Last week, Jared Leto top roped on the Empire State Building. Yes, top roped on it. In a high-vis jumpsuit reminiscent of a Santa costume. Leto did it legally, too, which means that someone, somewhere, took the time to approve permits for this internet-breaking “feat.”

His climb began on the 86th floor (not street level), concluded on the 104th, and took approximately 20 minutes. Today, when you Google “Jared Leto Empire State Building,” there are 9,610,000 search results.

Ostensibly Leto’s childhood dream, the televised ascent was also a way to promote the fading rockstar’s upcoming band tour. A press release from the Live Nation wrote: “Having always been fascinated with the incredible landmark since he was a child, Leto said, ‘The building is a testament of all the things that can be done in the world if we put our minds to it, which is largely the inspiration behind our most recent album, It’s the End of the World But It’s a Beautiful Day.’”

Don’t bother re-reading that. Considering Leto’s climb, the distilled takeaway is a familiar one—if you’ve got even a modicum of talent, anything in this world can be accomplished if you’re wealthy. Which is so obviously the state of the modern world that I sometimes think problematizing publicity stunts like this is a waste of my time. Furthermore, why highlight mediocrity? (Sorry Leto
 those edges are, what, 30 millimeters? Basically huge hand holds mixed in with no-hands stances.) And as the dilettante’s morning TR-session was shockingly above board, safe, and seemingly offenseless—predictably, the morning’s Today Show article led with “Jared Leto got about 30 seconds closer to Mars”—what’s really the harm?Ìę

As it happens, climbing’s greatest problem is its incomprehensibility. I’ll excuse you if you don’t climb and think that everyone who does should be referred to as Spiderman. Or if Free Solo and The Alpinist have formed the basis of your understanding of our seemingly simple yet in fact elaborate sport. As one hiker once asked my friend who had just finished the hardest multi-pitch of his career: You realize you could have just walked up the back, right? The varied interpretations of climbing illustrate that there are rules to this sport’s game, and those rules are entirely self-directed. Climbing, in other words, gets to be what you choose to make it. The catch: the sport really only thrives in the context of explanation.

Nascent enthusiasts, inaccurate media, and false idols like Leto shock and confound the masses rather than further climbing as a sport. The more eyes the better, right? But the result is further misunderstanding about what climbing is—what’s cool and what isn’t, what’s hard and what’s, by the looks of it, 5.10—which darkens the fog.Ìę

Consider this: Our biggest traffic drivers last year had to deal with Alex Honnold, an auto-belay accident which led to an unfortunate anal impalement, and six-pack abs. If I title this article “Alex Honnold, Who Has a Great Six Pack, Was Impaled Anally Due to an Auto Belay Accident” I imagine it would also drive a lot of people to the site. But that doesn’t make it good for the sport.Ìę

I have no problem acknowledging that Leto is in fact a decent climber. His footwork is precise enough, and he clearly has some endurance. But if news outlets worldwide are talking about someone who climbed something, shouldn’t it be because their feat is worth talking about? Just this past week, Frenchman Charles Albert claimed the first ascent of another boulder which could be among the hardest in the world. He did so barefoot. may have just become the first women to flash V13 boulder problem (depending on how the grade solidifies over time), Adam Ondra established yet another difficult sport climb, and Laura Rogora sent “Lapsus,” another immensely difficult route. Each of those involved far more work, dedication, and soul than Leto’s 20 minute session.

Plus, well, Leto top roped it. I feel I needn’t say more, but allow me to state—for the record—that Leto’s ascent of the Empire State Building does not count.

Also Read:

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On Sunday, October 22, Touchstone’s Hollywood Boulders management were made aware that a member of the gym had suggested, in threatening text messages sent to an unnamed acquaintance, that they were “strapped” with a weapon and “wanted scalps.” The member went on to write “god has spoken” to him and that he “already has a kill order.” The recipient of the messages was then directed to “avoid the gym for a while.”

“These tourists and lames need to know what war really is,” stated one of the member’s messages. “[I’ve] been way too lenient with all the wannabes here. no mas. 
 [I’ll] take out the Koreans first so y’all take things more seriously.”

When the recipient of the message asked, “wdym stay away from the gym? Everything okay?” the member replied, “i’ll know soon enough.”

Hollywood Boulders appears to have been the likely target, however the member never named the gym outright, meaning that all SoCal gyms were potentially at risk.

After receiving this information on October 22, Touchstone management immediately notified the local police. A letter from Touchstone’s CEO, Mark Melvin, stated that, “After reviewing the threat, the police deemed the texts as not a threat to the gym. The police suggested we take no further action and advised us not to alarm our staff and community. 
 The entire series of events is all related to personal communication between individual members.”

Touchstone did pursue a restraining order against the gym member, but, as a business, couldn’t legally obtain one. His membership was, however, cancelled and he was informed that he was banned from all Touchstone gyms. Management also hired security guards for all SoCal gym locations. Adhering to local police recommendations, Touchstone staff were not notified of the threats until October 25.

Alarmed, a few anonymous Touchstone staff members have since published an open letter to Touchstone management, writing that, “In withholding this information, we feel that the company violated our rights to informed consent.”

According to the letter, the member who made the threatening statements visited the gym between the 22nd and the 25th before his membership was canceled. The letter states: “The company assured us that the situation was somehow under control; the fact that the member easily entered several gyms while shooting threat investigations were active speaks to the contrary.”

After being informed of the threatening messages on the 25th, staffers demanded to read the texts. Management refused, so the staff walked out of the gym, and Hollywood Boulders closed early. The next day, with an armed security guard present, the gym re-opened.Ìę

Gym members were also apparently un-informed. A reddit user posted: referring to the changed hours and presences of the security guard. Another user replied: “I asked an employee why there was an armed guard stationed at the desk. I was apparently lied to when I was told ‘because of the shoplifters’ in the area
”

Staff members refused to return, and several quit outright. Although Touchstone gave employees “hazard pay” for the 25th, staffers have not been paid since. Authors of the open letter wrote: “They have essentially told us in one breath ‘we care about you, and really value your safety and health,’ and in the next breath: ‘as long as you are away from work, you will financially suffer the consequences on your own.’”

Before returning to work, gym staff are demanding four things. They would like to be assured the member has been reached via emergency mental health professionals and to know that legal action has been taken against the member. They would like full-term security locks to be installed in the doors, allowing entry only via key cards or a buzzer. They demand transparency to future threats. And finally, the staffers would like back-pay or hazard pay for the days in which they worked or missed in which their safety was at risk.

Melvin, in his statement to members, wrote: “Countless hours were spent at all levels of Touchstone to understand the facts, work with the police, and use the best legal options to ensure the safety of our staff and customers. Given the tragic state of gun violence in our nation, we understand why some members of our community were alarmed to learn about some details of these events through various online channels.

“We are working with staff to ensure they feel safe to return to work so that Hollywood Boulders can resume its regular hours. We love and value our community. You’re the reason we exist.”

Climbing has reached out to Touchstone management and staff as well as the LAPD for more information.Ìę

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A 39-year-old Portland man, Samson Zebturiah Garner, was arrested Thursday on attempted murder and other charges after evidence suggested he was planning a shooting attack on climbers. Although the authorities would not confirm the exact location of the planned attack, it likely would have occurred in Smith Rock during the annual American Alpine Club Craggin’ Classic, which began yesterday.

According to the , two people who know Garner informed the Portland Police that Garner had been making statements about causing harm to climbers in Deschutes County. On Monday, the Portland Police Bureau notified Deschutes County detectives of the planned attack, and the detectives worked throughout the week to gather evidence. The American Alpine Club was informed of the possible attack on Wednesday. After it was determined that Garner drove from Multnomah County to Deschutes County on Thursday, he was taken into custody via Deschutes County SWAT Team members. Evidence of the planned attack was found in Garner’s vehicle, including Beretta and Sig Sauer 9 mm handguns and an AR-15 rifle.

 

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Investigators believe Garner planned to kill multiple people. While their names were not released, the District Attorney’s report lists victims as “Belayer 1,” “Belayer 2,” and “Spectator 1,” and “Spectator 2.” Garner was charged on four counts of attempted murder, eight counts of first-degree attempted assault, and 15 counts of unlawful use of a weapon. He is being held on a $10 million bail.

Authorities believe Garner was working alone, so the Craggin’ Classic has proceeded as planned.

AAC President Ben Gabriel released a statement on October 23, which .

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű has reached out to the Mazamas, as well as the Deschutes County District Attorney’s office. We will update this story as more information is available.

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Seattle’s Vertical World and Colorado-based manufacturer C3, which produces Perfect Descent auto belays, have settled in a lawsuit following a severe climbing accident that occurred on August 1, 2019. The climber, Michael Vandivere, sustained a 30-foot fall and subsequently suffered a number of severe injuries, including 12 pelvic fractures, a traumatic brain injury, lung injuries, bladder laceration, and other fractures. C3 Manufacturing has agreed to pay $5 million and Vertical World will pay an additional $1 million.

The law office representing Vandivere, Pfau Cochran Vertetis Amala Attorneys at Law, stated in a that Vandivere fell “due to a defective auto-belay device.” Furthermore, the press release stated that the accident was caused by “improper supervision by Vertical World staff, and inadequate training for climbers by Vertical World. Despite using the device properly, the climber fell when the auto-belay device failed to function as intended.”

However, Vertical World issued its own , which began: “the statement [from PCVA] is incomplete, misleading, and incorrect in several fundamental respects.” Rich Johnston, the president and owner of Vertical World, spoke with Climbing, saying that it seems the climber failed to fully clip into the auto belay. A witness, according to Johnston, reported that they saw Vandivere attempt to clip in before heading up the route. A closed and intact carabiner was found at the top of the device. Johnston added that “in the three years that I dealt with this lawsuit, they never proved any failure on the belay device that we had in our facility.”

Early on, Vertical World’s insurance company wanted to settle, but Johnston refused. In an interview with Climbing, Johnston said, “If you start rolling over on stuff like this, the industry is going to be hit.” Things changed during the discovery process of the suit.

It was found that Perfect Descent auto belays were initially recalled in 2016, with documented defects dating back to 2015. The company issued “stop use” and “return for repair notices,” however effective design changes were allegedly not implemented. Further recalls were issued in the subsequent years. According to Darrell Cochran, the lead attorney representing Vandivere, other grievous incidents have occurred since then.

“My understanding is that very similar defect issues led to deaths in a number of places, including Colorado and Australia,” Cochran told Climbing. “C3 Manufacturing likely disputes that its product was responsible for the falls.”

Johnston countered, saying, “C3 did some really questionable things in their engineering of the products and how they did things. But as far as I know, no one was injured on a C3 product due to a failure that is claimed by the plaintiff—they’ve had millions of cycles on their units over the years in the industry. It says that they just didn’t do things correctly.”

The latest states that the defective devices can “loosen and cause slack on the rope, allowing the climber to fall [to the ground].” Cochran clarified to Climbing that there were issues “with break failure and a failed retraction spring that led to hazardous spooling.” He added that the president of C3, Ronald Naranjo, testified that the design used to create Perfect Descent was based on a device manufactured but later abandoned by the Mine Safety Appliances Company—an organization by which Naranjo was previously employed. That device, the Red Point Descender, was after multiple climbers experienced a rapid descent.

Despite the recalls, Perfect Descent has long been seen as a reputable brand in the industry—the company is the official supplier to the IFSC and World Games. Climbing was unable to reach C3 for comment.

Although Johnston was steadfastly against settling, misconduct from C3’s attorney’s during the legal proceedings made that ever more difficult. After it was revealed that the team had withheld evidence in the lead up to trial, the judge imposed sanctions of nearly $300,000 on C3 and the attorneys. Following the fumble, C3’s insurance company agreed to settle. Johnston found himself in an uncomfortable position; going to court alone was no longer a viable option, so Vertical World settled too.

Johnston founded Vertical World in a warehouse in Seattle in 1987. It was America’s first commercial climbing gym. In 1994, he also served as one of the original board members for the Climbing Wall Association. Ironically, Johnston has been pushing for better auto belay practices for years. At first reluctant to host auto belays in his gyms, he compromised with a stringent and required belay check that all members who wish to use the auto belays must undergo. Following this lawsuit, Johnston says Vertical World will continue to have auto belays, but not any manufactured by C3.

As a longtime industry leader, Johnston recommends other gym owners pay attention to this lawsuit. He’s concerned about how, moving forward, insurance companies will look at gyms which host auto belays. “I think that’s going to be a problem,” he said. Garnet Moore, the executive director of the Climbing Wall Association, has been in communication with Johnston and is putting together updated risk management guidelines for the industry.

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I hate myself when I uncoil new climbing ropes. I always mess it up and it ends up an impossibly tangled heap that takes at least 30 minutes to undo. I finally watched a YouTube video the other day and learned a lot. I realized that taking care of and managing ropes is a tad more nuanced than I initially gave it credit for, despite my years of experience.

I’ll never forget my first rope. It was a purple and yellow Edelweiss 9.8 that my parents gave me for Christmas. I lived in Dallas, hours away from any sport crag, but I had goosebumps. And my coach, who guided me along my competitive career, did her best to teach me the basics of rope care.Ìę

“Don’t step on it!” she snapped on our first outing.

“Why?” I asked.Ìę

“Because if you were wearing crampons, you could damage it,” she said.

“Why in the hell would I be wearing crampons?” I asked. I was 13 and had not one but two gym tags on my harness. It was a fair question, but one that she didn’t bother to answer.

To my coach’s credit, I have worn crampons exactly twice since then and have never stepped on the rope while wearing them. And not stepping on your rope is in general solid advice.

Below, more on that and other best rope-care practices.

Uncoiling

Most ropes that you will buy will be coiled in a spool. Duh, I guess. But the reality vs. imagined difference is evident when you picture unraveling a spool of T.P. If you pull from the end when it’s on the holder, it comes off nice and neat. But, if you were to rotate it 90 degrees and pull up, think of the twists that would occur—which is neither good for T.P. usage, nor for your climbing rope. That’s why when you just throw your new cord on the ground and then yank (as I may have done for the last *cough 15 years) it quickly becomes a kinky, knotted mess.Ìę

So here’s what you do: after cutting off the zipties and other factory attachments keeping the thing together, place both your arms through the middle of the rope (make your arms the holder!). Then, do the macarena (seriously) and rotate your arms in circles, keeping the rope tensioned on top. If you have a partner, it helps if they pull the rope out as you do the arms circles.

It’s not the end of the world if you mess this up. Most ropes are prone to some amount of kinking out of the box, even if they were perfectly uncoiled to begin with. If your rope kinks, here are a few tricks:

Ìę– Try pulling the rope through a set of anchors. This is good to do anyways, since you should really switch up which side you’re climbing on so as to even out the wear.ÌęÌę

Ìę– A slightly more complicated method: after your partner has finished climbing and reached the ground, tell them not to untie—they will serve as an anchor. Then coil the remaining rope. Have your partner back up until the remaining rope is slightly in the air. Watch it spin! Be sure to stop it from spinning the other direction due to momentum.Ìę

Coiling

It’s best not to leave your rope coiled, as that can cause kinks. But for carrying and temporary storage, coiling your rope is a great way to keep it neat. There are many ways to coil your rope. The main methods are:

Ìę– For storage: Grab both ends of your rope and hold them together in one hand. Drape one arm’s length of rope over your shoulders. Continue adding loops of rope of approximately the same length across your shoulders until about one arm’s length of rope remains. Take the stack off your shoulders and fold it in half. Then take the excess loop and wrap it around the outside of the bundle, along the middle. Then you can feed the last loop of the rope on a bight at the top of the rope to secure it.Ìę

Ìę– For draping across your backpack: Grab one end of your rope. As with the method described above, you’ll drape arms-lengths of rope over your shoulders until you have about one arm’s length of rope remaining. Then take the rope off your shoulders, and grabbing the rope in the middle, make a small bight of rope using the excess. Then wrap the tail end around the middle of the rope. When you reach the end of the rope, thread it through the bight and cinch the bite down.

Ìę– A helpful video can be found .

Storage

UV radiation and extreme temperatures can damage your rope. So can dirt (more on that below). And, as stated above, storing your rope stacked in a pile rather than coiled helps prevent kinks. For all those reasons, use a rope bag!

Here are some of our favorites:

Blue Ice Koala ($43)

Best For: Cragging

We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here. Rope bags should be simple. Straightforward. But I have to hand it to Blue Ice, the Koala has some worthwhile innovations. When worn alone, the bag slings over your shoulder to, as the name suggests, hug you like a Koala. It unzips down the middle, the tarp pulls out, you’re ready to climb. Packing it back up is where the bag really shines. A helpful “Stop,” maker shows you where to zip up to. After that, you pick up the bag by the handles on the tarp, the rope conveniently packs itself in, and then you can finish zipping the bag up. Easy peasy. The bag fits ropes up to 80 meters in length, although a smaller rope gives you room for shoes and a harness. There’s even a small zippered pocket on the side, great for your phone, chapstick, and snacks. At $43, it is comparable to other bags on the market.Ìę

Kavu Shapiro Rope Bag ($75)

Best For: Cragging

Professional climber Jeff Shapiro found himself dreaming of an improved rope bag, and, after some do-it-himself arts and crafts, created a prototype. One of his sponsors, Kavu, improved upon some of his original materials and construction and, voila, Shapiro’s eponymous rope bag entered their product line.

Like other rope bags, the Shapiro Rope Bag has an internal tarp that folds out for the rope to sit on. But unlike many rope bags, the tarp is removable: it zips off, allowing you to burrito-up your rope and move it from belay stance to belay stance without restacking the rope (read: somehow getting it hopelessly tangled) into the bag each time. If you did want to re-bag it each time though, the Shapiro’s bottom and sides have enough stiffness so as to allow it to function as more of a rope bucket. The Shapiro forgoes the cinch-up drawstring that many rope bags rely on, instead using three strategically-placed straps of webbing—one vertical, two horizontal—that tidily buckle everything up. The closure system makes this bag a solid choice for cragging, but rules it out for any multi-pitch adventures unless you want to risk exploding your pack at every belay. Read on .

Mammut Magic Rope Bag ($70)

Best For: Gym bag, sitting mat, rope bag

Good things come in threes, or so we are told. Let’s see 


The Mammut Magic Rope Bag is tri-use. It makes a nice solid, handy gym bag. Room for a couple pairs of shoes and a jacket. Over-the-shoulder carrying sling. Large interior zip pocket to try, might as well try, to contain the chalk dust — anyway, it holds a chalk bag, and tape or whatever else you like. Wrist-deep exterior zip pocket works for keys, phone, sport bar or other snack.

The bag is padded, with thin foam sides, to make a comfortable mat to sit on and stay out of the dirt for putting on shoes. Or perhaps just basking and chatting. The instructions say to pull the drawstring for converting the bag to a mat, yet that seems not to make an appreciable difference. I’d just turn the bag on its side and sit on it.

Some people really like stand-up bags for, again, keeping things out of the dirt, but I prefer tarps and, usually, a big ol’ backpack for hiking to crags. So I have not used this item as a rope bag. The climbing gym, on the other hand, is a pleasant mile walk from where I work and elsewhere in town, and for that this bag is an easy carry, especially with just the usual few light gym items in it. Read on Ìę

Bonus Favorite: In a pinch, Ikea bags work great. Something is better than nothing.

Dirty Secrets

Dirt can work its way in between rope fibers and abrade it while the rope stretches and contracts. This is the real reason why you shouldn’t step on your rope, as that can really work the dirt in. A 2010 study conducted by the International Technical Rescue Symposium demonstrated that a rope can lose 20 percent of its strength after just one soiling, and 40 percent after eight soilings. Yikes!Ìę

Luckily, washing your rope is easy. The most important thing to remember is: never use detergents or bleach. Stick with dedicated rope cleaning products or just water. You can wash your rope in the tub, a bin, or the sink by soaking it and massaging it with your hands. Rinse and repeat. Or you can wash your rope in a front-loading washing machine. Be sure to run the washing machine with nothing in it first to rinse it of detergent residue. Then before tossing it in so that it won’t tangle.

To dry your rope, you can lay it out in a shaded area outside or a ventilated room indoors. Do not leave it in the sun or expose it to high temperatures.

Notes for in the FieldÌę

Sharp rock edges present the greatest threat to your rope, especially when it’s under tension. Inspect your carabiners and quickdraws, as they, too, can damage your rope if worn sharp. Use rope protector sleeves if you’re fixing your line.Ìę

Regularly inspect your rope for signs of damage, which include excessive fuzziness and flat or soft spots. If you see white it ain’t right. In other words, if the core is exposed, it’s time to cut the damaged section off. More than likely, this kind of wear will be towards the ends of the rope, where knots are tied and where falls actually happen.Ìę

To chop your rope, first wrap the spot you intend to cut with some basic finger tape. Slice through the rope and tape and then burn the exposed end with a lighter so that the tape, core, and sheath melt together. You can write on the tape the new length of your rope, but be sure to use a rope-specific marker, as regular ones can damage the cord. Also, consider marking a new middle point, as that will have shifted (or just cut both ends).

Speaking of rope length: Did you know that your rope will shrink with usage? As it swells in diameter over time, it may decrease 2 to 3 percent in length after just a few uses and up to 10 percent in length over its lifespan. Be wary of this and be sure to tie a knot at the end of your rope!

Like dirt, water can reduce the strength of your rope by up to 30 percent! It will regain this strength once it dries, but try not to get it wet when out at the crag, and never store it wet.Ìę

Bonus Tip: When cragging, keep your rope away from Fido, as .

When to Retire?

With regular use, most ropes will last you about a year. After that, you may be able to get away with using it in the gym or for top roping on short pitches. Based on how often you climb, here is what to expect:

Ìę– Frequent use (a few times a week): up to 1 year

Ìę– Regular use (few times per month): 1–3 years

Ìę– Occasional use (once per month): 4–5 years

Ìę– Rare use (1 – 2 times per year): 7 years

Ìę– Never used: 10 years

When the life is gone, recycle your old rope by making it into a rope rug, bracelets, or a dog leash.

The post How to Care for Your Climbing Rope appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

On Friday, May 12, Salt Lake County search and rescue crews were called to Utah’s Big Cottonwood Canyon to rescue two injured climbers. The duo had been on Goodro’s Wall on Storm Mountain when a large chunk of rock gave way. Kaitlyn Brann, 34, of Park City, was killed on the scene. Her climbing partner and boyfriend Scotty Hogg, 30, was critically injured.Ìę

According to SAR member Shawn Kenney, locals had reported a loose block last year near the base of the route. Snow and water had likely worked its way behind the rock and further loosened it over the spring.Ìę

“We don’t know for sure what happened,” Kenney told Climbing over the phone, “but from what some witnesses who were around the area said, Scotty had just started to climb and Kaitlyn was belaying. He was getting off the ledge where the route begins, and probably not more than about five or ten feet up, so probably at the top of the block. And we think that entire block came off.” Kenney estimates the block was close to two feet thick, six feet tall, and three to four feet wide.

The call for the rescue came in around 7 P.M. from a witness of the accident. Alongside the Unified Fire, Unified Police, AirMed, and Utah’s Department of Public Safety, the SAR team located the climbers and then set up a technical lowering system to get Hogg off the ledge. He was flown by AirMed to a local hospital and is expected to survive, but he is facing extensive care. A has been set up to assist with medical costs.

Goodro’s Wall is a classic line and, according to Mountain Project, possibly America’s first 5.10. Despite being well-trafficked, Kenney warned that climbers should be extremely vigilant as conditions continue to shift. “We’re seeing a lot of erosion happening, a lot of mudslides, and a lot of flooding.” On the same day there was a in another popular Utah climbing area, Kolob Canyon. “All of the avalanches that occurred during the winter in Little and Big Cottonwood Canyon moved a lot of rock and debris to the top of the cliff edges. There’s a lot of stuff teetering on the edge right now.”

Kenney recommends climbers seek out single-pitch routes where they can closely examine the rock, adding that it would be a good idea to walk around on the top and, if necessary, clear debris before climbing.Ìę

“Over the last few years, we’ve seen huge amounts of rock move, especially in Little Cottonwood Canyon,” adds Kenney. “We’ve had patients get crushed by rock, and we’ve had to go up and move rock off of them because they were pinned. I think there’s going to be probably more of that this year than any year we’ve seen. It’s scary. I’ve been climbing for 35 years, and I’m a little terrified to go out and climb right now not knowing what’s loose.”

Brann is remembered as being an energetic and joyful spirit. She was an experienced climber and loved getting outside. “You will make us all better through your legacy,” wrote one friend, Elisabeth Drost, on page.Ìę

“I’m so glad we had a once in a lifetime experience. I love you so much Kate. I miss you so much,” wrote Hogg on Brann’s Instagram.

Condolences to the friends and family of Brann and to Hogg.

The post A Climber Was Killed by Rockfall in Utah’s Big Cottonwood Canyon appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

This article was first published by .

“There was this uncertainty,” says Sharma. “I could potentially let the route slip through the cracks again. That kind of terrified me, honestly.”

Since October 2021, Sharma had been working Sleeping Lion, which traces through an undulating and untouched canvas of thinly pocketed limestone, just meters away from the historic La Rambla (5.15a). The route is hard—V8 to V11 to V11 to V12 to V11, each separated by bad rests—and stylistically various, involving techy heel hooks, punchy dynos on steep terrain, and tenuous face climbing on small edges. But shortly after bolting it, he had to jet off to film the HBO show, “The Climb,” with Hollywood actor Jason Momoa. Filming ate up winter. He returned to the line in February 2022, but wasn’t able to complete it before warmer temps hampered progress. He returned in November with a fire in his belly, a deep and primal passion awakened from within. By March, Sharma had already fallen off of the upper crux—the route’s 54th move—16 times, but he was undeterred.

Quixotic orange and blue limestone cliffs emerged from the landscape. He made the final turns while listening to a reggae song, “Sleepin’ Lion,” by Clinton Fearon.

“Don’t play fish if you can’t swim
Don’t play with fire if you don’t wanna get burn
Life is a gamble, so they say
But what, what shall we win at the end of the day?”

It had been since 2015 that Sharma sent El Bon Combat (5.15b), at Cova de Ocell in Spain, and it had been almost exactly 10 years since he sent La Dura Dura (5.15c), on March 23, 2013. He’d since opened gyms across Spain and the US; he and his wife had kids; he hosted that HBO show; he’d tried really damn hard to keep the flame going. Easier said than done.

“This whole time I’ve been trying to stay in shape, which has been a huge challenge,” he says. “I never wanted to let go of my climbing goals. But as the years go by, you start to wonder, are things going to coalesce? Am I just saying that to myself, that I’m still in shape and ready?”

There had been other projects over the years. He’d come close on Perfecto Mundo (5.15c), in Margalef, a route he’d bolted in 2008, but business and family affairs kept coming up and he kept falling out of shape. The cycle repeated so many times he swore to himself he wouldn’t bolt another line or start another project until he’d ticked some things off. But old habits die hard. After staring at that section of rock in El Pati for so many years, he just couldn’t resist.

“Experience is the greatest teacher of all
No need for defense if we learn our lessons well
Oh, oh, take care of creation, there’s so much to gain
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, we’ve got nothing to lose”

During the short familiar approach to El Pati, Sharma turned inward. He embraced what it would mean to dig deep, inhaled deeply, and swallowed down the doubt. He thought about the big picture.

“In the lifespan of a climber, it’s really good to do other things,” he told me afterwards. “It complements your climbing, and it gives you a different perspective, and then it makes you appreciate climbing in new ways. 
 The ultimate goal is to be able to climb 5.15 in life, not just on the rock. So I have this higher-arching goal of climbing at my limit while also being present with my kids, and being present as a husband, and creating these climbing gyms and this TV show. All those other things are way out of my comfort zone, but that’s where a lot of growth and the progression of ourselves comes from.”

It was not even noon before Sharma, after over a year of effort, clipped the chains on what he estimates is his second 5.15c. We caught up with Sharma to hear more about his process, training, and how he’s managed to balance his family, career, and climbing goals. The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Sharma on one of Sleeping Lion’s crux sequences:

The Interview

CLIMBING: From what I’ve observed, one of your main superpowers is your mind. You’re so calm, and you maintain such a good perspective on climbing and how it fits into your life. Just the fact that you had all these climbing goals, but then you also had a family and then became an entrepreneur—I think that’s such a testament to your ability to trust yourself and your process. How do you do it?
CHRIS SHARMA: It’s interesting, the conversations that we have with ourselves. You know, trying to stay positive and just enjoy the process. But there were times when I would tell myself that, like, “Yeah, it’s cool, I’m enjoying this.” But really I was frustrated. I was like, “I wish I would have done this thing a while ago, so that I could move on to other things.” I did always enjoy the process, but at the same time, there were moments when I had to also acknowledge that I wasn’t completely happy with everything, and I think that actually helped me process it. Sometimes you’ve got to convince yourself, but sometimes you’ve got to acknowledge how you really feel to be able to work through some of those barriers. I think just some honest conversations with myself, like, “Look, I am a little bit frustrated by not sending this, I am a little bit nervous that I’m going to blow it.” That actually helped me to be kind to myself.

One of the cool things about this experience is the fact that 5.15c isn’t the limit anymore—there’s 5.15d. I wasn’t really competing on a global stage or being competitive with the youngsters out there. It was more this personal goal of proving to myself that I could rise to that level again. Obviously there is some ego involved in that, but it’s more of a personal challenge
 If I compare it to trying La Dura Dura with Adam Ondra, vying for the first ascent of the world’s hardest route, there were all these expectations. This time around, it’s just me in my own world on my own creation, just kind of doing it, for the sake of it, because I wanted to see if I still can do it.

It’s very tricky now, how climbing evolves through our lives, or how our relationship evolves with climbing over the years, but I’m just so grateful to have climbing as my craft, it’s my way of tapping into what’s the best version of myself. It’s the way that I can contribute, and it’s what I’ve always done. I started climbing in 1993. So I’m going on 30 years. There’s a lot of wrapped up in this achievement.

So when you’re confronted with that frustration or that failure over and over and over again, you start to have doubts, and then it sets off this very deep process of evaluating yourself—why you’re doing the things that you’re doing. And ultimately, through confronting yourself and that failure, it’s very liberating. It’s a very hard road to go down, where you’re fully committed.Ìę It makes you feel vulnerable in a lot of ways. I experienced the full variety of emotions that you go through in a redpoint process. And so to be able to go through that again at this point in my life is very meaningful and validating and cool.

It’s not necessarily about the send, it’s about the process. But clipping the chains is a part of that process, right? And if we don’t do it, then somehow something’s missing. It’s kind of like when you go to school, and you get a diploma, and really it’s about all the things you learned and the experiences you had, but somehow having that diploma is important, too, right? It’s meaningful. It symbolizes the level of effort that you have to give and that you finished something.

And it’s been amazing to have my wife, my friends, and even my kids supporting me. They know how important this is to me.

I wanted to bring up something you wrote about in this magazine in 2020. You were describing how, as a teenager who just won nationals, you had an ACL injury. And you wrote about how after that, you really dove into a spiritual mindset and started meditating. I’m curious if that was a formative moment for you and influenced how you think about climbing and how you’ve gone through life?
Yeah, absolutely. That did shape me in a lot of ways. If I look at this whole experience on Sleeping Lion, it’s been my practice. It’s been a regimen. The way that I’ve approached it, there wasn’t really the question of “Should I go today or not?” I was basically, like, “I’m just gonna go, whenever I have time.” I used to be really spontaneous, but now I have to plan things out a little bit more. So I’d tell my wife, “Look, on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I’m going to be there.” Even if I didn’t feel good, I would go; even if it was raining, I’d go. And it’s just like when you’re doing yoga or something—you’re gonna have good days, you’re gonna have bad days, and you have to just go and do your practice. Whatever comes up. You’re going to have ups and downs, but I just try to surrender myself to the practice. It is very meditative in that way.

That early injury did set me off on a different path. I think I was 17, and the world was my oyster. I was kind of a punk, maybe kind of cocky; there was nothing I couldn’t do. But suddenly I couldn’t climb. So it put things in perspective, and it put me in my place. After that, for many years, I didn’t even grade my climbs. It was more about having this personal journey on the rock. It was about how, through this intense level of exertion, you come face to face with yourself. And so I had that approach rather than thinking of climbing as a sport and trying to do the things that put you on a podium or give you a certain status. I really stepped away from that.

There were certain moments later on where I did want to know where I stood. La Dura Dura was an example of that. Could I climb at the highest level if I did become more like a real athlete? Because in the past, I’ve never really been like a real athlete. One of the interesting things about this process with Sleeping Lion is that I did very little training. Ninety-nine percent of it was just climbing on the route. But there were moments with La Dura Dura where I wanted to see if I could play that game, and it was cool to prove that to myself. But after climbing La Dura Dura, it was important to me to embark on this new phase of life.

I think it’s very hard to not get caught up with the performance mindset, the hunger to send hard grades and win comps. Can you explain what you do to maintain your grounding?
When you’re buried under things and never actually achieving things, I like to focus on the sensation of climbing. Like, “How did you feel?” Or, “How did I feel that day climbing,” and I look for that good sensation on the rock. I didn’t send anything for seven years. I mean, I did some deep water solos that were meaningful, but as far as doing cutting edge things, I didn’t achieve anything. And so every day you go out, you have to try to find the small progression, the upside, that sensation when you feel good in yourself on the rock. When you cultivate yourself into your highest level of fitness, it’s like you turn your body into a sports car, and it can turn on a dime, it can do whatever you ask of it, and there’s something amazing about that feeling. And so I try to focus on that more than the external achievement.

I’ve always thought that climbing is about progression. It’s about getting better. But then what happens when you stop getting better? Am I going to fall out of love with climbing? One of the other things that I’ve explored in recent years is how to progress beyond just climbing harder and harder grades. There are a lot of different ways to do that. There are different styles of climbing. But there’s also a more subtle level of deepening your relationship with climbing and the movement. It’s about getting really intimate with that connection regardless of if you’re doing something that’s harder or not. So there are ways to continue to progress and deepen your appreciation for climbing.

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On Monday, January 30, alpinist and internationally certified guide received an email from Eddie Bauer, her sponsor of nearly 15 years. She was expected to be on an important call with the company’s CEO, Tim Bantle, the following day.

This is how it ends, I’m sure, she thought.

On Tuesday, all 11 members of Eddie Bauer’s Guide Built athlete program gathered on the call. Those in attendance included climbers and alpinists like Adrian Ballinger, , Paige Classen, and Melissa Arnot Reid. Bantle, who was hired by the brand in September after serving as general manager of the North Face and the VF Corporation Canada, warned that this was going to be a difficult conversation for them.

Bantle explained that they were being laid off, effective immediately, and that the termination clauses in their contracts would be honored. In lieu of continuing to sponsor its team of professional athletes, Bantle said that the company would instead work with what it calls brand contributors, a varied group of adventurers, photographers, fishers, kayakers, and more, all with large social media followings.

George’s relationship with Eddie Bauer looked like many athlete sponsorships: the brand supplied her with a monthly stipend, free gear, and support for trips she was taking, while she helped with product testing and development, promoted the brand on her own channels, attended events on behalf of the brand, and planned and executed trips for herself and other athletes that would support the brand’s marketing. The nature of Eddie Bauer’s relationship with the new team is unclear. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű reached out to seven of its brand contributors but was not granted an interview, and the brand declined to comment beyond issuing the following statement:

“We have discontinued the Guide Built program and our formal guide-based product development relationships in order to reach a broader audience and wider distribution opportunity for First Ascent – our most technical outdoor product. First Ascent is evolving to a more comprehensive collection of technical, premium outdoor products for all mountain experiences, informed by over 100 years of product-development know-how.”

Just like that, all the professional climbers and alpinists that comprised the Guide Built team were left wondering what’s next. Perhaps they should have seen it coming—about half of the 20-plus person team had already been cut in October, including climber Katie Lambert, who had been an athlete for Eddie Bauer for the past decade, and the entire ski and snowboarding team, which involvedÌęwell-known athletes Drew Tabke and Lexi Dupont, among others.

“I’m trying not to be bitter about it,” said one longtime athlete who wished to remain anonymous. “But honestly, part of the process for me is about grieving, knowing that we’ve worked so hard for so long to build legitimacy into this brand.”

While the athletes that șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű spoke with were disheartened, they also expressed gratitude for what the brand enabled them to accomplish. “I can only have the deepest of gratitude for everything I’ve gotten to experience from Eddie Bauer,” says George. “During my time with them, I was able to fulfill lifelong dreams in the mountains and beyond. When I had a child, my journey into motherhood was fully supported. It was no doubt one of the one of the most impactful chapters of my life.”

Eddie Bauer built its brand in close collaboration with boundary-pushing athletes. Its namesake was a Seattle-based guide who opened a store in 1920 and went on to outfit many notable expeditions, like the third American expedition to the Karakoram in 1953 and the first ascent of Gasherbrum I in 1958. In 1963, Jim Whittaker wore an Eddie Bauer parka as he became the first American to summit Mount Everest. The brand was acquired by General Mills in the seventies and began producing casual lifestyle apparel and home goods, but in 2009 it returned to its roots with the launch of First Ascent, an “expedition-class” technical-apparel line born from direct collaboration with professional guides.

“The role of the guides in the development of this line is unprecedented,” said Peter Whittaker, a renowned guide and nephew of Jim Whittaker, in a in 2009. “We designed it. We built it. We live in it.” The First Ascent line went on to win 48 outdoor-industry awards.

As the brand become more invested in the idea of retaining professional mountain athletes for marketing and promotion, the use of the word “guides” with reference to its athlete team wasn’t totally accurate: several longtime members aren’t actually guides (Lambert and Dupont for example). “Half of the team was legit alpine mountain guides,” says Lambert. “It felt disingenuous to call the rest of us, professional rock climbers included, guides when we hadn’t gone through all of that training.”

The team identity got more muddled when, starting in 2019, according to Lambert and George, the company began to add community leaders to the roster. But the athletes welcomed the new members. A meeting with the group was held that year, in which management stated its intention to become more inclusive and diverse, “which I could not be more supportive of,” says George. Tabke, himself a certified ski guide and avalanche instructor, voiced similar support, even in the wake of his October layoff. “I was OK with it actually, because they’ve been building a really cool diverse group of sort of hybrid influencer-guide-athletes. If they want to cut a straight white male skier on their way to building a more equitable team, then I support it,” he says.

However, athletes noticed that the company was placing an increasingly heavy emphasis on social media clout. “They were bringing on professional influencers, the ones that curate lifestyles, and they were trying to integrate them with the athlete team,” says Lambert.

She recalled Eddie Bauer management looking for a female climbing athlete to add to the roster in 2019. “One of their stipulations was that they had to have over 20,000 followers,” she says. She kept recommending athletes that she felt had a lot of potential but whose followings hovered closer to 15,000, and the company didn’t bring them on. “They just couldn’t wrap their heads around it,” she says.

Toward the end of 2021, Lambert says, Eddie Bauer largely stopped funding expeditions and trips. George confirmed this. “We were all kind of sitting around, twiddling our thumbs like, Well, this is a sweet job, but what are we doing aside from product testing, if we’re not going on these trips? What’s going on?” says Lambert.

George was told in December 2022 that her contract was being renewed because her social media feed was so good. “What was standing out to them were my reels and growth on social media. None of what I actually do in the mountains seemed to matter as much as what I posted. It made me wonder what kind of world we were heading toward. Ethics and authenticity are extremely strong values in the mountains and I felt they were in conflict with what I was hearing.” (George is one of few internationally-certified female mountain guides, has 20 years of experience, and has climbed the six north faces in the Alps, including the Eiger’s in a day, and has put up new ice climbs in Norway, Canada, and Iceland.)

After the layoffs, on February 3, Eddie Bauer’s official Instagram page posted a picture with three smiling hikers. They’re bundled up, making their way down a muddied trail in the rain. “Come rain or come shine, always #LiveYourșÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű,” stated the caption.

Those who heard what had happened to the brand’s athletes began to infiltrate the comments section. “Influencers are not athletes,” follower after follower remarked. Eddie Bauer did not reply.

Brands play an important role in defining who gets to be a professional mountain athlete. “The way that climbing is set up, we don’t have teams other than the national teams—the people who compete in the world championships and the Olympics,” says Jonathan Retseck, the founder of RXR Sports, an agency that represents former Guide Built team member Adrian Ballinger and many other well-known climbers. “It’s not like there’s the L.A. Lakers of climbing. The brands provide that infrastructure for these guys to go on trips and to do all the inspirational stuff that we all love to read about and watch movies about.” Almost every brand that makes outdoor gear has a stable of athletes that they sponsor, with support ranging from free gear to a yearly stipend or salary and financial support for their athletic endeavors.

Most of these professional athletes also act as influencers, in the way they present themselves on social media, work with brands, and promote certain lifestyles and agendas. The key difference is that athletes do this while also pushing their sport’s boundaries. They’re record holders and first-ascent chasers, setting new standards and refining old ones.

The representatives Eddie Bauer has chosen to move forward with are inarguably valuable for the brand, especially in its effort to reach a broader audience. They have a large collective following on social media and are notably more diverse. Many of them are grassroots-level community leaders who facilitate equitable access to the outdoors. the first person to visit all 419 National Park Service sites in a single road trip, has 66,700 Instagram followers and is a well-known LGBTQ+ rights advocate. , an angler, wildlife biologist, outdoor educator, and stand-up comedian, has 18,200 Instagram followers and works closely with Brown Folks Fishing, a nonprofit supporting anglers of color. , a world-traveling fly-fisher, works with conservation groups and introduces kids in the foster-care system to the pastime with the Mayfly Project. She has 34,800 Instagram followers.

The athletes Eddie Bauer let go had significant followings, too, and gave back to the community in myriad ways. Lambert has 8,200 followers on Instagram, has made notable big-wall free ascents in the U.S., Canada, and Europe, and is the COO of Sacred Rok, a Yosemite nonprofit that helps underserved youth get outside. Paige Claassen, with 43,300 followers, is easily one of America’s best sport climbers and also founded the Southern Africa Education Fund in 2016 to build new classrooms in rural Africa. Ballinger summited both Mount Everest and K2 without supplemental oxygen, made the first ski descent of Manaslu, and has led over 150 expeditions as the founder of Alpenglow Expeditions. He has 118,000 followers on Instagram.

But followers do not necessarily equate to outdoor-adventure experience, nor even accurate portrayals of their outdoor expertise. The anonymous former Eddie Bauer athlete recounted an instance in which they guided an influencer who had built a large following based on their image as an athlete and climber—but didn’t know how to put on a harness. “Most of the time we spent in the mountains, they were running to set up their GoPro and get the angle right to make the terrain look steeper. And then, over the next year, I watched content come out that portrayed this person as a very extreme, skilled climber.” They expressed concern that the person they guided didn’t seem interested in actually learning new skills, because they had such a strong self-perception—bolstered by their online identity—that they were already an expert.

Climber Drew Hulsey stressed the importance of authenticity. The self-described “V1 gym crusher” (a reference to the bouldering rating scale, in which V1 denotes an easy climb)Ìęattends events, gives clinics, and uses his social feed to promote plus-size gear for several brands, including Black Diamond and La Sportiva. He’s never tried to inflate his abilities; instead, he’s genuine both in his love for the sport and in his belief that others can and should give it a try. “I don’t think this move is great for the industry.” says Hulsey. “If you just go all in on influencers, you’re not going to showcase the sport in the best way possible—you’re not having real pro-level athletes showing you what the sport means.”

The former Eddie Bauer athletes I spoke with agreed: they just wanted honest representation. “I think there should be a space for influencers who are authentic, who are doing real things,” says George. The athlete who wanted to remain anonymous echoed that. “If you’re selling what you’re actually experiencing, I’m so here for that,” they said.

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This article was first published by .

But doesn’t it feel like the climbing community has lost something?

While many people go to gyms for the workout or social hour, others climb for the internality that the sport provides. It’s a religious experience, one that awakens a metamorphosis of spirit and mind. We need a temple in which to practice, and while the rock always calls, gyms can and historically have provided a place of refuge as well.

There was an event, that took place February last year at Aman Anderson’s gym, Beast Fingers Climbing. Anderson, inventor of the , is one of the few Black gym owners in America. During the event, Anderson said: “I’ve been around, I’ve seen the climbing gyms. I started climbing when the mega-gym wasn’t close to today’s mega-gym. All the gyms were small, community-type environments. For me, coming into climbing at that time was better than if I had come into climbing the way it is now. The way it is now, you walk into a space and you feel like you’re walking into Disney World.”

After hearing that, I couldn’t shake it. There are currently nearly 600 gyms nationwide, many of them venture-backed chains. El Cap has an astonishing 21 locations across the U.S. The Bouldering Projects and Summit Climbing, Yoga, and Fitness each have seven locations; Momentum Indoor Climbing has six. Walk in to any of them. See a sea of shiny, luminous holds; the walls looming fifty feet high. Watch the climbers crank across the expanse, alternating between hangdogging, sending, taking rips, and doing laps. Across the mats and surrounding floor, there’s a rippling tide of gear, belayers, groups of onlookers, clusters of children, piles of backpacks and water bottles, the occasional Clif Bar wrapper. There’s a coach yelling, a small impromptu yoga class on the corner matts, and beyond that, rooms full of sweaty moms and dads and young people on treadmills and lifting weights. Others are out and about, putting on gear, getting ready to join in.

The above image should be good. For many, it is. And modern climbing gyms are objectively better than their predecessors—they’re bigger, with better constructed walls and more open designs. But the feel of them is what’s off. Why is it that you used to walk in and it felt like home? When did the feel become that of Disney World?

Growing up, my gym wasn’t flashy. The walls were just 30 feet tall and held too many angle changes to be conducive to decent setting; most of the holds were old and slippery and caked with chalk. It was family owned, and everyone who went there knew each other. It was there that I learned the culture of climbing. I learned ethics, how to train, and a deep passion was instilled within me.

I fear for the longevity of the soul of our sport—the overwhelming gnawing that made old-school climbers cut their own hangboards and craft homemade gear. The polished holds; the layers of dust and dirt; the dog sessions. The spaces where I actually felt at ease. Knowing that Anderson felt the same way, I reached out to him. I needed to know why he said what he said, and where he thought things went wrong.

Anderson talked about moving from D.C to Colorado. He spoke at length about Earth Treks Rockville, which was possibly America’s first “mega-gym.” It was the gym Anderson had joined while living in D.C. After moving west, he went to the Earth Treks Golden location. The Director of Earth Treks centers, Seth Murphey, had a hand in fostering the feel of all the affiliated gyms.

“Earth Treks Rockville had this welcoming feel,” says Anderson. “And Murphy had replicated the Earth Treks Rockville feel in Golden. So I said, ‘Seth what is it about you and building communities in these gyms? How do you do it?’ And you know, he was a believer. And he was like, ‘Man, I tried to just give it that church feel.’”

That church feel; the deacon at the door, the people saying “Welcome! Welcome!”; the handshakes and the communion. The singular, focused consciousness. I understood immediately what Seth had been trying to do.

Anderson continued: “The challenge is, maybe Earth Treks did a good job of replicating that feel across the country, but now it’s not Earth Treks anymore. It’s something else. And that whole churchy feel, that ‘Welcome to blah blah, blah and heart warm Southern Baptists feel,’ it’s just not out there anymore.”

Most gym employees don’t seem to have the same experience or enthusiasm, I offered by way of possible explanation. It’s hard to blame them: In an of climbing gym employee salaries, of the 263 responses, 62 percent stated they felt they were unfairly compensated. Many also said they worked multiple jobs, and that they’d experienced unsafe working conditions. We need our deacon back, but for that to happen, gym employees, from the front desk staffers to the coaches to the setters, all need better compensation.

“What else has changed?” I asked. “The music,” said Anderson.

I laughed. It’s funny how something so seemingly small can change a space. We talked about how whiney or boring some of the playlists at local gyms had gotten. Anderson remembered how Earth Treks Rockville used to allow gym members to queue up songs in a jukebox for 75 cents a pop. “A couple of buddies and I would team up and we’d just string together a series of like 20 songs. We probably spent like 14 bucks. But we’d have that gym poppin!”

When I went to school in Fort Collins in 2013, I did the hour-long commute to Denver to train for competitions—the gyms in Denver were comparatively much taller and had newer holds, which meant better training terrain. I’d go between classes during the week when it wouldn’t be busy. I remember walking in on a Tuesday morning and one of the gym employees asking me what playlist I wanted to listen to. “Missy Elliot,” I said. They put it on, and then they kept putting it on every time I came into the gym after that. It was a whole year of Missy Elliot.

Setting style is another thing that’s changed. Routes and boulders should be set to prioritize the experience of every user, from beginner to elite, and should necessitate a rich and diverse pool of climbing movements. Not only that, they should give us storied experiences, serving as a lens by which we experience small moments of tragedy and comedy, confusion, adversity, pain, failure, and, if we’re lucky, triumph. They should teach the climber something physically and mentally and contribute to a culture of learning and development.

These days, I mostly see routes and boulders that are meant for beginner to intermediate climbers. Plenty of advanced to elite-level climbers will climb out an entire set in a day and then be relegated to spray wall or system board. Why should they pay for a huge facility that doesn’t serve them? Additionally, the grades are intentionally soft, which makes progression feel more accessible. This, unfortunately, does little to incentivize real improvement, and it’s the desire to improve, to devote time and energy to climbing, that helps build lasting community around the sport.

“If you had to sum it up, what is it that’s really changed?” I asked Anderson.

Together, we agreed that it came down to this: We had once felt free to be ourselves in the gym, and that just wasn’t the case anymore.

Anderson recalled one particular session at Movement Baker with a strong friend, someone who regularly climbed double-digit boulders outside, and how a front desk employee approached the friend to tell him his grunts were too loud. He was “disturbing the peace.”

That right there—that was it. People need to be allowed to express themselves through climbing. Here’s the part where I tell you about how growing up, training for National and International competitions, I cried in the gym at least once a month. I cried because I cared. I wanted it. I was there to lay my soul upon the sacrificial altar, and that’s what I did. I wasn’t embarrassed for it. It’s hard to imagine being comfortable showing that kind of emotion in most of today’s modern gyms.

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Around noon on Sunday, December 4, authorities east of San Diego received a call that a climber had fallen around 200 feet while ascending the Left Wall on El Cajon Mountain. The climber, Nathaniel Masahi Takatsuno, 22, had, according to eye-witness accounts, been free soloing Leonids—a three-pitch 5.9 route—when he fell.

Authorities sent a paramedic by helicopter to Takatsuno on Sunday afternoon, but he was pronounced dead at the scene. His body could not be retrieved until Monday due to the conditions and the time of day.Ìę

Lt. Ruben Medina with San Diego County Sheriff’s Department told , “By the time we would have been able to get to where the climber was—it’s about 2,500 feet in elevation, and it’s about a two-hour hike to get to the climber—it made yesterday’s recovery impossible. It would have been nightfall as well as complicated getting back down.”

According to Michael Sandler, who was present at the crag, Takatsuno had said he’d intended to climb the nearby Meteor, a four-pitch 5.8. It’s unclear whether he changed his mind or had simply gotten onto the wrong route. El Cajon Mountain is San Diego’s premier crag. Reaching the 500-foot-tall cliff, as Medina suggested, involves a strenuous, uphill approach. The rock, according to locals, makes the effort worthwhile.Ìę

“I would describe it as world-class multi-pitch climbing in the 5.8 to 5.11 range,” says Randy Leavitt, a prolific first ascensionist. Leavitt helped develop many El Cajon routes in the early 2000s. “The rock is really high-quality, featured granite. [It] almost appears like sandstone, the way it forms nice edges and scoops and things like that.”Ìę

Leavitt had been climbing at El Cajon Mountain the day the accident occurred, saying that he was probably a half mile away on another section of the mountain. “The helicopters were flying all over the place, and we couldn’t understand why they were flying so close to the wall,” he said.Ìę

El Cajon Mountain is generally considered a safe climbing area. According to Leavitt, the biggest hazard climbers face is rockfall since the routes tend to be less than vertical. Most routes on the mountain are well protected. But being south-facing, the conditions can be tough. The best time of year to climb there is in the spring, when the sun is high and the cliff goes into the shade at one o’clock. This time of year, says Leavitt, the cliff stays sunny until about 4 p.m.

“Leonids is by far the most popular route,” says Leavitt. “Everyone wants to do it because everyone knows about it.” He stressed that in the sun, it can feel greasy. “It’s 5.9, but there’s parts where friction matters, and there’s not a lot of positive holds.”

The cause of the fall is still unknown, as is Takatsuno’s familiarity with the climb, but he was on the route in the sun, which Leavitt thinks may have factored in. Also, if he got off-route, according to Leavitt, the rock may have crumbled.Ìę

Leonids is not commonly soloed because most people rappel off. Some eyewitnesses commented on the Southern California Climbers page, saying that Takatsuno carried a pack with a rope to rappel.ÌęÌę

The climber partner of the deceased, Dachel Fohne, told , “I just didn’t want to believe it, and I still don’t want to believe it.”Ìę

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