Born in Boston in 1953, Henry Barber is a prolific first ascentionist, pioneer of clean climbing, and free soloist; in the 1970s, he was perhaps the world’s best free climber, period. In 1973, “Hot Henry” blew away the Yosemite establishment with a supernatural onsight FA of the much attempted Butterballs, a 5.11c tips crack, followed shortly thereafter by a 2.5-hour free solo of the Steck-Salathé (V 5.9), on Sentinel Rock. That same year he documented 325 days of climbing. Barber was also one of the first American climbers to travel widely, pushing standards everywhere he went. In Dresden, Germany, he climbed in the local style, chalkless, barefoot, and with jammed knots for protection. In Australia, they still talk about his visit in 1975, when in a matter of days, he pushed free-climbing standards two full number grades. As a free soloist, he was without peer, routinely onsighting 5.10 and putting up 5.10 solo first ascents. Today, Barber works as a motivational speaker (henrybarber.com) and still climbs with his trademark swami belt and rack of nuts and hexes (no cams).

How did you first get into free soloing?
I got into free soloing because I didn’t really have anyone to go climbing with. When I really started to climb solo was in the rain. In the Shawangunks, soloing in the rain was great because the wasps aren’t out. It’s better in the rain when your feet are wet and your hands are wet and there’s no chalk. But if your feet are wet and the rock’s dry. or the rock is wet and your feet are dry, it’s really slick.

Did you do anything special to prepare for your solos?
In order for me to solo I have to climb 250 to 300 days a year. To me it’s all instinct — it’s that awareness that’s important when a hold snaps or a bird flies out of a crack. I’ve had my hat knocked off by a seagull, and my leg knocked off by a cormorant while soloing in the United Kingdom. Anything that was steep and overhanging with a crack was fine for me, but anything that had a slab in it scared the hell out of me. Because it was insecure.

Any sketchy moments you’d like to share?
I got into big some huge battles in my head a lot, like on Gorilla’s Delight, in Boulder Canyon. I completely sandbagged myself. I was going up this nice finger and hand crack, and then you have to pull up on this slab and all of a sudden you have to completely switch your rhythm, and your style. The slab is the second crux, maybe 5.9+, and it was underrated. I went on it thinking this is going to be OK, but since I don’t do the climbs beforehand, I kind of set myself up. I had said to myself, well I can do this because it’s 5.9, and that’s a bad mentality to get yourself into.

The thing that I like about soloing the longer routes is that you don’t know what’s going to happen until you get to a point. It’s really great to be on a big wall like the Steck-Salathé, where you’re climbing the weakest line on the face — there’s nowhere you might be able to traverse off. Once you’ve done the first five or six pitches and you’ve done that face move, you’ve trapped between two things, and I like how black and white that is. I don’t think about that before I go, but then as soon as I pass that point my mind is in a whole different place — you’re living in another world

I did 80 percent of solos onsight because I never wanted to have a preconceived idea of what it was going to be like. If I’m going to do something that I’ve done before, the question is why, and the answer is, because I thought it was easy. But if it ends up being wet, or a hold breaks, and it ends up being harder than you thought, then you start getting second thoughts, you get into the negativism. I much preferred to go into them totally fresh.

Another reason I loved soloing was for the euphoric feeling afterwards. I remember soling the North Face of Capitol Peak [a 5.9 in Colorado] and coming down and making love to my girlfriend. Unless I was Carlos Castaneda, I couldn’t describe what that’s like, but that’s what really almost addicted me to it; not the struggle and focus during the climbing, but the release afterwards. I’ve never done drugs, but it’s got to be like that, because it’s intense.

The accomplishment in the end is providing safety for yourself. On an X route, I’m not trying to make an X route. I’m just trying to work with the rock. If it gives me cracks, I put gear in; if it doesn’t, I just wasn’t a bolt guy.