Initially, the few climbers to visit in the ’70s were captivated by the park’s wealth of traditionally protected cracks, and in the ’80s bolted face routes became popular. This began to change in the late ’80s, however, as bouldering eccentrics like Mike Head, Bob Murray, and John Sherman established many hard problems and recognized Hueco’s world-class potential. Sherman liked Hueco so much that he began bouldering there almost exclusively, and personally developed the open-ended V-grade scale (V for Vermin, Sherman’s self-styled nickname) at Hueco to grade his and friends’ efforts. Verm went so far as to pen the 1991 and 1995 guidebooks Hueco Tanks Climbing and Bouldering Guide, which were the first comprehensive bouldering guides to the area. Partly as a result of V-grades, bouldering’s meditative, loner soul began to morph into a more community-based, goal-driven pursuit, as participants now had a way to measure their performances. “Half the climbers out there wouldn’t be bouldering if their efforts weren’t quantifiable,” says veteran Hueco first ascentionist Boone Speed. “I mean honestly, do you think those people out there sieging crumbly butt starts would be doing it if there was no grade involved?”
During this golden age, über-fit sport climbers contributed a new wave of development, and double-digit-grade bouldering was born. Hueco’s plethora of desperate problems quickly became the standards for the grade. Full Service, the The Martini Roof (Left Martini), and the sit-start to Better Eat Your Wheaties were some of the first V10s, and remain sought-after prizes.
Everyone was at Hueco during those freeform days. All ends of the climbing spectrum — from flailing-footed, steel-fingered youngsters, to aged honemasters, to chain-smoking Euros dressed in colorful attire, babbling unintelligible languages — were in attendance. One climber who arrived but never really left, and who made a heavy impact on Hueco, is Fred Nicole of Switzerland. His incredible feats of strength include such problems as Crown of Aragorn (V13), and Slashface (V14) — both of which represented important breakthroughs in bouldering’s upper end.

Equally entertaining to watch were the preppy frat boys, bickering couples, promiscuous hotties, average Joes, and of course, the most eccentric of all, the transient dirtbags. By 1995 Hueco’s scene was in full bloom. The laissez-faire lifestyle was a precious window in time ... but we didn’t see it that way back then.
As the golden age gave way to the late ’90s, things at Hueco began to take a negative turn both from heavy climber visitation, and from non-climber vandalism. Modern bouldering became a high-impact sport, due to the repeated pummeling from commercially available pads (such as Kinnaloa’s Sketch-pad, which Verm helped to develop), frequent ground manipulation employed to protect falls off desperate highballs — and especially the sheer number of participants. “Despite the desert’s rough appearance, it’s a fragile environment, containing thousands of years of Native American artifacts, rare plants, animals, living soils, and dormant aquatic life patiently awaiting the rains in the huecos,” warns Rob Rice, owner of the Hueco Rock Ranch (the climber’s hang for the past six years).
1998 ushered in new restrictions enforced by the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department. Hueco’s attendance fell from a record high of 85,000 visitor days in 1997 to 20,000 in 1999. The once free-roaming visitors were now required to have guides on two of the park’s three mountains (access at North Mountain remains unguided).