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. An ancient and eroded landscape dominates, evoking a time before man walked upright. Blur your eyes for a moment and you can imagine a brontosaurus wandering the background. Focus, and you’ll find hundreds of routes up to 5.13. This is a sport-climbing Mecca for those craving steep rock, free camping, and a free-for-all vibe reminiscent of the Burning Man festival. Welcome to New Jack City.
With its close proximity to LA and easy vehicle access, NJC attracts a wide variety of climbers. LA’s finest — fashion, that is — finds its way to the crags via well groomed, chiseled physiques, and clothing color-coordinated to a T. It’s a high-desert catwalk where the kitties roar instead of meow. Occasionally, as these bodies flex on the steep and the light reflects off the sweat, you can almost see the saline and silicone shifting.