Climber Alex Honnold is known for his incredible athletic feats. He free-soloed Yosemite’s El Cap in 2017, made first ascents in places like Greenland and Antarctica, and is currently working on a new project to free-climb the Nose.

After he finishes embarking on these challenging climbs, Honnold often needs a quick, satisfying meal to replenish his energy levels and repair muscles to maintain his recovery. So, he created a carb- and nutrient-rich pasta recipe that he relies on.

How Alex Honnold Refuels

I chatted with Honnold right before a climbing sessionĢżand learned that he prefers to dig into ā€œpasta and veggiesā€ as his post-workout carb of choice.

The dad of two let me know that he jumps right into parenting mode when he gets back home after a climbing trip, so he relies on this ā€œpretty scrappyā€ recipe because itā€™s a quick, one-pot meal. Plus, he notes, ā€œAny kind of warm food after a hard day of effort is always nice.ā€

He likes to keep meals simple. ā€œIā€™m pretty un-stressed; neither I nor my wife are real chefs; weā€™re just survivingā€”I personally think of food as just throwing fuel on the fire, he says. So, really, whatever is hanging out in the fridge will typically make it into Honnoldā€™s carb-rich recovery meal.

I asked him to name his all-star lineup when it comes to the ingredients he would choose when cooking this recipe, and he recommended farfalle, bell pepper, spinach, onion, zucchini, and a garnish of sliced avocado (one of his go-to fats).

Honnoldā€™s recovery meal mimics primavera pasta, a classic Italian recipe that involves cooking vegetables in butter and olive oil until they reach a tender texture with a slight crunch. This creates a delicious sauce to coat your noodles.

While Honnold has no cultural ties to this dish or childhood memories of digging into this comfort food, it honors the vegetarian lifestyle he has embraced while maintaining his stance that cooking should be stress-free. ā€œAll of my eating has a preference around how quickly I can get it done,ā€ he says.

As a food writer living in Vermont, I embark on a slightly steep hiking trail at least once a week. While my adventures are nowhere near as awe-inspiring as Honnoldā€™s, I decided to recreate his veggie pasta to see if it would refuel and replenish my aching muscles post-trek. I also spoke with a registered dietitian to understand how this vegetarian meal may or may not support folks in their recovery goals after intense workouts.

How to Make Alex Honnoldā€™s Avocado Primavera Pasta

From start to finish, this recipe took me about 25 minutes to complete and yielded about two servings. Here’s what you’ll need.

Ingredients

• 4 ounces farfalle pasta
• Ā½ cup yellow onion, roughly chopped
• 1 bell pepper, sliced into matchsticks
• Ā½ cup zucchini, diced
• 1 cup spinach
• 1 ripe avocado, sliced
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• Salt and black pepper, to taste

Recipe

1. Bring a medium pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the farfalle pasta according to the package directions, and reserve Ā½ cup of pasta water before draining.
2. Dump out the remaining pasta water, and heat olive oil in the same pot over medium-high heat.
3. Add the yellow onion, zucchini, and bell pepper. SautƩ for three to five minutes or until the onions turn translucent.
4. Add the spinach and continue to sautƩ until the spinach begins to wilt.
5. Pour the reserved Ā½ cup of pasta water into the pot and sautĆ© the veggies for another minute or two. The mixture should start to resemble a brothy-looking sauce.
6. Immediately add the farfalle into the pot with the vegetables.
7. Transfer the pasta to a plate and garnish with sliced avocado.
8. Season with salt and black pepper to your liking.

The writer recreates Honnold’s Avocado Primavera Pasta in her kitchen. (Video: Ashia Aubourg)Ģż

The Verdict: This One-Pot Meal Is Delicious and Satiating

Honnold may have a lax approach when it comes to cooking, but he is really onto something when it comes to this recipe.ĢżBetween chopping up the vegetables, cooking the farfalle, and sautĆ©ing up all of the ingredients, in under 30 minutes, I prepared a version of a one-pot primavera with ease.

Each bite offers a delicious component: the zucchini is juicy, the peppers are sweet, the spinach is earthy, the onions are savory, and the avocado provides an irresistible creaminess. Itā€™s tasty and comforting.

How to Get the Most Out of This Meal, According to a Nutritionist

Eat this dish within an hour after working out to replenish the carbs burned while exercising, says , a registered dietitian based in Brooklyn, New York.

ā€œPasta is a wonderful source of carbohydrates,ā€ she says. Restoring carbs after intense physical activity is necessary to , a source of energy that helps fuel your muscles so that you can be energizedĢżenough for your next workout.

Add Beans for a Protein Boost

To improve the nutrient makeup of this dish, Feller recommends increasing the protein content. She suggests adding beans ā€‹ā€‹to ensure there are enough nutrients to support recovery ahead of another adventure.

People should, on average, try to eat about of protein per meal. I did the math: Honnoldā€™s avocado primavera recipe currently has about tenĢżgrams of protein. Adding half a cup of beans can bump the protein up to around 17 grams.

After an active hike, I made Honnoldā€™s avocado primavera pasta again. I followed the same recipe but took Fellerā€™s advice and added a half cup of cannellini beans into the pot while sautĆ©ing all of my vegetables. Tossing cherry tomatoes on top added a burst of sweetness. I finished my pasta with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes and a hearty grating of Parmesan cheese to give it a spicy and savory finish. These simple additions contributed to an even more complex flavor.

This meal will come in clutch once I start attempting more challenging hikes. In the meantime, thoughts of this dish will be living rent-free in my head until I can make this recipe for a third time.

Want more ofĢżŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶųā€™s Health stories?Ģż.

The post Alex Honnoldā€™s Favorite Recovery Meal Is a Twist on a Classic Primavera Pasta Recipe appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Alex Honnold’s latest climbing project has taken him back to Yosemite National Park.

Honnold, star of the Oscar-winning 2018 climbing film Free Solo has spent the last few weeks attempting to free climb El Capitan’s famed route The Nose, the 2,900-foot vertical climb that is among the most famous routes in American rockĢżclimbing.

You might be wondering:ĢżHasn’t Alex Honnold already climbed The Nose? He has, maybe 50 times by his estimation. Honnold actually set the speed record on the route with Tommy Caldwell (1 hour, 58 minutes, 7 seconds) in 2018. But Honnold has never free climbed the routeā€”a style that allows climbers to use ropes and climbing gear for protection but not to aid the ascent.

Since Lynn Hill first freed the Nose in 1993, about 15 other climbers have ascended it in this style, including Caldwell. Honnold has been working on the endeavor for one month now, climbing with a variety of different partners. He caused a big reaction on Instagram on November 29 when he posted photos of his attempt to free climb the Nose with the actor Jared Leto.

ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų caught up with Honnold in Yosemite while he was hunkered down in his van with his family, waiting out a storm. He opened up about his latest project, why he roped up with a Hollywood heartthrob, and why the Nose remains the greatest big-wall climb in the world.

OUTSIDE: What was the catalyst for you to attempt to free the Nose? Itā€™s been done more than a dozen times before so itā€™s obviously not a world first. Is this personal?
Honnold: It gets done and it’s certainly doable, but it’s still a very significant thing in climbing. The Nose means a lot to me personally. Itā€™s been there throughout my entire climbing life. It was my first El Cap route; I aid climbed it in 2005 or 2006. I started working on the speed record with Hans Florine in 2012, and then working on the speed record again with Tommy Ģżyears later. The Nose is part of big linkups Iā€™ve done like the Triple Crown.

Itā€™s been this yardstick against which I can measure my own progress as a climber, starting from just the aspiration of climbing the Nose, and then trying to climb it faster, and then trying to climb it free. Thereā€™s always something hard you can do on the Nose.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

It’s also sort of unfinished business. I made some preliminary attempts to free it the same season that Tommy and I were working on the speed record. I thought it would make sense to try to work on a free climb at the same time. But it turns out they’re mutually exclusive goals because the style of climbing is so different [speed climbing the Nose involves aid climbing, among other tactics]. It’s too hard to train for both at the same time. So I focused on the speed record. This season, Iā€™m re-focusing on free climbing it.

Youā€™ve been posting photos to Instagram of some of the people youā€™ve crossed paths with on the Nose while attempting to free climb it. Thereā€™s a lot of them. How do you manage that?
It was particularly crowded this fall season. I think there are more climbers now and the level of climbers is rising over time. People are just more able to do things like that. Which I think is great.

Thereā€™s definitely been some complaining about overcrowding on walls in Yosemite. It’s hard for me to say because I always have positive interactions with everybody on the wall. Climbers I encounter say, ā€˜Oh my God, can I take a selfie?ā€™ And they’re all really nice. It’s allĢżreally chill and fun. But I don’t know if that’s the experience that everybody has.

I think the key is clear communication, for passing parties, rappelling through parties, whatever. Just being like, ā€˜Hey, how are you guys doing? What are you planning to do? Hereā€™s what weā€™re doing. How is that going to impact you? How can we work together to make sure that nobody is held up by the things that we’re each trying to do?ā€™

In my experience on the Nose, everybody is up there having the big adventure of their life. And generally everybody wants to have a good time up there.

How do you prepare to free climb the Nose?
The main way Iā€™ve been practicing is by rappelling it, and I did that mostly with Brette Harrington. She was also working on free climbing the Nose. Brette and I rappelled it together maybe like a half-dozen times. You rappel the whole wall, stopping to work on the key pitches as you go down.

There are two hard pitches: Changing Corners and the Great Roof. I mean, there are a lot of other pitches that are challenging in their own ways, but those two pitches are so much harder than the rest that they’re kind of the only two that matter.

Iā€™m doing a variation on the Changing Corners which has never actually been done, which has a long and storied history of various people checking it out, but never quite committing to it. I did it on top rope years ago, so I know that it goes, but nobody’s quite done it that way yet.

Tommy gave me a lot of grief for it. Changing Corners is super historic, because that’s the way Lynn Hill did it. And there are iconic photos of her on it. There are iconic photos of Tommy Caldwell and Beth Rodden, when they did the second and third ascents. Everyone’s grown up seeing these cool images of the Changing Corners. So Tommy was like, What are you doing going around it? You’re ruining a classic! Youā€™re destroying the Nose!

But then he belayed me on it [last week], and after watching me on it, he was like, Okay, you’re not destroying a classic. Because basically [the variation] is still very high quality, it’s still quite hard, and it looks pretty. Itā€™s also really sharp granite thatā€™s so far split open every one of my fingertips.

Has your perspective on the Nose changed at all since youā€™ve started trying to free climb it? Has it taught you anything new in these past four weeks?
Itā€™s more that my perspective on it hasn’t changed, and that it hasnā€™t changed all that much in the not quite 20 years since I first climbed it. The thing with El Cap is that despite all the things that I’ve done on it over the years, you still look at the wall and you still think, Man, that is impossibly big and looks so hard. Itā€™s just still so inspiring.

El Cap is still the most magnificent wall on Earth , and the Nose is still the most striking line up it, and when it really comes down to it, is still quite hard to climb. It always commands respect.

Okay so then how does Jared Leto fit into all this?
Heā€™s always wanted to climb El Cap, and we were both in the Valley and it just kind of worked out. Heā€™s been wanting to climb it in a day, but hasnā€™t had the time to get that kind of fitness. I was planning on going up wall-style [spending multiple days and nights camping on the wall] to try to free the Nose. I texted him, half-joking, Why don’t you join us? We can camp together. He texted back, ā€˜Wait, like actually, can I come?ā€™

 

View this post on Instagram

 

We’ve been climbing together for almost ten years, just very sporadically. It started when he first got into rock climbing, which I think was 2015, and decided to make a little film project about it. He hired Renan Ozturk to film him going rock climbing around the West. One day Renanā€”heā€™s a friendā€”texted me, ā€˜Hey, would you go solo Matthes Crest with Jared?ā€™ I was in Yosemite climbing anyway and was like, ā€˜Cool, an active rest day.ā€™

At the time, Jared was training to be the Joker in a movie and was super fit for it. He was really muscular. And he had green hair. We had a great day climbing. Since then, we’ve climbed in the same places a few times. I took him up one of the Flatirons in Boulder once, because he was in Denver for a concert, things like that.

He was great on the Nose. It was awesome. He top-roped like ten of the 31 pitches and jugged the rest. It was pretty impressive. Nick Ehman, who was the third person climbing with us, commented, ā€˜Jared doesn’t get scared.ā€™ Thereā€™s all these weird things on the Nose, like lower outs and swings, and one part where he was basically dangling on a rope in mid-air at the very top of El Cap. It just does not bother him at all.

Want more ofĢż°æ³Ü³Ł²õ¾±»å±šā€™sĢżnews stories?Ģż

The post Alex Honnold Has ā€œUnfinished Businessā€ on this Iconic Yosemite Climb appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

In the summer of 2023, climbers Tommy Caldwell and Alex Honnold tackled an adventure of monumental size: they biked, hiked, and sailed 2,600 miles from Colorado to Alaska, and then ascended a massive granite monolith deep in Tongass National Forest called the Devil’s Thumb. The duo made history: they became the first climbers to ascend the 9,000-foot formation’s five jagged peaksā€”a challenge known as the Diablo Traverseā€”in a single day.

The adventure is the focal point ofĢżNational Geographic’sĢżlatest feature-length documentary, titledĢżThe Devil’s Climb,Ģżwhich debuted in October. Caldwell, who conceived of the adventure, spoke with ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų about some of the most pivotal moments that were left out of the film.

ā€œWe spent four days doing like a quarter mile an hour bushwhacking through the Alaskan wilderness,ā€ Caldwell said. ā€œIt was the hardest part of the whole trip, all the way from Colorado, but none of itā€™s in the film.ā€

Most climbers attempting to scale the Devil’s Thumb get there via helicopter. But for the film, Caldwell and Honnold spent 38 days biking 2,320 miles from his home in Estes Park, Colorado, to the tiny town of Prince Rupert, British Columbia, where the roadway ends. Then, the duo sailed for ten days up the Alaskan Panhandle, before trekking 20 more miles to reach the peak.

The hike to the peak should have been relatively straightforward, following a historical route up a glacier. But the glacier had melted into a lake of slush and icebergs when the duo reached it. So instead, Caldwell, Honnold, and the eight-person National Geographic film crew had to chart a new route in the adjacent valleyā€”an old-growth temperate rainforest.

Caldwell recalls being ā€œsoaked to the boneā€ by the dense, wet understory, fighting his way through ten-foot tall Devilā€™s Club, a shrub covered top-to-bottom in noxious thorns, for ā€œhours and hours.ā€ One of the crew developed trench foot. Another almost fell to their death while the group was hiking after dark along a steep, forested hillside above Class V rapids.

ā€œThey lost their footing and just disappeared through the forest below us,ā€ Caldwell said. ā€œWe thought they fell into the rapids. Luckily, they stuck it right at the lip of the cliff.ā€

Caldwell and Honnoldā€™s longest, most sustained effort of the entire journey occurred during that trek. They put in 15-20 hour hiking days because it was impossible to move quickly through the vegetation. ā€œThe bush is so thick,ā€ Caldwell says, ā€œthere were periods were we didnā€™t even touch the ground, where were just kind of like hovering.ā€

He hit rock bottom, mentally, during the trek, and credits the filming crew with renewing his focus. ā€œWeā€™re bushwhacking in the rainforest, completely wet, kind of lost, just miserable, and suddenly one of the guys who loves to sing starts beatboxing,ā€ Caldwell said. ā€œThe whole crew joins in and starts rapping, making up this song.ā€

The spontaneous injection of levity was exactly what Caldwell needed. ā€œThe film was very focused on Alex and I,ā€ he said, ā€œbut there were so many other people who were a big part of it for me.ā€

One of those people is Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard. Caldwell and Honnold spent a couple days at Chounairdā€™s house during the early portion of their expedition, while biking through Jackson, Wyoming. Caldwell originally dreamed up of the Devilā€™s Thumb climb as a way to shine a spotlight on the Tongass National Forest. Specifically the need to protect it from logging and other developmentā€”a cause also championed by Chouinard, who Caldwell said is ā€œessentially my bossā€ these days.

Besides being a professional climber, Caldwell also works for Patagonia as a Global Sports Activist. ā€œA big part of my job is trying to figure out places that have a conservation need and a climbing component,ā€ he said.

Chouinard was part of the reason Caldwell decided to expand the Diablo Traverse into an epic adventure, to do it human-powered, and to do with his best friend Honnold. Caldwell had recently read A Wild Idea, a biography by author Jonathan Franklin about the late businessman and conservationist Doug Tompkins, and was inspired by the conservation work (and expeditions) Tompkins and Chouinard had done together in Patagonia.

Caldwell calls his and Honnoldā€™s time with Chouinard the ā€œmost endearingā€ part of their journey. Biking to Chouinardā€™s home, Caldwell quickly realized how many of the original houses in Jackson had been scraped to build mansions. Not Chouinardā€™s. It is the same as it was 50 years ago when it was purchased. Pedaling up the driveway, Caldwell noticed a beater Subaru, ā€œthe shittiest car Iā€™ve ever seen in my life,ā€ with a bumper sticker proclaiming “Every billionaire is a policy failure.”

Chouinard stepped out of the modest home to greet Caldwell and Honnold. ā€œHeā€™s wearing this stained white t-shirt and these jeans that he probably got when he’s a teenager that he’s cobbled back together with hand-stitched patches,ā€ Caldwell said. ā€œAnd we were like, Oh my god, he really lives it.ā€

Caldwell had hoped that the conservation angle would have been a larger part of the documentary film. Particularly the time he and Honnold spent with an Indigenous leader and activist named Marina Anderson on Prince of Wales Island, while they were sailing in the Tongass National Forest archipelago. Caldwell first met Anderson at a climate conference in Miami, and was excited to learn about her home regionā€™s ecology and biodiversity.

While the cameras were rolling, Anderson taught the climbers about the importance of temperate rainforests (Tongass National Forest is the worldā€™s largest at nearly 17 million acres) and took them salmon fishing. Those scenes were ultimately cut. ā€œIt was a little bit of a hard pill to swallow, honestly,ā€ Caldwell said. ā€œWe were ultimately making this story to save the forest.ā€

Want more of ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶųā€™s in-depth coverage of adventure stories like this one? .

The post Tommy Caldwell Takes Us Behind the Scenes of ā€˜The Devilā€™s Climbā€™ appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

A on the hiking route up Half Dome in Yosemite National Park was horrifying and tragic. On July 13, 2024, Grace Rohloff, an Arizona State university student, was descending the popular passageā€”which is traversed by metal cables for protectionā€”when she lost her footing and slid just beyond her fatherā€™s reach.

Jonathan Rohloff watched his daughter tumble 200 feet to her death. The two were expert hikers. The incident happened during a sudden rainstorm, which made the granite path slippery.

Grace is the seventh hiker since 2006 to have died slipping off the Half Dome cables in wet conditions. Others have had close calls. The last incident was in 2023, when three people slipped in three separate incidents, but fell onto rock ledges and survived.

The regularity and similarity of these accidents has some people, including Graceā€™s father, wondering if the Half Dome cables should be modified, or even shut down. ā€œItā€™s not going to bring my daughter back, but I would like to strongly advocate for a safer way to get to the top of Half Dome,” he told SFGate.com

I regularly recreate in the mountains with my 23-year-old stepdaughter, and I canā€™t help but ask myself a similar question. Are the Half Dome cables worth it?

Climber Alex Honnold, of Free Solo fame, thinks so. ā€œPeople have totally transformative experiences hiking Half Dome,ā€ he says. ā€œThey propose up there, they spread ashes up there.” Honnold told me he believes the cables should remain open.

The Half Dome cables protect the last 400 feet of an eight-mile hiking route to the top of the iconic batholith. The cables section is a Class III scramble with high-consequence exposure. Itā€™s about as steep as a typical staircaseā€”45 degreesā€”but without steps, just smooth granite beneath your feet.

The Sierra Club installed the cables in 1920. The steel system has since been rebuilt and reinforced, but the original idea is the same: a series of poles with cables strung between that serve as handrails. There is also a wooden plank across the path at each pole, approximately ten feet apart, to help brace against slides.

Hikers walk single-file between the cables. To prevent overcrowding, the National Park Service limits access to 225 people per day, using a permit system. Thousands of people summit Half Dome in this manner every season.

Rock climbers also use the cables. The method is considered the easiest, safest way to descend after climbing one of Half Domeā€™s technical faces. Honnold says he prefers to walk on the outside of the cables, grabbing onto just one. ā€œYou can pass people more easily,ā€ he explains. ā€œAnd the rock is actually a lot more textured on the outside because fewer people have walked on it.ā€

I doubt that Yosemite rangers would recommend this approach. I reached out to the NPS for comment, and they declined. The organization has published extensive information online about how to safely hike Half Dome, including tips for limiting your risk on the cables and elsewhere. The park service responds to about 100 injuries a year on the route, across all sections.

on the Half Dome Day Hike webpage, park ranger Vickie Mates says, ā€œMost deaths and injuries on Half Dome have happened when the rock is wet.ā€ She advises to check the weather before starting the hike. ā€œIn the summer, mornings can be deceptively clear and warm, but in the afternoon, cold rain and lightning can quickly move in,ā€ says Mates.

Honnold says the general consensus in Yosemite is that the park service does a good job helping people understand the risks. ā€œJust to pick up your permit, you have to go through a safety briefing,ā€ he says. ā€œThere are signs starting at the trailhead saying things like this is dangerous and you could die, and even a ranger present at the subdome [the section just before the cables] checking permits.ā€

The Park Service also closes down access to the cables during the shoulder seasons, when rain and snow are more regular.

And yet, experienced hikers like Grace Rohloff still end up on the cables in the rain, and pay the ultimate price for it. Which, according to Honnold, isnā€™t because the cables are dangerous, itā€™s because recreating in the mountains is inherently risky. ā€œYou can never make the mountains completely safe,ā€ he says.

Climber Hans Florine, who has owned a home in Yosemite National Park for more than 35 years, echoes Honnoldā€™s sentiment. Florine adds that one element of visiting the park that people miscalculate is the frequency of summer afternoon rainstorms. Even with his years of experience, heā€™s still been unexpectedly caught in the rain, including on Half Dome.

ā€œThe sky looks clear and blue in the morning so you think youā€™re safe,ā€ Florine says. ā€œBut you canā€™t actually see the entire sky because Half Dome is blocking up to half of your view. You get to the top and suddenly, thereā€™s a dark, nasty thunderhead that crept up from the other side.ā€

Florine says the conversation shouldnā€™t be about whether or not the cables are safe, it should be more pragmatic: how to survive on the cables when caught in the rain. Florine also mentioned the popular via ferrata as an optionā€”the European system for protecting mountaintops with high exposure so that hikers can more safely summit.

It wouldn’t be all that different from the existing system, with the added ability for people to connect themselves to the cable using a specialized carabiner. “But people will still have to decide to clip in,” Florine says. “And it won’t protect them from lightning.”

The post Should Yosemite Close the Half Dome Cables? We Asked Alex Honnold. appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Alex Honnold is back changing diapers, waking up at odd hours of the night, and climbing cliffs near his home in Las Vegas, Nevada. The Free Solo star and his wife, Sanni McCandless, welcomed their second child, Alice, in late February. Since then, Honnold has been on permanent daddy dutyā€”with the occasional break to .

ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų spoke to Honnold just days before Alice arrived about his newest climbing documentary, Arctic Ascent, which aired on National Geographic in the spring. We also asked HonnoldĢżwhich kinds of projects in the mountains inspire him (and which do not).

OUTSIDE: ForĢżArctic Ascent you chose to climb a little-known big wall in remote Greenland called Ingmikortilaq. Why not target El Capitan or Cerro Torre or another more well-known mountain?
Going to Ingmikortilaq is where my personal passion lies right now. At the moment doing a big film project on those other walls doesn’t appeal to me. If I want to do a pure climbing challenge I’ll just do it for myself and I don’t need to make a film out of it. With Greenland we had the opportunity to tell a story that I thought was important for people to see on television. To show the beauty of eastern Greenland, to take a glaciologist to research climate change. I’m excited about a show like this because it seems worthwhile in a way that a pure climbing project isn’t. I still love climbing projects but I don’t need to make them public. No climbing project I do is ever going to top Free SoloĢżin terms of the scope or scale or breadth of the reach. I’m never going to top it because noĢżclimbing film is ever going to the Academy Awards again, I suspect. So I may as well focus on projects that are worthwhile.

You don’t see a climbing film making it to the Oscars anytime soon. Why not? What are the components needed for climbing films to continue to evolve?
I think climbing films are improving a ton. I grew up in the world ofĢżRampage and the originalĢżMasters of Stones and all of these old films that nowadays feel horrendously dated and of low quality. So climbing filmmaking has come along tremendously. But the Academy Awards is so competitive and you’re competing against the best documentaries in the world. It’s rare in a climbing film for there to be the right combination of storytelling and climbing, and the right level of cinematography. It’s so hard to get the right pieces to come together. Part of the success of Free Solo was the sheer luck that free soloing is so easily understood by the mainstream. It’s what people think rock climbing is. It’s easy to see visually. It’s gripping. It’s arresting. So even if someone is doing something harder but they are roped up, it doesn’t capture mainstream viewers the same way because it’s harder to understand. In some ways I’m so lucky that free soloing is so arresting.

Thereā€™s a limited number big walls to climbā€”faces large enough to take most climbers multiple days to ascendā€”and many of them are in these far-flung places that require you to travel to the ends of the Earth. Do you have motivation to tackle more routes like these after climbing Ingmikortilaq?
There are a few but maybe fewer than you’d think. The Trango Towers in Pakistan, that whole massif, I’d love to climb those in my lifetime because they are such quintessential granite spires, so I feel like I have to. It’s the same with Cerro Torreā€”I just felt that, as a climber, I should climb that at some point in my life. There are others, like Thor Peak and Mount Asgard, and some of the other walls on Baffin Island that seem like they might be cool to climb. But it’s also a lot of work to go to the middle of nowhere just to reach them. And now, with a family, I’m not sure it means enough to me, personally, to go. And that’s why this project in Greenland was different. Climbing a wall in a remote part of the world makes me excited, but it means a lot more if there’s something else to the projectā€”like climate changeā€”so if I’m going to going to spend that much time away from my family, I want it to matter.

Do you have any motivation to do more high-altitude alpine mountaineering?
A tiny bit. I’ve always kind of wondered what it would be like, and actually last winter I did an expedition to to Mount Vinson in Antarctica, and Aconcagua in Argentina, to just dabble in high-altitude mountaineering. And my takeaway was that I hate high-altitude mountaineering! It’s not for me. But this was actually was kind of great, because rather than looking at my experience as a bad expedition, I see it as having been a great way to learn something important about myself. This is not for you, and that you can just focus on the thing you love, which is rock climbing. I’ve always kind of wondered: should I be climbing bigger mountains? Should I be doing these other things? And this trip gave me a resounding answer: no, you should not be climbing these peaks. To be honest, I just didn’t love high-altitude mountaineering. I didn’t like the slowness and the hiking. And I get migraines sometimes in normal life, and I was getting horrendous headaches triggered by altitude in a way that seemed ridiculous. Fitness-wise I was fine, but I was getting so sick at altitudes that shouldn’t have been that serious. My body wasn’t acclimatizing. I’m sure I could troubleshoot it and get better, but I just didn’t love it.

So itā€™s safe to say that we’re not going to see you on Mount Everest anytime soon.
I wouldn’t say that. I would maybe go climb a peak like that if it was a sponsored expedition and I had the chance. Given the opportunity, I’m sure it would be a cool life experience. But I’m never going to be doing anything great on that mountain.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ģż

The post Will Alex Honnold Ever Tackle Mount Everest? We Asked Him. appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Ingmikortilaq.

Say it with me: Ing-muh-cor-tuh-lack.ĢżNo, it’s not an itchy skin disorder or the latest Industrial rock band from Germany. Spraying Ingmikortliaq on your bathtub won’t kill the mildew. What the hell is Ingmikortilaq? If you answered “a sheer 3,750-foot rock face above an icy fjord in a remote part of Greenland,” well, congratulations, you are correct.

Ingmikortilaq is the central focus of Alex Honnold’s latest adventure series, called Arctic Ascent with Alex Honnold, which airs on this coming Monday, February 5. The three-part climbing documentary chronicles Honnold’s 2022 expedition to become the first person to scale the the massive wall, which is approximately 1,000 feet taller than Yosemite’s famed El Capitan.

To reach the monolithic cliff, Honnold and his expedition teammates must first cross a section of Greenland’s ice cap, ascend a shorter but equally terrifying peak, and then boat up a fjord while dodging massive bergs. Along the way they help a glaciologist namedĢżHeidi Svestre conduct on-the-ice climate research to investigate how rising temperatures are ravaging the country’s imperiled rivers of ice.

I watched an advanced screeners for Arctic Ascentā€™sĢżthree 45-minute episodes over the course of several early mornings and found it to be a compelling, if occasionally sleepy, watch. Yes, there are stunning drone shots of Honnold and British climber Hazel Findley clinging to Ingmikortliaq’s massive face. In the first episode, high-definition cameras show Honnold rappelling into a blueish-green glacial moulinā€”a drainage hole that funnels water through the iceā€”to collect scientific samples for climate research. And the narration from Svestre helps explain the geologic dynamics at play in Greenland’s ice caps, and why they matter to the rest of the world.

But the actual storyline thatĢżArctic Ascent follows is well-trodden territory in today’s world of adventure filmmaking. The adventurers go from point A to point B, accomplish an impressive feat of strength, and raise awareness about an environmental issue along the way.

I found the series to be a very close cousin of the 2022 HBO miniseries Edge of Earth. Both projects check the same boxes: famous athletes taking on impossibly difficult challenges; extreme environments threatened by climate change; interpersonal tension arising from weeks-long expeditions to the far corners of the planet. Lather, rinse, repeat. It feels like these attributes have become necessary ingredients for outdoor documentariesĢżin the 2020s.

But if that model attracts a mainstream audiences to films about rock climbing or kayaking, then who am I to criticize? After all, Arctic Ascent compelled me to fixate onā€”albeit brieflyā€”a hunk of rock in Greenland whose name I can barely pronounce (ahem, it’s Ing-muh-cor-tuh-lack). Convincing mainstream viewers to care about Ingmikortilaq and Greenlandā€™s melting glaciers may be more impressive than actually scaling the cliff.

It’s a relatable challenge. While watching the series I often contemplated a singular hurdle facing journalists and filmmakers in outdoor media, myself included: trying to get casual audiences to care about a mountain or trail or place that they’ve never heard of.

Name recognition is still crucial in adventure storytelling. It’s why hundreds of climbers will flock to Mount Everest this May, and why stories of their foibles will generate far more media tonnage than that of the few world-class alpinists who ascend much tougher routes on little-known peaks like or . It’s why Swiss climbers Ueli Steck Ģżand Dani Arnold Eiger, Jungfrau, and Matterhorn. It’s why climbers now seem to be lining up by the dozen to ascend the 14 peaks that stand above 8,000 meters in the shortest amount of time. John and Jane Q. Public now recognize these mountains as worthy of our collective attentionā€”something that is inextricably tied to past books, films, and magazine stories. Will Arctic Ascent raise Ingmikortilaq’s international profile to this level? We will have to wait and see.

During a call in January, I asked Honnold why he pursued a film project centered on an obscure hunk of rock, versus one focused on Half Dome or Cerro Torre or another mountain with a famous name. After all, the film that transformed him into an icon of outdoor media, Free Solo,is set in one of outdoor storytelling’s most famous settings: El Capitan.

Honnold told me that, in the case of Ingmikortilaq, the star-versus-setting equation is reversed.

“You’re taking something brand-nameā€”which is meā€”and sending me climbing in the place that isn’t well-known,” he said. “Eastern Greenland is very remote and the climbing objective and science component of the trip is fresh and different. But you’re still using a mainstream thing, which is me, to sell the idea.”

Arctic Ascent sold me on the impossible challenge posed by Ingmikortilaq. The footage of Honnold and Findley climbing the massive cliff in the third episode is the standout scene of the series. The rock is brittle and chossy, having been ground into chalk by millions of years of glacial grinding. The route looks unclimbable. A fall in such a remote location would mean serious injury or death.

For now, anyway, I will associate Ingmikortilaq with the film, with Honnold, and with the very limits of big-wall climbing. Whether or not I remember the cliff’s name a week from nowā€”alas, that’s something I cannot guarantee.

The post Can Alex Honnold Convince Americans to Care About Greenland? appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

ā€œIā€™ve never been much of a runner,ā€ says Alex Honnold, 37 from Las Vegas, Nevada. But maybe that perspective comes from his frame of reference as a climber, where he is one of the most legendary athletes of all time. While heā€™s not doing the running equivalent of big wall climbs without ropes, the ā€œnot runnerā€ has completed two marathons and two 50Kā€™s.Ģż

In November, Honnold ran the Red Rock Canyon 50K, placing as the fifth man in 5:23 The ultra was practically in Honnoldā€™s backyard, and ended at a friendā€™s house, making it logistically easy to prepare for, especially with a new baby at home.

ā€œRunning is so easy,ā€ says Honnold.Ģż ā€œBecause you cover the distance so quickly, and relatively casually.ā€Ģż

Sure, running is easy. When compared with free-solo-ing one of North Americaā€™s premier monoliths, shuffling along some single-track with a vest full of snacks does seem pretty unchallenging in comparison. Personally, my heart rate got higher watching Free Solo than it ever has in an ultra.

In October, Honnold completed (Honnold Ultimate Red Rock Traverse), a DIY absurdity that combines 35 miles, 23 summits, 14 classic climbs, and more than 24,000 feet of gain in just over 32 hours near his home in Vegas. For Honnold, running is much more about efficiency in covering terrain than cross-training for climbing.Ģż

 

View this post on Instagram

 

ā€œItā€™s just not that useful for climbing because it makes you so tired,ā€ says Honnold. ā€œMy climbing is crap after Iā€™ve been running.ā€

I feel better knowing that running also makes Honnold extremely tired. Heroes: theyā€™re just like us!

The Dad Challenge

Honnoldā€™s friend and occasional climbing partner Conrad Anker told Honnold that when he had kids, he made it his personal mission to run an ultramarathon and climb El Capitan (the 3,000-foot big wall in Yosemite National Park) once a year. For Honnold, this watermark is an indicator of basic fitnessā€”combining a goal that many climbers train for for years to obtain with a run distance that ever reaches.Ģż

While training for his traverse, he found himself approaching climbs with less gear, more quicklyā€”in a fashion that many would call trail running. Honnold isnā€™t too concerned with what itā€™s called and is primarily preoccupied with efficiency.Ģż

ā€œI found myself running more just to get home in time for dinner,ā€ says Honnold. Likewise, food has motivated most of my athletic achievements.Ģż

ā€œIā€™ve always had a lot of respect for runners and running in general,ā€ says Honnold. Sometimes, he wishes that heā€™d picked the sport up in high school so that heā€™d have a greater aerobic base to build on. ā€œItā€™s such an elemental movement, and I suppose this is my way of making up for it a bit as an adult, and trying to round out my athletic background.ā€

Honnoldā€™s Casual Approach to Training

When asked, he couldnā€™t estimate his running volume. For someone so calculating when it comes to approaching his climbs, he doesnā€™t keep a log of his running volume, purely going off feel. The general approach: three to four miles a few times a week, and a few double-digit excursions into the mountains. He would occasionally jog on climbing rest days. All of that built on years of non-specific aerobic training around his climbing, from hiking the approaches to going full-squirrel up rock faces.Ģż

To train specifically for his 50K, he did ā€œone long runā€ focusing on flatter terrain. Who needs specificity when youā€™re a general athletic boss?

ā€œIā€™ve always had the engine for walking uphill all day long, but actually running really beats me down. OK, so maybe some specificity would help with that beat-down feeling, but that would risk detracting from his primary sport.

When asked if any of the mental tools heā€™s employed in climbing translate to running, Honnold succinctly said, not really.Ģż

ā€œItā€™s mostly a matter of just doing it, doing the miles,ā€ says Honnold. Even though running feels relatively easy (compared to risking life and limb thousands of feet in the air), he does admit to low moments during the 50k.Ģż

ā€œI definitely donā€™t feel like Iā€™m flying,ā€ says Honnold. ā€œItā€™s not as joyful or effortless as I would like it to feel.ā€ I have never identified with a statement as much as that one.

Honnold has learned to appreciate running gear, like gaiters and handheld water bottles. Heā€™s also started using a lightweight running vest for more of his climbing adventures, as well as gels and other endurance snacks often associated with endurance runners. Climbers and trail runners are soulmates when it comes to gear and snacks.Ģż

While Honnold does intend to stick to his annual ā€œEl Cap and Ultraā€ challenge a la Conrad Anker, donā€™t plan on seeing him at the start line of Western States anytime soon.Ģż

 

View this post on Instagram

 

ā€œI wonā€™t be running seriously, ever,ā€ says Honnold. He intends to keep running a couple of times a week (max), but your Western States lottery odds are safe for now because Honnold says heā€™s uninterested in the volume of training required to run further than 50K.Ģż

ā€œA bunch of my friends are like, are you going to run a 50-miler?ā€ says Honnold. ā€œAnd Iā€™m like, ā€˜No! Thatā€™s terrible.ā€™ Iā€™m fine never running more than 50K.ā€

Itā€™s so exciting to see Honnold take to the trails. I doubt that one of the best athletes in human history is subject to peer pressure from a trail running magazine, but we hope to see him at a 50-miler before heā€™s 50. Come on, Alex, there will be even more gear and snacks!

The post Alex Honnold Is a Sneaky-Fast Trail Runner. Hereā€™s How It Impacts His Climbing. appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

ā€œWeā€™re on the summit of Indecision Peak (First Creek). Both totally destroyed.Ģż

Iā€™d say that Ray shouldnā€™t head up Black Velvet Peak yet, you guys should wait and see if we make it there/are able to continue. ā€¦

Honestly, the thing that could save us would be savory food an[d] water up Hidden Peak. But how anyone will get there is beyond meā€¦

Weā€™re setting out again now.ā€

The text from Alex froze my hurried preparations to rally into Black Velvet Canyon with the support and film crew, where I planned to join Alex on the final leg of his journey across the Red Rock skyline, a massive effort that he called The HURT (Honnold Ultimate Red Rock Traverse). It was 7 A.M. on Tuesday, October 11. Alex had been on the go for over 24 hours, and suddenly it appeared as if the wheels might be coming off.

A year and a half earlier, while driving to Yosemite in April of 2021, I made a pit stop in Las Vegas and did this exact segment with Alex: a convoluted bushwhack to connect Black Velvetā€™s (5.9; 1,600 feet) and subsequent summit to Windy Peakā€™s (5.8; 800 feet) and summit. I thought I was being treated to a long-neglected outing up the Red Rock classic but shortly came to learn Alex had a deeper agenda. Inspired by his recent completion (with Tommy Caldwell) of the in Rocky Mountain National Parkā€”a mega link of 18 peaks near Tommyā€™s house in Estes Parkā€”Alex had begun envisioning a similar, though perhaps more logical, traverse of Red Rock Canyonā€™s skyline, a feature in his own ā€œbackyard.ā€ His goal from the beginning was to tag all of Red Rockā€™s major sandstone summits via classic routes, free soloing up and down them, in a single supported push. While they may seem deceptively simple when viewed during a leisurely tour around the loop road, Red Rockā€™s intricate sandstone canyons can quickly devolve into a maze of impassable cliff lines, cacti, and crumbling slopes. Since much of that terrain does not contain trails or see traffic, it involved significant route-finding and prep work. During one such solo excursion, Alex broke a hold while descending a steep gully and tumbled a few dozen feet; he returned home relatively unscathed, but the incident underscored the unforgiving nature of the terrain.

The day after our outing, just as I was pulling out of the driveway, Alex returned from another scouting mission in a dour mood.Ģż

ā€œHow was it?ā€ Sanni inquired in her trademark cheery disposition.Ģż

ā€œIā€™m over it,ā€ Alex said, ā€œitā€™s too hard and too long and too hot.ā€Ģż

Nonetheless, the seed had been planted. Fast forward a year and a half, add a baby, subtract some sleep, and Alexā€”fresh off a six-week expedition to Greenlandā€”returned his focus to more ā€œfamily friendlyā€ backyard endeavors, i.e. objectives that could be squeezed in between feeding times, naps, and work calls. He once again began scouting the various sections, piecing together classic rock routes up and down each peak, pioneering laborious, thorn-covered ways to connect them, and scheming for support strategies.

A crucial resource was local ultrarunning legend , holder of numerous Red Rock area FKTs. Chris shared GPS tracks for tricky segments, joined Alex to scout a five-plus hour odyssey up and over the behemoth Bridge Mountain, and, crucially, volunteered to support Alexā€™s game-day effort. The night before the big day, Chris rolled up to our porchfront pregame huddle on his bike (ā€œonly seven milesā€ each way) sporting thigh-high spandex shorts, a cut off pearl snap, bike cap, and thick beard. (For those who know, heā€™s basically Vegasā€™s version of Boulderā€™s .)Ģż

Alex began his journey at 6:15 A.M. on Monday, October 10, climbing (5.7; 800 feet) and linking it to the top of White Rock Peak. After much discussion, and some reticence (particularly from Sanni) about compromising the purity of a very personal project, he had agreed to a low-impact film team consisting chiefly of myself and Chris, whoā€™d use iPhones, and Alexā€™s longtime friend , who just happened to be in the area. At the last minute another of our good friends, Pete Mortimer, owner of , hopped on a plane from Boulder, delighted by the chance to witness another absurd Honnold endeavor. It had been so long since Pete, now mostly an editor and deal maker, had actually held a camera that Brett had to get him up to speed.Ģż

Two hours into the traverse, Chris joined Alex for the same Bridge Mountain segment theyā€™d scouted together, roughly ten miles and 5,000 vertical feet of rugged mountain terrain depositing them at the base of Mescalitoā€™s (5.8; 1,000 feet), where Chris was to pass me the support baton. I planned to spend my day cloverleafing in and out of canyons while Alex climbed up and over their corresponding buttressesā€”providing him with food and water and, if necessary, motivation. At 11:30 A.M. I was at that first stop, where our estimated itinerary had them arriving around 1:00 P.M., when suddenly I heard Alexā€™s trademark Marco-Polo whistle.Ģż

ā€œThat doesnā€™t make sense,ā€ I thought, ā€œheā€™s way too early.ā€Ģż

ā€œOh hello!ā€ Alex exclaimed, a nearly breathless Chris in tow.

ā€œHe is raging,ā€ Chris said. ā€œI was just trying to keep up with him.ā€Ģż

And thatā€™s how it went, at least for a while. Over the next few hours Alex continued to expand the gap on our estimates, and I had to be mindful not to watch him climb for too long as I chanced him beating me to the next drop point. When he donned his rock shoes for the first timeā€”for his tenthĢżroute of the day, Crimson Chrysalis (ā€œ5.8++++ā€ per Alexā€™s notes; 1,000 feet)ā€”he was a full three hours ahead of ā€œschedule.ā€ He ascended the iconic route framed by a beautiful desert sunset reminiscent of a .

Four hours later Sanni and I watched a lone headlamp descend Rainbow Mountain and down climb (5.6; 1,500 feet), then greet us in the lowlands en route to Mt. Wilson. Sanni had laid out a charcuterie selection of energy food, egg-cheese-bagel sandwiches, and Oreos (critical beta); I refilled his hydration bladder. ā€œIā€™m definitely starting to feel kinda tired,ā€ he said, the words redundant with his deeply fatigued visage. Mt. Wilson and the technical crux loomed above: , a sandbagged 2,000-foot 5.10c. We all hiked together to Wilsonā€™s lower flanks.Ģż

ā€œOk be safeā€¦ā€ Sanni offered as the grade steepened and we slowed to head back toward the car.Ģż

Turning around disappointedly, ā€œYou guys are leaving?ā€

His eyes betrayed a forecasted loneliness.

Nine hours later and there we were in Black Velvet Canyon. Chris had hiked up Mt. Wilson to meet Alex on the summit, expecting to descend to the base of the blue-collar crux, (5.10; 1,300 feet), then drive and hike around to rejoin him on the upper ridge for another couple of hours. However, in a wise move showing that discretion truly is the better part of valor, Alex chose to forego Celtic Cracks in favor of a fourth class scramble. Chris, ever the team player, kept pace, enlisting himself in a ten hour outing rather than the planned four hours. (In total Chris logged 25 miles and 18,000 feet of vertical gain over 18 hours while supporting Alex.) The midst of that is when Alex sent his sobering text, and we all realized we were well past the ā€œfun meter.ā€

Honnold on the ā€œsummitā€ of Black Velvet Peak during the HURT. (Photo: Maury Birdwell)

Alexā€™s effort on the HURT is inspiring, but allow me to suggest that itā€™s inspiring for inobvious reasons. Sure, he went huge and yet again racked up a lifetime tickl ist in a single push, redefining our concept of whatā€™s possible; but all those are just numbers and statistics. Read or watch films about climbingā€™s earliest obsessives, before the nonstop desperation of Instagram influencer-athletes and the constant reach for some qualified superlative at every accomplishment. What youā€™ll see is a bastion of counter-culture dreamers, what Lionel Terray aptly termed ā€œConquistadors of the Useless.ā€ There were no likes, no followers, no 8a.nu scorecards, and certainly no big paychecks (British Royal expeditions excepting). Instead, climbers arbitrarily gazed upward and cast off into the unknown fueled by intrinsic inspiration and tribal one-upmanship, climbing simply ā€œbecause itā€™s thereā€ and because something within them required it.Ģż Nonetheless, those dirtbags gave us dedicated to saving the planet and the . Perhaps their quixotic ramblings had some merit.

The HURT is entirely made up. In the hour-long debate in Black Velvet Canyon as to whether Alex ought to continue, Mortimer questioned, ā€œAlex, why keep going? This is already a massive accomplishment and super proud. And you get to decide what this is. So by stopping now you arenā€™t coming up short of anything.ā€Ģż

With a pained look Alex simply replied, ā€œBecause thereā€™s a value to picking a goal, and doing what you said you would do, not just quitting when itā€™s hard.ā€Ģż

Iā€™ve climbed with Alex on big wall epics in Africa; I supported him on the CDUL; weā€™ve backed off El Cap. The only time Iā€™ve ever seen him this ground down was during a likely malaria infection in Angola.Ģż

ā€œGoing bigā€ and reaching for the unattainable is something we can all do on our own terms. None of it matters in the truest sense of the word, climbing is about as existential as it getsā€”heck, the majority of the time thereā€™s even an easier way to walk up the backside. What matters is the experience you create for yourself, and that you donā€™t come out the same as when you started, because at the end of the day weā€™re all just idiots running around chasing windmills, but we just might learn something in the process.

Ultimately Alex decided to finish the traverse, and the easiest way was up and over Epinephrine. He and I climbed alongside each other, laughing and making fun as alwaysā€”Alexā€™s quick wit not slowed by his exhausted body. Shortly after the summit we linked up with our final hero of the support crew, Ray, whoā€™d hiked our extra supplies out from the base, driven around, and run up the ridge behind Red Rock to find us. We all three slogged to the highest point of the limestone ridge, forced Alex into a photo op, then enjoyed a gentlemenā€™s hike down. Sanni met us soon thereafter and awarded Alex the ā€œjoyā€ of carrying baby June up and over the final hill to the trailhead parking.

Look for a short film documenting the HURT coming to Reel Rock.Ģż

In 2012 Maury Birdwell and Alex Honnold founded the , which celebrated its 10 year anniversary over the weekend prior to the HURT, announcing the launch of the a first of its kind capacity building accelerator for impact-driven nonprofit organizations.

FINAL STATS FOR THE HONNOLD ULTIMATE RED ROCK TRAVERSE

32 hours, 6 minutes

35 miles

23,000 feet of vertical gain

Technical Routes

1. Tunnel Vision, 5.7, six pitchesĢżĢżĢżĢżĢż
2. NE Arete Bridge, 5.6, five pitchesĢż
3. Dark Shadows, 5.8, 10 pitchesĢż
4. [downclimb] Cat in the Hat, 5.6, seven pitchesĢż
5. Community Pillar, 5.8+, six pitchesĢż
6. [Downclimb] Olive Oil,Ģż 5.7, five pitchesĢż
7. Aquarium, 5.9, eight pitches
8. Armatron, 5.9, five pitchesĢż
9. [Downclimb] Myster Z, 5.7, five pitches
10. Crimson Chrysalis, 5.8+, 11 pitchesĢż
11. Bird Hunter Buttress, 5.9, 12 pitchesĢż
12. [Downclimb] Solar Slab, 5.6, nine pitchesĢżĢż
13. Inti Watana, 5.10c, 21 pitchesĢż
14. Epinephrine, 5.9, 16 pitchesĢż

Total pitch count: 126

List of Summits

White Rock Peak

Goodman Peak

Duderino and Buffalo Wall (Honnold: ā€œboth have summit registers but are pretty sillyā€¦ā€)

Sandstone North

North Peak

Bridge

Bridge Point

Mescalito

Magic Mountain

Rose Tower

Jackrabbit Buttress (Honnold: ā€œif you consider that a ā€˜summitā€™ ā€)

Juniper Peak

Cloud Tower (Honnold: ā€œif thatā€™s a summitā€¦ā€)

Bench below the Rainbow Wall (Honnold: ā€œregister but kind of sillyā€)

Rainbow Wall

Rainbow East

Mt Wilson

South Summit Mt Wilson

White Pinnacle

Indecision Peak

Hidden Peak

Black Velvet Peak

Total peaks: ā€œ18 real summits (23 if you count the silly ones)ā€

The post Inside Alex Honnoldā€™s Massive Traverse in Nevadaā€™s Red Rock Canyons appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Jeff Smoot begins his latest book, titledĢżAll and Nothing: Inside Free Soloing, by describing a moment in the mid-1980s when his life nearly came to an end. Back then, Smoot was one of Americaā€™s strongest climbers; he wasnā€™t uber-elite like Lynn Hill or Todd Skinner, but he was deep in the scene, a regular contributor to magazines like Climbing and Mountain, strong enough to send routes near the top of the grade scale, and solid enough to go tandem soloing with the likes of Peter Croft. Counterintuitively, however, it was these exact factsā€”that he was strong, that he was solid, and that other people seemed to know itā€”that nearly killed him.

He was out soloing one day in Leavenworth, Washington, when climber Peter Croft, as Smoot writes, ā€œstarted up behind me, climbing directly below me as I pulled through a 5.10 crux. If I had fallen, I would have knocked him off the wall. My ego swelled. If Peter Croft had that much confidence in my ability, I must be pretty good.ā€

That same afternoon, bolstered by his experience with Croft, Smoot redpointed a gently overhanging 5.12 crack with easeā€”so much ease, in fact, that another friend jokingly said, ā€œYou could solo it.ā€

The remark haunted Smoot. ā€œThat night I drew up a diagram of the crack in my journal and wrote detailed notes describing each jam, each foothold, each sequence of moves,ā€ he writes. ā€œIt became an obsession. You could solo it became You will.ā€

So he tried it. And shortly after passing the point of no return, the point at which the moves heā€™d executed were too hard for him to down climb, his foot slipped. He swung away from the wall but managed to hold on and snipe his feet back on the footholds. Having no other option, he continued upwardā€”only to have his feet cut yet again. This time he barely held the swing.

When he topped out, he felt ill. ā€œThe stark reality of what I had just done overwhelmed me,ā€ he writes. ā€œI had gotten away with something, barely pulled it off. I realized, with absolute clarity, that if I didnā€™t quit free soloing, I was going to end up dead at the bottom of a cliff.ā€

Within a year Smoot ā€œgot married, started a career, had a kid.ā€ But then? Well, then he found out that ā€œitā€™s hard to quit. It gnaws at you.ā€ Just a few years after ostensibly quitting forever, he found himself regularly free soloing once more.

But why? Why wager your life against a piece of rock? Why risk leaving your kids without a parent? Why does ā€œthe impulse to climb rocks without a ropeā€ constitute, for so many climbers, ā€œthe strongest [impulse] in their lifeā€?

These are the questions that Smoot explores his new book, which is worth your attention.Ģż

As in his previous book, titled Hangdog Days,ĢżAll and Nothing contains elements of memoir. But these short sections function as decoration in a wide-ranging and painstakingly researched investigation into free soloingā€™s history, psychology, philosophy, morality, and cultural significance.

The result is both fascinating and exhaustive.

In addition to covering nearly every famous (or accidentally infamous) modern soloist*, Smootā€™s inquiry brings us to the worldā€™s oldest known rock climb (the Thamudic Route on Jebel Rum, in Jordanā€™s Wadi Rum) where the presumed first climbers, presumably free soloing, ā€œcarved their names into the rock more than two thousand years ago.ā€ He takes us to St. Kilda, in the Outer Hebrides, where the endemic community of ā€œbird snatchersā€ often roamed rope less up and down the sea cliffs, gathering the puffin eggs that played a crucial role in their diets. He describes climbingā€™s ritualized role on the island of Rapa Nui, a.k.a. Easter Island, where climbing (alongside other feats of bravery) replaced clan warfare as a way of electing tribal leaders. He walks us through the role of soloing from mountaineeringā€™s golden age in the late 18th century to the early decades of the 20th century, introducing us to folks like Walter P. Haskett-Smith, who ā€œviewed climbers who used ropes and equipment as incompetents,ā€ and Georges Whinkler, who was perhaps the worldā€™s first trust fund climbing bum, and Austriaā€™s Paul Preuss, who was ā€œa genuine madman,ā€ according to his rivals, and ā€œviewed pitons as unnecessary, even for safety, and as cheating when used as aid.ā€ (After Preuss helped kick off the great piton debate of 1911, he fell ā€œvictim to his own theories,ā€ as a German paper put it, taking a thousand-footer off the North Ridge of Mandlkogel, in Austria.)

And thatā€™s just part one of a five-part book.ĢżĢż

*Does he write about Alex Honnold? Check. Peter Croft? Check. Dean Potter? Henry Barber? Steph Davis? Michael Reardon? Russ Clune? Mark Twight? Marc-AndrĆ© Leclerc? Hazel Findlay? Jimmy Jewel? Dan Osman? John Long? John Bachar? Basically everyone else? Check, check, check, check, check. (Etc.)Ģż

In later sections he writes about sociologist Stephen Lyngā€™s ā€œedgeworkā€ theory, which explores the relationship between self-sufficiency and risk-taking and ā€œthe feeling of alienation brought about by dull working conditions stemming from class immobility.ā€ Quoting climbers like Mark Twight and Margo Talbot, he writes about why exactly most free soloists ā€œwill tell you that the ability to control fear, to control their emotional response to itā€¦ is at the core of why they climb, and why they free solo.ā€ He analyzes the drive to risk your life through the prism of Mazlowā€™s hierarchy, which states that once basic human needs like food, water, and shelter are met, other less tangible needs like belongingness and self-esteem begin to feel fundamentally important. And he writes about the relationship between risk-taking and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyiā€™s concept of ā€œflow,ā€ which in turn has roots in samurai warrior cultureā€”a tradition that influenced climbers like Dan Osman and Alex Honnold and Arno Ilgner (author or The Rock Warriorā€™s Way).

Smootā€™s encyclopedic impulse, while certainly educational, also serves as a distancing process. Whereas the narrative of Hangdog Days was ultimately tied together by the various characters engaged inā€”or trying to inhibitā€”the quest for 5.14, All and Nothing has no such simple structure; instead itā€™s a sweeping (some might say disordered) survey of free soloing and free soloists and people whoā€™ve written about or studied the practice. The book is chock full of amazing anecdotes, insightful quotes, and a wide variety of conflicting opinions about why people solo and whether itā€™s right and how the pursuitā€™s effects extend beyond the participants themselves, impacting family members, friends, and impressionable members of the next generation. Yet the book ultimately feels more like a collage than a narrative, more like an introductory textbook (oh the pop quizzes one could make!) than an intentionally literary inquiry of the sort that might convince someone to feel one way or another about the practice.

Donā€™t get me wrong, though. This isnā€™t necessarily an indictment. In fact, Smoot is kind of the anti-Malcolm Gladwell in a very refreshing sense; his book is not a neat collation of stats and stories in support of a premeditated and minimally considered thesis. Instead, he seems to have no thesisā€”no stance heā€™s trying to proveā€”other than to honestly and exhaustively ask why the act of risking your life in order to climb a rock can mean everything to the people who do it while alsoā€”objectivelyā€”meaning absolutely nothing.

Rather than engaging in defense or condemnation, Smoot just gathers the data, the anecdotes, the disparate slew of opinions about the sport, and gives the patient reader room to evaluate their own feelings. He doesnā€™t stray from recording the grisly ends that soloists sometimes meet (he writes about literally dozens of soloists whoā€™ve fallen; some walked away unscathed; others never walked again; others died). Nor does he avoid celebrating the value that so many soloists take from the act, despite his acknowledgement that reporting on soloingā€™s life-affirming aspects might convince more people to take up the practice. Smoot consults the work of researchers who believe that soloists solo because theyā€™re depressed and broken, pouring through climbingā€™s history (and his own) to support this fact. But he also consults researchers who argue that soloists solo because they know, however intuitively, that this type of flow-state mortal awareness enriches their lives, and he finds instances from his past (and climbingā€™s history) that support this too. He profiles fathers who donā€™t quite know how to talk to their kids about soloing. He profiles soloists who fell, lived, and regret itā€”just as he profiles soloists who fell, lived, and got right back on the horse.

Surveys, as a structure, come at the expense of depth. As I read All and Nothing, I was delighted by the diversity of stories and opinions I encountered. But I also found myself wondering whether a more focused investigation might have yielded a more satisfying and less frenetic inquiry than this one, in which dozens of soloists and writers and psychologists each receive one- or two-page treatments. But I am still very happy to have read it.

All in all: A fascinating and maniacally thorough inquiry that mistakes breadth for depth but nonetheless serves as an excellent resource for anyone interested in the history and psychology of free soloing.

The post Why Do Climbers Free Solo? appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Alex Honnold and Sanni McCandless are having a kidā€”a daughter, in fact! For the climbing world, this is the equivalent of a royal birth. I half expect that the guys over at Reel Rock are already working on a father-daughter concept for a film in 2030.

But as joyous as it is, I also found myself wondering if this major life event might give Honnold pause in how he approaches his climbing projects in coming years. Plenty of top alpinists and climbers have dialed backā€”or at least done some serious soul searching aboutā€”their most extreme behavior when they become parents. Will Honnold put it in cruise control once the little one arrives? Iā€™m not suggesting heā€™d be top-roping 5.10ā€™s for the rest of his days. But might he hang up the soloing shoes?

The hypotheticals related to Papa Honnold only get more complex from there. When star athletes become parents, itā€™s not surprising when their kids follow in their footsteps. But while following a mother into the WNBA or a dad into Major League Baseball is one thing, Alex Honnoldā€™s daughter becoming a free soloist would be something else entirely. For obvious reasons.

So what if Honnoldā€™s daughter did take a keen interest in free soloing? How would he feel about that? Would he support her? Be steadfastly opposed?

These are the types of questions we posed to Honnold in a recent interview. As he always does, he gave clear-eyed, thoughtful answers.

Even as he entertained my what-ifs, Honnold said thereā€™s only one thing he and McCandless are concerned with right now: ā€œFirst we need her to arrive healthy and whole.ā€

Check out the full interview, or read more about how pro climbers deal with parenthood, .

Climbing: Tell me the emotionsā€”how excited are you and Sanni to become parents?
Honnold: Iā€™ve always wanted a family long-term, so Iā€™m excited to be starting the journey, but so far Iā€™m not actually feeling a ton. Itā€™s slightly surreal, since Iā€™m not the one actually carrying the baby. And I think that for Sanni so far itā€™s more about managing the physical challenge of pregnancy than reveling in the excitement. Weā€™re both excited long-term, itā€™s just not quite thrilling yet.

Did you always figure youā€™d have kids one day?
Yeah, I always hoped to. Iā€™ve always had a good relationship with my family and grandparents, and Iā€™ve always assumed I would carry that on into the future. Weā€™ll see how it goes!

How, if at all, might becoming a father change your calculus related to risk?
Iā€™m totally prepared for it to rein in my risk-taking a little bit, though I could see it having no impact as well. I already try to manage and mitigate risk as much as possibleā€”I certainly donā€™t think of myself as a big risk-taker. So itā€™s possible that not much will change. But Iā€™m open to the possibility that Iā€™ll just want to stay at home and play with my kid as well.

Related to that: Do you think youā€™ll continue to push your free soloing? Or will you dial it back?
Iā€™m not sure either way. I have no huge soloing goals right now, but I have a few ideas on the back burner that may eventually come together. The biggest difference, I suspect, will have to do with how I spend my time. Having a small child seems more conducive to short bursts of intense training, which lends itself to bouldering and sport climbing. Generally, when Iā€™m soloing a lot Iā€™m spending tons of time outdoors on rock, which might be harder if Iā€™m taking care of a kid. But Iā€™m open to anything, weā€™ll just see. Seems like the kid will be the priority.

What would you tell your son or daughter about free soloing? Would you discourage or forbid it? Tacitly allow it? Actively teach them if they decided it was particularly important to them?
Itā€™s a girl. The idea of her free-soloing seems so far away that Iā€™m not too concerned. First we need her to arrive healthy and whole, then weā€™ll just see if she even enjoys climbing. But if she gets into climbing, Iā€™m certain sheā€™ll have a strong appreciation for the spectrum of risk, from hiking to scrambling to free soloing. Most of my rest-day hikes end with some kind of scramble. Iā€™m sure sheā€™ll grow up clambering around on rocks. But whether or not that ever turns into soloing will be a much bigger question. Iā€™m not opposed, as long as itā€™s done carefully and intentionally by a mature adult.

Letā€™s say your daughter, years from now, decides she wants to solo the Freerider. What would go through your head?
Well, Iā€™d probably be pretty concerned. But I have a lot of good beta for her.ĢżThat seems very unlikely though. Hopefully itā€™s a bridge we never have to cross. But on the other hand, itā€™s only 12d/13a. In another generation, thatā€™ll be truly easy.

Iā€™m sure youā€™ll support your kid in whatever makes them happy, whether thatā€™s climbing or something else entirely. But hypothetically, what would be a greater disappointmentā€”if your kid is purely an aid climber, or if they exclusively use hand jammies?
Using hand jammies is still free climbing, so itā€™s still acceptable for any child of mine. Plus, I suppose I want her hands to wind up a little less ogreish than mine. Hand jammies might help.

The post Alex Honnoldā€™s About to Be a Dad. Will He Still Free-Solo? appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.