Notched into the east edge of the Ophir Wall is Cracked Canyon, a steep gorge lined with impressive cracks. The numerous short crack lines are popular on weekends, and ideal for after-work sessions. Knotted pines blanket the hills across the valley, and provide shade and anchors for the routes up canyon. “The Ophir Wall is extremely thought provoking,” Martin says. “You can’t just aim for the next chalked hold. It goes back to the art of climbing: finding lines and placing difficult gear. It makes you really tune into the rock.”
After a short but rugged approach, Martin and I drop our packs at the base of Orange Peel (5.10). An afternoon breeze whips through, lending an alpine feel that keeps the summer heat at bay. Several other parties arrive. Martin and I fight our way up Orange Peel’s insecure finger locks, taking in deep breaths of thin air to stave off the pump. We share several routes with our new friends until the light fades and our arms cramp. We follow them back to their house to swap a few stories and have a couple of beers.
Afterwards, we take the short cut to Telluride’s Falls Walls by way of Black Bear Pass. The rough four-wheel-drive road drops sharply down toward Telluride, but we find redemption from our steep descent in the form of a perfect campsite near Bridalveil Falls.

Charlie Fowler is one of America’s best all-around climbers, and one of climbing’s most-loved characters. He’s called Telluride home since 1988. Fowler frequently visited Telluride from Boulder to climb the local ice, and fell in love with the people, the mountains, and the climbing. He decided to stay. Passionate about new routing, Fowler saw the rock-climbing potential and tapped in. “What makes Telluride a unique place is the setting, beauty, and that the rock is so featured that you can climb just about anywhere.” Fowler says. (Ply him a little and he’ll also mention the close proximity of twenty-three bars between his house and the Falls Wall area.)
Telluride is home to many annual gatherings, including the famed Telluride Bluegrass festival, but it’s the Mountainfilm Festival that best captures the adventurous spirit of this community. Thousands of mountain freaks descend annually upon Telluride to mingle and gossip with international rock stars, gain enlightenment from Buddhist monks, take in the latest spin on “extreme sports,” and share Beta on routes. It’s a modern-day Woodstock where old friends unite, new stories are made, and much adventure is had.
Telluride sits at the end of a box canyon, with towering walls and peaks surrounding town. There are five crags within a short drive of the village center: the Falls Wall, Pandora’s Wall, Ajax’s Corner, Pipeline Wall, and Last Light Wall, all situated between 9500 and 10,000 feet in elevation, with cragged peaks and lofty waterfalls as a backdrop. The rock, a conglomerate, is amazing to climb, whether you’re pulling on pockets (tons), crimping, or pinching chunks of embedded limestone.

The Falls Wall is over 800 feet tall at its highest point, with several multi-pitch routes, nearly all established ground-up. There are many shorter routes, including our climb for the day, Hydropower (5.13a), on the Streaked Wall sector, a marbled and streaked cliff of pastel blues and grays. Martin established the 190-foot line, and comments, “I wanted to leave a testpiece that requires a climber to commit to hard moves far above protection, something that I consider good training for the mountains,” Martin says.
I spend my afternoon taking huge, arm-swinging falls off Hydropower, logging plenty of good “mountain training,” before nabbing the route’s second ascent. It’s hair-raising, but at least it’s on bolts.
Martin has to split for Moab, so the following morning I head toward Ouray. My loaded-down Subaru wheezes and whines to a halt on top of Imogene Pass, elevation 13,120 feet. As I let my aging motor cool, I imagine the hundreds of runners who race past here, covering the seventeen miles from Ouray to Telluride in the annual Imogene Pass Run. There are an abnormal number of elite runners living in the San Juans, and after my lung-burning sessions on Hydropower, I’m impressed with the level of endurance required to finish — let alone win — this hell-a-thon run.

As I roll into Ouray I pass a sign that reads, “The Little Switzerland of America.” The town sits below an alpine cirque formed of mysterious rock spires and magnificent cliffs. Famous today for its annual ice festival and abundance of manufactured and natural ice climbing, Ouray now has a group of climbers who have developed excellent cragging on the local rhyolite, conglomerate, and limestone cliffs.
Ouray’s quaint Victorian homes are dwarfed by the steep cliffs and mountains that guard them. The town vibe says, “get out in the mountains,” and this is discernable at every turn with numerous trailhead signs, dirt roads, jeep tours, and business names like Wiesbaden and Matterhorn. The people work hard here, but they play even harder. The guy who fixes your gutters can likely tele-ski double-black diamonds and hike 5.12 finger cracks. Best yet, the community provides plentiful climbing partners, and fosters a healthy learning environment.