Once Upon a Climb

The Path toward enlightened cragging

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (OK, Alberta, Canada), a young man stumbled upon an unclimbed wall in a mountain forest. Dotted by 12 silver bolts, it looked like a fine bit of rock scaling, and so with great curiosity, the lad scrambled around and rappelled down.

THE THIN GREEN LINE . . .
What he found was an aesthetic path of cracks, slots, edges, and bumps. He grinned ear to ear, for this was no ordinary climb — oh, no — this was a rare synthesis of natural protection and intricate movement. So the boy removed the shiny studs, knowing he could climb the face without them. After many days, this fellow free-climbed to the top on removable protection; his mother wept with joy, and his father poured himself a drink. Everywhere, enthusiasts cheered, cynics jeered, photographers gathered, and journalists scribbled. The climb was a gear-protected 5.14, a beast of a different color in a land where most 5.14s have bolts.

Some days later, this fellow met an enchanting young woman in the forest. She raised her brow and asked why the bolts had to come down. “Must they fall for you to prove your worth?” she queried.

“No,” he said. “But my heart told me this line is so magnificent it merited an unadulterated attempt.”

“But by removing its safety hangers, you’ve made it unattainable,” she retorted. “I think, because it is so beautiful, it should be safe and accessible for all.”

“Au contraire, mademoiselle,” said the lad. “It is safe and accessible to anyone who puts in the effort. Are you suggesting that every climb be developed for every person — to be presented on a silver platter?”

The question lingered in the crisp Alberta air: “Should every climb be developed for every person — to be presented on a silver platter?”

Replied the lass, “Well, yes, I think a silver platter sounds very nice — don’t you?”

IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME
The year was 2007, and the young lad was me: I’d de-bolted a climb I later named The Path (5.14a/b R). I thought it offered a terrific natural test, and I wanted to rise to the challenge without pulling the climb down to the convenience of a drill. In a subtle way, The Path was also an attempt to limit further crowding at Lake Louise — to reduce impact on the forest and the stone.

Lake Louise has been a top Canadian cragging venue since the late 1970s. Many routes were originally established on natural gear, though by the late 1990s, most popular climbs had been retrobolted. Today international crowds flock to this amazing quartzite sport destination not just for its quality rock but also for the jagged peaks that tower above and the glacier-fed emerald lake. Typically, more people equals more eco-abuse. So I again raise the question, “Should every climb be developed for every person?” Let’s examine this.

What if The Path had an artery of closely spaced bolts, so any gym rat could have a shot . . . without dedication or consequence, or even wonder or mystery? Would more people try it? (Yes.) And how would that affect the approach, cliff-base erosion, noise pollution, rock texture, and route’s allure? Would The Path maintain its majesty or become just another greased-up 5.14?

Let’s go deeper: to reach the Wicked Gravity Wall, home to The Path and many other five-star climbs, you walk 30 minutes. Now, if all climbs were for all people, shouldn’t we build a parking lot at the wall, so even those with feeble hearts could approach? Let’s also pave the crag base for those with floppy ankles. And perhaps Starbucks would welcome the business opportunity, too. How would all that affect our natural experience?

Maybe these examples go too far — you could easily argue that the Lake’s an established area, so what’s another bolted climb? But ideals matter. These examples demonstrate how “development” can escalate. Being green is a thin line. So who draws it?

We do: you and me — climbers.

Establishing new rock climbs in any style has always been one of our greatest pleasures, even an addiction, but who hasn’t been overjoyed to discover a new cliff or boulder or line? These tiny moments keep us feeling alive. But bliss has its repercussions, and what some call advancement, others call annihilation. Here’s what development has looked like. . . .