Hollywood Hideout

The Oscar-Winning Cragging of Malibu Creek

BRITNEY BUYS GROCERIES IN CALABASAS!
BRANGELINA TAKES THE CLAN TO THE BEACH IN MALIBU!
FERGIE CAUGHT SPEEDING IN TOPANGA CANYON!

The soulless headlines jumped from the cover of Us Weekly, their Hollywood glamour only driving home the fact that I was having a bad day. I was at Oakland’s Great Western Power climbing gym on a rainy Sunday, leafing through old magazines while I rested between flail attempts on my project: pink-and-green tape. So far that day, my then-boyfriend had spanked me yet again at Texas Hold ’Em, Happy Donuts on San Pablo was out of my favorite rainbow-sprinkle cake doughnuts, and the proj wasn’t giving an inch. I was whipped.

Forget this Bay Area bad-weather pattern—I needed to be in those headlines: Nicky eats tacos in Calabasas! Sport climbers send the gnar in Malibu! Boulderers speed recklessly through Topanga!

I needed a mega-dose of SoCal sunshine. Climbing at Malibu Creek, on the northern edge of the LA sprawl, was the only cure for these Bay Area blues.

Camped out at Malibu Creek, I could lose my troubles on more than 100 sport routes, from 5.8 to 5.14, lining a narrow canyon on either side of a boulder-strewn creek bed, itself home to dozens of problems on water-polished blocs. Some say the Creek’s steep, athletic tugging on monster-jug pockets is a lot like New Mexico’s Enchanted Tower—but I’ve never been there. If you ask me, I’d say that Malibu Creek is the punky little brother to the glamorous limestone jug hauls of Kalymnos, Greece.

The Malibu Creek vibe is decidedly urban. On warm weekends, you’ll share the flat, sunny, 20-minute approach with local families, their coolers, and their second cousins twice removed. The non-climbing hordes will be impressed by your fancy footwork on the 5.3 traverse around the greasy swimming hole (the Rock Pool, about a mile from the parking lot), which blocks access to the higher reaches of the canyon and the bulk of the climbing. This is usually the end of the road for the flatlanders, who stop to drink beer or hurl themselves off the tatty rope swing. Expect plenty of inflatables and electronics to go around, and have faith that the clamor will die down as you continue up into the cool, shady canyon to your SoCal sport-climbing paradise.

Quality leads start at 5.8 in the everyman’s Stumbling Blocks area. The Swiss-cheesed, caved-out Ghetto, the hardman’s grotto right on the creek, is home to the area’s classic 5.11 (Johnny Can’t Lead), 5.12 (Urban Struggle), 5.13 (Ghetto Blaster), and 5.14 (Lateralus, Shawn Diamond’s Ghetto Blaster extension), all rife with Euro-style pocket moves. The Dam Area, accessed by scrambling over sinuous, water-carved boulders and gurgling rivulets, hides magical routes from 5.9 to 5.13a on bulletproof rock. Fans of sandbagged topropes uber-dialed by middle-aged locals needn’t look farther than the Planet of the Apes Wall, the first zone you encounter on the short, flat approach from the parking lot.