has yet to form any tight pants and women’s clothes, and I didn’t really know what that
specific recommendations on this issue. (USAC CEO Marc Norman did meant, but masculinity didn’t really work for me.” Taft-Morales struggled
not respond to multiple requests for comment.) to understand their identity. Once they started to express themselves as
During Gentry’s senior year at Colorado College, the school hosted a nonbinary in their late 20s, it felt like a perfect fit.
bouldering competition without gender categories. Gentry says it was a However, Taft-Morales has encountered issues with being out to
big success. “The strongest climbers were pretty distributed over genders,” climbing partners. “You’re meeting people at belays, and shouting, and
they say. “And nobody had to circle a gender they didn’t identify with.” mostly you’re focused on the weather coming in or on your transitions,”
Gentry points out that in climbing, the “performance gap between says Taft-Morales. They add, “It’s tricky meeting new people and scoping
genders isn’t that big.” Julia Chanourdie, Margo Hayes, Angy Eiter, and them out and trying to decide, Is this someone who is going to be a) safe and
Anak Verhoven are all women who have climbed 5.15—a grade also b) easy to come out to?” As an instructor, Taft-Morales worries it might
only attained by a handful of men. Ashima Shiraishi, Kaddi Lehmann, be too much trouble or too risky to come out to a client if they will have
PHOTO BY JAY FOLE Y

Oriane Bertone, and Miska Ishi have climbed V15, while only a handful
of men have broken into V16. Since every climb requires unique body
movements, Gentry says people of all genders can be powerful, technical,
or flexible in different, advantageous ways.
Sean Taft-Morales (they/them), a nonbinary climber, is the director
trouble remembering pronouns or otherwise get distracted.
It hasn’t all been unwelcoming, though. As a guide, Taft-Morales has
been happy with the way the AMGA has tackled DEI. The organization
recently updated its SPI Code of Conduct to include cultural
competency—plus, the AMGA instituted a more robust system for

10 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

 reporting discrimination and harassment. Monserrat Alvarez, the AMGA’s
membership and inclusion coordinator, says the AMGA has been working
with consultants to learn how to be more inclusive of nonbinary and trans
people. They’ve also started teaching guides the importance of gender
pronouns and inclusive language, and continue to grow their affinity
programs, which aim to make guide-instructor courses more welcoming
to people who are underrepresented in the climbing community.
Laur Sabourin (he/they), 27, originally from Southfield, Michigan,
is another guide who has experienced ups and downs as a nonbinary
climber. Sabourin is an elite climber: They guide in the Utah desert,
teach clinics for the Warrior’s Way, and have a ticklist of hard trad sends
including the first free ascent of the gnarly overhanging crack All Systems
Go (5.13+) and the second ascent of Mechanical Bull, a 5.13+ offwidth,
both in Sedona, Arizona. But they haven’t always been taken seriously.
“Early on, I went out with a photographer, and they were, like,
‘Yeah, you just don’t look like a climber,’” recalls Sabourin. According to
Sabourin, the photographer said, “When people are looking for a picture
of a climber girl, they’re looking for this, and if they’re looking for a
climber dude, they’re looking for this.” He said Sabourin was neither.
Sabourin is today based out of Flagstaff, Arizona, and guides for
Flagstaff Climbing Center. They point out that there are very few stories
in the media featuring queer/nonbinary climbers. “Find me people who
PHOTOS (2) BY IRENE YEE
look like me or identify the way that I do,” Sabourin says. “I have to
construct my reality around something that I don’t know if it exists.”
The difficulty of queer/nonbinary climbers in gaining notoriety in the
climbing world is likely due to a few factors. There might be bias (even
if unintentional) from sponsors, so sponsor money instead goes to cis/
heteronormative climbers. Also, queer/nonbinary folks who have faced
discrimination might not feel comfortable putting themselves in the
spotlight. And while there are no rock-solid numbers showing exactly
how many people are nonbinary, a 2017 Gallup Poll estimated just “4.5%
of Americans are LGBT,” and in 2016, the UCLA School of Law reported
from a very limited survey that about “0.6% of U.S. adults identify as
transgender”—so queer/nonbinary folks likely comprise only a small
percentage of climbers overall.
Still, it doesn’t take much for us all to be better allies. Taft-Morales
says the biggest takeaway is not to make assumptions and not hesitate
to ask people which pronouns they prefer. As Gentry puts it, it may seem
hard to change old habits like using male and female pronouns, but
inclusive language comes easily with practice. For Gentry, using their
correct pronouns is the least someone can do. “Things are complicated
for nonbinary people because we live in a society that doesn’t create
spaces for them and doesn’t acknowledge their gender,” Gentry says.
“It just comes down to treating people like people.”
ABOVE: Climbing guide and Warrior’s Way
instructor Laur Sabourin. LEFT: Sabourin getting
inverted on an offwidth project, Sedona, AZ.
CLIMBING.COM 11
TA L K O F T H E C R AG //
RATED R
Should obscene or offensive
routes be renamed?
BY COREY BUHAY
M
elissa Utomo’s first trip to Ten Sleep Canyon, Wyoming, in July
2019, was memorable. Sure, the limitless limestone and alpine
wildflowers left an impression. But what stood out the most
was an area called the Slavery Wall. Flipping through the guidebook, she
was shocked: Route names included Happiness in Slavery (5.12b), Aunt
Jemima’s Bisquick Thunderdome (5.12c), and 40 Acres and a Mule (5.11a).
“There was this feeling that certain people weren’t welcome,” says
Utomo, who is Asian American. That feeling cast a shadow over her trip.
Naming Rights
Route names range from geographical (Northeast Face) to punny (The
Young and the Rackless, 5.9) to pornographic (Daily Dick Dose, V7). And
some, like those at what was until recently called the Slavery Wall, touch
on race or gender, issues turbocharged in the wake of the 2017 Me Too
movement and, more recently, the Black Lives Matter protests.
Jenna Balinski on Happiness (5.12b; formerly
Happiness in Slavery), Downpour Wall
(formerly the Slavery Wall), Ten Sleep, WY.
12 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
When it comes to changing the more cringe-inducing names,
climbers are split. On one side are people like Utomo, who claim that
problematic route names make climbing unwelcoming for marginalized
groups, and that those names need to change as the community becomes
more diverse. After her trip, Utomo, who works as a web developer in
Boulder, Colorado, dug in further and identified at least 1,500 names
on Mountain Project that contain racial slurs, misogynistic language,
or other obscene keywords. One example, 40 Acres and a Mule, refers to
payments promised to Black slaves who served the Union in the Civil
War. Neither was delivered, exacerbating economic inequity.
Brittany Leavitt is a regional director for Brown Girls Climb, a
business that supports women of color through memberships and
climbing events. “Speaking through a Black person’s lens, even if that
happened over 100 years ago—it’s still something that’s relatable and
hurtful to…the Black community, especially for people who have
PHOTO BY M AT T ENLOW

ancestors who were a part of that historical context,” she says. “A lot
of climbers will say, ‘Let the past stay in the past,’ but [those broken
promises] affect us still.”
In 2019, Utomo reached out to Mountain Project, then owned by REI,
to propose a design feature for flagging harmful route names. She says she
was dismissed, first by REI, then by Nick Wilder, the site’s current owner;
changing route names wasn’t a priority. Plus, MP representatives told her,
the first ascentionist would have the final say.
John Sherman, the bouldering pioneer responsible for the V-scale, is
against name changes. “If you start to change names, one, you trample on
the history [of climbing], and, two, you are making an assumption that
you know better or are morally superior to another individual,” he says.
Climbers also argue that changing route names bucks the tradition
of paying respect to first ascensionists. Establishing a new route requires
vision, experience, and time. Often, FA parties put in days of manual
labor, cleaning, trundling, scouting, and installing hardware. The cost
usually comes out of their own pockets. All that work becomes a donation
to the climbing community. The route name is an artisan’s stamp, and a
way for climbers to record something memorable about a climb.
Double Entendres
Hueco Tanks, Texas, with its many X-rated names, has become a ground
zero for this discussion. Take Itty Bitty Adolescent Titties and Beer, Pizza,
and a Three-Foot Toothless Girl, just a few examples of names that made
Jeff Achey—then the book editor at Climbing and today the owner of
the guidebook company Wolverine Publishing—cringe when he flipped
through Sherman’s 1990 guide. “I just remember being put off by all these
weird, pornographic names,” he says. “It was ribald humor and tongue-
in-cheek, but it put a stain on the area for me.”
Sherman claims that a lot of those names have innocent backstories.
PHOTO BY DAVID CHU
For example, Hueco’s Daily Dick Dose was first projected on a daily
basis by Dick Cilley. Others were reflective of El Paso’s seedy past,
says Sherman, often named after whatever film was advertised on the
marquee of the Fiesta Drive-In adult theater climbers cruised past on
their way to Hueco.
LEFT: Melissa Utomo on Euro-Trash Girl (5.10b), Sector
Shinto, Ten Sleep. In 2019, she approached Mountain Project
with a design feature for flagging problematic names.
Then there was the Chris Hill climb Another Nigga in the Morgue.
When Sherman submitted the guidebook manuscript, he says the
copyeditor immediately changed the name, citing racism. Sherman wrote
back, telling the publisher that Hill was African American. “Had Chris
fallen from the crux, he would have cartwheeled down a slab and ended
under another boulder called The Morgue,” Sherman explains. Censoring
the name without context, Sherman argues, was akin to assuming that
the first ascensionist was a white person (which would be racist on the
part of the editor) or had malicious intent. In reality, neither was true.
Hill himself says there’s even another layer of meaning—the name
also pays tribute to a Geto Boys song he had on repeat while putting
up the climb. Adds Hill, “The first ascensionist has always had the right
to call the route whatever they want,” emphasizing, like Sherman, that
routes should not be renamed. “History should be preserved,” he says.
The Guidebook’s Role
When Dave Bingham published his 1985 City of Rocks, Idaho, guide in
small-town, Mormon-country Idaho, routes like Nipples and Clits (5.10a)
generated local backlash. While sales weren’t affected, Bingham says the
pressure was so intense that he changed the name to “Nipples…” in later
editions. “I don’t think it’s cool to be intentionally offensive,” he says.
“And some names I see—honestly, they’re just from young dudes being
idiots. If they were my names, I would say to the guidebook author, ‘Yes,
please change this. I don’t know what I was thinking.’”
Achey ultimately changed the especially problematic name Pumped
Full of Semen to PFOS in Wolverine’s Hueco Tanks guidebook. “Thinking
about all the pre-teen girls I’ve read about crushing in Hueco, wandering
through the boulders with their dads, thumbing through our guidebook,
I just couldn’t bring myself to print it,” he says. Still, he doesn’t think
discomfort alone is reason to doctor history. “Climbing has strong
countercultural and anarchic roots, and I think we as a community are
proud of that heritage,” Achey says. Everything from long hair to sex,
drugs, and rock and roll was considered offensive when climbing first
took hold in the States.
“So are some of these route names legitimate expressions of a
period of time and a group of people who were active in rejecting the
establishment? Maybe,” Achey says. “I’d say you can look to the art world
for guidance. For art, you often have to realize that, OK, this piece of art
is intended to be uncomfortable and provocative…if this disturbs you or
offends you, that might be part of the point.”
The Real Rebels
Peter Beal, a prolific Colorado first ascensionist who first started climbing
in the late 1970s, doesn’t buy that argument. “Most of that rebel culture
was not particularly rebellious—it was just white dudes from the middle
class having a good time,” he says. Plus, he claims that a lot of those
original developers “grew up and became stockbrokers or dentists. So I
don’t see any particular reason to retain that bogus mythology.”
“Sure, some of those offensive names are part of climbing history, but
do we want to glorify them?” asks the Colorado climber Jamie Logan,
CLIMBING.COM 13
TA L K O F T H E C R AG //
RIGHT: John “Verm”
Sherman at Hueco Tanks,
TX, in the 1980s. Says
Sherman, “If you’re a [first
ascensionist], you have the
right to name your route
what you want, and no one
has the right to rename it.”
noting that history can be preserved by saving old guidebooks instead of
demanding that climbers use those names in perpetuity. Logan, an early
pioneer of North American free climbing (FFA of the Diamond on Longs
Peak; FA of the Emperor Face on Mount Robson), started climbing in
1958. She says a lot about that early culture was rebellious—just not the
naming part. “We didn’t feel the need to name routes things that would
make people feel bad,” she says. Instead, climbers of that era opted for
names like Muir Wall that showed respect to historical figures. Or, in the
Valley climber Jim Bridwell’s case, psychedelic-sounding names that were
in vogue in the 1970s, like New Dimensions (5.11a) and Outer Limits (5.10c).
“I feel strongly that the first ascensionist should have the right to
name a route whatever they want. It’s their First Amendment right,”
Logan says. “And I feel strongly that no one else should have the
obligation to ever call it that name.” Adds Logan, if a route name is
causing pain, it should be called something else by the community.
14 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
LEFT: Brown Girls Climb’s Brittany Leavitt bouldering on Cherokee,
Creek, and Chasaw territory. Leavitt argues that racially charged
route names can have a serious impact on climbers of color.
Rewriting Wrongs
Beal says all climbing development—from which routes should be bolted
to which names are acceptable—is subject to community approval if it
takes place on public land. Others add that relying on first ascensionists
to rename climbs can be problematic: Most of the 1,500 routes Utomo
identified were named by white males, who she says may not be good
judges of what’s painful to marginalized groups. Brown Girls Climb’s
Leavitt further recommends that indigenous people be consulted to
ensure names aren’t in conflict with the land’s sacred or historic context.
Many of the first ascensionists interviewed say they’d be open
to changing names if presented with a good argument, and would
appreciate being asked about the name’s context before having it labeled
as bigoted. Louie Anderson, the Wyoming-based guidebook author and
ascensionist responsible for naming 40 Acres and a Mule, is one of those.
“I definitely don’t think [route developers] should have carte blanche
to be offensive or vulgar,” he says. “I tend to just go with [existing] themes
when I’m naming things”—another longtime climbing custom meant to
show respect to the area’s original route developers.
When Anderson came to Ten Sleep’s Slavery Wall, it had already been
named and themed (by area developer and guidebook author Aaron Huey
after the wall’s first route, “Happiness in Slavery,” a Nine Inch Nails song).
So when Anderson put up a 5.11a, he researched the history of slavery
in America and stumbled upon the painful context behind the phrase
“40 acres and a mule.” Says Anderson, “[It] was a historical reference to a
promise that was never delivered. I was hoping that someone would read
the name and wonder about the context and do their own research.”
Leavitt says Anderson’s intent doesn’t soften her opinion: “If you think
this is how we want our history to be remembered, it’s not,” she says.
“There are a lot of ways to do that, but naming a route after pain isn’t one.”
In the wake of the death of George Floyd, a Black man killed in police
custody in May 2020, Utomo, among other concerned climbers, reached
out to Anderson and Huey to let them know that the original intent
behind their route names was lost on most climbers. Anderson agreed,
FROM TOP: JANELLE PACIENCIA ; J OHN SHERM AN COLLEC TION
and renamed 40 Acres and a Mule to Broken Promises.
A few days after Anderson’s announcement on social media, Huey
made a similar one: In future guidebooks, the Slavery Wall would be the
Downpour Wall, and Happiness in Slavery would be Happiness. “Aunt
Jemima” has also been dropped from Aunt Jemima’s Bisquick Thunderdome.
Huey called the changes long overdue. His view now: “There is no room
for route names that play with race.” A week later, Nick Wilder also
changed his tune, adding to Mountain Project a route-name-flagging
feature, which he says was largely inspired by Utomo’s proposal.
Leavitt says she was pleasantly surprised by the flurry of renaming,
however localized, but warns that there are still harmful route names out
there, and, perhaps more worrying, plenty of climbers “resistant to seeing
the change and growth happening in the climbing community.”
“It’s definitely a baby step,” she says.
TESTED //

AUTUMN CLIMBING KIT

Sending season is here, and what better way to bring your A game than
with an undingable rope, two aggressive new rock shoes, a high-tech
headlamp, comfy crack gloves, and smooth, wooden training holds?

Aramid sheath =
cut resistance
Amazing shapes,
skin-friendly birch

A C

High-torque
heel for steeps

Sticky, paper-thin Programmable

(<1mm) crack gloves lamp w/ 6 modes 1.9–4mm outsole
+ No Edge tech
D

A. Mad Rock Redline Strap $139, madrock.com
The updated Redline Strap is a radically downturned, asymmetrical
beast (Mad Rock calls the shape a “spiral last”) made for gym climbing
and steeps. These shoes are tight: I usually wear an 8.5 or 9 rock shoe,
but here needed a 9.5. Perhaps this was because the molded heel cup
is so deep that there’s little stretch; the forefoot is also narrow, which
made the Redline great for smear-edging. These may be the best
shoes I’ve tried for technical heel hooks, specifically on small gym
holds. On a roof problem at the gym, I locked in the extruded heel-
hooking ridge and shook out, whereas I couldn’t even get the heel to
stick in other boots. This design creates maximum torque—it almost
felt like I could “crimp” with the heel, as I did on a high hook at Sam’s
Throne, Arkansas. Meanwhile, for toe scums, a massive “negative-
texture” (with tiny oval indentations) patch covers the forefoot,
adding to friction on volumes and textured gym walls, while the soft
Science Friction 3.0 outsole had me sticking to slick volumes like
Velcro. The shoes also feature a single hook-and-loop closure, stretchy
synthetic tongue (easy on/off), and vegan-friendly construction.
—LEVI HARRELL

16 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

B. Black Diamond Crack Gloves
$40, blackdiamondequipment.com
Black Diamond’s first foray into sticky-rubber crack gloves has resulted
in a hardwearing, low-profile glove that testers loved. They’re made of
synthetic suede with a 0.6mm rubber-adhesive film set into a molded
depression for a smooth transition between materials, reducing
snaggage in jams. Given their overall thickness of less than 1mm, the
gloves didn’t impede slotting into thin-hand cracks, while the thumb
loop provided additional protection on wider fissures. “I ran a few
laps on Sidescraper, an obscure hands/fist climb in the South Platte of
Colorado, in the Crack Gloves,” noted one tester. “Nice fit, minimal
slippage, and great gripping power.” The only drawback, noted another
tester, was that the Hypalon closure strap sometimes dug into his
wrist, though it may have been a sizing issue. Available in five sizes
for precise fit, and with white fabric to reduce heat absorption.
—KEVIN RILEY
C. MoonBoard Masters 2019 £305 (Wood Holds –
Set B) and £305 (Wood Holds – Set C), moonclimbing.com
The pandemic has provoked an unprecedented rush on home walls,
including the iconic MoonBoard. In 2019, MoonClimbing came out
with their third hold set using the app-driven interface, the near-perfect
Masters 2019, which adds two wood sets (Set B and Set C) to wood Set A
from 2017. The result is a board that’s 40 percent wood and 60 percent
resin, with the wood denser in the high-use middle rows. The new wood
grips are some of the best, most user-friendly shapes on the market—Sets
B and C are larger, smoother, and more ergonomic than Set A (which
was basically for V8-plus climbers), letting anyone sending V3/V4 sample
the lightly ridged, skin-friendly birch plywood. Favorites have been the
biting—but not tweaky—crimps, incut flanges, boomerang-bananas, and
squeeze-hard-or-die pinches. The wood holds brush clean nicely, and
don’t need to be removed to be power-washed. To my mind, the 2019 set
represents the best of 2016 and 2017—nothing’s too big (like 2017’s reds),
and nothing’s too small (ahem, yellow Original School Holds), meaning
all 198 holds are essentially usable at reasonable grades. Plus, by grabbing
so much wood, you can session longer or hit the board post-rock.
—MATT SAMET
D. Knog Bilby Headlamp $60, knog.com
The Bilby is an unconventional, high-tech headlamp I didn’t even know
I needed. It’s comprised of two waterproof pieces—a rechargeable
light pod and a silicone head strap. The silicone housing is durable
and grippy, with an adjustable slider for a custom fit to your head. The
pod component easily slides out of the flexible head strap and can be
recharged in any USB port (including the ones in your car), making it
lightweight and incredibly portable. A fully charged Bilby runs up to 5
hours on its highest setting, and 90 hours on low, but Knog in no way
scrimped on the output here. Ultra-powerful at 400 lumens, the Bilby lit
up a coyote ahead of me on a Boulder, Colorado, foothills trail run one
night, momentarily stunning him before we both scampered away. With
six lighting modes controlled by two intuitive buttons, you can adjust
brightness, tilt, and boost in each mode, making it a bit intimidating
to figure out. Much like my first iPhone, though, it all clicks once you
realize the Bilby was built entirely around the user’s needs and natural
gestures. I saved my two favorite modes for quick access, but if you still
can’t get the hang of all the options, you can create custom ones—the
Bilby is programmable using Knog’s ModeMaker app. When stashed in
your pack, use its lock mode, putting an end to accidentally turning on
your headlamp when you rummage around and draining it. Just make
sure you know how to unlock it, as that became quite the crux for me.
—LINDSAY WESCOTT
E. Edelrid Swift Protect Pro Dry
$270 (60m) or $310 (70m), edelrid.com
“Finally, a skinny rope I can trust,” said one tester of Edelrid’s new
8.9mm dynamic rope. At the forefront of rope technology since they
developed the world’s first kernmantel rope in 1953, Edelrid has raised
the bar again with the new Swift Protect Pro Dry 8.9mm, the first
dynamic single rope with built-in cut resistance thanks to a Kevlar-like
material called Aramid that’s woven into the sheath. And while Aramid
is particularly static, Edelrid employed a newly developed production
process to reduce the impact force to a tolerable level. One tester
observed, “[It] was a bit stiff at first, but after a few outings it softened
up. Now that it’s broken in, it feeds well through a GriGri and ATC and
provides a nice, soft catch.” The Swift Protect is lightweight (53 g/m)
and durable, making it ideal for alpine climbing and redpoint goes—it’s
not recommended as a toprope or workhorse. Comes with a Pro Dry
finish, so the rope stays dry in wet conditions, and a Thermo Shield
treatment for ideal handling; certified as a single, half, and twin.
—KEVIN RILEY
F. La Sportiva Theory $190, sportiva.com
In June, I found a newly reopened rock gym to test the Theory, the gym/
bouldering shoes from La Sportiva in their suite of Olympic-focused
rock boots. (See climbing.com/2020compshoes.) As I reacclimated to
volume and coordination problems, it struck me that the Theory felt
like a combination of the Solution and the Futura—Solution-style
big-toe bite for edging and jibs married with Futura-style softness,
sensitivity, deformation, and scumming fluency. This made for wicked
versatility, with reliable performance on toe-in-and-grab monster
overhangs, funkedelic coordination slabs, and vertical crimp ladders.
On one problem, up bulbous yellow balls, I desperately scummed
around an arête onto a micro-ball, sure my foot would slip, but the
Theory’s slipper-like softness and massive toe-scumming patch locked
me in. This grabbing savoir faire is accomplished via your standard,
square-cut big-toe edge merged with the rounded No Edge sole on the
posterior forefoot; meanwhile, the outsole has a variable depth (1.9–4
mm) that’s thickest at the toe-tip for edging support, but tapers in the
dead space behind the toebox, letting the Theory flex for smearing.
The heel has a swath of stiff yellow rubber that made for remarkably
stable, intuitive hooking—it doesn’t slip. Size for a sock-like fit.
—MATT SAMET
CLIMBING.COM 17
TRAINING //
SEASONAL
DRIFT
Every year as August comes to a close, I notice
my appetite increase and my drive for climbing,
training, and physical exertion wane. The shift
feels dramatic in contrast with the summer,
when I have low appetite, a high motivation to
get outside, and more grit when projecting.
At first, I perceived this pattern only with
myself. However, as I’ve learned during my
past five years working with climbers as
nutrition clients, this is a common story:
Climbers mention that they’re hungrier as the
days get shorter, with a concurrent drop in
energy and grit, and perhaps some weight gain
(muscle and/or fat). So, how do we optimize
these shifts—especially into “winter mode,”
which often causes panic in climbers?
Far from being a constant, appetite—the
desire for food or drink—is impacted by a
plethora of variables, including sleep, exercise,
our emotional state, and, yes, the seasons.
Generally, the foods we crave as the days
shorten switch from lower-calorie foods like
18 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
Why appetite fluctuates throughout
the year—and how to flow with it
BY ALYSSA NEILL, RDN
fruits, vegetables, and salad-type meals to
higher-calorie foods like hearty fats, carbs,
and stew-like meals.
We could end here, asking that you
surrender to the brilliance of Nature and the
age-old wisdom of the body. But I know that we
climbers—with our focus on performance and
the strength-to-weight ratio—won’t like that.
So, let’s break down the variables that impact
seasonal shifts, as well as how to maintain
momentum throughout. (See “Seasonal Eating”
sidebar on p.20 for specific nourishment.)
VA R I A B LE S TH AT
I M PAC T A P P ETITE
First off is temperature. Colder temperatures
provoke the body to expend—and thus
require—more energy to keep the vital organs
warm. Food provides energy (calories), which
the body uses in various ways to maintain a
healthy temperature. When we ingest more
calories than required for maintenance—a
hyper-caloric diet—our body increases in
mass (both muscle and fat, depending on
the circumstances). Mass helps insulate us.
Moreover, digestion creates heat, hence
why simply eating can warm you up. In fact,
eating increases both metabolism and skin
temperature. Because every individual has
unique caloric needs, there is no set formula
for how many more calories we need per
degree of drop in ambient temperature.
When we eat fats and carbohydrates
(think starches, fruit, and sugar) beyond our
caloric-maintenance needs, those foods are
used to make fat, which helps to insulate
the body. This may play into why we crave
PHOTO BY J EREMY PAWLOWSKI
richer foods as the temperature drops. (In
fact, in colder climates, greater body fat may
be evolutionally advantageous.) Interestingly,
the more abdominal fat we have, the less our
appetite goes up when the temperature drops.
So, if you’re already lean, you may notice a
larger increase in appetite in colder weather.
COACH JOSH LARSON WORKING WITH SIENNA KOPF AS SHE PERFECTS A COORDINATION FLIP ON OUR MASTER 8X12. BOONE SPEED PHOTO

MASTERY ISN’T JUST DOING SOMETHING ONCE.

IT ISN’T A FINISH LINE.

IT’S A MINDSET.

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TRAINING //

On the flip side, warmer temperatures also
require the body to respond. Between sweating,
lethargy, and a drop in appetite (remember,
digesting and absorbing food create heat),
the body is always modulating systems to
maintain balance. When the body is working
to cool itself, your thirst increases and you
crave foods with a high water content like
fruits (watermelon, apples, peaches, etc.) and
vegetables (celery, tomatoes, cucumbers, etc.).
Meanwhile, both appetite in general and an
appetite for rich food naturally wane to adapt
the body to increasing external temperatures.
Light cycles and our resulting circadian
rhythm also impact appetite. Changes in
light impact when we make hormones like
melatonin (the sleep hormone), ghrelin (the
“I’m hungry hormone”), and cortisol (which
ensures ready energy in the form of glucose).
Thus, changes in the seasons—not only the
temperature but also the length of day and
available daylight—impact how we eat.
Autumn and winter also bring the holidays.
Between stress, colder temperatures, shorter
days, and increased access to sugary, high-fat
foods, weight gain in winter is common.
N UTR ITI O N SY N C H RO N IZ E D
W ITH TH E S E A S O N S
Regardless of the root causes, most climbers
will crave more food through fall and winter.
So, how to maintain both a healthy weight
and a nourishing relationship with food? The
answer lies in lifestyle modifications.
Respect what your body is asking for
This is the most important component, as it
relates both to eating enough optimal food
and not overindulging in suboptimal food.
When you learn your body’s hunger and satiety
cues and eat accordingly, you can’t go wrong.
This requires body awareness—something we
climbers are fantastic at (see “Practicing Body
Awareness” sidebar on facing page).
Choose whole, nourishing foods most
of the time
When we eat whole foods (an apple, peanuts,
milk, soybeans, chicken, etc.), our body not
only receives more nutrition, but we feel more
satiated. This reduces cravings for processed,
high-fat, and sugary foods. Nourishing foods
also support healthy brain chemistry, energy
metabolism, motivation, and sleep.
Base your meals around whole-
food protein sources
Protein, whether it’s plant- or animal-
based, supports satiation and reduces
cravings. Eating protein also supports
muscle-building, ever advantageous to
keeping your metabolism healthy.
Stay hydrated!
Hydration is underrated in regard to
controlling appetite and maintaining an
optimal weight. In fact, we often mistake
thirst for hunger, which leads to overeating,
especially in the colder months when we
don’t experience thirst as much. Through
winter, it’s still imperative to hydrate
via tea, water, or other sugarless drinks.
Optimal water intake for adults ranges
from 2 to 3.7 liters per day, depending
on your body mass and activity level.
Make sleep a priority
Adequate sleep improves energy metabolism.
On the flip side, sleep deprivation leaves us
feeling hungrier than normal, craving carbs
and with little resistance to sugary foods.
Getting enough sleep goes a long way here.
Keep climbing, keep training
Sometimes motivation wanes when we feel
heavy or not up to par in our bodies. Yet
continuing to climb is important, not just
because it keeps our skills sharp and body
composition optimized, but also because
movement promotes the production of feel-
good biochemistry. And the better you feel,
the less likely you’ll be to seek comfort food.
It’s also worth noting that, nutritionally
speaking, seasons of higher caloric intake

S E A S O N A L E AT I N G
Before industrial agriculture, we relied on what we could grow, hunt, and forage, which allowed us to
naturally flux with the seasons and the nourishment available. However, now that we have all foods
available all the time, it’s imperative to consider which foods will support you best during each season.

Autumn Winter Spring Summer

Shift toward warmer foods like
garlic, ginger, walnuts, green
onions, eggs, and slightly
fattier protein sources. Add
more fibrous carbohydrates
like winter squash and
tubers. Steam and sauté
your food. Drink warm tea or
room-temperature liquids.
Choose baked, roasted, and
sautéed foods; consume
stews, soups, fattier proteins,
and protein on the bone. Add
nuts, seeds, legumes, whole
grains, dried fruit, lightly
cooked dark greens, cloves,
coconut, dates, nutmeg, and
chestnuts. Drink hot tea.
Play with bitter foods like
cruciferous vegetables
(cauliflower, Brussels sprouts,
and broccoli), mustard greens,
watercress, and dandelion
greens and/or tea, as well as
beets, avocado, artichoke, and
asparagus. Eat more fish, tofu,
and lentils. Drink cooler water.
Choose high-water-
content foods like
vegetables, fruits, and
greens. Cold salads, leaner
protein sources, and
whole-food carbohydrates
will keep you cool. Raw
food is best here. Drink
plenty of cold water.

20 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

 are best paired with training. On this note,
training through the winter months allows
us to synchronize our increased appetites—
and therefore increased caloric intake—with
increased exertion. In synchronizing food and
training, we support the synthesis of muscle.
Neely Quinn and Joe Kinder discuss this “train
heavy, send light” concept on the Training
Beta Podcast, episode No. 58. It’s not about
forcing weight gain or loss, but instead about
synchronizing with the ebb and flow of the
two different states (training vs. climbing) and
seasons (colder vs. warmer, respectively).
Get outside and climb—or do anything!
Sunlight on the skin and in the eyes is a strong
cue as to the time of year. In winter when
there is less sunlight, spending time outside is
especially beneficial, as it impacts everything in
the body, including sleep and feeding cycles.
ALYSSA NEILL is a registered dietitian who employs a
holistic and synergistic approach to nutrition. Based in
Colorado, she primarily enjoys outdoor bouldering.
Ben Herndon
Practicing Body Awareness
We are our own gurus when it comes to our health—our bodies hold all
the answers. By checking in, we can 1) bring awareness to how we feel
and 2) use this information as an indicator of our body’s needs. It’s simple:
Slow down, take a couple deep breaths, and feel any sensations arise,
and then use those sensations to inform yourself. The sensations may
make you more aware of your levels of hunger or satiety, energy, comfort
or discomfort, and motivation, as well as your emotional experience. You
can then nourish accordingly, using the sensations as your compass.
For example: Climber A consumes excessive amounts of raw vegetables
because he read that they’re healthy and support fat loss. He begins to notice
(awareness) extreme bloating and cramping (sensations) in his lower abdomen,
symptoms relieved only after his morning bowel movement but that typically
return after his second meal of the day. While the bloating and cramping arise
from gas produced by the fermentation of indigestible fibers by gut microflora,
these symptoms are also the “communication” from Climber A’s body regarding
his well-being. For Climber A, simply consuming fewer raw veggies will decrease
the digestive burden and relieve the symptoms. When he is aware of and uses the
sensations (bloating and cramping) as a message, rather than relying on an external
authority (nutrition books) to inform him, he’ll achieve a better outcome.
Strip it down,
or dress it up.
SCEPTER
Available in 35L & 50L Sizes
Of those pursuing ice and rock, the SCEPTER is a new
authority in pack modularity that excels in moraine, talus
navigation, or the headwall project. The SCEPTER is designed
to adapt to the requirements of the user while maintaining
functionality of use with gloved hands.
Clip over to MysteryRanch.com
T H E P L AC E //

Kris Fiore at the thumbdercling

crux on Fire in the Hole (5.12a; FA:
May 2019), Bolton Dome, Vermont.

Bolton Dome, Vermont

and the State’s New Schist Golden Age
STORY AND PHOTOS BY MICHAEL PRONZATO

T
hrashing through nettles, sneaking toprope down Interstate Crack (5.11b). His climb TYPE
through maple trees, and walking on of the 60-foot finger crack would be one of the Sport and trad
carpets of moss, Travis Peckham and last ascents here for the next quarter century. climbing, bouldering
Bolton
friends hiked behind the Fernwood Manor Nestled in the rolling northern Green GUIDEBOOK Dome
trailer park in Bolton, Vermont. Moving Mountains, the spherical, 300-foot-tall Bolton Tough Schist, by
Travis Peckham
stealthily, Peckham traversed a lichen-covered Dome protrudes from a hillside cloaked in
ramp to access the top of the Bolton Dome, maple-birch-beech forest. Ten thousand years RESOURCE
cragvt.org
a schist cliff 20 miles east of Burlington. It ago, glacial Lake Vermont melted and drained,
was 1995, and the dome had been officially carving out the dome and the Bolton valley. SEASON
April through TOTAL CLIMBS
closed since 1986. Staying out of sight of the Layers of rock were formed as deep-sea mud
landowner’s house below, as well as the dozen
nearby residents, Peckham quietly threw a
experienced intense pressure from the weight
of the ice, creating the metamorphic schist. As
November,
depending on snow 60+
22 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
the layers eroded, they exposed massive ledges, permission to the Mountain Cold Weather was a very different way to approach climbing,
steep faces, and the wavy swirls of quartz Company for their training and weren’t and it was kind of liberating to be able to
veins, shallow pinches, and crisp edges that bothered by other climbers—until 1986. try that hard,” says Peckham, author of the
characterize the dome’s climbs. That year, two unfortunate events sealed Vermont climbing guidebook, Tough Schist.
This stacked crag features some of the state’s the dome’s fate. The first occurred when “That’s when the whole climbing scene in
best climbing. As of November 2019, over 60 climbers camped on the cliff, practicing for Vermont took off.”
trad and sport routes from 5.2 to 5.13c, with a big-wall trip out West. Unaware of the Still, while sport climbing in Bolton
projects up to 5.14c, cover the dome’s 10 sectors. climbers’ intentions, residents called search and valley was taking shape, local advocates had
At the entrance, the 30-foot-high, 45-degree- rescue after seeing lights and hearing noises not forgotten about the Bolton Dome. Dick
overhanging Project Boulder features 10 on the rock. The resulting chaos did not paint Katzman, a CRAG-VT board member, had been
problems from V8 to V14. The Railroad Yard climbers in a good light. Shortly thereafter, reaching out to the Parkers. The relationship
features a mix of 40-foot 5.10 sport and trad Parker confronted a party of climbers who started roughly: Not surprisingly, the Parkers
climbs; the Main Face boasts 100-foot technical had parked in his driveway, asking if they had did not want climbers back on their property.
routes like Release the Hens (5.11c) and Crimes permission to be on his property. When the Katzman persisted, meeting with them year
of Omission (5.12b); the Neighborhood Ledge climbers told him to “F—k off!” and continued after year. Eventually, Katzman asked if they
is home to Mister Rogers (5.7+) and Lichenology walking to the cliff, Parker deflated their tires. were interested in subdividing the property
(5.10a; 3 pitches); and the Dometop—the most A few hours later, the returning climbers had so climbers could buy the cliff. “If you have
exposed face—has seven 5.12s. no choice but to knock on Parker’s door and a million dollars, we’ll sell you the whole
Climbing at the Bolton Dome dates back to sheepishly ask to borrow his air compressor. property,” the Parkers told him, ending the
the 1960s and Norwich University’s Mountain Shortly after “deflate-gate,” the Parkers closed conversation. Then, 20 years later in 2017, the
Cold Weather Company, a specialty training the Bolton Dome to climbers. Parkers reached out to Katzman and CRAG-VT
unit under the Army ROTC. They performed With the dome’s closure, and the formation to see if they were interested in making an offer
rescue and rappelling exercises, practiced piton of CRAG-VT in 1999, other Bolton valley areas before they put their land on the market. In
placement and knot tying, and camped at the took precedence. Sport areas such as the Bolton January 2018, using the Access Fund’s largest
base. “There were more ancient, rusty ring Quarry and the Carcass Crag, both a five- climbing conservation loan ever ($358,750),
pitons at the Bolton Dome than anywhere else minute drive from the dome, were acquired by CRAG-VT purchased the lot, including the
I’ve climbed in Vermont,” says Kris Fiore, the CRAG-VT in 2004 and 2010, respectively. “It Parkers’ house. (CRAG-VT has been actively
president of CRAG-VT, Vermont’s nonprofit
climbing organization. “I wiggled out 20 pitons
by hand in one area; it was like a museum of
military piton-craft.”
In 1972, James Kolocotronis established
one of the dome’s earliest free climbs, the
three-pitch Seven Cruxes (5.8+) on the 300-foot
main dihedral. An advocate for clean climbing,
Kolocotronis wrote in a 1973 Appalachia article,
“In order to prevent further rock deterioration
from pitoning (especially evident on the first
lead) and proliferation of fixed pitons (nine at
one stance), it is hoped that future ascents will
also be all-free.” Other locals soon followed
Kolocotronis’s example, and the ringing of the
hammer disappeared from Bolton forever.
Between 1965 and 1986, other climbers,
including Jamie Brownell, Steven Zajchowski,
Chuck Bond, Bob Olsen, David Cass, and Bob
Gifford, established over 40 trad, aid, and
toprope routes, including classic moderates
like Jamathon (5.7+), a hand crack to a well-
protected slab; Cave Crack (5.6), a wide crack
and chimney; and Narrow Gauge (5.9+), a finger
crack to a pronounced bulge. During this time, Sarah Handrahan battling
the dome was on private property owned by summer humidity on the thin
Michael Parker, whose family home was also on face Release the Hens (5.11c).
the 48-acre parcel. He and his family granted

CLIMBING.COM 23
T H E P L AC E //
LEFT: Kel Rossiter, owner of Adventure Spirit Guides, clears a new climbers’ path during a trail day held for the cliff's grand
reopening in May 2019. RIGHT: Olivia Hunt dials in her balance on Casual Collusion (5.10d), atop the Neighborhood Ledge.
raising another $80,000 to cover the remaining
purchase price and install improvements,
including parking, a kiosk, trails, etc.)
After the acquisition, a new-routing frenzy
began. Initially, Peckham, Fiore, and Seth
Maciejowski, CRAG-VT’s vice president, agreed
to bolt one line each, but then the floodgates
opened. “We got a little piece of action initially,
and then it was a free-for-all,” says Maciejowski.
And, says Fiore, “The blank faces that were
unclimbable 30 years ago are suddenly these
really crazy sport routes.” Bolton Dome
now has eleven 5.12s, the second highest
concentration of 5.12s at one crag in Vermont.
Establishing the routes took work. After
three decades of inactivity, a leathery lichen
covered the rock and took incredible effort
to strip away. Peckham spent nearly 11 hours
cleaning his 75-foot Two Times Infinity (5.12a).
The dome’s five-minute approach, flat base,
and potential for moderate climbing inspired
Mischa Tourin, a CRAG-VT board member,
to clean a 40-foot-wide slab perfect for
budding leaders. “I spent time peeling layers of
three-inch-thick turf, cutting it into squares,
and tossing it off the slab,” says Tourin, who
recruited his 74-year-old father and 20-week-
pregnant wife to help. “Now we have a really
cool classroom,” featuring the three beginner
leads Little Wolf (5.2), The Country Doctor’s
Ramble (5.3), and Sir Didymus (5.4).
On May 18, 2019, Tourin coordinated a
24 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
trail day. Seventy volunteers constructed new
trails, built wooden steps, removed graffiti,
and moved boulders blocking the trails. The
following September, climbers gathered in
Bolton to attend clinics, hear speakers, and
climb around the Bolton valley for the first-
annual Vermont Climbing Festival.
Although new lines have been scrubbed
and sent, more work remains. CRAG-VT
is continuing to fundraise to pay off the
Access Fund loan and acquire a conservation
easement, a legal agreement to protect the
land for permanent recreation. Similar to
the dome, many untouched and hidden cliffs
remain in Vermont, mostly on private property
and inaccessible to climbers. But CRAG-VT
and the Vermont climbing community plan to
make accessing those areas a reality. “While I
have traveled to climb in the West, Europe, and
Asia—and those places are truly amazing—the
combination of community and discovery
makes the climbing here special,” says
Peckham. New areas are waiting to be found in
the state, and to Peckham, this is just the start.
“While other areas in the country have been
fully developed for decades,” he says, “Vermont
is still living in its golden age.”
MICHAEL PRONZATO is a climber and freelance
photojournalist in Burlington, Vermont. When he’s
not on the wall, you can find him cycling, exploring the
Northeast, and coaching the climbing team at Petra Cliffs.
Protecting
America’s Climbing
ACCESSFUND.ORG
AF acquired Alphabet Rock and Icehouse
Boulders outside Leavenworth, WA, to save
them from residential development. The
property hosts 40-plus routes from 5.7 to
5.13, as well as dozens of boulder problems.
AF will transfer the property to Okanogan-
Wenatchee National Forest later this year to
permanently protect it as public land.
As we look toward rebuilding an economy
devastated by COVID-19, AF is working
with its allies on Capitol Hill to promote a
modern, inclusive Conservation Corps—a
government investment in recreation
infrastructure that would put Americans
back to work and provide economic
resiliency to hard-hit communities.
AF is tracking several dangerous policy
changes that aim to expand industrial
development on public lands. The
Administration is attempting to drastically
limit Americans’ ability to have a say
in how public lands—from the Red to
the Buttermilks—are
managed. AF will be
mobilizing the community
in upcoming weeks.
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FO R T H E LOV E O F C L I M B I N G //
The Webs We Weave
Escaping the trap of outdated ethics
BY KATHY KARLO
W
hen I began climbing nine years ago, my trad
mentor instilled in me that the ground-up,
onsight lead—placing pro—was the purest
form of ascent. For years, I remained of the mindset that
onsight climbing was the ideal, relishing in the little
victories that stacked up. However, at a certain point—
even with the luxury of travel—you run out of routes
to onsight. So what then? I would embark on a great
unlearning experience in November 2014 during a trip
to Chattanooga, Tennessee, in the process expanding my
thinking about what “ethics” mean.
Laurel Falls is a great winter destination. This small
zone contains a few difficult sport climbs, but my focus
quickly went past the bolts toward a prominent 15-foot
roof crack, Webs We Weave (5.12b). In the exhausting
first moments trying it, I was already on the verge of
pumping out and, with a shaky voice, called for my belayer
to take. After I fell multiple times, my partner sensed my
disappointment and gently advised me to get acquainted
with the process of projecting a difficult climb. Although I
didn’t finish the route that afternoon, I left with a greater
understanding that quality projects would take more time
and effort than onsighting.
The late Tom Higgins—an influential California climber
known for his 1963 free ascent with Bob Kamps of the
Tahquitz 5.10c Blanketty Blank, among countless other FAs—
authored “Tricksters and Traditionalists” in 1984. This essay
appeared in Ascent, and was later republished in Climbing
No. 86. In it, Higgins coined the term “traditional climbing.”
His parameters for what made one a trad climber were clear:
“[They do not] preview routes on rappel, or fix protection
on aid or on rappel with the intention of immediately trying
to free climb,” he wrote. “Aid climbing is done to get to the
top, not to set up a route for free-climb attempts. Likewise,
in traditional style the climber might fall a few times trying
a free climb, but he or she doesn’t rest on the protection
between attempts [Ed: they would instead lower off]. The
traditionalist knows there is a time and place to give up.”
As I hung that day on Webs We Weave, I did my best to
tamp down my anger toward myself for not living up to
what it meant to be a “traditional climber,” an impossible
standard passed down from my mentor and surely informed
by sentiments like those in Higgins’s essay. More than
three decades since Higgins penned his words, I realized
that his would not be a sustainable approach for me,
26 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
The author on Hands Across America
(5.12c), Tennessee Wall—a route she
redpointed after using “tricksterism.”
and I began a stark reevaluation of my approach to
climbing. Sure, onsighting traditional climbs had given me
confidence, but it had also drilled into me a dangerous,
unrealistic precept that would later make me question
everything from strength to skill, and, at times, self-worth.
When Higgins wrote “Tricksters and Traditionalists,”
climbers were beginning to hangdog, Friends had been on
the market for five years, and sport climbing was nascent at
Smith Rock and in Europe. Yet his stance remained wedded
to an ethic originally forged in the mountains, during
the ground-up, “no-fall” era of hemp ropes tied around
one’s waist. Higgins criticized journals and guidebooks for
chronicling heroics and not focusing on the style of ascent,
believing that poor style greatly impacted traditionalists:
“They are finding scarred red rock or protection from the
first ascent; they are getting fewer chances to try their style
on first ascents,” he wrote. Higgins seemed fearful of a new
generation embracing practices outside those he’d learned.
Higgins perhaps too rigorously held that if you weren’t a
traditionalist, you were indeed a trickster—sneaky in regards
to style. Onsighting a climb warrants respect, but I don’t
know that it makes the ascent more meaningful to anyone
other than the climber herself. And putting up an FA in a
certain style—ground-up, onsight—doesn’t mean you get to
PHOTO BY C ALEB TIMMERM AN
dictate how those who follow will approach the endeavor
either. These days, we colloquially understand “traditional
climbing” to mean any climb that’s gear protected—it’s a
reference to the genre, not the ethic. Still, even in 2020,
I encounter climbers who cling to a “right” and a “wrong”
way—“Oh, you’re doing it in poor style,” they’ll say, rarely
stopping to examine their words.
I haven’t returned to Laurel Falls, but in the interim I’ve visited
Chattanooga many times. There, I took on the Tennessee Wall Triple
Crown, three 5.12c monster roof cracks put up by Rob Robinson and
Steve Goins in 1985 and 1986. As I launched into the endeavor, I better
understood what my partner had tried to convey in 2014: Not every
climb would be onsightable, and routes at my true limit would require
rehearsal until I could perfect each movement, each breath, and each
placement. The Triple Crown took me five years and three visits to
Chattanooga to complete. And, of course, a good deal of “tricksterism.”
Though Higgins’s philosophy might be a manifestation of the old
“no fall” mentality, embedded within his essay is also the slightest tint
of entitlement. After all, isn’t climbing’s essence—the desire to conquer
mountains—rooted in privilege? Access to climbing, whether in the
alpine or at the local crags, is still barred to many due to socioeconomic
barriers only now being addressed with conscious work, climbing gyms
in urban areas, and overall recognition of the importance of equity and
inclusion. While Higgins, writing in 1984, couldn’t have foreseen how
his essay might be interpreted in 2020, its policing tone is reminiscent of
the toxic, ego-driven culture we are currently pushing to dismantle.
Today, “tricksterism” happens in every subset of the sport. Tommy
Caldwell and Alex Honnold use fixed lines and Micro Traxions to
rehearse El Capitan free climbs. Bishop highballers toprope 50-foot
V10s into submission, and then place dozens of pads below them. And
sport climbers hangdog without question, micro-refining beta and using
kneepads, stick-clips, and high-octane chalk. Outside the alpine arena,
EDGE OF THE MAP
by Johanna Garton
“ Equal parts climbing history,
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First American & British Woman to
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“The next must-read.”
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it’s rare to see a ground-up ethic actuated anymore at the cutting edge,
even on gear-protected climbs. Given all this, we have to acknowledge
that “traditional climbing,” as Higgins defined it, is entirely accurate.
So should the term continue to be used, then, in the generic way we
do now, or is it best to revert Higgins’s definition back to its original
meaning and refer to our modern iteration as “gear climbing”?
Now, some days I might flash something that I feel proud of, and
others I spend a lot of time hanging—but I never leave the crag empty-
handed. Having set aside rigorous ethics and limiting definitions, I find
myself unencumbered by ego; this allows me not to miss the important
moments and instead lean into them. On claiming the first female
ascent of the Triple Crown in 2019, I moved through the crux sections
with a sense of urgency, my last piece often feeling miles away. Yet
having rehearsed the delicate sequences prior to my redpoints made me
unafraid of falling and more determined to succeed.
The Triple Crown showed me that how hard you climb and how hard
you try are two entirely different things. It was aforementioned that the
“traditionalist,” per Higgins, knows there’s a time and place to give up.
But perhaps it can also be said that the traditional climber today is one
who remains unattached to porous ethics and doesn’t get too caught up
in the “ethical praxis”—and, on occasion, leaves her guidebook at home.
KATHY KARLO is a podcast producer and freelance writer (fortheloveofclimbing
.com) who lives for rock climbing, sharing doughnuts with strangers, and positive vibes.
Climbing is mostly jumping for her, as she has a negative ape index.
WINTER 8000
by Bernadette McDonald
Award-winning author Bernadette
McDonald recounts some of
the most dangerous feats in
mountaineering history and
explores the human attraction to
danger and suffering.
Available in book and outdoor stores, or online at www.mountaineersbooks.org
More than 700 outdoor recreation, lifestyle, and conservation books in print
Mountaineers Books is an independent nonprofit publisher
TO P O //

Spook
Book
STORY BY CHRIS KALMAN
ILLUSTRATION BY SHANTÉ LOMPREY

The Beta
LOCATION
West face of the Witch,
the Needles, California
GRADE
5.10+ R
LENGTH
Four pitches
FIRST ASCENT
Herb Laeger and
Bob Kamps; July 1978

28 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

 RIGHT: The unmistakable slab to
clean-cut corner of Spook Book
(5.10+ R), the Witch, the Needles,
California. BELOW: A view
upward to the infamous, heady
opening face of pitch one.
I
t’s not the most popular route in the most popular area. It wasn’t put
up by the most famous climbers of yesteryear. It’s not the hardest, the
CLOCK WISE FROM TOP LEF T: KRIS TIAN SOLEM; COURTES Y OF BONNIE K A MP S; S TEPH ABEGG
gnarliest, or the most splitter. But Spook Book at the Needles in the
Kern River Valley of Southern California is—for reasons I find difficult to
define—one of the best routes I’ve ever climbed.
On July 9, 1978, Herb Laeger and Bob Kamps walked past the old fire
tower to the col above the beautiful lichen-streaked spires of the Needles.
Laeger—then 33—was a Needles regular. So he asked Kamps, who was
making one of his first visits, what he wanted to climb. So little had been
climbed there by 1978 that first ascentionists like Laeger and Kamps were
still picking plums. Kamps looked down the gully and on the west face
of the Witch saw an elegant left-facing corner splashed with lichen and
studded with beautiful patina. “Well,” he said, “let’s do that corner!”
“So we went down the gully and did the corner,” Laeger told me, just
shy of 42 years later when we chatted on the phone. No big deal. Just a
couple of young(ish) punks going ground-up and hand-drilling on routes
that still give solid climbers the heebie-jeebies today.
When I climbed the route in 2015, I sure thought it was a big deal.
To start, I just about emptied my bowels getting the first bolt clipped on
the blank, insecure slab leading up to the corner on pitch one. You’re 45
feet up, and the pin and nuts well below your feet are marginal at best. I
pictured myself ragdolling into the talus, mustered up some 5.12 strength
(for the so-called 5.10 moves), clipped, and breathed a sigh of relief.
ABOVE: Bob Kamps’s FA notes: “Herb and I
gave the ‘unclimbed crack’ a try. I moved up to
windy perch rt. of crack and placed a poor bolt.”
Of the bolt in question, “It was a little bit dicey to drill,” Laeger
recalled breezily. “There’s a little decent stance below the stance that
I used to drill. It took a while. You go up, hit the hammer a dozen times
or so, and then you have to step down.” If Laeger’s recollection was cool
as a cucumber, it may be because he didn’t actually drill the bolt! It was
instead Kamps, as I learned while looking over Kamps’s notes and which
Laeger later said was likely the case. (Sadly, Kamps passed away in 2005
from a heart attack, so I was unable to corroborate the details.)
It ended up taking Laeger and Kamps two trips over two weeks
to finish the four-pitch route. Laeger remembers that he felt “pretty
stoked” when he and Kamps topped out Spook Book because it was “just
a beautiful line.” He remembers that the incredible corner, which is
deceptively steep, requires 5.12 brains if only 5.10+ brawn, takes small
but quality gear, and stretches on luxuriously like the best kind of dream.
And he remembers the exposure—how the Needles’ gullies seem to peel
away from you, tumbling to the Kern River thousands of feet below.
He also remembers the lichen. “That iridescent green lichen is just
a glorious thing,” said Laeger. “When the sun hits it just right, you open
your eyes and say, ‘Man, am I lucky to be here.’”
Like I said, I have a hard time putting into words precisely what
makes Spook Book so good. Maybe I was just there at the right time,
the sun hitting the stone at the perfect angle, looking at the lichen and
feeling profoundly lucky to be alive…and to have clipped that bolt.
CLIMBING.COM 29
ONSIGHT //

As climbers have been getting back to the

rock amidst the coronavirus pandemic,
social distancing has remained paramount.
The isolated Keyhole Canyon, 45 minutes
south of Las Vegas, Nevada, makes for the
perfect venue. Says Brooke Jackson, who
shot this image of Alex Sklar leading the
classic 5.7 crack Demonstrator, Keyhole
is old school— “From the group of Baby
Boomer climbers hanging out with their
radio jamming ‘80s tunes—while playing on
a boulder in jeans, no shirts, and drinking
beer between sends—to the fact that many
of the climbs have no top anchors.” Keyhole
also features ancient pictographs and
petroglyphs that scholars believe depict the
Creation Mythology, and were left by one of
three indigenous tribes: Mojave, Paiute, or
Anasazi/Pueblo. Most of its walls stay hidden
until you explore deep into the canyon, and
provide both sun and shade. (For the latest
guidebook, contact Jimmy “Frodo” Lybarger
at keyholecanyonguidebook@gmail.com.)

BROOKE JACKSON

30 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

CLIMBING.COM 31
ONSIGHT //

Deep in the Maine backcountry is

the alpine gem The Armadillo, an
exposed wall into a castellated ridge
that tops out on Baxter Peak, the
high point (5,268 feet) of Mount
Katahdin. The route is a choose-
your-own-adventure romp on clean,
featured granite, but most memorable
is the stout “5.7” crack—opening
from 3 to 6 inches—on pitch three,
here climbed by Teancum Bryant.
Bryant, who lives in Utah, wasn’t
used to the East Coast dampness:
“It was my first time experiencing
humid cold, where it chilled me to
the bone,” he recalls. Above the
technical climbing are the Vertebrae
pitches, a mix of fourth class and
the occasional low-fifth-class move
up the armadillo’s spine—the perfect
finish to this monster excursion.

ANDREW BURR

32 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

On April 26, Ben Herrington
established Imagine (5.14-) at
Morpheus in the Skykomish Valley
of Western Washington. Herrington,
34, a route-setter at Stone Gardens
Bellevue, knows the area well, having
put up one of his best FAs, Kingslayer
(V13), only 50 feet away. However,
the leaning arête next to the waterfall
had long drawn his eye. “I borrowed a
drill and bolts from Rudy Ruana,” says
Herrington. “He showed me how to
place a bolt in his backyard, and class
was dismissed.” Given how steep the
wall was, Herrington had to front-
lever to get into position to drill. “I
could only drill a centimeter at a time
before my arms and abs gave out,”
he says. After three days preparing
the line, Herrington began sorting the
beta. The climb opens with an intense
three-bolt V11 to a rest, then V5/6-ish
slapping up the edge to a final shake
and a V9 boulder problem. For the
full video, check out @climbnskate.

TRUC ALLEN

CLIMBING.COM 33
F AC E S //

THE CLIMBING Q& A

Jimmy Webb
Jimmy Webb would be the last person to tell you that he’s sent more
V16s than almost any other American. Credit that humility—and
the work ethic that earned him those ticks—to his Tennessee roots.
STORY BY COREY BUHAY | PHOTOS BY KEVIN TAKASHI SMITH

J
immy Webb started pushing his boundaries by pushing those
of his parents. The Maryville, Tennessee, native—now 32 and a
professional boulderer based out of Sacramento, California—grew
up running around creeks and broadleaf hollers in the Appalachian
foothills. “I always had my mom or dad freaking the hell out because I
was way up in some tree and they didn’t know where I was,” he says.
Sometimes it was a tree. Sometimes it was the limestone bluffs
along the river near Webb Hill, his grandparents’ 10-acre farm south of
Knoxville. Sometimes it was stuttering, 80-foot cliff jumps into water-
filled abandoned quarries—apropos, given that Webb has won the
Psicobloc deep-water soloing competition in Utah four times.
Webb has spent the past decade slowly carving a name through
highball bouldering, difficult redpoints, prolific hard flashes, and
technical skill. In the past three years, he’s sent the Squamish classic
Dreamcatcher (5.14d); the highballs The Healing (V14, 26 feet) and Livin’
Large (V15, 30 feet) in South Africa’s Rocklands; and the V16s Creature
from the Black Lagoon in Rocky Mountain National Park and Sleepwalker
(FA) in Red Rock’s Black Velvet Canyon. In the past year alone, he’s
nabbed first ascents of Ephyra (V16) in Chironico, Switzerland, and Virgo
(V15) in Lake Tahoe, and repeated the Paul Robinson highball Lucid
Dreaming (V15, 50 feet) in Bishop. In the past six months? Two more
V16s, put down within a month of each other in Chironico (Giuliano
Cameroni’s Poison the Well and Shawn Raboutou’s Off the Wagon Sit).
“Jimmy’s always been a natural at everything he’s done,” explains
Jimmy’s dad, who works as a cable lineman in Townsend, Tennessee.
(He’s James Webb II; our Jimmy is James Webb III.) Before climbing, it
was baseball, basketball, soccer, skateboarding. By age 16, Webb had a six-
foot frame inherited from his dad, as well as mental and physical strength
he credits to his grandfather, a lifelong farmer.
Webb’s parents split when he was a toddler. He lived the first 17 years
of his life with his mother, an accountant, in Maryville, before moving
in with his dad in Townsend. As an only child, Webb whittled away the
hours running around his grandparents’ farm. The woods were a jungle
gym, a training ground, a refuge. They sparked what he calls an early
drive to explore the unknown—and a burgeoning fearlessness.
Recalls Webb II, “One time, we were in New Orleans, going down the
Mississippi on a paddleboat, and we turn around and Jimmy’s jumped
over the railing and is hanging out over the paddle. We had to go out and
grab him. Jimmy was about 11 then.”
Webb was first introduced to climbing at age 16. A girl he dated was
on the Maryville High School climbing team, and she brought him along
to practice in nearby Knoxville. The movement, the problem-solving—
everything clicked. Webb quit his other sports—despite the promise
of college soccer scholarships, and stern protests from his father—and
started attending climbing practice regularly. When his coach announced
a standing invitation to the Obed on Sundays, Webb showed up every
week at the designated rendezvous, a gas station halfway out of town.
Often, he was the only team member who did.
Through the team, Webb also met Jeremy Walton, who soon became
his primary climbing partner. In high school, Walton got Webb a job
at a local mom-and-pop dry cleaner in Maryville. There, Webb rang up
customers, handed off pressed collared shirts, and watched the clock
until 4 p.m. when he and Walton would hit the road for the Obed, over
an hour away. They’d get in around sundown and boulder through
the night. In those first few years, Webb didn’t train; he didn’t need to.
Within a year of first stepping foot in that Knoxville gym, he’d sent a V8.
After a brief stint at Pellissippi State Community College in Knoxville,
Webb dropped out to pursue climbing full-time. His dad told him he’d

34 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

Jimmy Webb controlling the swing on Lucid
Dreaming (V15), Grandpa Peabody Boulder, Bishop,
CA. He made its fifth ascent in January 2020.
F AC E S //
5 T H I N G S YO U
DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT
JAMES WEBB III
1. Drink of choice: Red wine
2. Childhood pet: Gizmo the
Chihuahua (he now has a
Siberian husky named Oreo)
3. Favorite pre-sesh pump-up
music: J.I.D.
4. Other talents: 9-ball pool,
8-ball pool, snooker,
skateboarding
5. Coolest skate trick
accomplished: 360 kickflip
never make it, but he didn’t care. He threw
himself into bouldering. For 12 years, he lived
at the heart of the Chattanooga climbing scene.
The community had its rules. In the
Appalachian woods, the rock was hard to
find, and locals held the keys. To gain access,
you were expected to wait for an invite. The
prevailing etiquette also included asking
permission before drawing attention to an area,
whether via posting a photo on social media or
by announcing a new V13, a grade rare in the
region. Webb connected with the strict ethic.
“Jimmy was naturally humble, and that
goes a long ways [toward getting accepted in
the community],” says Luis Rodriguez, who
founded the Tennessee Bouldering Authority
(TBA). He managed the gym while Webb
worked there as a setter and coach. Rodriguez
soon became a mentor for young Webb, whom
he remembers as a conscientious student of
climbing history, mature beyond his years, a
selfless coach for the youth team, and a climber
unfettered by image—Webb often dressed in
ragged, duct-taped jeans.
“I first met Jimmy in Little Rock City,” says
Rodriguez. “I remember seeing him crush this
problem King James (V10)—which was not
36 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
Webb on the iconic (and rarely repeated)
Squamish climb Dreamcatcher (5.14d),
named after him, by the way—and thinking,
‘This kid’s on a bigger level, a world-class level.’”
Webb started racking up FAs, but never let
it go to his head: In Chattanooga—where pro
climbers are rare, and most climbers have full-
time jobs—you can’t build an ego because you
can’t get away from the mirror long enough;
someone’s always holding it up for you,
reminding you of your roots, reminding you of
your humble beginnings. “In the South, they
talk so much shit,” jokes Webb. “They don’t let
you stay on your high horse for too long.”
Webb garnered further notice during a
three-month stint in Hueco Tanks in 2008.
There, he dispatched Li (V13), his first of the
grade, and Crown of Aragorn (V13). “That
trip was a major breakthrough,” Webb says.
“It was the first time I realized I was capable
of climbing harder.” A few years later, Webb
visited South Africa’s Rocklands where he
ticked Golden Shadow (V14), and turned heads
with flashes of The Vice (V13), Sky (V13/14), and
a handful of other V13s. Then, in 2013, he won
his first Psicobloc. “He showed the world you
can be a humble kid from a tiny, little town and
still take it to the upper echelons,” Rodriguez
says. “He helped put Chattanooga on the map.”
which he sent in September 2018.
Watching Webb climb is almost grotesque.
He’s pure power. He’s fast and dynamic. He’s
precise. His muscles have muscles. Call it
genes or a gift from the gods—despite all
those double-digit numbers, you’ll rarely find
Webb in a gym. “Jimmy is a burly climber,” says
Daniel Woods, noting Webb’s supernatural
proclivity for compression blocs. “He’s also a
genius with movement and body awareness.”
Woods and Webb have been friends since they
first met in Hueco Tanks about a decade ago.
“Just his presence gets me stoked to try hard,”
Woods says. “I would say we have a friendly
competitive chemistry between us.” Plus,
they’re both skaters.
Most recently, Webb made the FA of one of
America’s five V16s, the desperate Sleepwalker,
a 45-degree-overhanging, dinner-plated bloc in
Red Rock’s Black Velvet Canyon. Webb climbed
the problem—originally attempted by Nalle
Hukkataival—in December 2018 after 11 days
of effort. (It has had three repeats: by Woods in
January 2019, Hukkataival in February 2019,
and Drew Ruana in January 2020.)
Webb was in Vegas with Woods and their
mutual friends Keenan Takahashi and Kevin
Takashi Smith. During the day, they worked
the boulder. At night, they shared an Airbnb,
cooked dinner, watched skateboarding videos,
talked shit, and drank wine. Usually, this
is a recipe for productive sessions, a laid-
back atmosphere, and sends all around. But
Sleepwalker was different. “You could almost
say I was attached to the grade, but there wasn’t
one,” Webb says. “I was attached to the idea of
succeeding at what would be the hardest thing
I’ve ever done.”
The problem begins by standing into and
matching on a powerful undercling, followed
by a right-hand reach into an eroded wrinkle.
You then bump your right hand up to a full-
palm sloper rail, paste your feet, and inch your
right tips into a narrow slot. From there, you
have to punch up and left to a miniscule pinch.
The move is massive and the hold terrible. Your
feet cut, and you have to hang on just long
enough to swing your left foot into an overhead
toehook to slap the finishing jug.
After nine days on the boulder, and with
only a few days left in the trip, Webb’s mindset
took a turn. He didn’t want the send anymore;
he needed it. “I kept thinking, ‘I should have
done this by now,’” he says. Frustrated and
overwhelmed, Webb saw his progress kick into
reverse. He started falling lower and lower: “I
had hit rock bottom.”
That night, Webb was pensive. What am I
even doing here? he wondered.
But later, cooking dinner and trading jabs
with friends, he was suddenly struck by how
similar it felt to all those years in his early 20s—
driving to the Obed at dusk, drinking beer on
summer nights, hanging with friends in the
woods. Webb resolved to forget about the tick
and instead focus on doing the moves, and
doing them well. His new goal wasn’t to top
out, but to learn one new thing about the route
each session.
Two days later, he sent on his second try of
the day. At the jug, a roar ripped from his throat.
It was a roar of triumph. Of relief. Of gratitude.
CLIMBING: Why bouldering?
JIMMY WEBB: I’m a very aesthetically
inspired climber. Big cliffs with a bunch of
routes and chalk and bolts and people—that
turns me off. I get psyched on boulders because
it’s easier to find these big, beautiful, singular
lines with nothing next to them. The other
draw is the simplicity. When I was young, I
could just go out with friends whenever we
wanted. Later, when I moved to Chattanooga,
the people I met became the big inspiration
for me. That crowd was just so fired up
on bouldering.
CLIMBING: How do you find new zones?
WEBB: I spend an absurd amount of time
on Google Earth. I look for potential new
boulders, then try to find photos from hikers
who have passed by them. Then I map out a
route. Once I’m there, I like to take my time,
walk through the field of blocs, and thoroughly
search through them. I look for lines where
I turn a corner and just freak out with
excitement. Those are the ones I work first.
CLIMBING: How do you determine what’s
on the cutting edge of possible, versus actually
unclimbable?
WEBB: It’s a fine line. The first thing I do is
rappel and look for holds and make sure the
thing actually goes. Then I bring the brushes
and start cleaning and sorting out a method. It
has to be a really badass, inspiring line to keep
your interest, and you have to have a certain
amount of faith to continue literally bashing
your head against a wall for days on end. There
are definitely projects I’ve tried and never
touched again.
CLIMBING: What’s your proudest send?
WEBB: Maybe Livin’ Large [a 30-foot
Hukkataival V15 established in 2009] in
Rocklands, South Africa. That was one of the
most challenging boulders I’ve done, both
physically and mentally. The conditions were
hard to get, so you had to wake up early. It’s
physical and technical, and then around 30
feet, you’re climbing a V9 or V10 technical
arête. You just don’t know when you’re going
to eat shit. It took me 12 days to control my
fear and ultimately succeed.
CLIMBING: What do you do for training?
WEBB: I mostly spend my time outside, but
when I’m in the gym, I make the most of it.
I tend to focus on my weaknesses. Finger
strength has always been a struggle for me as a
slightly heavier climber. So I typically focus on
crimp boulders, campus boarding, and loads of
core. A typical sesh is around three hours.
LEFT: Chilling with his dog, Oreo, at
the Buttermilks, Bishop, CA.
CLIMBING.COM 37
F AC E S //

CLIMBING: Given your Southerner’s aversion to
spray, how have you supported your climbing?
WEBB: For the longest time, I just did odd
jobs and lived as cheaply as possible. I was a
pizza-delivery guy until my old Honda Civic
broke down. I was a line chef at Buffalo Wild
Wings. I worked as a setter at the Tennessee
Bouldering Authority. Anything I could do to
make enough to just climb outside a crap-ton.
Eventually, I started to gain a little
recognition. For the most part, it’s just grown
organically. I like it that way. I don’t want to
force it or try to be someone I’m not. Maybe
that’s my mentality from home—I’m always
thinking, “You ain’t shit; you’re just another boy
from the holler.” I mean, I’m just a rock climber.
I even live in a van down by the river sometimes.
CLIMBING: After you've lived so long under
the radar, what’s been the biggest adjustment
to going pro?
WEBB: In the beginning, as I traveled more
and more, I started to lose touch with friends.
Back in Chattanooga, we were all together
all the time because nobody ain’t got money
to go nowhere, you know? So I was psyched
to travel, but I’d look around and realize I
wasn’t with my friends anymore. Life on the
road is tough because you never really feel
like you belong—you’re never integrated into
a community.
CLIMBING: As an obsessive climber, how do you
find balance?
WEBB: As I get older, I’ve put a lot more effort
into staying in touch with friends, spending
more time at home, and just trying to relax
instead of being so neurotic about climbing.
That balance takes time to learn, and I’m still
learning every day. [My obsession] affected
my last relationship, and rightfully so. You
have to find a person who accepts you for
you and understands you enough to make
that coexisting work. Fortunately, my current
girlfriend, Hannah, and I have been awesome
with that. She’s in school right now, so we’re
both working hard at our own things.
I’m getting better at focusing on the people
around me, because at the end of the day, I’m
going to remember my friends and family more
than I’m going to remember climbing a piece
of rock.

BELOW: Webb getting airy on his alpine highball Lost Eagle

(V13; FA: 2018) deep in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming.

W EB B ’ S TO P 5 T I PS F O R
Highball Bouldering
Jimmy Webb calls mastering the psychological aspects of highball
bouldering one of the most fascinating challenges of his climbing
career. Here are his top tips for prep and execution:

1. Get on a rope. Spend time rehearsing the moves on a rope

until you’re 100-percent confident in your ability to succeed.
Usually, you have only one unroped try, so if that means a
month of toproping, take that time.
2. Make a fall strategy. Check that the pads are exactly where
they need to be. Make sure the spotters know the plan, from
moving the pads at the right time, to getting out of the way
later—after a certain height, a fall could hurt the spotter just
as badly as the climber.
3. Visualize. You need to have your beta dialed. The night
before, I spend a lot of time rehearsing the moves in my
head, visualizing myself going from the bottom to the top
successfully. (This kind of visualization is proven to improve
confidence and reduce anxiety when you’re actually trying
to execute.)
4. Be patient. If you get to the base and don’t feel 100-percent
prepared and psyched to climb, don’t. I’ve walked away from
many lines because I either didn’t feel ready that day or I
decided the risk wasn’t worth the reward.
5. Pick a point of no return. Pick a point at which it would be
unsafe to fall or impossible to downclimb. When you get
there, it’s decision time: If you feel ready to try, you have to
commit 100 percent. If you arrive with doubts, bail.
 a d i d a s .c o m / f i v ete n

© 2020 adidas AG
The price of freedom on the East Face of Washington’s Liberty Bell

The Dark Side

of Liberty STORY BY SHANJEAN LEE
PHOTOS BY AUSTIN SIADAK
Shanjean Lee executing the V9/10
crux on P4 of Dark Side of Liberty
(5.13+), Liberty Bell, Washington.

“I
think there’s a line,” my partner—and new-routing
guru—Mikey Schaefer said as we finished up another
full day on the East Face of Liberty Bell, at Washington
Pass in the North Cascades. Although Mikey and I were based in
Oregon, we frequently spent summers in Washington because
it offered the closest granite climbing. Unconvinced, I squinted
at the spire and replied, “Where?” Mikey traced features along
the northeast aspect with his finger. “But how do you know the
rock is any good?” I asked.
“I’ve looked at pictures…and I’ve stared at this rock a lot,”
Mikey said. “But to really know, we’ll just have to go up there
and swing around.”
In May 2018, Mikey and I climbed the 5.9 Barber Pole to
access the unclimbed terrain. When we swung around the
corner onto Liberty Bell’s northeast side, we were excited to
find swathes of lichen-dotted, bullet-hard granite through steep
faces, dikes, and splitter crack systems. As often is the case,
Mikey was right: There was a line.
Liberty Bell is the most prominent feature of the Liberty Bell
Group. The formation is unmistakable, looming over Highway
20 right by the “hairpin” turn. The Methow Tribe called the
spires the Watchers, a spiritual symbol that towered above the
east-west trade route over the 5,500-foot pass. The spires are
part of the Golden Horn Batholith, notable for its multiple types
of granite. While there are climbs throughout the group, the
East Face of Liberty Bell boasts some of the most consistently
high-quality rock, all a mere 20-minute hike from the highway.
Mikey grew up climbing in Washington, with mentors who
instilled in him that establishing new routes was just part of
42 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
Partnership
ON AND OFF THE WALL
Every partnership is different, with its own strengths and
weaknesses. What I value about Mikey Schaefer’s and
my partnership is that we are both willing to try—within
reason—even when the situation is far from perfect. Even
if I’ve been in the operating room until 8 p.m. on a Friday
night, I still drive 6.5 hours to Washington Pass for the
weekend, because some time on the route is better than no
time. And Mikey will keep his word to climb on August 10,
even if he just got in from a delayed, multi-leg international
flight. In this photo, taken at the pullout below Liberty Bell,
we’re the only climbers in sight—the forecasted rain kept
other suitors away. As Mikey often says, “What else would
we be doing?” Although I can usually think of many more-
comfortable alternatives, what it comes down to is that we
both love to climb, we both are willing to try, and we’re both
willing to be flexible even when other variables are not.
the sport. He put up his first new climb on the columnar basalt
of Frenchman’s Coulee when he was 16, three years after he
started climbing. “It was chossy and not that good,” Mikey
recalls. “[My mentor] Jim Yoder named it Little Stinker—
I think because I could do it and he couldn’t.” Mikey would go
on to spend many of his formative climbing years in Yosemite
Valley, big-wall aid and then big-wall free climbing. His route
development there started with The Night Shift (5.12+) on
Fairview Dome in 2002, and was followed by Retrospective
(5.11+) on Fairview Dome in 2005, Border Country (5.12) on
Middle Cathedral in 2009, and, most recently, Father Time
Pitch 1 (5.12+)
TECH 9 GRANITE TRICKERY
Prior aid climbers had ventured up in the general
area of DSOL; we found hardware of different
vintages—including rivets, multiple types of bolts
including machine-heads, and hangers from
multiple eras and brands—that petered out about
200 feet up. One of these attempts was by Mikey’s
first climbing partner, Blair Williams. We opted
to climb the technical face to the right of the
prior aid attempts because it looked like a better
free line. Here, Mikey has danced over the initial
chossy rock band before crossing into the high-
quality face features above. The crux comes just
before the anchors; it seems impossible until you
figure out the sequence—classic granite trickery.
I soon learned that there were
no real rest days in this process—
there was simply too much work.

(5.13b) on Middle Cathedral in 2012. He thinks Father Time

may be his proudest achievement yet. “No one has put up an
all-independent grade VI free route in Yosemite in decades,” he
says. “It’s not super common because you have to know how to
aid climb, you have to be a strong free climber, and you have to
know how to put up routes. That’s three different genres.”
Over the years, Mikey has brought this skill set back to
the East Face of Liberty Bell, his very first big wall, which he
climbed with Blair Williams in 1994 at age 15. In 2008, Mikey
pioneered a variation around the “obligatory” pendulum on
pitch five of Thin Red Line, completing his first free climb on
the East Face—and the FFA of the route (see sidebar, p.47). While
working the route, he noticed a lot of unrealized potential. In
2014, Mikey established Liberty and Injustice for All (5.12-) just
right of Thin Red Line, rope-soloing it in order to “make it a little
more challenging.” He then explored a line up the center of the
wall that would become A Slave to Liberty, completed in 2016.
Although he’d hoped this would be the king line on Liberty Bell,
the flaky nature of the crux pitch left him disappointed.
Liberty Bell has also played a large role in my own climbing
progression. Although I discovered both climbing and the
outdoors as a freshman at UCLA in 2003, my early climbing
years were dominated by bouldering and sport climbing. In
2015, when I climbed Thin Red Line, it was my first “hard” multi-
pitch route, and the first female ascent of the line. In July 2016, on one of our first “rest days,” we climbed the Beckey Route and
I completed the fourth free ascent of Liberty Crack (IV 5.13-), the rigged fixed lines from the summit. I soon learned that there
storied original line up Liberty Bell’s East Face. Working these were no real rest days in this process—there was simply too
routes helped me learn efficient systems in a well-controlled much work. On days when we were less tired, we would climb
setting; it also gave me a better sense of how much terrain can and figure out beta. On days that we were more tired, we would
be covered in a single day. However, unlike Mikey, I had never jug up and “garden,” excavating dirt and exfoliating rock.
considered putting up routes. In my mind, I still had to climb all The high grunt-work-to-climbing ratio was only one of
the established classics, and I’d convinced myself that putting many differences between putting up a new route and climbing
up new routes was reserved for the masters—people like Mikey, an established route. I’d also, on established climbs, been
Alan Watts, and other legends. Mikey, however, assured me that accustomed to holds staying attached as I climbed! As visibly
this was not the case and convinced me that participating in solid grips parted from the wall when weighted, I learned to
route-smithing would add to my skill set. tread more carefully. I also began to realize the complex, multi-
And so, after our quick scoping mission in May 2018, we faceted depth of problem-solving with an FA. We were not just
found ourselves back on Liberty Bell that August. Mikey set up executing a routine; we needed to choreograph it as well, all
camp at his brother’s house in nearby Winthrop, Washington, while taking into account not just what we wanted but also what
and I drove up on weekends and on a vacation week from future performers would want. This was a type of decision-
my duties as an orthopaedic-surgery resident in Portland, making I had not yet encountered in climbing. While the creative
Oregon. We set up our initial fixed lines midway up the route freedom was exciting, it also meant increased responsibility.
by traversing in along M&M ledge from Thin Red Line. Mikey The wildfires blazing through the Pacific Northwest that
insisted that going top-down made the most sense, because it summer introduced additional concerns. As 400,000 acres
would allow us the freedom to choose the best climbing. Then, burned in Washington alone, heavy smoke spread through

44 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

Pitch 2 (5.13 -)
A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING
This steep ropelength is one of the most
atypical pitches on Liberty Bell, most of which
is defined by low-angle, bouldery cruxes. Pitch
two climbs more like a power-endurance sport
climb, tackling an orange dike, powerful roof
(shown left), and a technical, insecure traverse.
Up at the belay atop pitch 2, Mikey and I share
a kiss on a rainy Washington day (shown right).
the Methow Valley at the base of Washington Pass. We were
lucky that on most days the route rose just above the worst
of the smoke. However, there were enough non-viable days—
meaning, too smoky to climb—that, by the end of August, we
conceded defeat. We placed the last of the bolts, fully equipping
the route, and cleaned our ropes for the year.
We returned in August 2019 with renewed enthusiasm and
cleaner air, ready to direct our energy to just climbing and fine-
tuning the beta. It became clear that the meat of the climbing
would be in the first four pitches, and that the crux was pitch
four—a nearly blank section between a finger crack and a steep
bulge. From there, the middle pitches consisted of enjoyable
5.11 that featured both overhanging hand cracks and laybacks
as well as technical, balancey sections. The final pitches were a
5.8-to-5.10 romp. After putting in nine days of climbing, which
included a combination of Micro Traxioning the fixed lines and
leading, on August 19, 2019, we decided to try from the bottom.
The initial intention was to go to the top of pitch four since we
had gotten a late start. However, when Mikey and I both sent
the crux pitch, we decided to capitalize on the opportunity. The
5.11 hero climbing above was extra enjoyable now that the 5.13+
pitch was behind us. We summited just as it got dark.  high summer.
I was excited that we had both redpointed the route, but
as the days went by and the glow of success slowly faded,
a quieter sense of accomplishment remained. It must be
similar to the feeling of writing a book that others will read or
developing a procedure that other surgeons will use. I had never
imagined that I would be contributing to the existing catalog
of routes, and it felt especially meaningful because it had been
on a formation that has taught both me and Mikey so much.
Furthermore, Mikey had finally established his king line on the
East Face and created the hardest multi-pitch route (for now)
in the state where he’d learned to climb. It was an incredible
way to wrap up our time in the Pacific Northwest where we’d
both been based for seven years; finishing the route was the last
thing we did before we moved to Reno, Nevada.
We named the route the Dark Side of Liberty because, during
the first-ascent process, we were reminded that unbridled
freedom can be a liability unless tempered with a consideration
for others and for long-term consequences. Although we
had the freedom to place the bolts anywhere, we felt the
responsibility of doing it right, and took multiple laps up each
sequence to determine the ideal clipping spots. In contrast,
we’d seen how unchecked freedoms leading to air pollution and
climate change had contributed to natural disasters like the
omnipresent wildfires of 2018. And, of course, we also called
the route the Dark Side of Liberty because it lies on Liberty Bell’s
dark side, perpetually in the shade save a few hours of sun in
CLIMBING.COM 45
Mikey Schaefer on the perfect finger
crack on P4 of Dark Side of Liberty
(5.13+), Liberty Bell, Washington.

The Methow Tribe called
the spires the “Watchers,”
as they towered above
the east-west trade route
over the 5,500-foot pass.
The East Face of Liberty Bell
The sheer, 1,300-foot East Face of Liberty Bell (7,740 feet) stands proudly just
a short approach above the North Cascades Highway. Liberty Bell itself was
first climbed in 1946 (prior to the construction of the highway in 1964) by Fred
Beckey, Jerry O’Neil, and Charles Welsh, but the East Face didn’t see an ascent
till 1965, via the classic Liberty Crack. The rock is generally solid, coarse-grained
granite, though some kitty litter can be found toward the upper part of the wall.
1. Freedom Rider (5.10d, 10 pitches), FA: S. Risse and B. Burdo, 1988. Though
this was the first East Face free climb, it has faded into obscurity. It’s more
of an adventurous outing, with sections of loose rock and short runouts.
2. Liberty Crack (5.13- or 5.10 C2, 11 pitches), FA: S. Marts, D. McPherson, and
F. Stanley, 1965; FFA: B. Sandahl, 1991. Due to its status as one of Roper
and Steck’s 50 Classic Climbs of North America, this is probably the most
popular route on the wall and one of WA’s most coveted climbs. Pitches two
and three are generally aided, but deserve more free-climbing attention.
Pitch two (5.13-) pulls a large roof via underclings and a crucial kneebar to
get established in the final tips splitter. A free variation on pitch three takes
a smooth slab out right.

3. Freedom or Death (5.12a, 4 pitches), FA: E. Helmuth, 1998. This four-pitch

variation to Liberty Crack is the most attainable free climb on the East
Face. The first three pitches are almost entirely bolted and make a fun
outing on their own.

4. A Slave to Liberty (5.13-, 11 pitches), FA: M. Schaefer, 2016. This line

branches left from pitch four of Thin Red Line and takes a direct line up the
tallest, blankest part of the wall. Numerous pitches of slabby, technical 5.12
lead to a 5.13- crux on credit-card crimps and crumbly feet. It has had only
one repeat—by Alex Honnold.

5. Thin Red Line (5.12, 12 pitches), FA: J. Madsen and K. Schmitz, 1967; FFA: M.
Schaefer, 2008. Once considered WA’s testpiece aid climb, Thin Red Line
is now the region’s benchmark long free climb, offering varied and enjoyable
climbing on good rock. A variation out right on P4 avoids the aid pendulum.

6. Liberty and Injustice for All (5.12, 5 pitches), FA: M. Schaefer, 2014. With
technical and engaging climbing on a mix of natural and fixed protection,
this route features generally long pitches with adequate yet not always
abundant protection. It’s one of the more popular routes on the wall. Joins
Thin Red Line at pitch seven.

7. Live Free or Die (5.12, 11 pitches), FA: B. Herrington and N. Hadley, 2017.
10 Climbs very close to its neighbor, the Independence Route, allowing for
4 pitches to be swapped out. The crux comes at a decidedly hard boulder
problem on pitch four, with the remainder of the climbing being either
5.10 or 5.11.

8. Independence Route (5.12-, 12 pitches), FA: A. Bertulis and D. McPherson,

1966; FFA: S. Risse and K. Hertel, 1991. A bold and difficult undertaking on
its FA and subsequent FFA. Even with the later addition of fixed gear and
good beta, this is still a demanding tick. Joins Thin Red Line at M&M Ledge.

9
9. Dark Side of Liberty (5.13+, 10 pitches), FA: S. Lee and M. Schaefer. The
3
protection is the most modern and approachable of all the routes on
1 Liberty Bell, with the crux pitches bolted such that you can easily suss
RIGHT: MIKE Y SCHAEFER

8
the moves.
2
5
6 7 10. Barber Pole (5.9), FA: S. Bill, C. Burgner, and F. Tarver, 1966. This
adventurous route can be used to access M&M Ledge and the midway
point on numerous routes—helpful for working their lower, harder pitches.

—Mikey Schaefer

Portrait
POST-SEND SMILES
All smiles after sending the Dark Side
of Liberty—what an exciting way to
end one chapter and start the next.
Pitch 4 (5.13+)
SIZE IS RELATIVE
Pitch four starts with a bouldery face sequence that leads into
a beautiful 5.12 corner crack (above and p.46), which ends in a
crucial resting stance. From there, the climb makes use of small
gaston edges and improbable foot smears to gain a single-pad
“jug.” This thin and techy V9/10 sequence then moves right into
a powerful V5/6 prow. Mikey and I took days to decrypt this
nearly blank face. Each move felt desperate, but slowly, we made
links until we had worked up to the “jug.”
At the time, since we mostly spent our time on ropes, neither
of us had ever climbed a benchmark outdoor V9 or V10, so we
wanted confirmation of the grade. We recruited Seattle-based
crusher Nathan Hadley, who was fresh off a quick sending spree
of the Canadian alpine trilogy, all rated 5.14-. In September 2019,
Hadley made a quick second ascent of DSOL, confirming the
difficulty of the boulder problem. He also felt the route was
comparable in grade to the routes of the Canadian alpine trilogy:
The crux pitch could either go at 5.13+ or easy 5.14. But since
Mikey could not be complicit in any grade inflation, we settled
on 5.13+.

We named the route the Dark Side

of Liberty because, during the first-
ascent process, we were reminded that
unbridled freedom can be a liability
unless tempered with a consideration for
others and for long-term consequences.

48 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

Pitch 5
HERO CLIMBING
Pitch five climbs through one of the largest features on
Liberty Bell—we nicknamed it “the Revolver” due to its
resemblance to a downward-pointing revolver. The 150-
foot pitch is marked by classic jamming and overhanging
laybacking. It is undeniably hero climbing, due to its
exposed position, steep and fun movement, and the fact
that it marks the end of the hardest climbing on DSOL.
 The Mikey Schaefer School of Establishing Multi-Pitch Routes
Here are some things I learned from Mikey on Dark Side of Liberty:

1. Look at the wall. A lot. Some people use binoculars, but a
good camera lets you take photos to inspect the features
more closely. This will give you a route-finding blueprint.
2. Measure twice, cut once. When placing bolts in a top-down
style, climb the pitch and mark the clips with chalk dots.
Then climb it again and reassess. Make sure the hangers are
clippable from the stances (for an average-height person).
3. Drill perpendicular to the wall. If it’s a low-angle slab,
raise your hand up off horizontal so the drill bit is pointing
slightly downward, and vice versa if the wall is overhanging.
If the drill hole is not perpendicular, then the hanger
will not sit flush with the wall. Ask me how I know!
4. Use European-style anchors/vertically staggered anchors.
The chains and single rap ring help to equalize the bolts,
and the single ring (as opposed to two sets of chains)
prevents the rope from twisting as you pull it. It also makes
it easier to clip in since both bolts are already connected.
5. Use stainless-steel. Unless you want to go back and replace
bolts and hangers when they rust!
6. There are no rest days. There is always something to do,
whether that’s bringing up more gear and ropes, deciphering
the moves, putting in bolts, or scrubbing the holds.
7. Be 110 percent sure that there’s no one below when trundling.
Sometimes, that means hiking up at the day’s end to make sure
the area is clear. And sometimes, that means putting the rock
in a backpack and taking it down with you. Also, check that the
ropes aren’t below you—lap-coil or saddle-bag if need be!
8. When it seems like the scrubbing will never end, remember
that route establishment is type II fun—“fun” only in retrospect.
9. Asking/“conning” friends into climbing on the route will
make the process more enjoyable. The outside input
adds new perspective, and the additional traffic helps to
clean up the rock. Plus, the morale boost is priceless.

All the Elements

RAIN, WIND, EARTH, AND FIRE
August weather in Washington Pass is generally dependable, but over the two
seasons we spent working on DSOL, we encountered all the elements. The 2018
wildfires tested our commitment—the nearby Crescent Mountain and McLeod
fires consumed nearly 80,000 acres alone. Our morning ritual included examining
the acreage of fires, smoke maps, air-quality predictions, and wind direction to
gauge conditions. Some days, we smoked the equivalent of 20-plus cigarettes due
LEF T: MIKE Y SCHAEFER

SHANJEAN “SJ” LEE is a climber and an orthopaedic

to the poor air quality. That first season, we wished for rain, and as pictured at
surgeon born in Taiwan and currently based in Reno,
right, in 2019 we got some! Even though it meant we did occasionally get shut Nevada. She has been climbing for 17 years. Dark Side of
down, memories of the wildfires made us grateful for every drop of moisture. Liberty was her first FA, but certainly not her last.

50 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

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 FAs by feet per month

THE
April: 538 feet

VERTICAL May: 664 feet

MILE July: 600 feet

The author set out in 2019 to climb 5,280 August: 240 feet

vertical feet of first ascents in the American

Southwest. Along the way, he faced uncertainty,
fear, doubt, loose rock, and runouts—and
September: 830 feet
many times wondered: Is the project even
worth it? In the end, he learned it was the
process that mattered—not just the summits.
BY DAKOTA WAL Z

October: 1,168 feet

November: 1,211 feet

PHOTOS (2) BY L ANE M ATHIS

From left: Sam Stuckey, Lane Mathis, and Dakota Walz after the FA of Big Game Hunter (5.12d R;
1,100 feet), Kolob Canyon, Utah. The route takes the big left-facing corner in the background at right.

December: 240 feet

52 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

The author has limbs for days
in the glory stembox on P4 of
Big Game Hunter (5.12d R).
2018
A saffron autumn sun sets over Yosemite as
shade takes my hanging belay on the West Face
of the Leaning Tower. My partner is hooking
away with glee on pitch three while I wonder
why I’m so unhappy. We’ve got a classic all
to ourselves on this November evening, and
a mega bivy ledge awaits just a hundred feet
above. This should be rad, but I wonder why
I’m even here. It seems I’m burned out.
The road to this hanging belay started at
a YMCA in my hometown of Fargo, North
Dakota, where I took my first belay class
in 2010 at age 19. In vertically challenged
North Dakota, the nearest outdoor venue
was the limestone cliffs of Red Wing,
Minnesota, six hours away. In 2015, I moved
to Golden, Colorado, to get my climbing
fix on the regular. I took a job as an EMT
on an ambulance, working 48-hour shifts,
and leaving the rest of the week to focus on
rockcraft. Still, after eight years in the sport,
I’d begun to lose psyche—first with sport
climbing, then with walls. It wasn’t that I didn’t
care about climbing anymore; it was that I
was tired of following in others’ footsteps, on
established routes. Where was the adventure in
queuing up for a conga line on another classic?
And where was the mystery in being spoon-fed
beta for every jam and placement? Lane Mathis jamming the splitter High Quality
It was time to graduate to putting up my Geology (5.10c), San Rafael Swell, Utah.
own climbs—to enter this world of both rare
treasures and abundant disappointments. In
the past, I’d dabbled with developing sport crags
and even put in a few ground-up trad routes,
mostly in the Midwest. My mentors, Jesse Gross phone number. When he told me he shared a thousand vertical feet of FAs. I did the math
and Jeremy Collins, taught me how to hand- my love of hard work and relative disinterest and figured that if I maintained this pace
drill, and gave me a hand-me-down Bosch. in fun—two personality traits imperative to through alpine season and back into desert
However, there was only so much I could learn new-routing—I decided to test his resolve with season again, I could reach a vertical mile of
in the Midwest, where the rock is single pitch. a trip to Utah’s San Rafael Swell. Our goal was FAs by 2020. Setting goals has always been
Six months after that Yosemite day, in May a virgin 200-foot tower I’d bailed off in June key for me—I struggle to get out of bed unless
2019, strong late-spring sunshine is melting 2018 due to loose rock. I’ve got a plan for the morning. So I decided
snow off the high peaks of Colorado when I Lane and I were soon spending every to modify the Mile High Club goal from my
fire my therapist and replace him with a new weekend driving out to establish new lines in years competing in the 24-hour climbing
climbing partner who needs the same things the desert: six hours one way and six hours competition Horseshoe Hell—climb a vertical
I do—namely, something to pour our souls back. The drives themselves were therapy. On mile in under 24 hours—and make it 5,280
into. Lane Mathis is a filmmaker and fellow the way out, we talked about our objectives for vertical feet of first ascents in a calendar year.
Midwesterner, originally from Cairo, Missouri. the weekend; on the way back, we debriefed
He’s shaped by a decade lost to drug abuse and our entire lives. During the actual climbing Timeline
military service as a sergeant in the United part, we attacked new routes with a fervor that What follows are the results of my vertical
PHOTO BY S A M S TUCKE Y

States Air Force. He carries those years like fuel
in a jetpack of manic motivation. We’d climbed
together only once—at North Table Mountain
in Golden—after he’d reached out looking
for a partner. I’m still not sure how he got my
left me exhausted on Monday morning at work.
Out in the Swell, the sun never seemed to rise
quickly enough, and it always set too early.
Summer came around and scared us away
from the desert. By then I had done well over
mile broken down foot-by-foot, bolt-by-bolt.
It’s the year I placed nearly as many bolts
as I clipped. The year I spent more time
cleaning rock than climbing it. The year I
chased FAs instead of grades. Some of these

54 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

 STAT S H OT
9 5,491 feet (211 over goal)
9 55 pitches
9 32 routes
9 177 bolts
9 1 boulder
9 16 road trips
9 19 local trips
9 11,933 travel miles
routes I’ve made public on Mountain Project
and in the American Alpine Journal. Others I
haven’t, since they’re in areas that would be
ecologically sensitive to high traffic. In all
cases, we tried to put up our climbs with the
smallest footprint possible and with an eye
toward repeat ascents: If the rock is going to
be changed (bolts, mega-trundling, etc.), it
should be done with the intent that others
can enjoy it—not just the first-ascent party.
PHOTO BY S A M S TUCKE Y
All route lengths are estimates based on
arm-lengths of rope after leading or rapping
a pitch. Often, difficulty and safety ratings
were informed by how scared I was or
wasn’t—especially on the ground-up ascents.
We often went ground-up, as it was the only
way. However, if there was a way to drop
in, we would do so to inspect the wall and
trundle death blocks. Star ratings are the most
subjective, with the only consensus coming
from partners and friends. That said, I tried
my hardest to spend time only on high-quality
routes; if I rated them based solely on personal
experience, they’d all be four stars!
APRIL 7 (pictured left)
High Quality Geology (5.10c) 
115 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
We came here for the Sock Puppet, an
unclimbed tower splitting off the canyon rim,
but the San Rafael River was too swollen with
spring runoff to cross. Nearby, a laser splitter
on the river-cut cliff is a great consolation.
Looks like it’ll take four No. 3s—we’ve only
got two—so I walk the cams for 40 feet of
Mathis cops a precarious no-hands rest
midway up COR Zero (5.12), San Rafael Swell.
cupped hands. Two pieces between me and the
hospital—this counts right?
APRIL 20 (pictured below)
COR Zero (5.12) 
85 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Right away, Lane and I both know this will be
the best line on the wall. To prepare, I spend
the morning scrubbing the crack with a hole
brush, inspecting placements, and stuffing
my fingers into sharp ringlocks. After getting
down, I tell Lane, “It’s so splitter that I’m not
sure all the .5 Camalots in the world could
protect it.” Refusing to give me the out, Lane
replies, “Well, we’ve got five of ‘em, and the
shade’s about to hit. Looks like you’re gonna
find out.” With that, he passes me the rack.
Later that night in the van, Lane, who
has just led his first 5.11 gear route, tells me
that he’s going to send COR Zero. Bewildered,
I remind him how tough our 5.10 FA High
Quality Geology was for him to lead—
screaming pumped the whole way up. He says
that’s the point. COR Zero is so far above what
he can imagine is possible that it’s the perfect
CLIMBING.COM 55

“Snow crashpad” is better than no crashpad on Shrine Hut Crack (V3), Vail Pass, Colorado.
goal. I sit on this for a second before asking,
“But not, like, tomorrow, right?” He bursts
into a cackle, then says, “If I tried to lead that
tomorrow, I would DIE! I’ve got a lot to learn
first, but I will send COR Zero one day.”
APRIL 21
Outer Tomb (5.10) No stars
115 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Today, I learned how to climb an unprotectable
squeeze chimney. The route started off easy,
but soon my No. 6 was tipped out. I assumed
that if I just kept driving my elbows and
knees into the sandy squeeze, I’d eventually
find another placement, so I committed, legs
flailing to push me higher into the jaws of
the chimney, elbows bloodying with each
desperate thrutch. After 50 feet, I discovered
the crack wasn’t going to taper down enough
for pro again. Faced with no other choice,
I battled up and out of a fissure in the top of
the cliff like a zombie emerging from a tomb.
APRIL 27
Wind Fish (5.10) 
213 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
While I’m rehearsing the overhanging hand
crack on pitch two on Micro Traxions, a
biplane flies through the canyon, likely on
its way to some backcountry airstrip. Funny
to think they’re the first humans we’ve seen
in our secret little sector of the Swell. The
56 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
ruckus of propellers bouncing off canyon walls
is a jarring reminder that we aren’t the only
humans in the world.
M AY 4
Even Calm Organ (5.10) 
167 feet, 2 pitches
Thunder Drum (5.11b) 
157 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Two good routes that would be great if it
weren’t for a single band of speckled, gravelly
choss at the base. While I’m trundling on
rappel, a black and brown scorpion the size of
my hand falls out of the crack! I instinctively
jump back off the ledge. Had I been leading, I
may well have followed the cascade of rock and
insect husks down the wall into the sloping
scree. I swing back into the wall and look
down, just in time to see the scorpion’s tail
disappear back into the crack.
M AY 5
Full Moon Cello (5.10-) 
100 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Amazed to find this desert climb taking mostly
tiny cams and nuts. Placing small nuts and
TCUs feels cozy from slabby stances and with
my fingers in shallow, varnished locks.
M AY 11
Happy Cycling (5.12) 
220 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Quick Tip for Hand-Drilling Masochists:
THE 666 METHOD
Hand drilling is simple, right? Just hit
the drill with your hammer, turn the
handle, and repeat until your hole is
deep enough for a bolt. However, af-
ter drilling around 100 holes in 2019
alone, I quickly learned that you need
to be efficient so you don’t turn your
hands into blister soufflé or blow out
your elbows. The key, I learned from
Rob Pizem, is one moderate, deft
swing per turn. You should be able
to both turn and deliver six volleys
before having to adjust your hand on
the drill—and in sandstone, never take
the bit out of the hole!
Piggybacking off Piz’s teachings,
I developed the following method to
help keep track of progress: Do your
six volleys six times to finish one set,
and do six sets before taking a break.
Six volleys, 6 times, 6 sets—666, hail
Satan! Repeat until the dark lord
claims your soul.
Bolt count by drill style
Power Drill
27% 48
12 9
Hand Drill
73%
I reach out to the desert legend and historian
Steve “Crusher” Bartlett, author of Desert
Towers, to see if he knows anything about
an obscure tower deep in the Swell. I’m not
surprised to learn that, back in 2005, he
summited the tower via the most obvious,
clean line on its southeast end. However, I
was surprised to learn that it hadn’t seen a free
ascent. Crusher suggests I go for it.
I rope my longtime friend and Missouri boy
Ryan Gajewski into checking it out. He’s not
PHOTO BY JA SMIN MENE Z
much of a desert rat, but is willing to follow me
up a tower if it means getting out and having
a good time. When we reach the tower base,
however, I’m not having a good time. The
desert sun blazes hard on my neck as I hold my
sweaty head between my even sweatier knees,

Using the 666 method to drill a bolt
in Zion National Park, Utah.
shivering and swaying. We drove six hours
to get to the Swell, hiked four to get to the
Tandem Towers, and here I am so sick with
some virus that I don’t even want to stand up.
I try to pawn the first lead—the money
pitch of tight hands to an offwidth—off on
Ryan, but he is quick to remind me whose idea
this was. Yeah right, ya lazy jerk, I think after
the fourth time being spit out of the offwidth
like a piece of old gum. On the fifth attempt,
I escape the offwidth and enter a battle of
sandy, rounded-out ringlocks to the belay.
Ryan urges me to take the second pitch,
too. On the summit, when I thank Ryan for
pushing me to lead, he confesses that it was all
out of self-preservation: “I mean, I really didn’t
want to lead any of that choss anyway—but,
yeah, anytime, bud!” he says.
Moove Aside (5.11b R) 
25 feet (link-up) | Mount Evans, Colorado
Since desert season ended, I’ve been spending
weekends sniffing out new lines up at Mount
Evans some 13,000 feet above sea level,
hunting through its slabs of black-speckled
gray granite. We’re having a good time learning
how to dance on little crystals and scoops
between discontinuous cracks on an 80-meter
slab above a meadow. However, the “locals”—
the marmots—have been pranking us.
One day, I think I’ve lost my trekking poles
only to find that a marmot has taken them
up the mountain and eaten the grip off their
handles! Another day, as we approach on
rappel, Lane has an idea—he grabs our packs,
raps over the lip, then places a cam about 100
feet off the ground and hangs our bags off it.
“Now if one of those bastards wants our stuff,”
he says, “they’re gonna have to climb 5.9.”
Fast-forward to the day’s end: Lane is
cussing up a storm somewhere on the wall.
Thinking he’s in danger, I rush to the edge
to investigate. “What’s up? You OK?” I holler
down, spotting him 20 feet below clutching
our bags for dear life. “A marmot nearly
chewed all the way through the webbing on
my cam!” he yells. “One more bite and it would
have rode our bags down the mountain!”
JULY 26–AUGUST 17
My Last Semester (5.11a) 
130 feet, 1 pitch
Marmots Ate My
Neighbors (5.10a) 
110 feet, 1 pitch
Smoko (5.11b) 
115 feet, 1 pitch
Homesick (5.11c) 
115 feet, 1 pitch
Sick Marmots (5.10c) 
10 feet (link-up) | Mt. Evans, Colorado
After coming out to help us climb the previous
routes, my friends Tim Noble and Collin
Tubert see the potential of what we’re calling
the Possibility Slab. Soon, we have three routes
going up at once—three hammers sending
ringing echoes off the neighboring outcrops.
We’re in sync for a few dozen swings—“Tink,
tink, tink”—before one of us gets tired and
loses the beat. I find myself taking fewer rests,
not wanting to be the one to break rhythm.
SEPTEMBER 2
Sheep of Faith (5.10-) 
140 feet, 2 pitches | Mt. Evans, Colorado
Found another overlooked wall higher up the
mountain, and it’s the steepest alpine wall
I’ve ever seen. Pitch one has my body almost

M AY 25 (pictured facing page)

Shrine Hut Crack (V3) 
20 feet | Eagle County, Colorado
While getting some wife time in at the Shrine
Mountain backcountry hut near Vail Pass, I
spot this beautiful boulder along the ridgeline
and posthole through the snow to look. On my
first attempt, exploding crimps send me flying
backward. I claw at the snow as I try to dig out
of my crater without getting my rock shoes
too wet. I fall a few more times before I top out
with numb fingers and toes. Lesson learned:
Snow crashpad is better than no crashpad.
PHOTOS (2) BY L ANE M ATHIS

JULY 1–21
The Upsides (5.11b R) 
220 feet, 2 pitches Walz tosses the ropes to rap into
Moo’s Route (5.10c PG)  Sock Puppet Tower, San Rafael Swell.
115 feet, 1 pitch

CLIMBING.COM 57
dead-horizontal while swimming through
beefy jugs—very uncharacteristic of alpine
granite. After so many first ascents, one might
think it gets hard to come up with good names,
but there’s always a good pun. For this route,
I imagine any 5.10 climber who leads it will
be taking a leap of faith trusting that this roof
is only 5.10-. If they do have faith, I’m sure
the bighorn sheep that populate the meadow
below will be cheering them on. Hence the
name, Sheep of Faith—get it?
SEPTEMBER 8
Tiny Moving Parts (5.9) 
80 feet, 1 pitch
Showboat (5.9) 
110 feet, 1 pitch | Mt. Evans, Colorado
Tim and I return to fill out a couple of the new
crag’s easier routes. Now the wall has a good
variety of 5.9-to-5.11 mixed lines. A week later,
the first big snowfall of the season closes the
road. We came up just in time.
SEPTEMBER 15
Way of the Hueco (5.10) 
500 feet, 5 pitches | Kolob Canyon, Utah
I’m called in as a workhorse to help Rob Pizem,
the master of the desert FA, with this line
in Kolob Canyon. I plan to impress with my
new-routing skills and hand-drilling fitness.
Piz, a blunt-spoken and hyper-motivated
schoolteacher in Grand Junction, Colorado,
already hung lines down this huge wall of
The author on the 80-foot corner
capping P4 of Big Game Hunter.
58 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
huecos, so all I have to do is help drill. I think
I’m nailing it until we’re at the final anchor
together. I’m only about halfway done with my
hole before Rob has his bolt slammed in and
is staring impatiently. He gives me another
minute before grabbing the hammer and drill.
“Like this,” Rob says as he finishes the hole at
twice the speed. Still a lot to learn—noted.
OCTOBER 5
Dismantle. Repair. (5.11+ PG) 
295 feet, 3 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Lane and I first tried this line in the spring—I
climbed the terrible squeeze chimney, Outer
Tomb, as the most obvious way to reach pitch
two’s enticing long corner up a clean headwall.
Unfortunately, while leading pitch two, Lane
ripped a TCU out of the soft rock, screaming
during the 20-footer that had him crashing
into the slab below. After a tense moment, he
confirmed he was uninjured. We bailed.
Now, after adding a lead bolt and a more
direct pitch one, I’m sitting back at the
belay watching Lane reintroduce himself
to pitch two. He moves quickly past where
he fell before. I open my mouth to shout up
congratulations, but am cut off by the sound
of…wind chimes? I quickly realize it’s pieces on
the rack jangling—Lane is shaking so badly I
can hear him 30 meters below.
OCTOBER 6 (pictured previous page)
Sock Puppet Tower (5.9 A2) 
197 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
About one year ago, I bailed off this obscure
tower after a loose-rock death-lead attempt.
Like something from a Wile E. Coyote cartoon,
entire shelves of stone broke just as I moved
off them—over and over for 30 meters. When
we come back for another go, I quickly realize
my mistake—I chose choss over the clean line
because the choss looked easier. Mental note:
Let the good rock dictate the line.
Pitch two proves to be the crux. Only 20
feet off the belay, I aid on black Aliens as the
crack pinches down to a seam. Up to this
point, I’ve avoided using our rack of Lost
Arrows and Knifeblades, harvested from
other climbs throughout the desert. Now, I’m
out of options: I walk my feet high in aiders
and swing my hammer lightly overhead,
pretending I know how to aid-climb. Above, I
drill a few bolts that lead to a 15-foot section
that needs to be free-climbed—any cam I try to
place expands under body weight, threatening
to tear. On the summit, I pound the rock at my
feet, looking for something solid to anchor in,
only to hear a dull, chossy thudding.
OCTOBER 12
Super Crack of the Reef (5.10+) 
220 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
I reached out to another desert legend, Paul
Ross, a UK expat who has lived in America
for some time, about a route he posted to
Mountain Project. Paul is a big aficionado
of the Swell and has, like his equally twisted
desert-rat peer Crusher, climbed a host of
more-mud-than-rock desert spires. He’s also
left loaves’ worth of breadcrumbs for those
searching for adventure. One of them, Super
Crack of the Reef, looks to be a gorgeous line—
and Ross had never heard of a free ascent. I
lead both pitches free with my patient wife,
Jas, belaying from the ground. I don’t want
to push my luck and make her sit at the cold
pitch-one belay stance, so I lower from it to
clean my cams, jug back up to the belay, and
use all of my 70-meter cord to lead to the top.
I open the old summit register to find no other
entries other than a penciled note from Ross:
“Another great day in the Reef.”
PHOTO BY L ANE M ATHIS
OCTOBER 19 (pictured right)
Orange and Green (5.10) 
196 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
The first of two lines up the Gummy Worm
Buttress is a full-value offwidth and mega-
PHOTO BY L ANE M ATHIS

No gear, “no problem” on the

ominous squeeze of Orange and
Green (5.10), San Rafael Swell.

CLIMBING.COM 59
 LEFT: Racking up in Colorado National Monument. RIGHT:
Battling numb tips on the thin locks of Finger Peddler (5.13-),
Grand Junction, Colorado, moments before taking the whip.
squeeze chimney. While following pitch
one—my friend Ari Schneider’s lead—I trundle
a block the size of a queen-sized bed that he
deftly snuck past like a ninja.
Only a few feet above the belay on pitch
two, it becomes clear the crack will be too
wide for even my biggest pieces. Either we bail
or I can leave all my cams clipped to the No.
6 I placed 10 feet above the belay and press
upward, hoping the crack widens enough
to crawl inside. I ditch the cams and begin
squirming. Before long, I’m facing a 40-footer
onto a jagged slab and I still can’t fit into the
squeeze. Lane, shooting photos from a fixed
line, shouts over to ask if I can feel a breeze
through the chimney. “I don’t know, man,” I say.
“I’m just trying to not fuckin’ die right now.”
OCTOBER 19
Pink and Blue (5.11) 
145 feet, 2 pitches | San Rafael Swell, Utah
The second Gummy Worm Buttress route is,
oddly enough, mostly good, clean fun! A touch
of sandy desert dancing opens up into a wide
crack in fantastic rock. However, as the fissure
60 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
widens, my fist jams begin to wobble and I feel
a creeping dread. I press on for a few body-
lengths when my knee suddenly locks into the
crack and something clicks. For the first time
in my life, I’m having fun climbing an offwidth.
OCTOBER 20
Rat Crap Waterfall (5.11-) 
65 feet, 1 pitch
Get in on the Bone (5.9) 
50 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
Went ground-up on two more great pitches in
the Gummy Worm area, then took a run up the
next canyon to scout for more. Ari asks why
I’m in such a rush. The truth is, I feel guilty
spending so much time away from my wife.
Every weekend I’m not chasing my vertical
mile, I’m making memories with Jas, settling
into our routine of walking the dog along
Clear Creek or shouting Jeopardy answers at
the TV. For someone who isn’t a climber, she’s
supportive and understanding of my obsession.
However, when she uses phrases like, “Well,
you weren’t here so…” I know my absence is
beginning to weigh heavy.
NOVEMBER 1–7 (pages 52, 53, 58)
Big Game Hunter (5.12d R) 
1,110 feet, 9 pitches | Kolob Canyon, Utah
We spend a day hiking around Kolob Canyon,
scoping out walls. It isn’t until the end of
the day that we find something promising:
a mammoth buttress on an otherwise-blank
orange shield. The next week is spent attacking
the wall, pushing from the ground. Some days,
we blast away, free-climbing multiple 200-foot
leads; others, we’re happy to get any higher at
all. Take pitch three, which has us mired at the
same ledge for two days straight. First, no one
can fit in the squeeze. When we figure out that
it’s easier to climb around, we can’t protect the
offwidth up higher. So I place a strenuous lead
bolt just to find out the crack tapers to a seam
not far above. Finally, Lane discovers an easy
face traverse that links to a juicy splitter on the
PHOTOS (2) BY L ANE M ATHIS
headwall and four more pitches beyond.
On the fifth day, we reach the end of the
good climbing, 1,100 feet up amidst scrub and
choss, having run up a final two pitches that
involve spelunking through thorn bushes and
rotten rock. We rest on the sixth day, and on
 M O R E FAC TO I D S A N D DATA
Protection type by route FAs by feet per location FAs by grade per pitch

Boulder 2, 500 30
2 ,4 5 0
1 25 28
3% 2,000

20
Mixed 1, 500 1,611
13 Gear 15
39% 18 1,000 1 ,170
55% 10
13

500
5 7
Aid 1 16 0
80 20 1 1 1 1
3
0 0
3% San Rafael Kolob Mt Evans, CO Natl Grand Shrine Mtn, 5.0 5.7 5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12 C1 A1
Swell, UT Canyon, UT CO Monument Junction, CO CO

the seventh finish equipping the raps. The
eight-hour drive home has me planning our
return trip to free the route, which we do a few
months later—on January 19, 2020. (I decided
to include Big Game Hunter in my 2019 tally
since it was technically first climbed—just not
entirely freed—that calendar year.)
Pitch three goes free at 5.12d and requires
every tool in the box: offwidth, laybacking,
fingers, ringlocks, and hard, hard dihedral and
face climbing. Pitch four is easier at 5.11c and is
so money that I want to take it to the bank. It
has a killer stem box that gives way to a finger
corner and a 30-foot stretch of hand crack so
perfect I shout, “I’ve finally met a god and her
name is Kolob!” as I lead it.
NOVEMBER 16
Red and Yellow (5.10) 
100 feet, 1 pitch | San Rafael Swell, Utah
DECEMBER 27–29 (pictured left) After a year’s worth of scrubbing lichen,
29 Cameras (5.10+)  brushing sand, and trundling choss, I’ve found
60 feet, 1 pitch a new appreciation for climbing, specifically
Micah Mine Roof (5.10)  for all the routes I’d repeated in the past. My
80 feet, 1 pitch vertical mile has shone a light on the amount
Handy Man Mathis (5.11)  of unseen effort and vision required to do
100 feet, 1 pitch something first. The skill needed to push both
Finger Peddler (5.13-)  one’s creative and physical limits in dangerous
80 feet, 1 pitch | Grand Junction, Colorado environments. The demand for both patience
Getting it done under the wire! Piz invites me and nonstop effort. I will continue on this
out to Grand Junction to finish strong on the path, chancing miles of rotten rock in search of
last few feet of my vertical mile. 29 Cameras more undiscovered gems. Not because it’s fun
is just over the length I need, but we go on or sexy, but because it’s hard and dirty. I’m told
with more because who would waste these that nothing worth doing is easy. If that’s the
sweet, below-freezing sending temps? Both my case, 2019 was a great year.
attempts on Finger Peddler, a razor-sharp finger
crack, start with numb fingers and end in big
DAKOTA WALZ spends many of his days (and nights)
whips on small gear. In the end, it doesn’t working in an ambulance, serving the burbs north
matter that I don’t free the pitch—it was the of Denver. His new travel-adventure book is called
process I’d come for. Everything I Loved More.

I team up with Sam Stuckey to do a third

offwidth at the Gummy Worm Buttress. Sam
is a 22-year-old mud-nailing desert maniac
from Kansas with notable ticks like Beaking in On the Owl, Lyons, Colorado,
Tongues (5.8 A4) in the Fisher Towers. in January 2020—taking the
The route takes every big cam we can get FA spirit into the next year.
our hands on: two No. 5s, three No. 6s, and
even a Merlin No. 8. After I lead, Sam cleans
the pitch on a slingshot toprope while racking
all the gear on a single loop. Just as he reaches
the anchor, he lets out an angry grunt; this
is followed by a tearing sound and another
furious scream. Before I can take in any rope,
a shimmer appears from the top of the cliff. It
grows into a bright ball of terror as I realize a
half-dozen aluminum battle axes are tumbling
PHOTO BY L ANE M ATHIS

100 feet down the wall right at me. I stand

there, stunned, as the cams crash into the
ground all around. Perhaps our belay check
should have included assuring that Sam’s old-
ass gear loops weren’t hanging by a thread!

CLIMBING.COM 61
The steep, wild, multi-pitch conglomerate of Los
Mallos de Riglos in the hills of Northern Spain
STORY AND PHOTOS BY JIM THORNBURG
Climbers on the seventh pitch
(5.11b) of El Pison’s El Pajaro
(5.11b; 10 pitches), a climb
with a reasonable grade yet
outrageous exposure. The
harder pitches have adequate
fixed gear, but the easier
pitches (5.9–5.10c) present
runout sections and arcane
fixed pro like wooden stakes
that have been expanded
in their holes with railroad
spikes. A small rack can
ease the sting of the spaced
protection—but only a little.
 BELOW: Los Mallos de Riglos.
Each tower—from the 300-
foot needle El Puro (far left), to
the adjoining, massive hulk of
El Pison (tallest), to the wildly
overhanging La Visera (right
of center)—offers a distinct but
always unpredictable character.
A good trail circles the massif,
though getting off most of the
towers is a complex adventure
in its own right, with lots of
twists, turns, and hidden paths
to regain the valley floor.
64 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
T ucked cozy in bed, my girlfriend, Kim, and
I peered over our billowy white covers and
out the window of our third-floor Airbnb.
Here in tiny Riglos (pop: 250) in Huesca
province in Northern Spain, we were within
a stone’s throw of the mighty conglomerate
towers—Los Mallos de Riglos (“the Mallets
of Riglos”)—that soar above town. Perfectly
framed by the window, tiny climbers inched up
the protruding cobbles of the 1,000-foot
monolith El Pison, the dominating tower of
the half-mile-wide massif, which is home to
some 300 routes from 5.6 to 5.12+.
The springtime weather outside was
cold, dark, and cloudy. Worn and sunburned
from our own long, harrowing adventure
on the “moderate” Mosquitoes, an eight-
pitch 5.10d on the radically overhanging Visera
formation that we’d climbed in the blazing sun
the day prior, we were content just to snuggle,
listen to the jingling of goat bells, and watch
the morning climbing show. 
There were parties on most of the big
routes—climbs we were now well familiar
with after several days of scrutinizing the
guidebook: Oriental, Chopper, Tucan, El
Puro. But we were most interested in a
pair climbing the tenth and final pitch
of Carnivalada (5.12b), a route that had caught
our eye for its big initial overhang and bold
path directly up El Pison. The leader had made
it safely to the summit belay, her rope trailing
down the final black water groove before
dipping below a huge, overhanging pansa (belly)
and then down to her partner. As the second
started up, raindrops began falling, hastening
him to the base of the overhang. We checked
our guidebook and learned that this final pansa
Gabrielle Nobrega on
the 180-foot sixth pitch
(5.11d) of El Pison’s
Tucan Ausente (5.11d;
10 pitches). Many
routes at Riglos were
established ground-
up. First ascentionists
looked for knobs
that were solid and
extruded enough to
sling, so they could
hang to drill a bolt.
Shawn Griffin on the
crux pitch of El Pison’s
Carnivalada (5.12b or
5.11 A0; 10 pitches).
This pumpy, 180-foot
ropelength offers
plentiful protection as
it roughly follows the
original bolt ladder
from the 1965 first
ascent. The bolting
provides a unique
dilemma: The easiest
bolts to clip are new
and bomber—but are
spaced about every
20 feet—whereas the
ancient, manky bolts
in between are harder
to clip, causing more
rope drag and a bigger
pump, but also mental
relief from the runouts.
RIGHT: Kim Pfabe on the huge
overhang on the first pitch (5.10a) of
El Pison’s Carnivalada (5.12b or 5.11
A0; 10 pitches). The climb’s rating, like
many in Europe, gives the redpoint
grade (5.12b) as well as an “obligatory”
grade (5.11—the minimum level you’ll
need to climb, using bolts to rest and
for upward progress). Despite being
only 5.10a, the wildly steep first pitch—
with its giant cobbles, powerful moves,
and sustained nature—is a good litmus
test for continuing … or not.

“
Routes are
established ground-up,
suspect holds are left
in place, and bolts

”
are well-spaced.

was 5.11 and notoriously powerful—a guardian
of the summit after 1,000 feet of relentless
vertical and overhanging cobble climbing.  Routes are established ground-up, suspect
The second paused, perhaps to rest or
to wait out the intensifying rain. Behind the
cliff, visible to us but not the climbers, black
clouds piled forward; lightning blazed in the
distance while thunder rolled into the canyons
like tumbling boulders. As if watching a scary
movie, Kim and I urged the climber to hurry.
The storm had come quickly, and soon the
water groove was a trickling stream. By the
time the second started out the overhang, the
stream was a small waterfall. As the climber
struggled to move past the bulging crux, the
water pummeled him against the rock.
No matter where on the four corners of
earth, conglomerate big-wall areas seem to
share a specific, if unspoken, set of rules:
holds are left in place, and bolts are well-
spaced. A climber embarking on a massive
tower in Meteora, Greece, would be well-
served to have apprenticed on the ancient lava
flows of Pinnacles, California, or on the lofty
spires of Montserrat, Spain. All of these areas
are becoming safer with time, as climbers clean
the rock the old-fashioned way—by breaking
loose cobbles (some as small as BBs and some
as large as sprinter vans) and scrubbing off dirt
over the course of countless ascents.
The tan walls of Riglos are no exception.
The routes lure you in with easy approaches
and shining bolts—but be warned, climbing
originated as a blood sport here, and there is no
guarantee of safety on these old-school “sport”
routes, where runouts can stretch up to 30 feet
and where first ascentionists sometimes paid
for their aspirations with their lives.
Consider one of Riglos’s former last great
problems, the 400-foot spire El Puro (“The
Cigar”), which splinters off El Pison and wasn’t
ascended until 1953. Beginning in the 1940s,
several parties began a protracted battle to
conquer El Puro that involved at least five
failed attempts—two ending in death. In one
instance, Mariano Cored was killed when
he fell unprotected to the ground from 100
feet up when a hold broke as he attempted
to bypass a crux by standing on his partner’s
shoulders. Another climber, Victor Carilla, was

CLIMBING.COM 67
 “
The knob-covered
walls range from slabby
to radically overhanging,
some solid and well-
traveled, some loose

”
and obscure.

killed in 1950 when his rope broke in a fall.
Reportedly, his protection consisted entirely of
old, in situ gear and slung bushes.  pumped and runout. If you’re fit, good—you’ll
Nowadays, you’ll find only traces of
those brutal days, usually in the form of
vintage protection. The knob-covered walls
range from slabby to radically overhanging,
some solid and well-traveled, some loose
and obscure. Most of the routes continue
to the tops of the formations, though you
can certainly “crag” by climbing the first
pitches only. While you’ll occasionally need
to place your own protection, most of the
gear is fixed. These days, bomber bolts are
the norm, but if you stray from the trade
routes you’ll find all manner of old, bizarrely
fashioned, jerry-rigged gear (what in the hell
are those wooden expansion stakes?). On most
routes, at some point, you will find yourself
have the time and energy to give a testing
knock on suspect holds or tug on iffy gear. If
you aren’t, just cross your fingers, pretend it’s
all bomber, and keep on motoring.
Eventually, despite the drama unfolding
outside our window, Kim and I fell back
asleep. Mosquitoes, with its polished cobbles,
runouts, and sunny exposure, had worn us out.
When we woke up, the clouds had disappeared,
birds were chirping, and the climbers were
safely on top, drying in the hot Spanish sun.
It all felt appropriate in this ancient land of
monstrous spires, full of scary fairy tales that
mostly end well.
LEFT: Svana Bjarnson and Axel
Ballay on pitch 7 of La Visera’s
Fiesta de los Biceps (5.11d;
8 pitches). Fiesta is one of the
world’s steepest multi-pitch
climbs—a rock dropped from the
final anchor would land 300 feet
from the base. This overhanging
jug haul has bolts spaced far
enough apart that big falls—for
the leader or the second—can
result in strandings that require
jumars or prussiks for self-rescue.

68 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE

Axel Ballay on pitch
8 of La Visera’s De
Naturaleza Salvage
(5.12b; 8 pitches), a
slanting, whimsical
line that links some of
the most spectacular
features of La Visera,
including a 15-foot
horizontal roof on the
5.11c fifth pitch. The
exposure on the upper
pitches is disorienting
in a way that the
exposure on other big
faces like El Cap is
not. Given the radical
steepness of the rock,
the sucking void comes
at you from all angles.
When your feet cut
from the overhang,
you’ll be suspended
by your fingers,
with nothing but air
between your toes and
the ground.
ABOVE: Climbers on Murciana
(5.11c or 5.10d A0)—just visible on
the right of the two cracks up the
wall’s center. This spectacular line
up El Pison features 1,000 feet
of cobble pumping that’s been
polished by constant traffic and is
thus relatively solid. As with many
of the big routes on Pison, the
cruxes come up high in the form
of brutal panzas (short, bulging
overhangs) that test tired arms.
RIGHT: Kim Pfabe and Steve
Bancroft take in the view from the
third-story patio at Casa Fiesta
Riglos, an Airbnb run by Bancroft
and Nicky Brooks. This expat
couple from England fell in love
with Riglos while visiting in 2004
and moved there in 2016, opening
their guesthouse. The pair has
an encyclopedic knowledge of
Riglos climbing and its history.
Mornings on the patio with
Steve and Nicky are a perfect
way to get fired up for the day.
70 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
Riglos Logistics
SEASON: Climbing is possible
all year, though in winter you’ll
need calm, sunny days, and in
summer you’ll chase shade.
GETTING THERE: Fly to
Barcelona and rent a car. The
drive is about 3.5 hours.
LODGING: A number of Airbnbs
are available in the village,
though Casa Fiesta Riglos is the
favorite among climbers. Rooms
are also available at the bar in
town, or you can van camp in
the main village parking lot.
REST DAYS: The nearby town of
Murillo de Gallego offers a host
of recreational opportunities
along the Gallego River as well
as a spa hotel with a dreamy
hot-pool complex. Also nearby,
take a self-guided tour of the
JIM THORNBURG has been eking out a living as a climbing eleventh-century Castillo de
photographer for the past 30 years. He remains stubbornly
committed to the craft. His coffee-table book, Stone
Loarre, a castle/abbey that is
Mountains, is available at jimthornburg.com. a wondrous trip back in time.
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ROCK ART //
Mya Lixian Gosling:
THE COMEDY OF CLIMBING CULTURE
Climbing gyms have sprouted up across the
US—500-plus as of 2020. Yet even as the sport grows,
many of the struggles, successes, and absurdities
of the gym/climbing culture remain universal. Mya
Lixian Gosling, 38, of Ann Arbor, MI, illustrates these
experiences in her strip Sketchy Beta. One, “Climbing
Gym Bingo”—with its rental-gear bros flailing on
a 5.11, an unsolicited beta sprayer, and a team kid
warming up on your project—was so resonant that
staff at several gyms taped it up at their front desks.
Gosling, who grew up in Ann Arbor, says her
career in comics started on family vacations. She,
her parents, and three half-siblings would often visit
her mother’s family in Singapore during summers,
as well as travel to other Southeast Asian countries.
At the dinner table, the family would pass around
a notebook, drawing sights from the day. Gosling
usually sketched amusing conversations she’d
overheard. “I was terrible at drawing, so I would just
draw stick figures,” says Gosling. Today, stick-figure
characters remain the cornerstone of her art.
Gosling’s art has given her a career, namely thanks
to her first comic, Good Tickle Brain, which she
started in 2013. The comic, named for an insult in a
Shakespeare play, seeks to engage people who might
72 CLIMBING M AGA ZINE
BY UL A CHROBAK
otherwise avoid the Bard. In 2016, Gosling quit her
job in library cataloging to make art full-time, and
now earns her income mainly from Good Tickle Brain
merchandise as well as occasional speaking fees and
commissioned work. Gosling also produces Keep
Calm and Muslim On, a lighthearted comic about
Muslim-American life based on the experiences
of her Muslim friends. (She started the comic in
response to the negative stereotypes she saw gaining
traction after the 2016 presidential election; her
comics can be found on Instagram and her website.)
Sketchy Beta launched in 2018. Gosling, a climber
of eight years, is primarily an indoor climber—the MYA LIXIAN
nearest major destination is the Red, five hours away.
GOSLING
So her drawings often focus on scenes from her home HOME BASE
gym, Planet Rock in Ann Arbor. She keeps a list of Ann Arbor, Michigan
notable experiences, and then later digitally drafts YEARS CLIMBING
those ideas into panels. Says Gosling, “Even when I get Eight
upset, like if I have an unproductive day, or am feeling PREFERRED MEDIA
overwhelmed, or stressed out about the pandemic, I’ll
PHOTO BY JA MES KRUTH
Digital illustration
think about how to turn those feelings into comics.
WEBSITE
It’s self-therapy.” Her favorite part about Sketchy Beta, goodticklebrain.com/
she says, is “being able to share fun things, silly things, sketchybeta
profound things that happen to me on the wall with INSTAGRAM
other people, and see how they react and respond.” @sketchybeta