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 2006 - Loss of a Legend
On October 23, the climbing world lost a legend — Todd Skinner, originally of Pinedale, Wyoming, 47 at the time of his death and a leading big-wall free climber. Skinner died in an unrestrained 500-foot fall from the Leaning Tower in Yosemite National Park.  Adventure Climbing in Corsica
Corsica is the Brigadoon of the climbing world: Most have heard of it, few know where it is, and nobody, apparently, has climbed there. Flipping through old magazines, I saw an article by Arnaud Petit: “Corsica: a mountain in the sea” [Climbing No. 152]. I had nurtured a mild obsession with the island ever since.  Fear is Ruling Here
November 2005: I huddled in the darkness of my tent high on the Southwest Ridge of Ama Dablam (22,494 feet), a fairy-tale peak just south of Mount Everest. With temperatures dropping, I was grateful that Kami Chirring, a world-class climbing sherpa I’d met lower on the mountain, had agreed to join me.  Resurrection of the Dammed
The forgotten and flooded Hetch Hetchy Reservoir is poised in the spotlight of a century-old environmental battle, while a small group of climbers continue to push lines above the water. Sean Jones was working another project in the Fjord, which as usual for Sean meant juggling. His little family in El Portal, the center of his life.  THE SEARCH - Adventure Boudering in Bolivia
We lash packs to our backs and crashpads to our shoulders. I’ve been in La Paz, Bolivia, and on the nearby volcanoes for three weeks, and now, with the arrival of three friends from France, the French Team has become four: Ziza, Tony, Steph, and me, the Dod. No more ice axe and crampons — now it’s boulders, not summits, that I seek. Where we will find them in this vast, deserted country, I am not sure.  Moroccan Gold - Climbing in Africa's gateway
Morocco is located in the northwest corner of Africa, nineteen kilometers across the Strait of Gibraltar from Spain. Trade and immigrants from all over Africa flow northward through Morocco into Europe, reminiscent of the porous-border relationship that Mexico has with the United States. The names of many Moroccan cities are both exotic and familiar: Casablanca, Marrakech, Tangier, Fes, and Timbuktu. Foreign artists have been attracted to Morocco for generations. Some, including Henri Matisse, were drawn by the stark landscape and indigenous art forms. Others, like William S. Burroughs, found muses of a different sort in its lawless international port cities.  Backyard Backcountry
A flash of lightning illuminates towering fangs of rock as thunder pierces the darkening sky. The afternoon grows cold; thunderheads pool; and, suddenly, big midsummer drops splash from the heavens. This is Utah's Wasatch Front Range, arguably the country's wildest "suburban" mountain chain, boasting some of the States' best alpine moderates. As far back as the 1940s, the likes of Harold Goodro and Fred Beckey played on Wasatch stone.  The Source
By Luke Laeser - Photos by Tim Kemple - The prickly brown stone crests over me like a tidal wave about to crash. It’s 1995, my first full-fledged trip to Hueco Tanks, and I’m not sure what’s more intimidating — topping out above my thin homemade pad consisting of a sleeping pad wrapped in carpet and duct tape, or the testosterone filtering through this cluster of boulders.  After The Gold Rush - high country cragging in western Colorado
I crank the wheel hard as another sheer drop fills my windshield. My back wheels skate out, spraying grave as I overcorrect. My knuckles are white and my eyes are fixated on the guard rail. Instinctually, I hit the gas on my aging Subaru, gaining some speed but also control. As my heart rate slowly regulates, my gaze wanders from the road toward the majestic San Juan Mountains near Telluride — and again I nearly miss a turn, 1000 feet above the valley floor. I’ve driven this pass countless times, yet the exposure and panoramic views always get me. It’s only early autumn, but already the peaks are dusted in snow and the aspen trees are turning gold.  The Russian Way
Alexander Ruchkin groggily poked his head out of the sleeping bag and switched on his headlamp. Tiny crystals of ice and fog glittered in the confined space he shared with Dmitry Pavlenko. The icy portaledge fly flapped in Ruchkin’s face, making it hard to ignore the giant patch where a falling rock had recently ripped through the fabric. It was 3 a.m. on May 24, 2004, and at 7400 meters on the two-mile-high north face of Jannu in Nepal, it was pushing minus forty centigrade.  2005 Golden Piton Awards
This year Climbing is rolling the invitation out to you — our loyal readers — to select the 2005 “Climber of the year” Golden Piton award. Look for the winners in issue #247 on newsstands 3/21/06.  Bewitched
I looked directly left toward the belay. The rope made a long, sad droop before it hit a piece of protection. “I think you’re at the first R part,” said, Kennan. Off to the right, I could see what looked like a crack, but it was another seven or eight feet out. The rock in between appeared blank. The holds under my hands and feet were classic Sandia granite, rounded and gritty, and I sensed that I had limited time before nerves and gravity got to me.  Going Greek on the Island of Kalymnos
The street is dark and quiet except for the laughter of a group of climbers stumbling back from a bar and the far-off whine of a scooter. I hear the surf on the gravel beach of the Greek island of Kalymnos, a small, rocky outcropping in the Dodecanese near the coast of Turkey, and my thoughts are of steep moves on climbs whose names end in “-os.” Omiros, Kerveros, Eros — the routes are tipped-back concoctions of pockets and tufas and stalactites, and my forearms remember them as a butt remembers a spanking.  Big Limestone in the Canadian Rockies
Imagine this: Sharp rock ripping flesh. War cries echoing off the walls. Blunt tools glancing off bone. Not a game — not like climbing. Howling warriors from two proud tribes racing at each other across the same shallow river that now swirls around my legs. I look down at my numb feet and try to imagine red clouds billowing in the water and between my toes. I quickly jump out of the river, not sure if the shivers running up my legs are from the cold or from ghosts in the water.  NJC - The Catwalk
Los Angeles is a town rich in traffic jams, smog, crime, and reality TV programs. The myths prevail: Yes, there are more BMWs than people; Yes, a child’s first word is usually either “Botox” or “implant;” Yes, everyone’s writing a screen play; No, we didn’t dam Hetch Hetchy (that was San Francisco). Living in Hell-A certainly imposes its challenges, but it has its moments too. Just 100 miles east of town, tucked in the San Bernardino Mountains’ rain shadow, exists a desert oasis of sorts where jagged, textured, volcanic rock abounds.  The Dihedral Wall
“I don’t know if I have this in me anymore.” For the length of my professional climbing career, I shunned these words. I have always taken the theory that I cannot back down even an inch or I will never reach my true potential. But here I was, 1800 feet up El Cap, feeling like I might finally be at the end of my rope. My arms were seizing every time I lifted them above my head. Blood was seeping from holes in my fingers, knees, elbows, shins, and forehead. I had been abusing my body on this climb for over two months and I was tired. Deeply tired, in both body and mind.  Band of Brothers
Four climbers stepped off the Alaska Railroad at Curry, about twenty miles north of Talkeetna, on April 17, 1954. Shouldering huge packs, the foursome crossed the frozen Susitna River, snowshoed up a tall hill, and paused to admire the view from the top. Fifty miles away, Denali sat nearly 20,000 feet above them, shimmering over frozen riverbeds and snow-covered tundra. The unclimbed, five-mile-long rampart of the South Buttress angled toward the summit. In 1954, Denali had been climbed fewer than ten times, and its south and east flanks remained completely virgin.  Crag of the Future
No matter if it’s for a hot date, for a meeting, for your girlfriend’s period, or, in my case, in the season — “late” is never good. Laboring halfway up a barren Colorado hillside in convulsive 100-degree July heat, I beg for mercy — and for shade. I follow closely behind Tommy Caldwell, his wife Beth, and Adam Stack, and imagine this hike in the cool temps of winter. There will be no mercy, however, not on this hike nor on the crag that awaits.  L’autre Côté de Fred Rouhling
Cheat! Liar! Over the years, many climbers have become objects of derision because the claims they made did not pass muster. Once the negative publicity gets rolling, it seems there’s no stopping it. In the sport-climbing world, perhaps no man has received as much bad press as Fred Rouhling, a Frenchman who made the news in the mid-1990s. In 1995, his infamy hit international proportions when he claimed the 9b grade for one of his routes, Rouhling’s other hard routes were almost as controversial.  Wind Madness — Cerro Torre’s Epic Hall of Fame
Immense planetary forces pushed up the Andes, tearing and rending the earth’s crust. The tectonic plates crushed together, buckling and crumpling, the South American landmass crashing over the floor of the Pacific. Molten lava boiled into the fissures from deep under the surface, erupting in a 7000-mile-long string of volcanoes. But in a few places at the southern end of the continent — in Patagonia — the magma didn’t quite reach the surface. Underground, surrounded by beds of less resistant rock, it cooled into hard, perfect granite. |
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