Over six days in December, French alpinist Charles Dubouloz soloed the iconic Divine Providence route on the Grand Pilier d'Angle (4,243m). He then continued to the summit of Mont Blanc.

Between December 9-14, with five hanging bivouacs, Dubouloz began his journey on December 7 by cycling 120km from his home in Annecy to Chamonix in heavy rain, pulling a loaded trailer with his gear.

The next day, accompanied by friend Antoine Bouqueret on skis, he climbed 2,500m across the Mer de Glace to the Torino Refuge. Other friends joined briefly to help carry the equipment, allowing Dubouloz to arrive prepared at the base of the route.

On December 9, he started alone up the 900m face of the Grand Pilier d’Angle. Short daylight hours and intense cold defined the mid-December conditions. Over the following days, he climbed through demanding mixed terrain, setting five hanging bivouacs and hauling heavy loads.

Dubouloz topped out on the Grand Pilier d’Angle on December 13. Exhausted, he made one more bivouac above 4,000m. The following morning, he continued along the exposed upper Peuterey Ridge, reaching the summit of Mont Blanc in the early afternoon of December 14.

Unfavorable weather ruled out his plan to paraglide down, so he decided to walk back to Chamonix. The entire adventure took eight days and resulted in an eight-kilo weight loss. Dubouloz described the experience as one of extreme fatigue that stripped everything to its essentials.

The ascent marked the first chapter of a larger winter project, his Winter Trilogy, which aims to link iconic routes across the Alps and Pyrenees using only human-powered travel.

Route history

The 900m Divine Providence route is graded ED+, with rock sections up to 7b+. It is considered one of the most iconic and demanding lines in the Mont Blanc massif.

French climbers Patrick Gabarrou and Francois Marsigny first ascended the route over four days in the summer of 1984, using aid on harder pitches. Alain Ghersen and Thierry Renault did the first free ascent in July 1990. Later that summer, Jean-Christophe Lafaille completed the first solo ascent in August 1990, describing it as the most difficult and committing route in the entire massif.

Winter conditions add significant challenges due to cold, short days, and altered terrain. Italians Roberto Bressan, Saverio Occhi, and Paolo Tamagnini made the first winter ascent to the top of the Grand Pilier d’Angle in 1992. The first complete winter ascent to the summit of Mont Blanc followed later that year, by Brendan Murphy and Dave Wills. Alain Ghersen achieved the first winter solo in February 1993.

This recent ascent is considered a major milestone because winter solos on this route are extremely rare. It’s only the second-known winter solo of the full route. Charles Dubouloz is well-known for his historic solo winter ascent of the Rolling Stones route on the Grandes Jorasses in January 2022.

American climbing star Alex Honnold will solo a Taiwan skyscraper on January 23 as the whole world watches live.

Honnold became world-famous after the Oscar-winning documentary Free Solo, and Netflix advertises that this will be an "even bolder" stunt. It will be broadcast as it happens in a two-hour event they've called Skyscraper Live.

In it, Honnold will climb a building for the first time in his life. The chosen goal is Taipei 101, the 508m-tall, 101-floor structure that towers over Taiwan's capital.

Physical strain

"Skyscrapers are steeper and more repetitive than most natural rock faces, the movements tax his body in a different way, and he’s simply never climbed a building this big before," Netflix magazine Tudum reports. As Honnold explained, instead of varied climbing and cruxes along the way, climbing a building involves repeating the same moves one after the other, with an accumulated strain on certain muscles. It is also completely vertical -- when it is not overhanging.

So far, the climber and the media platform have overcome the first large obstacle: getting a permit to climb the building. Other urban climbers, such as French pioneer Alain Robert, often end their adventures handcuffed on the roof of the skyscrapers they just climbed.

Pagoda-like overhangs

Taipei 101 was the tallest building in the world from its inauguration in 2004 until it was dethroned by Dubai's Burj Khalifa in 2009. It is still the tallest building in Taiwan. Its design is inspired by traditional Chinese pagodas, including eight sections in the shape of bamboo boxes that will pose a challenge for Honnold, since their walls are slightly overhanging (see picture below).

Yet, the overall level of difficulty is easily attainable for Honnold, who said he is pretty confident he will enjoy the climb.

Asked about the pressure of being watched by millions, Honnold said: "My life is on the line — I don’t really care who’s watching. I care about doing what I’m doing and doing it well."

El Cap's Platinum Wall, for starters

For the time being, Honnold is sticking to the familiar granite rock of Yosemite. He has just climbed the formidable Platinum Wall on El Capitan, teaming up again with Tommy Caldwell, over six days.

As Honnold described it, "It’s a 39 pitch 5.13+ with 29 pitches of 5.12 or harder -- very sustained and very high quality. It only got better the higher we made it up the wall."

He considers this climb the highlight of his 2025 Yosemite season.

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Alex Honnold, 40, began climbing as a child and became a professional at 18. He is well known for hard routes, speed climbing records, and free solo climbs without ropes or safety devices. He made the first free solo ascent of Half Dome in 2008. In 2014, he did the first traverse of Patagonia's Fitz Roy ridgeline with Tommy Caldwell. And in 2017, of course, he free soloed the 5.13 Freerider route on El Capitan.

He has also completed the link-up of Mount Watkins, El Capitan, and Half Dome (the so-called Triple Crown of Yosemite) in less than 19 hours. He is married to Sanni McCandless and the father of two daughters.

The Piolet d'Or awards have begun in the Italian Dolomites, and almost all the recipients and jury members, as well as several well-known climbers, have gathered in San Martino di Castrozza for three days of celebrations.

Tom Livingstone, who was awarded for his route up the West Ridge of Gasherbrum III, was unable to attend, but his partner, Ales Cesen of Slovenia, hurried back from guiding in Antarctica to make it.

The host town plays a significant role in the event's success. San Martino di Castrozza lies in the heart of the Italian Dolomites, within easy reach of the international airports at Venice and  Milan. The local tourism board is showing the best of what Italy, and the Italian Dolomites in particular, have to offer. San Martino was one of the first popular resorts in the 20th century, hosting such illustrious visitors as Sigmund Freud.

Organizer Christian Tromsdoff, president of Chamonix's Groupe de Haute Montagne, does his best to make this more of a celebration of alpinism than an Oscar-style competition. Tromsdoff emphasizes that the awards are given to activities, not to climbers. While being a "Piolet d'Or winner" remains a notable entry on anyone's resumé, the atmosphere is friendly and relaxed. The committee announces the awarded climbs long before the ceremony takes place, so just the successful climbers and their families, plus several former recipients, are here, further removing any tension.

Cima Rosetta

Today, climbers, organizers, and a few of us journalists took a gondola to the high plateau leading to the Refugio Rosetta. On the summit of nearby Cima Rosetta (a short walk from the cable car), we met the always charming Benjamin Vedrines, who found time to be at the venue while promoting his film about his speed climb and paraglider descent of K2. By dinnertime, Victor Saunders and Masha Gordon of the UK, Olga Lukashenko of Russia, and Steve House of the U.S. had arrived. Others will show up in time for the awards ceremony tomorrow evening.

Meet and greet

Today was an opportunity to speak to familiar names about their climbs. August Franzen of the U.S., one of the Yashkuk Sar team, told us about his new opportunity in Valdez, Alaska. He recently inherited a hostel from legendary local climber Brian Teale, who died in 2022. Teale felt that the young August was the ideal person to take over the hostel he ran, plus Teale's huge archive of slides, route topos, and information about the climbs in that part of Alaska.

Climber and anthropologist Young-hoon Oh, one of the Piolet d'Or jury, spoke about the quickly changing social dynamics in Nepal, thanks to the booming climbing industry. And Spencer Gray of the Kaqur Kangri team gave a taste of his upcoming presentation. Yes, their expedition was about climbing a virgin face, but it was also a pursuit of adventure and remoteness in western Nepal.

Grand Capucin in 49 minutes. Aiguille Noire de Peuterey in just over an hour and a half. The north ridge of Piz Badile in 42 minutes and 52 seconds. Linking the four ridges of the Matterhorn in 7 hours, 43 minutes, and 45 seconds.

This brief list of exploits -- perhaps accompanied by Pat Boone's song dedicated to Mexico's fastest mouse -- captures the career of Poland's Filip Babicz, a competitive climber and alpinist who has been living at the foot of Mont Blanc for years.

I spoke to Babicz recently at a mountaineer's gathering near my hometown in northern Italy. We started at the beginning, discussing the child whose father dragged him in the late 1980s to the Tatra Mountains.

From comp to speed

"My father is a guide in that area, so I learned about the mountains by osmosis," Babicz says. "My greatest passion at the time was practicing any kind of sport with a competitive component."

He played everything from ping pong, "which I loved and was actually quite good at," to soccer, "but as a goalkeeper, not a goal scorer."

At 14, Babicz discovered sport climbing, taking it more seriously than his Sunday mountain outings.

"It seems funny," Babicz says, "but within a few months I had already decided that was what I wanted to do with my life. It was a brilliant way to combine my sporting streak with the vertical world I had learned from my father."

For 18 years, sport climbing was the center of his life. He competed first for the Polish and then for the Italian national team.

"I moved to Courmayeur at the turn of the millennium, specifically to practice high-level climbing," he told ExplorersWeb. "I focused more on dry training and sessions at the gym, at most on the crag, which greatly curbed my desire to go to the mountains."

But then came the turning point. In 2015, while Babicz was preparing for the World Cup, he severely injured a finger, which compromised his competitive season.

“It was a nightmare," he recalled. "I decided to compete anyway, with my injured finger, but it was terribly painful. The first race went badly, and I felt obsessed with it, desperate at the prospect of having to sit out months. However, once I returned to the Aosta Valley and digested the disappointment, I realized I felt super trained and in good shape, except for my finger, of course. I told myself that rather than stay on the couch, I'd find a plan B in the mountains.”

At ease in the Alps

There's certainly no shortage of mountains in Courmayeur.

"The Alps are the place where I feel most at ease," Babicz explains. "Mont Blanc and the Aosta Valley are an incredible playground, where you can do anything at any time of day, whenever you want. By comparison, I've been to Huaraz, Peru, and if you want to find a decent crag there, you have to drive three and a half hours. Within a 10-minute radius of my house, I can find 10 crags. If I wanted, I could be under the Grand Capucin in less than two hours, without running. There's no comparison."

Babicz can only say all this now, after falling in love with the mountains again, thanks to that injury.

“And thanks to Kilian Jornet,” Babicz added. “He was the one I thought about constantly in 2015, during my first ascent of the Matterhorn, which I tackled at a brisk pace. I didn't want to beat his record, but his performance made me dream."

One week later, he went to the Gran Becca and took 5 hours and 1 minute to complete the climb, there and back.

"This feat sparked my passion for speed in the mountains,' he says. "I rediscovered myself. For years, I had thought that only competition existed, but that wasn't the case.”

Some detractors might think that speed mountaineering is nothing more than a competition of a different sort.

"That's right," Babicz agrees, "and I'm not ashamed to call myself an athlete before a mountaineer. However, my thirst for speed doesn't clash with ethics."

He says he prefers free climbing a pitch to hanging off aid.

"I practice drytooling, deep-water soloing, and highballing," says Babicz. "All of these disciplines have made me realize that my main interest goes beyond the record itself. For example, when opening new routes, I don't think about chipping holds, not even in drytooling, where everyone at a high level seems to do it.

"This is how the 'Underground Temple' in La Thuile was born. There, in a chalk cave, I've established the world's most difficult routes using only natural holds. I'm not looking for the record at all costs. What interests me is achieving it in an exemplary style."

No attraction to the 8,000'ers

While Poland is home to great Himalayan mountaineers, from Jerzy Kukuczka to Krzysztof Wielicki, Babicz does not seem particularly interested in the highest peaks.

“I approached that world in 2019, with the Polish Winter Himalaya (PHZ) program created by the Polish Alpine Club," he recalled. "The goal was [a] winter ascent of the last remaining 8,000'er unclimbed in winter -- K2. I did two preparatory expeditions with the program, one in the Karakorum and the other in the Himalaya"

However, when the Nepalese did their K2 winter climb in 2021, the program ceased to exist.

"It became Polish Sport Himalaya (PHS)," says Babicz. "Its members are, on average, much younger climbers aiming for lower, technically difficult peaks between 6,000 and 7,000m."

"I continue to be part of it," Babicz continued. "I like the group dynamics and the mutual inspiration, but I prefer mountaineering in the Alps because I feel like an athlete. In the Alps, I'm more likely to take my performance to a very high level.

"And since the vast majority of mountaineers live around here, I consider it a great mountaineering laboratory, where you can push your limits in impressive ways. You can do it in the Himalaya too, but luck plays a decisive role there. It is more manageable in the Alps. I know it's an unpopular opinion, but if I had to choose between climbing an unclimbed 6,000m peak in Pakistan or beating Ueli Steck's record on the Eiger by just 30 seconds, there's no question: I'd choose the Eiger."

The mountains of dreams

However, Babicz's favorite mountains aren't just in the Alps.

"The peaks that have impressed me most, perhaps, are in Patagonia," he explains. "From what I've seen, they're the most beautiful in the world. Cerro Torre seems to be from another planet."

The problem there, he admits, is the weather, which makes any experience more of an adventure than a performance. Rather than attempt to squeeze in something during two small windows within a month of poor weather, he wants to spend an entire southern summer there.

"Winter in the Alps interests me less," he admits. "I'd like to spend that time [in Patagonia] as a sort of training camp...When a good window opens -- if it opens -- I'll try something."

For Babicz, it's all about open-mindedness and perseverance.

“Things don’t always go according to plan...It’s been like this from the beginning, with that finger injury that ended my career, and immediately made me start a new one.”

Through funded programs, the mountaineering associations of several countries train teams of young climbers to become alpinists. For their final exam, the Dutch NKBV Expedition Academy recently brought one such a young team from Holland's flat lands to the 5,000m peaks of the Indian Himalaya.

Alexander Sternfeld, Claartje Meijs, Folke Drost, Jan van der Meulen, Jules de Ruiter, Karlijn de Wit, Laura Oldenburger, Mael Durand, and Joris Timmermans, supported by coaches Bas Visscher, Niek de Jonge, and UIAGM guide Boris Textor, opened seven new routes on rock faces and peaks around the Denyai Valley, a remote corner in Zanskar.

Mixed team building

The team underwent a three-year training program alternating between climbing techniques, psychological support, and team-building.

"Many of the Himalayan expeditions organized back in the 1970s failed due to a lack of communication and internal quarrels among members," Joris Timmermans said. "The mountaineering association [sought] to prevent this with the current national team of young alpinists."

"The team's coaches purposely made mixed-gender teams as the group dynamics and the members' roles are richer this way," Timmermans told ExplorersWeb. "The team selection looks for varied personalities and abilities that could work together as a team. Climbing skills are important, of course, but the team combines people who already climb with others not very experienced but show potential."

At 28, Timmermans was the oldest in the group when he started the program three years ago. The youngest was 22. They also came from different walks of life. Some were students, others had jobs. Some had moved to mountain areas, and others, like Timmermans, lived in a place where the highest hill was 20 meters above sea level.

Zanskar's final test

The 2023-25 team advanced through several stages, from climbing crags to mountaineering in the Alps. Their trip to Zanskar was a final test. Here, they were tasked with opening new routes independently.

Team building began even before the expedition started, as the conflict between India and Pakistan last spring created uncertainty until the last moment. Finally, they went in September, later than originally planned.

Adjusting goals

The team reached the valley with very little information, except for some pictures and tips from two previous expeditions that had trekked, not climbed, in the area. Mostly, they aimed for 6,135m Khang Chan Chenmo, the highest peak in the valley, and Chongzatma, a massif with several points that had drawn the climbers' attention. However, conditions at the time of arrival in the valley force the team to postpone for some weeks.

"After a week of heavy snowfall, we expected to have fully sunny days, as it is the norm in Zanskar," Timmermans said. "But the weather didn't stabilize. Evening rains were common, and that left the snow wet and heavy."

Approaching the peaks was hard and slow -- they sank up to their hips --  and conditions on the faces were dangerous.

"We started opening short rock routes on faces near base camp, where we found great rock quality," he said. "Then we had to wait out one or two days of rain, and then have another few hours to climb some more."

The team opened eight new rock routes and dozens of boulders.

Conditions eventually improved, with clear days and freezing nights. Those in the team who had acclimatized better switched back to higher peaks and mixed terrain, while others kept focused on rock climbing.

"We also [juggled] the teams to make sure that whatever obstacle we found on a route, there would always be someone ready to tackle it," he said.

Alpine climbs

Folke Drost and Jan van der Meule plowed for 13 hours to reach the summit of Nochung Ri (5,700m). They graded the climb as PD+, 45°.

That success cheered the others up, and different groups completed several alpine climbs on nearby 5,000'ers, including the central and east point of Chotzangma (5,800m) and the highest peak of the valley: Khang Chan Chenmo (6,135m).

Here's a summary of their Zanskar successes:

● Chortan Rigib West (5,752m), AI3, 70°, 600m, Folke Drost, Bas Visscher, Joris Timmermans

● Nochung Ri (5700m), PD+, 45°, Folke Drost, Jan van der Meulen

● Chotzangma-Central and East (5,800m), D, 80°, 500m, Alexander Sternfeld, Mael Durand

● Chotzangma-West variant (5,800m), D+, 75°/M4+, 500m, Jan van der Meulen, Jules de Ruiter, Niek de Jonge

● Khang Chan Chenmo (6,135m), 5b, 50°, 700m, Alexander Sternfeld, Laura Oldenburger, Bas Visscher, Niek de Jonge, Folke Drost, Maël Durand

● Rejam Ri (5,600m), 5b+, 30°, Boris Textor, Karlijn de Wit

Read the complete report on the Dutch Expedition Academy's social media:

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"All the mountains were either previously named by the local population, if visible from their villages, or given a Ladakhi name in consultation with our base camp crew (also local)," the team noted.

Ice climbers Simon Gietl and Manuel Oberarzbacher of South Tyrol are always looking for new lines on mixed faces that hundreds visit every season. What they didn't expect to find was an entire unclimbed wall, just 30 minutes from the road.

They climbed the first mixed route on its face on November 23-24. A few days later, Gietl returned with Mario Kaeppeli and redpointed the route.

Hidden by trees

"It was really incredible to find something like this in South Tyrol," Gietl told ExplorersWeb. "Recently, there was a rockfall that tore away some trees, revealing the wall."

Previously, those trees had shielded the virgin wall from view. In fact, the walls are too mossy and wet for summer rock climbing, but the cracked granite slabs are perfect for mixed climbing.

The climbers named the new line Argos and graded it as (M9, WI6+). They said it offers varied and concentrated climbing in a secluded area of South Tyrol.

Difficult approach

The newly discovered wall is just half an hour away on foot, but the main face is not easily accessible.

"The approach involves two short pitches in the M4 and M5+ range, followed by a short transition to the main wall," said Gietl. "There, the route runs through five challenging pitches of solid granite, characterized by cracks, dihedrals, and a thin layer of ice in the middle section (WI6+)."

The climbers noted that on Argos, they left six pitons, nine intermediate pitons, and three pecker pitons on the wall. They advise those planning to repeat the route to bring two sets of Totem Cams, some #3 Friends, and four short ice screws. On the descent, they will have to rappel.

Local climbers have begun to enjoy winter in the Scottish Highlands. Little waterfall ice has formed yet, but cold mixes with high humidity from the ocean has formed a thin layer of hoarfrost, which covers the granite. Many climbers dread such conditions; but to Scottish climbers, it's part of the fun.

Greg Boswell, one of the most prolific route setters in the area, has already opened three new routes in a week, with different climbing partners.

Finally recovered from ankle surgery, Boswell drove north last week with Hamish Frost and started with Shadow Buttress at Lochnagar in the Grampians.

"We climbed [directly] into ‘The Hooded Groove,’" he said.  "After finishing its two main pitches, we went up to the nose of the upper buttress on a parallel line left of ‘Shadow Buttress Direct.’ "

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A storm caught the pair as they approached the summit. "[It] added to the adventure," said Boswell, "making topping out and getting back down again feel a tad arduous."

More Shadow Buttress

A few days later, Boswell returned to Shadow Buttress on an almost clear day with Dave Cowan.

"We did a new line up the left side of the obvious steep wall (where 'Bring Da Ruckus' goes through), to finish on the immaculate headwall that hangs above," Boswell wrote.

He had been planning that line for years, and the experience "didn’t disappoint," he admitted.

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On November 26, Boswell put up a third new route on the same crag, this time with Andy Inglis.

"Plan A was something completely different, but the objective [was] buried under a thick layer of hoar, but more vexingly, a film of verglass," Boswell explained.

So in the end, they decided to head back to Shadow Buttress.

"We opened a new line on the right side...and it was great to see Andy put in a smooth lead on the first pitch of his season opener."

It might be hard to keep that pace throughout Scotland's long climbing season, which sometimes lasts until April.

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Here, you can read more about Scottish ice climbing with Piolet d'Or winner Tim Miller.

Opening a new route is every climber's dream, but finding something new is getting harder all the time. The most obvious lines, whether in the Himalaya or the Alps, have already been done.

The common-sense definition of a new route is a line to a summit or the top of a wall that runs over previously unclimbed terrain. But in mountaineering, the criteria are often not as strict, especially on popular peaks or faces. Some lines share sections with older routes but are still considered "new." Others become "partial new routes" or "variation routes." So, what are the differences, and how can we tell one from the other?

The short answer is that there is no clear answer. No official institution has applied jurisprudence to the matter. The UIAA (Union internationale des associations d'alpinisme), for example, has remained silent. In their Declaration on Hiking, Climbing, and Mountaineering, they simply state that the style of a climb should be reported honestly and in detail.

"Criteria change from chronicler to chronicler," geographer and mountain topography expert Rodolphe Popier told ExplorersWeb.

New, although not 100% new

New routes are easy to classify as such when they cover 100% new terrain. However, routes that cover a significant and substantial amount of unclimbed terrain, creating a new, distinct, and logical line, are usually considered new routes as well, even if they share part of a previous line.

This is very common in classic routes in the Alps. Here, it's often decisive whether or not a potential new route includes the crux of the climb. Meanwhile, the shared sections are driven by logic; for example, the starting sections or the final pitches to a summit or the top of the wall may overlap with previous routes. A good example is the North Face of the Grandes Jorasses:

In larger mountains, it is common to have several obviously distinct routes that, nevertheless, share the final section to the summit. For example, they might merge onto the summit ridge or open onto the final plateau.

Partials and variations

If a route shares part of the way with previous routes, and the length and/or significance of the new terrain is not enough, the route is usually considered a partial new route or a variation route. While both terms are virtually the same, a partial new route tends to have more new terrain than a variation.

The difference often lies at the start or the exit of the route: Partial new routes may include, for instance, direct lines up a mountain face, while classic routes often follow longer but also easier lines on milder flanks and ridges.

A variation route usually follows a previous line, but at a certain point, it deviates to climb a different feature (a wall, a couloir) and then rejoins the original route. Variations can be done to climb new features or to avoid objective dangers on the route, a logical measure in glaciated mountains, where conditions change from season to season.

A typical case is the classic route on the North Side of Annapurna, where the state of the glacier prompts climbers to take one of several variations each year.

The dilemma

The big question is: When does a route that is partly on new terrain and partly sharing sections with previous routes stop being a new route and start being a variation? And who decides?

We have asked several people, from guidebook writers to chroniclers and, of course, climbers. To our surprise, many in the worldwide climbing community hesitate to share their opinions or even hazard an educated guess.

The silence increases when we ask about specific cases from recent times. In that case, discrepancies are typically resolved by those directly affected: the climbers who first opened the route that another team may claim as new terrain.

Recent cases: Pisco

However, as pointed out before, it is often hard to determine whether two lines overlap exactly and for how long when conditions on a mountain change every year. Most teams claiming a new route do so in good faith, but may be unaware that someone was there earlier. Or they are convinced that their line really is different.

Let's consider the M6 line that Eneko and Iker Pou of Spain and local guide Micher Quito climbed on Pisco, in Peru’s Cordillera Blanca. Shortly after the climbers published the details of their climb up a heavily crevassed glacier and which included some difficult mixed passages, a veteran French climber pointed out that he had opened that same line in 1973.

The Spaniards, who have opened dozens of new lines in the Andes without previous conflicts, insisted their line was close to but not exactly in the same place, "except for perhaps a couple of pitches, and we are not even sure of that," they said.

They also noted that the mountain has changed radically since 1973. Glacier movement and climate change have made it a much different and harder climb than in 1973. In the end, there was no agreement, and each party adhered to its own point of view.

2025 Nanga Parbat

Some months ago, Denis Urubko and Maria Cardell opened a new route on Pakistan's Nanga Parbat. It was an epic climb done in alpine style and in dangerous conditions, with no one else on the mountain.

It has been widely acclaimed as one of the best expeditions of 2025. Cardell became the first woman to climb an 8,000m peak via a new route in alpine style. Denis Urubko is already recognized as one of the best high-altitude climbers ever, and his impressive resumé speaks for itself.

Soon after Urubko and Cardell shared a preliminary topo, some commenters on social media noted that the new line was very similar to another route opened by Louis Rousseau of Canada and Gerfried Goschl of Austria.

Gerfried Goesch had perished on Gasherbrum I, but Urubko and Cardell were careful to speak to Louis Rousseau before their expedition, to make sure they climbed on different terrain.

Mapping the routes

After the expedition, in order to clear up any questions, Urubko collaborated with Gorskie Mapy of Poland, whose exquisite cartographic work is a respected reference in mountaineering. Urubko provided testimonies, memories, and photos. He had no GPS or tracker during the climb.

Rousseau has also contributed to the work with details of his own 2009 summit. The result is as follows:

Urubko-Cardell's route and Goeschl-Rousseau's have different starting points. The closer areas are mid-mountain. Other sources told ExplorersWeb that the summit area is worth a careful look, since that is where most routes converge:

The climbers speak

Since no official authority can resolve such fine points to everyone's satisfaction, we asked two of the climbers affected: Louis Rousseau and Maria Cardell.

We originally spoke to Cardell shortly after she and Urubko climbed the route. “For a person not familiar with the terrain, it may look like it is the same line, but the distance between both routes is wide," Cardell said. Everything else is speculation.”

Louis Rousseau deflects any controversy and instead highlights the style and conditions of the 2025 ascent.

Whether Urubko and Cardell's route is a new route or a partial new line is not important. What is really important is that :
1) They made this ascent in an incredible style
2) They were only a team of 2
3) The conditions were dangerous, especially at the beginning of the route.
4) It's the first time a woman alpinist climbed a route in such a style on an 8,000er.

I will leave it to specialists and historians to judge if it's a new line or a partial new line. For me, it's just another incredible badass ascent made by Denis and Maria that embodied the true essence of alpinism.

As for Rousseau and Goeschl's 2009 route, also done in excellent style and which includes a rescue of South Korean climber Mi-Sun Go, it deserves a separate story. We will write about it at some point.

Transparency first

U.S. climber Jack Tackle, chairman of the American Alpine Club’s Cutting Edge Alpine Grants committee and a jury at the Piolets d'Or for three consecutive years, told ExplorersWeb he is not familiar enough with Nanga Parbat to have an opinion on this specific issue. But in general, like the UIAA, he stresses the need to report honestly how a climb was done and which exact sections of the line include previously climbed terrain.

He mentions how Sam Hennessey, Robert Smith, and the late Michael Gardner reported their One Way Out route on the East Face of Alaska's Mt. Hunter.

“The route we followed up the Diamond Arete is probably best described as a variation of the 1985 Tackle-Donini route,” Hennessey modestly told ExplorersWeb at the time, although his route runs on new terrain for approximately 650m.

Also, when the climbers rejoined the 1985 route, they found very different conditions than Jack Tackle and Jim Donini had.

Two climbers have died on New Zealand's highest mountain, Aoraki. Late on Monday night, a party of four climbers in trouble contacted the authorities. Early the following morning, a helicopter successfully evacuated two climbers, who were uninjured. Another helicopter arrived, and both helicopters began searching for the other two climbers.

At around 7 am local time, searchers from the Department of Conservation Aoraki SAR team found the bodies of the two missing people. During an attempted summit of Aoraki, the pair, connected by the rope, had fallen to their deaths from the west ridge of the mountain.

Conditions on the mountain were calm and clear, but the helicopters initially struggled to retrieve the bodies, which, still connected, were not easily accessible. The climbers' remains have since been recovered.

No margin for error

The New Zealand Mountain Guides Association (NZMGA) has shared that one of the deceased was Thomas Vialletet, an internationally recognized guide who had been guiding in New Zealand for over a decade. He was leading a U.S. client at the time.

NZMGA president Anna Keeling described Vialletet as "careful and diligent," with plenty of experience on Aoraki. But as Keeling told Radio New Zealand, Aoraki is considered the most difficult climb in the country, with "no margin for error."

For Keeling, the news was shocking; Vialletet had just summited Aoraki two weeks earlier. He "knew the route well, and knew the conditions well this year."

Also known as Mount Cook, Aoraki is a 3,724m peak in the South Island's Southern Alps. It has a long mountaineering history, including a 1948 ascent by Sir Edmund Hillary. But it's considered a challenging climb, especially with its frequently changing weather.

In addition, parties often climb in the dark on the snow and ice. This ensures firm snow but reduces visibility. This was the case with the four climbers, who were attempting to summit on Monday night.

With at least one fatality nearly every season, Aoraki is New Zealand's deadliest mountain, as well as its highest.

Though searchers were able to find and recover the bodies in this case, conditions on Aoraki don't always make this possible. In 2024, three climbers who went missing on Aoraki were eventually declared dead after an extensive search. As in this most recent incident, a fatal fall was the suspected cause.

Three climbers in their twenties have freed the ultra-difficult Directe de l'Amitie route on the North Face of the Grandes Jorasses. The feat had defeated some of the most skilled alpinists in the world.

The team credited the lure of a slice of pizza for their success.

Esteban Daligault, 24, Virgile Devin, 25, and Simon Martinet, 34, left Chamonix on foot and approached a wall that they considered "the rock 'n' roll legacy of the early climbers...We knew we were in for a wild ride, and it made us smile: The pizza was just beyond the wall. Simple."

Before the pizza, however, there was a dragon to slay.

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The friendship challenge

The Directe de l'Amitie (Friendship Direct) route is a mixed line that goes up the North Face of the Grandes Jorasses to Point Whymper in the Mont Blanc massif. Yannick Seigneur, Louis Audoubert, Michel Feuillarade, and Marc Galy first opened it in January of 1974. They needed 20 days in bitterly cold conditions.

The 1,100m line includes vertical sections and, in winter conditions, its rated difficulty includes VII on rock, mixed sections up to M7, and aid climbing passages of A2, plus one A3 overhanging crux.

Over the years, the very few repetitions created a legend about that route. It earned a reputation as "the most difficult route" of the Grandes Jorasses, itself one of the Alps' most difficult faces. 

It also became a challenge for the most daring climbers of each new generation. To climb it completely would be a triumph, but to free climb it would be historic.

However, it is one thing is to dream and another to achieve. For years, the face defeated the best winter climbers.

Vedrines and Billon try, fail

Even the brightest stars of the current alpine scene, Leo Billon and recent Piolet d'Or winner Benjamin Vedrines, gave it a try as part of their 2022 Trilogy of great alpine North Faces. Together with Seb Ratel, they climbed the route in a three-day push, with two bivouacs on the wall. They freed some previously rated A2 sections that, freed, were assessed as M8.

In fact they managed to free climb the entire route, except for the infamous A3 pitch, which they didn't even attempt without aid climbing.

"[It's] an extremely overhanging section, starting on a wide flake that sounds hollow," Vedrines said at the time. "The rest [of the pitch] is never easy and very uncomfortable, at least 8th grade in free climbing with climbing shoes, if not harder."

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Billon and Vedrines made another impressive speed Alpine Trilogy in 2024, but they then chose different routes.

Last Sunday, November 16, it was the young team's turn to tackle this legendary route.

On the wall

"We warmed up on 55° slopes, then launched into magnificent mixed pitches, technical and sustained," Daligault reported.

Eventually, they felt they were slowing down and began to wonder if they'd taken on too much.

That night, they spent their first night on the wall on inflatable portaledges.

"It's so steep, we [Daligault and Devin] had to explain to Simon [Martinet] how to take a dump while hanging in his harness."

On the following day, tension mounted as the pitches went by. The hardest pitches, including the A3 one, is on the upper part of the wall. The sandy, rotten rock didn't help. Still, Devin onsighted the first M8 pitch until the crux. Here is what happened next:

We hesitate: climbing shoes or dry tooling? The rock still has that 'Sahara dune vibe.' Virgile [Devin], in a state of pure exhilaration, declares, "I'll try it straight away."

He puts on his climbing shoes. Third time's the charm. He obliterates the pitch with insolent mastery. When he reached the belay, a cry of victory echoed across the North Face. Night had fallen. Perfect timing: Pizza was now a real possibility.

Once freed, the team rated the crux pitch as M9+.

After the second bivouac, the climbers finished the rest of the route, which entailed "a few more overhangs, dihedrals, frozen blocks, and then the summit, in the pitch black, on a narrow ridge."

Daligault describes the feat as a real stroke of luck, but it was surely something more than luck and the promise of some pizza.

Benjamin Vedrines was the first to congratulate them on social media.

Competition training

Notably, according to wspinanie.pl, one of the key factors in the young team's success was the intense, specialized training they underwent to prepare for the upcoming Ice Climbing World Cup. Below is Virgile Devin, a member of the French Ice Climbing team and aspiring mountain guide, during a recent session:

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Rockfall warning

"[It] requires extensive alpine experience and careful assessment of the conditions," Gietl warned. "Due to the high risk of falling rocks, it is only advisable to start in clear, cold conditions."

When Netflix recently announced that Alex Honnold would attempt to free solo a skyscraper live in Taiwan, it felt like the modern version of an old story. Before him, Alain Robert, the "French Spider Man” scaled glass towers across continents, chased by police and paparazzi alike. But many decades before either of them brought urban climbing into the mainstream, a more introverted breed of climber was free soloing buildings through the night.

They weren’t athletes or professionals. They were students at the University of Cambridge in England, sneaking out of their dorms and night-time curfew to climb the roofs and spires of their colleges.

Their exploits were immortalized in the 1937 book The Night Climbers of Cambridge written by the pseudonym “Whipplesnaith.”

The beginnings of a secret sport

In the late 19th century, Cambridge may have lacked mountains or real rock to climb, but it was, in a sense, a kind of vertical playground. Mountaineer Geoffrey Winthrop-Young published The Roof-Climber’s Guide to Trinity [College] in 1899, a slim, privately circulated book that mapped the college’s architecture as a series of routes.

His idea was mischievous but not mad, as the university’s chimneys, gargoyles, and parapets provided the perfect outdoor climbing gym without leaving town.

By the 1930s, a new generation had taken up the challenge. The group, which later called themselves the "Night Climbers," operated late at night, moving in silence across the city’s skyline. They scaled the buttresses of King’s College Chapel, traversed the pinnacles of St John’s College, and leapt across the Senate House gap.

Part of their motivation was perhaps simple curiosity and a bit of disobedience. Cambridge was at the time a place of tradition and strict rules, and climbing its walls no doubt became a quiet rebellion.

The 1937 book that emerged from these adventures combined deadpan instruction with photographs that were surreal. Shot with flash at night, the images show ghostly figures clinging to the ornate facades of Cambridge’s most hallowed buildings. Their faces are indistinct, their poses seem awkward yet composed, suspended somewhere between grace and danger.

Around the same time, the Night Climbing Society at Oxford University was also nocturnally clambering up buildings both at the University and in the wider town.

Climbing without ropes

The climbers wore plimsolls for grip and quietness. Ropes were rarely used. They moved with deliberate care, and presumably would have rehearsed routes in their mind during daylight from below, memorizing the angle of each stone and the texture of each ledge.

“As you pass round each pillar,” Whipplesnaith wrote, “the whole of your body except your hands and feet is over black emptiness.”

The colleges’ Gothic architecture, with its spires, chimneys, and cloisters, offered hand and footholds unlike any cliff face. The night added another dimension. It removed the chance of any audience and must have eerily heightened every sensation.

Not just Cambridge and Oxford

Night climbing wasn’t confined to Cambridge. Similar traditions took hold at other educational establishments across the UK, particularly in private boarding schools where steep slate roofs and stone courtyards offered their own temptations.

One participant was the late Arctic scientist Geoffrey Hattersley-Smith, who attended Winchester College as a teenager in the late 1930s. In an unpublished memoir, he recalled how climbing the roofs became a kind of relief from academic pressure:

“I found it a particularly good relaxation to wander the roofs, when I was working rather hard for the scholarship and rising at 6 am each morning to revise my physics and chemistry," he wrote.

Hattersley-Smith also described one close call from his school days:

"There was a memorable occasion when I was climbing with Christopher Longuet-Higgins on the roof of the Museum in the early hours of a morning in summer 1941. Christopher was about to glissade on his bottom down the roof, until I warned him that he would face a considerable drop down the end." 

That warning likely saved his friend from a serious fall. Longuet-Higgins went on to become a Royal Society Professor, while Hattersley-Smith himself explored the polar regions as a glaciologist, geologist, and yes, a climber. Among other first ascents in both the Arctic and Antarctic, he summited Ellesmere Island's Barbeau Peak, the highest mountain in North America east of the Rockies.

Hattersley-Smith also noted that one of the forerunners of night climbing at Winchester College later became a mountaineer of some repute.

"A most notable predecessor had been George Leigh-Mallory of Everest fame. He is said to have displayed his prowess to a visitor by chimneying up a corner of the Middle Gate of Chamber Court."

Real danger

The risk was real, whether at Cambridge or elsewhere. “If you slip, you will still have three seconds to live,” Whipplesnaith wrote.

“Your feet are on slabs of stone sloping downwards and outwards at an angle of about thirty-five degrees to the horizontal, your fingers and elbows making the most of a friction-hold against a vertical pillar, and the ground is precisely one hundred feet directly below you.”

Several climbers were caught by porters and narrowly avoided expulsion. In later decades, others weren’t as lucky. In the 1960s, one student was reportedly "sent down" after being photographed mid-ascent.

Some continue

The tradition didn’t totally die with the 1930s generation. The practice of buildering (urban climbing) is a common pastime of University climbing clubs in the UK, though perhaps not with the same daring as the night climbers of old.

Nonetheless, a 2025 feature in Varsity, a Cambridge student newspaper, describes climbers still scaling the University skyline. Not surprisingly, some of the climbs tend to occur around the time of the student balls.

University authorities, of course, disapprove. Trespass can lead to fines or disciplinary action, and modern safety measures such as alarms and cameras no doubt make the practice harder than ever.

Yet the allure seems to persist, as nobody thinks to look up!

Most climbers learn on rock or at the gym, but 26-year-old American Noah Kane started with trees in Costa Rica, where he spent much of his childhood. He did not climb up the branches as a curious kid would, nor use the rope techniques of an arborist or canopy scientist. He climbed a tree like a rock climber.

After dropping out of film school, Kane, then 19, decided to head back to Costa Rica and the Monteverde Cloud Forest, where he reconnected with old friends Rafi Vargas and Izzy Moore and started climbing.

“This is where climbing actually started for me,” explained Kane. “I was like, ‘Oh, here are these old friends of mine. They’re doing this thing called climbing.’ ” He added that at the time, “They didn’t even really know that rock climbing really existed.”

Now six years later, Kane and his friends have pioneered climbing on strangler fig trees in Costa Rica and released a widely viewed documentary on this esoteric but wonderfully different type of climbing.

Strangler figs

Kane and his pals aren't climbing any old tree, such as backyard conifers or maple trees. "The type of tree that we're climbing is called a Strangler fig. It basically is a type of tree that starts out by growing on top of another tree."

The Strangler fig begins life high in the rainforest canopy. “It gets pooped out by a monkey or a bird in the canopy, grows, and sort of starts its life as an epiphyte [a plant that grows on another plant but is not parasitic]."

"It gets out its nutrients from the clouds and arboreal soil up there, grows its roots down to the main soil, gets access to all that superfood of nutrients, and then just grows a crazy trunk around the existing tree,” he said.

He explained that this process gives the tree its name. “So it gets the name Strangler fig because people thought that it strangles the existing tree. There’s actually some interesting evidence that maybe it doesn’t expedite the death of the other tree. It just uses it for support.”

Perfect for climbing

In the cloud forest, Kane and his partners climb mainly on private land during the dry season, from January to May. Cloud forests occur in high mountain regions where clouds and mist linger year-round. The constant moisture creates a cool, humid environment that supports a wide diversity of plant and animal life.

They climb barefoot to minimize damage. “We’re climbing barefoot, mostly out of an ethic of trying to protect the tree as much as possible,” Kane said.

He notes that the approach also toughens their feet over time. “I’m sure you could devise some sort of, like, leather moccasin that could also work, but once you climb quite a bit on the trees, you really get these tough calluses,” he added.

Strangler figs don’t have a solid trunk but rather a lattice of vines fused together into what Kane called “really strong wood.” Even vines as thin as a bicycle handlebar can hold his weight.

Natural protection

“The easier tree, you know, it will have more handlebars you can wrap your arms around, your fingers around. And so we’re wrapping slings around those full-on handlebar sections of the trunk. Sometimes they’re really easy to access. Sometimes, they’re kind of connecting against the old tree."

"You’ve really got to kind of shove the sling in and work it out,” he said, describing how they protect their climbs using natural anchors such as slings or knotted rope known as a monkey's fist, instead of metal hardware.

“It kind of feels like traditional rock climbing, in the sense that you’re using the natural protection of the tree,” Kane explained. “We’re certainly not drilling in bolts or adding any other gear, but it also has this kind of sport climbing feel, in that it feels pretty safe once you get that protection.”

He added that the trees' dense wood makes falls less risky than they might sound. “If you’re protecting anything really bigger than your wrist, it’s pretty much going to hold a fall...It’s really confidence-inspiring. And we’ve taken some big falls.”

Overhangs

Watching Kane's videos, it's clear this isn't delicate climbing. He likens it more to muscular crack and off-width climbing. "Probably my strongest experience with a tree was on a tree called the porcupine tree, and it's featured in loads of my films," says Kane, now a filmmaker despite dropping out of film school.

"It has the really iconic seven-meter layback, so you're sort of pulling on a pinchy tufa structure, putting your feet just on vertical bark, pretty much pulling and pushing as hard as you can. And that's just sort of one of the most iconic sort of individual portions of tree climbing that we've ever found."

Some of the trees even go beyond vertical and overhang significantly, thanks to the unique way in which Strangler figs wrap around their hosts. Kane doesn't tend to grade the climbs in traditional rock climbing standards, but has a sense of how they compare to grades on rock.

High in the canopy

Most of the Strangler figs that Kane climbs are doable in a single rope length, with few trees stretching higher than 40m. Though the trees naturally thin out towards the canopy, the lattice-like structure of the Strangler figs provides a lot of stability, so when the wind blows, the structure twists rather than sways violently.

He once spent a night high up in the canopy in a tent rigged up across branches, as the tree contorted itself beneath him throughout the night.

While Strangler figs exist in other parts of the world, Kane is happy focusing on Costa Rica for now. He's wary of encouraging too much activity in a sensitive rainforest, but he has held a few low-key tree-climbing festivals, and occasionally collaborates with professional climbers.

"I think it's super cool, super fun and and I hope that if folks are really interested in coming down and trying it. We're usually pretty open to taking people out."

On October 1, Alaskan climber Balin Miller, 23, died when he accidentally rappelled off the end of his rope. Miller had just completed a roped solo climb of a route called The Sea of Dreams on El Capitan in Yosemite when he fell over 700m to his death.

News of Miller's demise initially spread via a few climbers who were in Yosemite at the time, before the mainstream media picked up the story. They latched onto the fact that the young Alaskan's climb was being livestreamed on the social media app TikTok.

The Metro newspaper in London crowed, "TikTok climber falls to his death at Yosemite during livestream while fans watched," and the Daily Telegraph ran with "Climber livestreamed moment he fell to his death from Yosemite cliff." Other outlets dubbed Miller an "influencer" and a "TikTok" climbing star.

The livestream

While the mainstream media often gets details of adventure news wrong, these headlines were particularly egregious since Miller was not livestreaming himself, nor was he a TikTok star. Instead, his death was livestreamed to hundreds of people by a TikTok account handle named @mountainscalling.me.

The account owner, who calls himself Eric (no surname), recently posted that he is a "Yosemite super fan" and that he was filming climbers using a long-range scope after attending an event in the park. As Eric did not know the climbers, he referred to them by the color of their clothing or equipment.

Miller became known as "Orange Tent Guy" to those who tuned in over the course of his multiple days on the route.

In Eric's post, he also stated that Miller was not involved in any of the livestreaming and that he believed Miller was not an influencer.

An accomplished alpinist

To anyone in the climbing world, this last statement came as no surprise. Miller was an accomplished alpinist from Anchorage, Alaska, known for his bold solo ascents and dedication to pure alpine style.

Four months before his death, he completed the first solo climb of Mount McKinley's Slovak Direct, finishing the route in three days. Miller free soloed nearly the entire climb.

His achievement earned praise from top climbers, with Colin Haley calling it “super badass,” and Mark Twight reacting, “Holy shit.”

In the months before, Miller completed a string of solo climbs in Patagonia and the Canadian Rockies. In January, he climbed Californiana (5.10c; 700m) on Cerro Chalten, then moved on to solo Virtual Reality (WI6) and the demanding Reality Bath (VIII, WI5/6) in Canada.

What went wrong?

On October 1, viewers of Eric’s livestream watched Miller begin climbing around 10 am as he approached the final pitches of the route.

“We were all cheering for him and wanted to see him summit,” he said.

Near the top, around 1 pm, Miller’s haul bag became stuck lower on the pitch. Eric said that Miller went down to free it but accidentally rappelled off the end of his rope. Eric and Tom Evans, who had been taking photos of other climbers nearby, called 911, prompting a rescue operation.

Veteran El Capitan soloist Andy Kirkpatrick has climbed the same route and suggested that Miller’s fall could have resulted from a few small mistakes made at the very end of an exhausting climb. After finishing the final section of Sea of Dreams, Miller rappelled down to free his haul bags, which had become stuck on the wall below.

In the process, Kirkpatrick writes that he may have shortened his rope earlier when dealing with the complex rope system for both hauling his gear and climbing solo. When the bags jammed again and he descended to fix them, Miller likely assumed the rope was still long enough to reach.

Kirkpatrick suggests this was “the last thing he wanted to be doing so close to the top,” and that Miller was probably tired, relieved, and ready to be done. But as he rappelled, the end of the rope, hidden below an overhang, slipped through his belay device before he could react.

Does climbing have a social media problem?

After watching the video of Miller’s fall, copies of which sadly remain online, Andy Kirkpatrick wrote: “This film, these people, this world we live in — the virtual one — cheapens death, the loss of this young, amazing life recycled into nothing more than content, something to pass a few seconds before swiping onto something else in an otherwise spiritually empty day.”

In that context, it’s not surprising that some mainstream outlets, unfamiliar with the nuances of climbing and perhaps too eager for headlines, wrongly portrayed Miller as an “influencer” who live-streamed his own death. Yet they prompt a broader question for the climbing world: How does the pursuit of generating views and engagement shape the way risk and mortality are presented by some climbers?

YouTuber and elite rock climber Magnus Midtbo’s widely viewed and criticized solo climb of the Matterhorn with limited preparation and alpine experience, and free soloist Lincoln Knowles’s rage-baiting humor about falling, are just two recent examples of how some climbers use social media to amplify the drama of risk and drive engagement.

Miller’s death doesn’t fit into that trend, but it highlights how a culture that prizes dramatic online storytelling can be misinterpreted and how easily tragedy can be flattened into spectacle in the endless cycle of online content.

BY MARY ANDINO

It takes a lot to stop me in my tracks while scrolling through Instagram. A few weeks ago, though, a post popped into my feed that did just that. A climber I hadn’t heard of before, David Lloyd, made a post accusing a popular app for digital climbing guidebooks, KAYA, of copying from his guidebook for a bouldering area in Wyoming. The app denied the accusations, but the post quickly exploded, with over 400 comments.

The scope of the debate ranged from KAYA and other guidebook authors speaking to their experiences to comments that could only be described as mudslinging. People blasted KAYA with comments like, “Dirty company at best. Watered down clones of hard, gritty years of work,” and they also critiqued Lloyd, saying, “You don’t own the folklore. Sit down.”

The subject quickly spawned its own post in the most popular climbing subreddit, r/climbing.

Why the fuss?

While of course I was curious about the veracity of these accusations, I was almost more drawn to the question of why this issue was so contentious, why it was sparking such strong reactions from the climbing community, a group that, in my experience, was all about stoke, encouragement, and pure love of the sport. I immediately knew that I wanted to bring nuance and understanding to this issue that had provoked such fierce tribalism.

To that end, ​​I spoke with dozens of stakeholders, including guidebook authors, publishers, and local climbing organizations. I spoke with KAYA’s co-founder and CEO, as well as its marketing manager, in a 1-hour and 20-minute virtual meeting, and had several follow-up conversations with them via email.

No matter what side you stand on in this controversy, it’s clear that it’s not a case of black and white, but one entirely colored by shades of gray, and one that plays on decades-old tensions within the climbing community.

What is KAYA, anyway?

Founded in 2019, KAYA began as an app for climbing gyms, allowing users to log climbs and workouts. Over time, it expanded to include information on outdoor climbing areas. In 2022, it published its first digital guidebook to Joe’s Valley, a bouldering area in Utah.

According to its website, KAYA’s guidebooks offer “exact GPS locations, detailed navigation, comprehensive topos, and thousands of beta videos — all downloadable for offline use.” These guidebooks are only available with a KAYA PRO subscription, a service that costs $60 per year or $13 per month.

How KAYA gets its guides

When it comes to acquiring new digital guidebooks, KAYA CEO David Gurman and Marketing Manager Eric Jerome described their typical process as following a few key steps. First, they’ll reach out to the author of an existing print guidebook, if one exists.

They’ll also contact each area’s local climbing organization (LCO). These grassroots nonprofits manage trail maintenance, land access, and hardware replacement for climbers.

In addition to the contributor, or author, each KAYA guidebook also has a moderator, a person who monitors access issues and updates the guidebook as things change over time. As far as financial compensation is concerned, KAYA gets 47.5% of revenue, the contributor gets 33.25%, the moderator gets 14.25% (47.5% if the contributor and moderator are the same person, which is often the case), and then 5% goes to LCOs.

How each user’s subscription fee is divided among areas is dictated proportionally based on which guides they view.

If the author of the print guide declines to work with KAYA, “We’ll try to get convergence on local community representation, [find] someone who’s got a tie to the local area, who’s been a part of the recent wave of development, who kind of understands what’s happening on the ground,” Gurman said.

When it works, everybody wins

We spoke with several authors who describe their experience with KAYA as following this stated playbook. Alan Watts and Andrew Leich, who wrote print guidebooks for Smith Rock State Park and Cheat Canyon Bouldering, respectively, have had zero issues working with KAYA on digital versions.

Jason Kehl is the moderator for the Hueco Tanks guidebook on KAYA and reported a positive experience.

“From my end, it’s been great. There’s not a lot of money in guidebooks in general, and what they’re paying is actually a little more than I was expecting,” Kehl said. “And I love being able to access the app from the back end if, say, a hold breaks, or you know, something gets downgraded.”

KAYA’s rocky relationships

While many of KAYA’s digital guidebooks undergo a smooth publishing process, the app has given rise to three key issues among the climbing community at large: ethics, access, and evolution.

Ethics: can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?

Steven Jeffrey helped publish KAYA’s first digital guidebook back in 2022 for the sandstone boulders of Joe’s Valley in Utah. But he had to request his name be added as the author after KAYA initially published the guide without attributing authorship to Jeffrey. He admitted he opted to work with the platform with some reservations.

“In the world of law and lawyers, they technically can’t steal your book, but they sure can write a guidebook right over top of you. So I would suggest joining KAYA to save your ass,” Jeffrey said.

But for authors who refuse to join KAYA’s growing library, the quick digitization of painstaking work that took seasons of their lives can be tough to swallow.

Andy White assembled a guidebook to 2,000 boulder problems in Canada’s Okanagan Valley over the span of 8 years. Kimbrough Moore co-authored a 464-page guide to Yosemite Bouldering. Both say that after turning down KAYA’s offer, KAYA sent climbers into the field using their work to populate digital content for the app in a matter of months.

More complaints

The complaints go on, with authors claiming to see KAYA employees and/or local climbers with their guidebook in one hand, and a cellphone uploading photos and routes in the other. Some have even sleuthed KAYA employees purchasing paywalled guides in rivaling GunksApp, only to publish the same area on the KAYA app. In some instances, even names of projects only published in a single guidebook will quickly appear on the KAYA app.

The common refrain among guidebook authors was the extraordinary amount of labor that went into locating, identifying, photographing, and describing boulder problems that are sometimes miles into the woods.

Guidebook authors like Moore and White maintain that KAYA avoids the years of research and on-the-ground work that go into making guidebooks. Before they published the Yosemite book, Moore and his co-authors, James Lucas and Shannon Joslin, spent 3 days hiking 65 kilometers in Yosemite to double-check problems and retake photos.

Since acquiring its first guidebook in November 2022, Kaya now has 113 verified digital guidebooks behind its paywall, with approximately another 60 in development.

Impossibly fast growth

Moore believes that it is impossible to have achieved that rate of growth ethically.

“Some guidebooks take many years to write. And in the last three years, I believe [KAYA] assembled over 100 or so,” he said. “How can a tech company accomplish this? The only answer is by duplicating existing research, because it’s just not possible to accomplish what they have in an ethical way,” he said.

For its part, KAYA responds to complaints as they arise, sometimes removing guides altogether, other times delisting them as verified, “official” guides.

Gurman called these instances “early missteps” that were “overzealous.” Gurman’s team has even gone so far as to publish a blog post to address many of the accusations directly and more clearly outline how the app intends to work with authors. And, KAYA has categorically denied any accusations of plagiaristic behavior.

The tricky truth of access

While the technological component of this debate is modern, in reality, it touches on one of climbing’s eternal core tensions: access versus gatekeeping. On one hand, as climbers, we all want people to have the ability to climb outside and find joy in the sport. You shouldn’t have to be part of the “in crowd” to climb outside.

On the other hand, sometimes areas need to be gatekept and only known by word of mouth to preserve access.

KAYA sees itself as a harbinger of equitable access for all.

“We built KAYA as a tool to help climbers have their best adventures and share meaningful experiences together. We’ve designed the experience and our community standards to promote a more inclusive digital space for climbers compared to other platforms that some may consider elitist and intimidating,” Jerome said in an email.

But many guidebook authors expressed concern that the wide accessibility of information on apps like KAYA may lead to overuse and overcrowding of climbing areas, potentially resulting in landowners revoking access.

Often, local areas have unwritten rules or areas where access is allowed but highly sensitive.

“In the south Okanagan, there’s a lot of very access-sensitive bouldering that we purposely did not put in the [print] guidebook for that reason,” White said. He’s concerned about what might happen if those areas come onto apps like KAYA.

There has not been a case of access being revoked to areas due to an influx of climbers from KAYA, but authors worry nonetheless.

Evolution of tradition

Climbing began as a counterculture sport and has long been the purview of self-described dirtbags and hippies. As climbing has gone more mainstream with the growth of gyms, some fear that KAYA represents how climbing is losing its way.

“KAYA is some mass-marketed, passionless business with an end goal and a means to get there that doesn’t really include the dedication and the pioneers [of the sport],” Fred Knapp, owner of print guidebook publisher Sharp End, asserted.

In many ways, this controversy is just the latest in climbing’s long history of tradition butting up against evolution. While we herald and celebrate innovators in the sport, at the same time, we bristle at change.

In the 1970s, it was Royal Robbins chopping off the bolts that Warren Harding had left on El Capitan, symbolic of their differences in climbing ethics. Then in the 1980s, what’s now accepted practice — bolting routes for sport climbing — ignited a firestorm, as trad climbers opposed this manipulation of the natural rock. Finally, in the 2010s, the boom in commercial climbing gyms sparked debate about whether the sport was losing its soul in favor of prioritizing financial growth.

Tradition vs evolution

The debates over KAYA and digital guidebooks may well just be the newest chapter in climbing’s storied history of tradition fighting evolution.

“You’re kind of dealing with two different climbers,” Jeffrey said, comparing the ethics of KAYA to a new school climber. “[There's] the climber that’s a trad climber through and through, and then [with KAYA], you’re dealing with a climber that will glue and chip and retro bolt anything they want to climb. Yes, we’re both still climbers, but we both have extremely different ethics of what climbing is.”

KAYA, meanwhile, believes it is mutually beneficial for all: climbers, authors, and LCOS.

“I believe this is a watershed moment for climbing similar to sticky rubber and bolts,” Gurman said. “The digital revolution in climbing is equally as contentious as those innovations. The best platform will be the one that makes climbing more accessible, sustainably in concert with the community. We want to be that platform.”

In a world where access to information and beta videos are just a click away, it’s up to each climber to decide what responsible, ethical climbing and access look like.

This story first appeared on GearJunkie.

Kuwamura Masaharu has summited Mounts Kashimayari and Goryu in the Northern Japanese Alps. For him, the feat meant much more than ticking off two more peaks. The one-legged climber wants to prove to himself and others that his disability does not stop him from doing such things.

At eight years old, Masaharu had his left leg amputated because of bone cancer. There was only a 10% chance he would survive the surgery. Masahura has always taken the fact that he did survive as a sign that the gods "were telling me to do something with only one leg.”

When he climbed his first mountain at the age of 44, he felt “a joy like no other he had experienced.” Inspired by Yokota Sadao, an early 20th-century climber who also had one leg amputated, his mission is to climb 100 famous mountains across Japan. Since his retirement in 2023 at age 58, he has accelerated his efforts. 

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Mount Goryu (2,814m) and Mount Kashimayari (2,889m) have narrow ridges and steep rock faces, with ladders in certain parts. Masaharu had attempted to climb them twice before. He has no intention of dying in the mountains; he has made a promise to his wife. If it is too risky, he will turn back. On his previous attempts, he suffered from shoulder problems. 

To help with support, he uses metal forearm crutches. This means his body alternates from being supported by only his arms to just one of his legs. He says climbing mountains like this is “like doing continuous sets of pushups followed by a one-legged squat.”

Over four days, he summited Mount Kashimayari, covered the 23km between the ridges, and then climbed Mount Goryu. These are mountains 64 and 65 in his quest. He hopes to complete the remaining 35 mountains within four years. 

You can watch a 25-minute documentary of Masaharu, in English, here.

On August 31, Simon Gietl and Davide Prandini free climbed the Identitat route on the west face of Mittlerer Zwolferkofel in the Dolomites, two years after Gietl’s solo first ascent of the route.

The climbers graded the difficulty at 8+/9-, used no bolts, and left all pitons in place, which follows Gietl’s usual climbing ethics of minimal environmental impact. After the free ascent, Gietl and Prandini descended by the normal, south face route.

A spectacular limestone climb

In 2023, Gietl described this 500m route — then rated at 8 and A1 — as a reflection of his alpinist identity, emphasizing the adventure and personal fulfillment it provided after over a decade of planning.

The Mittlerer Zwolferkofel, also known as Croda Antonio Berti, is a 3,011m peak in the Sexten Dolomites, South Tyrol, Italy. It is part of the Zwolferkofel massif, with the main summit reaching 3,094m. The Dolomites are renowned for their dramatic limestone peaks, and the Mittlerer Zwolferkofel is a notable feature in this region for mountaineers because of its challenging routes and historical significance.

The main summit of Zwolferkofel, considered by many as the most beautiful peak of the Sextner Dolomites, was first ascended in 1874 by Michael and Johann Innerkofler via the south face. Michael Innerkofler was a climbing pioneer in the Dolomites who also made the first ascent of Cima Ovest and Cima Piccola of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo.

Ian, an Australian short film, introduces viewers to the eponymous Ian Elliot, a 72-year-old rock climber.

"Age isn't really a barrier to climbing," Ian claims simply.

Born on the then-rural Sunshine Coast in 1952, Ian didn't start climbing seriously until his mid-50s. He was always adventurous, from a youth riding motorcycles along the coast to bush walking and canyoneering. From there, he found rock climbing.

But it was only after his partner, Jeannette, developed knee problems that he became serious about climbing. No longer able to walk with her, he turned to climbing instead.

It has become a central focus of his life -- when he wakes up, he admits, he finds himself thinking through challenging sections, longing to get out there. At home, he trains with determination.

Now that we've met Ian, the film takes us with him to Mount Coolum, in Queensland. A volcanic intrusion less than a kilometer from the beach, Mt Coolum is a uniquely challenging climbing destination. A large overhang with unusual, horn-like rock formations makes it a destination for serious climbers.

"I don't really have anything to prove," Ian says, as we see him jump and pull his way up the jagged underside of Mt Coolum. "I just like to be out on the rock, climbing."

He doesn't claim to be immune to age. The stiffness and soreness, he admits, have worsened over the years. "But once I'm on the rock, you don't think about aches and pains."

Ian is practically climbing horizontally now, as the rock face bends dizzyingly up and over.

As captions on screen explain, Ian "astounded the climbing community" when he successfully completed his first 5.12d at the age of 69. He surprised himself, he confides, when he was able to keep going for so long, at such a high level.

Even he doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to do it. But he plans to find out -- keep training, and keep climbing.

Just 50km from the Mediterranean and the Andalusian city of Malaga lies El Chorro, a world-class climbing destination. In the 1980s, it was one of the first places in Europe to develop sport climbing routes. Since then, routes have multiplied, extending from the gorge and across the imposing Frontales cliffs that loom over the village.

Outside of El Chorro, the Andalusian landscape offers an abundance of limestone and cliffs. Some of these extraordinary crags, such as the higher ones of El Torcal, Turón, and Desplomilandia, are an easy day outing by car from El Chorro.

Single and multi-pitch routes range from extremely difficult, through a vast selection of superb medium-difficulty routes, to entire crags offering easier grades. In addition to the many single-pitch sport routes, a growing number of fully bolted routes up to ten pitches long cover the entire range of difficulty.

El Caminito del Rey

In the El Chorro area, there is an old trail built between 1901 and 1905 to allow workers at the local hydroelectric plants to access the gorge for maintenance. In 1921, King Alfonso XIII visited to inaugurate a new dam and walk the gorge. From then on, the trail was called El Caminito del Rey, the king's little path.

During the 1980s, the walkway offered a memorable way to reach the walls in the lower gorge, and climbers established some fantastic routes. However, the trail rapidly deteriorated and became dangerous. In 2000, the government removed the first section of the trail to prevent public access.

Yet climbers are difficult to keep away, and eventually, the government redeveloped the trail as a tourist attraction. Work began in 2014, and in March 2015, El Caminito del Rey reopened to the public.

The situation now

The new walkway is an extraordinary feat and has become a major tourist attraction. The government permits access only from the gorge's northern entrance and strictly limits the number of people, so booking on the official website is almost always essential.

For climbers, this means that it is no longer possible to access the climbing routes in the lower and upper gorges. Fortunately, the increase in available routes elsewhere in the area has more than offset the loss.

Guide to the crags

• Frontales is a massive cliff above the village of El Chorro. With 231 routes of all grades, both single and multi-pitch, it caters to everyone.
• Escalera Arabe is one of El Chorro's premier areas, perched high above the valley and packed with superb climbs. Among its 143 routes, there are plenty of lower grades.
• Serena is a small crag with 19 well-bolted pitches in the lower and mid-grades, with a stunning vista. It gets lots of sun, but can also pick up a breeze.
• Las Encantadas is a striking crag composed of blank-looking faces and offering exceptional wall climbing for all levels. It has 56 routes, and the access is almost roadside.
• Los Olivitos, Cocina Caliente, and Bedees are a trio of pleasant, easily accessed buttresses with plenty of routes in the lower and mid-grades. Good for a quick hit.
• Corral East is a reasonable crag with 16 worthwhile lines and one low-grade multi-pitch climb. A bit of a walk is necessary to get there.

• Rocabella is an unusual ridge of good rock that has lots of lower-grade climbs (26 routes in all). Access is pretty quick, and sun and shade are both available.
• Caliza is a roadside crag that is better than it looks. The rock is good, and its 25 routes are fairly popular. The crag is in the shade all day.
• Los Cotos is a remote set of extensive slabs. Little visited because of the long approach, the trek is worth it for some of its 66 routes.
• El Polvorin is a fantastic wall of vertical, lightly featured rock lined with tough 30m wall climbs in the VI. A long approach, but worth it. There are 18 routes.
• Makinodromo is one of Europe's most famous cliffs, a mecca for Grade 8 climbers. Over the last decade, it has developed considerably, and it now has 155 routes.
• Desplomilandia is a popular venue with many outstanding single-pitch lines (183 in total). It is well-shaded and a good place when it gets too hot.
• Poza de la Mona is a long, shady crag not far from the road with 46 routes of all grades.

• Turón is a fantastic set of huge slabs in an enchanting environment. There are some harder vertical routes here, too.
• Valle de Abdalajis is a popular area close to El Chorro with near-vertical walls split by cracks of all sizes. There are 88 routes.
• El Torcal is a high plateau of heavily eroded limestone that is a good place to head in hot weather. The 72 routes are well bolted but not a pushover.
• Villanueva de Cauche is close to the road but quiet and packed with hard wall climbs. Enough routes, with 70 at Grade VI.
• Puerto Rico is an extensive crag of tufa rock in the hills inland from Marbella. A hot spot best reserved for cool weather, but with extremely fun climbing. A total of 78 routes.
• Mijas is a series of open faces with good views and a dank, shady ravine located in the tourist area of Mijas. With 104 routes, some like it and some hate it.
• Pinares de San Anton is a set of two faces high above Malaga. Lots of face climbing and few steeper sections. Sun or shade throughout the day on all 104 lines.

Beyond climbing

The region not only offers climbing. Tourism has heavily developed the coastal strip, but the mountains inland are a stark contrast, dotted with typical Andalusian villages. These villages are excellent places to immerse yourself in the area's laid-back culture and enjoy a meal in the many bars and restaurants. Conversely, the cities of Seville and Granada offer Spanish city life at its best. If you love art, don't miss the Picasso Museum in Malaga.

Weather

The best climbing weather is usually between mid-October and early May. During this period, air temperatures can be perfect, with plenty of sun, shade, and/or altitude options. Winter months can be chilly, so a warm coat and hat are essential, but there are plenty of good sunny crags available.

El Chorro is at its best in autumn and spring, yet it can get very hot even at this time of year. Don't forget shorts, sunscreen, and a hat. Occasionally, it rains. It is best to avoid summer, from June to mid-September, as temperatures inland can reach 40°C. If you find yourself in a heat wave, the shade of Desplomilandia and the altitude of El Torcal may be cool enough.

How to get there

The closest major airport to El Chorro is Malaga International Airport. It is one of the best-served and busiest airports in Europe, with flights from all major European destinations year-round. Prices are also among the lowest available for any climbing destination in Spain.

Where to stay

El Chorro has several excellent lodge-style accommodations, fully equipped for the rock climbing market. An advantage for solo travelers is that there are always other climbers staying at these places, and many of the crags are within walking distance. I recommend: Climbing Lodge, The Olive Branch, and Finca La Campana.

There are many accommodation options available near El Chorro, from small cottage-style townhouses to enormous villas with pools. Many of these are within walking distance of the cliffs and the village of El Chorro, for those without a car.

The surrounding villages and towns also offer rental properties and will be of interest to those seeking a wider selection of shops, restaurants, and bars, such as those in the lively towns of Alora, Ardales, or the Abdalajís Valley. Accommodation is quite reasonable. I recommend Casa El Chorro, Cortijo Don Rodrigo, and La Almona Chica.

On July 13, brothers Niall and Finn McCann summited Mount Asgard on Canada’s Baffin Island, fulfilling a dream two decades in the making.

The British pair climbed the iconic mountain via the original 1953 Swiss route in a grueling 15-hour push. They were retracing the path explored during an expedition led by their grandfather, Patrick Douglas Baird. Baird, who led the 1953 Arctic Institute of North America expedition, named Asgard after the Norse mythological realm but never summited it himself.

“It was wonderfully emotional,” Niall McCann shared on Instagram. “Standing on top of the mountain our grandfather named was surreal and deeply happy.”

The brothers spent a magical 10 hours bivouacked on the summit, soaking in 360˚ views of jagged peaks and glaciers before their 11-hour descent back to camp.

Their adventure continued beyond Asgard. After the summit, the McCanns embarked on a five-day mini-expedition around the Turner Glacier, climbing an unnamed 1,744m peak near Mount Loki.

The McCann brothers spent over three weeks in the remote Weasel Valley, which Niall described as “Yosemite in an Arctic alpine setting,” with rugged peaks, hanging glaciers, and vibrant wildlife like lemmings and weasels.

“It’s been a privilege,” Niall McCann wrote.

"Today is day 11 of free soloing a harder route every day until I fall," the tousle-haired young rock climber says to the camera. "And today we're free soloing 11b."

The view then switches to distant footage of him climbing ropeless up a steep 5.11b route in Colorado, which includes a precarious move over a short overhang.

The comments section on this footage posted to Instagram via the account Lincolnclimbs makes for interesting reading. Some praise the climber's calmness under pressure and congratulate him. Others are understandably more negative. Free soloing is climbing without a rope, the subgenre of climbing that American pro Alex Honnold became famous for doing, very, very carefully. One commenter, in particular, raises concerns about advocating this activity.

Advertising free soloing on a social media platform is not a good thing to do as a climber. This is how we get people killed because they saw one dude do it online and they try to do it themselves. I get you're a good climber but this is not the way to go about internet fame. You have a lot of influence and it can be good AND bad. At least do some sort of safety warning or actively tell people not to do this kinda thing.

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Next-level ragebait

Another viewer suggests the video is designed as a means to provoke anger and negativity to drive increased engagement with his social media account: "Free soloing till I fall is some next level ragebait."

The video is part of a series of Instagram posts focused on free soloing, which started with "day one of free soloing a harder route every day until I fall" on a 5.8 graded route on June 7. Mixed around these videos are other content from free soloing buildings, to climbing disused chimney stacks.

Who is the climber?

The climber behind the Instagram account is a young American college student named Lincoln Knowles. An article published on the website Voyage Utah last August suggests Knowles has been climbing for five years, is a college student in Utah, and is also a climbing guide and YouTuber.

"At just 20 years old, I am a full-time climbing guide and YouTuber, passionately sharing my adventures and expertise with a growing online audience," he told the site.

Knowles appears to have a second, more conventional Instagram account and a personal website that advertises rock and ice climbing courses. He states that he has a Wilderness First Aid Certificate and has undergone avalanche training.

The young American is clearly a strong climber. On July 13, Knowles posted a video claiming to be the first to free solo what he describes as the longest sport climbing route in the United States -- Squawstruck (5.11b, 22 pitches), a 600m climb in Rock Canyon, Utah.

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Asking for donations

Following the Squawstruck climb, Knowles posted another video referring to the successful climb with the simple caption "Venmo: Lincoln-Knowles". Venmo is an American mobile payment service. Knowles is asking followers to make a donation.

One commenter took less kindly to this request: "Bro, imagine some semi-strong unsponsored boulderer, trad climber, or sport climber put their Venmo or Zelle on a post after FA-ing, equipping, sending, flashing or onsighting any route or climb. What are you doing my guy? Plenty of people love climbing, we ain’t paying you to do this. You need to rethink this whole strat boss."

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Knowles also runs a Patreon account where he posts videos of his climbs, with various paid membership levels. On this page, he suggests supporters help him "stay independent, fund new missions, and tell the kind of climbing stories that aren’t sponsored, filtered, or algorithm-friendly."

A different side

From the Instagram account alone, it would be easy to form the impression that Knowles is simply reckless. However, his longer-form YouTube videos paint a different picture. In one video entitled My Hardest Free Solo Yet (Colossus 5.10c), the young climber has inserted a voice-over where he calmly commentates through key sections of the route.

He talks about enjoying the route, the moves ahead, getting lost on the route, judging rock quality, the time it takes to learn this, and the high consequences of what he is doing.

One commenter is less forgiving, though. "This isn't standard free solo practice. You should know the route flawlessly, not get up and realize you have no idea which way to go. And you can't onsight something you've already had a go on. Please have a plan if you really feel like you need to do this. It isn't worth dying for."

Towards the end of the video, Knowles riffs on his reasons for free soloing.

"If you're a climber, you kind of understand the joy behind climbing, and the feeling of satisfaction that you get when climbing. And it's kind of reasonable to think about how the more time you spend climbing and the less time you spend managing ropes, the more actual climbing you're doing.

"If you've never climbed before, I would suggest that you try it, and you'll realize that it's actually really good. Developing trust in your own abilities and in your feet is a really good feeling."

Kodak courage

In the wider outdoor world, social media has played an undeniable role in luring hikers, climbers, and skiers onto terrain they may not be equipped to deal with. In 2017, the Instagram-famous Capitol Peak in Colorado, had five deaths on its slopes in six weeks.

One of the dead was amateur climber Jake Lord. Lord had persuaded his friend Peter Doro, a hiker afraid of heights, to tackle Capitol Peaks’ knife-edge ridge. The dizzying YouTube videos the pair pored over proved too alluring, the potential feeling of triumph too much to miss out on. Before the incident, Lord messaged his friends, “This is what I’m about to do, it’s going to be sick.”

Two years before Facebook launched, avalanche expert Ian McCammon published research noting six factors contributing to avalanche accidents. These included the need to do activities to be noticed or accepted by other mountain goers. This has since become known as “Kodak Courage.”

Not the only one

Kodak Courage is nothing new, but the advent of social media and its “everywhereness” has given it a new edge: the need to drive engagement for attention or monetary gain.

Lincoln Knowles is not alone. In February, a Ukrainian ice-climbing influencer known for posting risky or controversial content died in an unroped fall, after having only taken up the sport nine weeks earlier.

Knowles' motivation for posting controversial content on free soloing is not clear from his online presence, and it is worth noting that this is a young man who appears to have a passion for climbing. Despite this, some commenters on his videos strongly disagree with his actions:

"Free soloing was never about spraying on Instagram. Dude you're gonna look back in a few years [and] be so embarrassed at how cringe this is. Solo on your own, for yourself. Have more respect for yourself than the algorithm."

What is clear and not open to debate, however, is that this free soloist wants your attention.

Shira M. Biner, Kelly Fields, and Heather B. Smallpage have done a new 550m big-wall route on Eglinton Tower’s buttress on Baffin Island, Canada. This marks the first route of its length and difficulty (5.11+ A0) by an all-female team on Baffin Island. The group included Natalie Afonina.

The daunting buttress rose approximately 893m above their Base Camp, with a challenging headwall that appeared nearly unclimbable from below. Over 12 long pitches and one cold bivouac, they summited of the first tower, only to discover a hidden 300m headwall leading to the true summit. Prioritizing safety and limited by food and energy, the team celebrated their milestone and made an 11-hour descent. The route included a tension traverse to avoid dangerous runout moves, but the climbers noted it could go free with one or two bolts.

Kelly Fields shared a personal reflection on her social media: “The summit was never my goal — surviving the ominous headwall was. I climbed with a respiratory infection and debilitating blisters, driven by a lifelong dream. Nothing and no one was going to stop me.”

She highlighted the team’s grit, climbing together for the first time and tackling an “insanely difficult and dangerous objective” in good style.

A long approach

The expedition included 250km of skiing on sea ice, paddling the Kogalu River, and trekking through Ayr Pass.

Eglinton Tower (933m) lies in remote Auyuittuq National Park's Weasel Valley, near other prominent Arctic peaks like Mount Thor and Mount Asgard. According to the American Alpine Journal, its first recorded ascent was in 1934, by British climbers John Hanham and Tom Longstaff. That ascent was part of early exploratory mountaineering in Baffin Island, focusing on peak bagging rather than technical big-wall routes. The climb marked the tower as one of the earliest summited peaks in the region. However, it’s not a frequently climbed peak, due to its remoteness.

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Meteora is a complex of imposing dark rocks, rising over the settlements of Kalampaka and the picturesque Kastraki village, on the plain of Thessaly, Greece. There are approximately 900 multi-pitch climbing routes in the Meteora towers. The texture of the rocks, the fairytale setting, and the fact that every route ends at the top of an outstanding tower make climbing in Meteora a peculiar experience.

Meteora's rocks and climbing style

Meteora's rock texture consists of a combination of pebbles, cobbles, and large rocks attached to a cement-like sandstone and cobblestone rock surface. Shallow holes are often encountered as a result of pebble detachment. When first climbing here, the texture can make the rock feel unstable, especially on downhill pebbles. But gradually, you will learn that the rock is stable.

The slope and the size of the pebbles determine the grade of the routes. Most of the routes are balanced, emphasize technique, and include delicate movements without the need for particularly athletic skills. High grades are considered exceptions. The main traits of the routes are their mixture of slab-based trad and sport climbing.

A look back in time

The first climbing records from the Meteora towers trace back to the 10th century, when the first ascetics in the region arrived and settled in the natural hollows of the rocks. The ascetics used scaffolding, nets, and wind ladders for these ascents.

Heinz Lothar Stutte and Dietrich Hasse's 1975 climbs mark the beginning of modern climbing in Meteora.

By 1985, climbers had established more than 200 routes, and the region had grown popular among climbers and adventurers. Amongst the early Greek climbers, Aris Mitronatsios stands out. Throughout the 1990s, the local climbing community made a significant contribution, establishing new routes and accomplishing challenging repeats. They followed the ethics of ground-up bolting, but installed more bolts than usual because of the difficulty of the routes. A typical example was two young climbers from Kastraki -- Christos Batalogiannis and Vangelis Batsios -- who made a decisive contribution to the opening of several now classic routes. Action Direct, Orchidea, and Crazy Dancing stand out among them.

By the end of the decade, the local climbing community had grown significantly, with Nikos Gazos and Nikos Theodorou playing an important role in the development of climbing in the region.

Today, Meteora is a global climbing destination. The Panhellenic Climbing Meeting, for instance, has been held in Meteora since 1988 under the umbrella of the Mountaineering and Climbing Federation, in association with the Kalambaka Municipality and the Kalambaka Climbing Club. This three-day event constitutes a major celebration of climbing each year.

How is it possible?

The giant towers of Meteora are mysterious. One can't help but wonder how people built monasteries on these summits centuries ago, when climbing them can be problematic even for today's sophisticated climbers. How, then, did the monks, shepherds, and hunters climb to these summits?

Based on findings from past ascents, researchers believe they started up the vertical sections by driving wooden or iron stakes into the rock. Then, they balanced a wooden ladder upon the stakes, climbed the ladder, wedged more stakes into the rock, and in the end pulled the ladder up to the new stakes, starting again.

The mystery of the cross

However, one of the biggest riddles in Meteora is the metal cross kept at Varlaam Monastery. In 1348, to celebrate his victory over Epirus and Thessaly, Serbian emperor Stephen Dušan ordered a large metal cross (1.80m x 80cm) to be perched atop Holy Ghost, the most imposing of Meteora's towers. Holy Ghost is a monolithic 300m tower. Climbing to its top involves continuous 5c climbing. Researchers have found no trace of historic attempts on the rock, so we can only assume that somebody climbed 300 vertical metres using just their hands and feet, with no aid whatsoever.

In 1987, a French film crew led by the famous rock climber Patrick Berhault made a film about Meteora climbing. One of the three rock climbers in the cast attempted to repeat a free-solo ascent of Holy Ghost on the route Pillar of Dreams, 250 meters long and 5c+ as an average grade. Eighty metres above ground, he suddenly changed his mind, and the film helicopter had to rescue him. In 1994, American climber Jane Balister took on the challenge and free-soloed it. Not even James Bond -- in 1981, For Your Eyes Only was largely shot in this area -- achieved this goal.

Then, climbing happened, thanks to the Germans

Dietrich Hasse was born in Bad Schandau, Saxony, and from a young age, he was involved in climbing. He quickly became one of Elba's best climbers. He opened many new routes and explored the Dolomites with excellent climbing partners, such as Lothar Brandler (known for the Hasse-Brandler route on the North face of Cima Grande di Lavaredo), Claude Barbier, and Heinz Steinkötter. In August 1975, Hasse and Sepp Eichinger visited Meteora for the first time. They were struck by the imposing towers and established the first four routes in the area.

In the spring of 1976, Hasse and his friend, professional climber and photographer Heinz Lothar Stutte, established even more climbing routes in the area. In 1977, they published the first climbing guide for the region, listing 83 routes.

Interest amongst the German climbing community was growing and seemed to reach a peak with the ascent of the eastern side of Alyssos tower. Hasse, Eichinger, Mägdefrau, and Lothar Stutte opened the Community Path route in a three-day effort, from March 27 to March 30, 1978.

Hasse died in 2022. Two years later, Greek climber Vangelis Galanis made a rope solo first ascent of a new multipitch route on Kapelo Peak and dedicated it to Hasse.

How to get there

From Athens, Meteora is 360km by car (in the direction of Lamia, Domokos, Karditsa, Trikala, and Kalambaka) on a route well serviced by intercity buses and train services. From Thessaloniki, the distance is 230km, by two main routes. The first leads to Kalambaka through Katerini, Larissa, and Trikala. The second goes via Veria, Kozani, Grevena, and Kalambaka. Both routes are possible by intercity bus and train.

You can also reach Meteora from Igoumenitsa, it is a 150km road through Loannina and Panagia. From Volos, it is 140km through Larissa and Trikala. Both routes are served by intercity buses.

Where to stay

The finest place to stay for climbers who want to explore the entire area is Kastraki, which lies between Meteora Towers. Small hotels, rental rooms, and two campsites are available there. Several lodgings are also offered in Kalambaka, a neighbouring town around 2km from Kastraki. I particularly recommend Ziogas Rooms, Thalia Rooms, Hotel Kastraki, and Camping Kastraki.

You can find a supermarket in the town of Kalambaka, and you can purchase basic supplies in a mini-market in Kastraki.

When to find perfect conditions

Climbing conditions are best between April and the middle of June, and from the middle of September to the end of November. The surroundings are lush in spring, but there is a greater chance of rain compared to hot and dry fall. Although summer can be quite warm, some routes are in the shade for a long time during the day. Though winter is more challenging, climbing is still an option on sunny days.

Gear, rules, and final recommendations

In addition to personal climbing gear such as a climbing harness, climbing shoes, a belay/rappel device, carabiners, straps, a lanyard, some nuts, and some friends, it is suggested you take 10-16 quickdraws. Two half-ropes of 60m will help with multipitch climbing, or a 70-80m single rope works for sport climbing.

In April 1976, the Archeological Service and the Orthodox Church granted written permission to climb in Meteora. Climbing is only forbidden on the six towers with inhabited monasteries. Rock climbing is thus permitted without restriction on the remaining 50 solid towers and 80 smaller ones. Campfires, camping, or bivouacking between the towers is strictly prohibited.

A 27-year-old student had to be rescued twice from Mount Fuji in one week. He got in trouble once during an illegal climb and again after returning to the mountain to recover his lost cell phone.

The student, a Chinese national studying in Japan, first attempted to climb Mount Fuji on April 22, when the mountain was still closed for the season. Because of extreme weather, trails on Japan’s highest peak are only open from July to early September. 

On the first climb, the student became stranded near the summit. He couldn't descend after losing his crampons and was suffering from altitude sickness. A search-and-rescue team found him at an altitude of over 3,000m. He was mildly hypothermic and was airlifted off the mountain to a hospital.

Four days later, the headstrong student returned to Mount Fuji. According to police, he went back to retrieve his phone and other personal belongings lost during the first climb. He again made it to over 3,000m, where he once again succumbed to altitude sickness. Another hiker on the trail found him “lying on the ground and shaking.” Ensued a second rescue. 

There is no penalty for climbing Mount Fuji during the off-season, and no charge for being rescued. But there has been an outcry on social media, with many saying the climber should at least be charged for the second rescue, if not both. 

Although most visitors adhere to the seasonal guidelines, a growing number of individuals are attempting off-season climbs. Police in Shizuoka prefecture have reiterated their advice against climbing the mountain at this time of year. Medical facilities along the trails are closed, and the rapidly changing weather can make it very hard for rescuers to respond. 

Today, Slovenian alpinist Nejc Zaplotnik would have turned 73. Widely regarded as one of the most influential climbers of his generation, he left an indelible mark on mountaineering through his bold ascents, philosophical writings, and tragic early death.

Zaplotnik’s resumé includes over 350 ascents across Europe, Africa, and North America. His career coincided with the golden age of Slovenian alpinism, characterized by ambitious expeditions to the Himalaya and other ranges, often with limited resources. We look at some of his notable climbs.

Jernej Zaplotnik, better known as Nejc Zaplotnik, was born in Kranj, Slovenia in 1952. He joined the town's Alpine Association in 1969 and soon made a name for himself in the Slovenian and Yugoslav climbing scenes.

Alongside climbing partner Tone Percic, Zaplotnik climbed a difficult route on 2,558m Grintovec, the highest peak in Slovenia's Kamnik-Savinja Alps.

In 1970, Zaplotnik joined the Mountain Rescue Service of the Slovenian Alpine Association. In 1971, he married Mojca Jamnik. Together, they had three children.

Early climbs

Also in Slovenia's Kamnik-Savinja Alps, Zaplotnik and Francek Ster made the first ascent of Tomazev Steber (Tomaz’s Pillar) on 2,540m Jezerska Kocna’s north face in 1971.

He also made several important climbs in Slovenia's Julian Alps. On Triglav, Jalovec, and Skuta peaks, he climbed several routes, focusing primarily on winter and solo ascents. For example, in 1978, Zaplotnik ascended the difficult 900m Skalaska Route on the north wall of 2,472m Spik Mountain.

He finished another important solo climb in 1980, on the north face of 2,864m Triglav. Here, he ascended the extremely challenging Cop Pillar route.

His ski descents were also notable, including those on the north face of Kocna and Skuta. He made other ski descents on Triglav, Jalovec, and Grintovec peaks.

In 1976, Zaplotnik ascended the difficult Schmid Route of the Matterhorn with Ivan Kotnik. He and partner Marko Stremfelj then climbed the even harder Carlesso-Sandri Route on Civetta in the Italian Dolomites.

In 1972, Zaplotnik went to Tanzania to climb the east wall of 5,149m Mawenzi Peak in the Kilimanjaro massif. Next, he moved on to Yosemite and did the Salathe Wall with Janez Gradisar.

Makalu

Zaplotnik participated in three expeditions that completed new routes on three 8,000’ers: Makalu’s South Face, Gasherbrum I’s Southwest Ridge, and Everest’s West Ridge.

In the autumn of 1975, only one expedition targeted Makalu. Under the leadership of Ales Kunaver, the Yugoslav Himalayan Expedition chose to take on the unclimbed South Face. The 21-man team included Zaplotnik, Janko Azman, Stane Belak-Strauf, Janez Dovzan, Viki Groselj, Ivan Kotnik, and Marjan Manfreda, among others.

Other expeditions had tried Makalu’s South Face before. The Californian Makalu Expedition, led by William Siri, attempted the South Face–Southeast Ridge route in the spring of 1954, before the peak’s first ascent in 1955. However, the climbers aborted at 7,150m because of the approaching monsoon.

In the autumn of 1972, a Yugoslav expedition led by Ales Kunaver targeted the South Face without supplemental oxygen. In early November, climbers Miya Malezie and Janko Azman reached the top of the South Face at 8,100m. From there, they turned around, stymied by the route's difficulty.

In 1974, two parties attempted the face again. An Austrian expedition led by Wolfgang Nairz reached 7,500m in the spring before aborting in bad weather. That autumn, Fritz Stammberger led an expedition that made it to 7,800m, but bad weather again foiled them.

The first ascent of Makalu’s South Face

Kunaver’s party arrived at Makalu Base Camp on Sept. 5, 1975. They established Camp 1 at 5,850m on September 7 and Camp 2 at 6,300m on September 9. On September 14, they bivouacked at 6,600m. They established Camp 3 at 7,000m on September 16 and Camp 5 at 7,500m on September 23.

Their rapid progress was interrupted soon after. Heavy snowfall and avalanches destroyed Camp 4. It took till October 2 to rebuild it. Camp 5 was established at 8,050m two days later. They later camped in snow caves to avoid avalanches.

The team summited in small groups. On October 6, Stane Belak-Staruf and Marjan Manfreda summited via the South Face. On October 8, Zaplotnik and Janko Azman reached the top, followed by Ivan Kotnik and Viki Groselj on October 10 and Dovzan on October 11. Manfreda didn’t use bottled oxygen, while the other summiters did.

New route on Gasherbrum I

In the summer of 1977, Zaplotnik was part of a nine-man team that received a climbing permit for 8,080m Gasherbrum I in the Karakoram. Led by Janez Loncar, they would attempt the unclimbed Southwest Ridge.

The climbers navigated a complex icefall to set up Camp 1 at the base of a steep couloir. They progressed through challenging terrain -- a rocky chimney, ice slopes, and a vertical rock pitch -- to establish Camp 2 at 5,760m.

According to Zaplotnik’s report for the American Alpine Journal, from there, they climbed the White Dome’s avalanche-prone 50° slope. That day, an enormous slide narrowly missed them.

They set up Camp 3 at 6,340m, then descended to Base Camp to rest. Soon after, Loncar and Filip Bence fell ill, leaving only five fit climbers.

Andrej Stremfelj and Zaplotnik carried gear from Base Camp to Camp 2 in a day, and then moved it to Camp 3. Above Camp 3, Borut Bergant fixed some rope on the summit pyramid’s base. Then they climbed the steep, icy West Face on poor rock.

Andrej Stremfelj and Zaplotnik continued past the ropes alongside a 70° couloir that led to two snow shoulders. They placed Camp 4 on a precarious snow shelf somewhere between 7,000m-7,300m and endured a windy, sleepless night.

The Southwest Ridge

On the morning of July 8, Stremfelj and Zaplotnik departed Camp 4. After hours of climbing on icy rocks, they reached a gap below the summit at midday. They finally summited Gasherbrum I in fog and extreme cold. At the summit, they raised the Yugoslav, Pakistani, and Slovenian flags, took a few useless photos in the fog, then began the difficult descent to Camp 4 in a blizzard.

Stremfelj and Zaplotnik missed the fixed ropes and had to navigate a vertical chimney to reach Camp 2 and then Camp 1.

Meanwhile, Drago Bregar was at Camp 4, intending to push for the summit. But on July 10, the team lost contact with him. Some team members tried to reach the upper slopes to look for him, but on July 14, it started to snow again. They couldn’t find Bregar.

"I sat at Base Camp, looking at my second 8,000’er, Bregar’s grave," Zaplotnik wrote.

New route on Everest

In the spring of 1979, a strong Slovenian team led by Tone Skarja and including Zaplotnik tried a new route on Everest -- the complete West Ridge, also known as the West Ridge Direct.

The expedition arrived at Base Camp at the end of March with 700 porters. The climbers scouted the safer Lho La route, transported loads to the pass, and tested gear. For the next month, they established camps to 7,300m, fixing ropes on very steep terrain.

Storms delayed progress until May 9, when they established Camp 5 at 8,120m. On May 10, Viki Groselj and Marjan Manfreda attempted the summit but retreated at 8,300m because of route-finding issues, oxygen valve failures, and frostbite.

On May 12, Dusan Podbevsek and Roman Robas faced similar navigation challenges, barely surpassing 8,300m.

The West Ridge Direct

On May 13, brothers Andrej and Marko Stremfelj and Nejc Zaplotnik left Camp 5 in brutal -35° cold plus a wind. Marko turned back because of a faulty oxygen valve, but Andrej Stremfelj and Zaplotnik pressed on. After climbing a very demanding short section on the upper part of the peak, the two climbers rejoined the American Route and the Hornbein Couloir, summiting in the early afternoon.

On May 15, Stane Belak, Stipe Bozic (filming the ascent), and Ang Phu Sherpa left Camp 5 after a snowfall delay. As a trio, they moved slower, reaching Everest’s summit at 2:30 pm. During their descent, they were forced to bivouac in the open at over 8,200m on the Hornbein Couloir.

Borut Bergant, Ivan Kotnik, and Vanja Matijevec had been waiting at Camp 5. They found the trio below the couloir, seemingly fit to descend. Tragically, Ang Phu then slipped and fell 1,800m to his death. They discovered the body the next day.

Because of the accident and oxygen system failures, they made no further attempts.

The difference between the 1963 and 1979 routes

The 1979 Everest West Ridge Direct and the 1963 American Route (by Willi Unsoeld and Tom Hornbein) both tackled Everest’s West Ridge, but their routes and approaches differed.

The 1979 team climbed the entire West Ridge from Lho La (6,050m) to the summit, a 6.5km route. This was the first confirmed full ascent of the West Ridge, avoiding deviations. The team of 24 climbers, with five summiting (A. Stremfelj, Zaplotnik, Ang Phu Sherpa, Belak, and Bozic), faced UIAA Grade V challenges near the summit. They used supplemental oxygen above Camp 5 (8,120m) and fixed ropes extensively.

Unsoeld and Hornbein climbed from the Western Cwm in 1963, joining the West Ridge at around 7,500m. They then diverged to the Hornbein Couloir (8,000-8,500m) to the summit. This partial West Ridge climb, covering less of the ridge’s full length, was the first traverse of Everest. The pair descended via the South Col, using minimal fixed ropes and limited oxygen.

Lhotse South Face attempt

In the spring of 1981, Zaplotnik was a member of the Lhotse South Face Expedition led by Ales Kunaver. The team progressed well but abandoned their attempt on May 20 at 8,250m because of bad weather and exhaustion.

Zaplotnik’s death

In the spring of 1983, the Split Alpine Expedition set off for 8,163m Manaslu. Led by Vinko Maroevic, they targeted the dangerous South Face–South Ridge route. The team had 16 climbers, including Zaplotnik, and decided not to use supplemental oxygen.

The expedition started well, and they established four high camps, reaching 7,101m.

However, on April 24, an avalanche hit some of the climbers roughly 100m above Camp 1 on the Manaslu Glacier. It killed Zaplotnic and Ante Bucan. Srecko Grekov was badly injured.

Zaplotnik was 31 years old, which seems young considering how much he had already accomplished.

For more details on Zaplotnik’s life and career, we highly recommend Zaplotnik’s book Pot. It’s a cult text, a ”bible for a generation," as Slovenian climber Marko Prezelj once said.

We also recommend Bernadette Mcdonald's book Alpine Warriors and her excellent article Nejc Zaplotnik Mountain Poet, published in Alpinist.

At 4,392m, Mount Rainier is the highest peak in the Cascade Range of the Pacific Northwest. Situated just 95km southeast of Seattle, it has long beckoned climbers and adventurers. Today, we’ll look into its rich climbing history, spotlighting the pioneers who first approached its icy heights.

An active volcano

An active stratovolcano, Mount Rainier's last significant eruption was around 1,000 years ago. (There was some unconfirmed minor activity in the 19th century.) Although it hasn’t erupted for a long time, Mount Rainier is close to populated areas and is considered one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the U.S.

Mount Rainier has three distinct summits. The highest is Columbia Crest (4,392m), situated on the crater's western rim. In 1870, the first successful climbers of Mount Rainier identified this as the main summit. The other summits are Point Success (approximately 4,315m) and Liberty Cap (approximately 4,301m).

Older sources occasionally treat Point Success and Liberty Cap as subsidiary peaks, but modern nomenclature and climbing records recognize all three because of their topographic significance.

Cultural significance

Mount Rainier has deep cultural roots for the Indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest, whose lands surround the mountain. For these communities, Mount Rainier was not just a physical landmark but a sacred entity tied to creation stories, spirituality, and survival. In various tribal languages, Mount Rainier is commonly known as Tahoma or Takhoma, often translated as "mother of waters" or "snow-covered mountain."

Archaeological evidence, like stone tools found at the peak, suggests the existence of seasonal camps dating back thousands of years. It is unlikely that climbing to the summit was a cultural practice because high elevations were often seen as the domain of spirits and deities.

First European sighting

In May 1792, English explorer Captain George Vancouver sighted the mountain during a scouting expedition. He named the peak Mount Rainier after Admiral Peter Rainier of the British Navy. The name has caused controversy, with many people believing the name should feature a local figure or have an Indigenous name. However, Mount Rainier has stuck.

In 1833, Scottish botanist William Fraser Tolmie explored the area, seeking medicinal plants. Tolmie was not a climber, but his documentation of the region provided some interesting early insights that encouraged later climbs.

Early attempts

The first documented attempt to climb Mount Rainier took place in August 1857. U.S. Army Lieutenant Augustine Kautz led a team that included Dr. Robert Orr Craig and several Nisqually guides. They started from a low elevation near the Nisqually River and followed what is now known as the Kautz Glacier route.

After eight difficult days of climbing, Kautz’s party reached about 4,267m. Here, they turned back because of exhaustion and health issues. "[We were] too weak to go further," Kautz wrote.

There was possibly an ascent in 1852, but the climb remains unverified. A brief account in the Olympia Columbian newspaper from September 1852 mentions a climb by one Benjamin Franklin Shaw and other climbers. But details were vague, without route specifics, any detailed description, or firsthand accounts. It’s possible that they reached a high ridge or a false summit, but without more evidence, the ascent can’t be credited as Mount Rainier's first.

The first ascent

On August 17, 1870, Americans Hazard Stevens and Philemon Beecher Van Trump completed the first documented ascent of Mount Rainier. Without much prior climbing experience, their achievement marked a significant moment in the mountaineering history of the Pacific Northwest.

Hazard Stevens was a clerk for the Oregon Steam Navigation Company and a Civil War veteran. Van Trump was a government official who worked as a private secretary to the governor of Washington Territory. Both had a keen interest in exploration and the natural world.

The two men had been planning their 1870 expedition for years but were delayed by forest fires in the region.

James Longmire, an experienced explorer of the area around Mount Rainier, provided critical logistical support for Stevens and Van Trump, including pack horses and guidance. Longmire would not ascend the peak, but his role was instrumental in getting the party to the base.

A Yakama Indian guide called Sluiskin accompanied Stevens and Van Trump to the base of the mountain. He took them to Sluiskin Falls, located at 1,830m, but warned against the climb, fearing supernatural dangers.

English mountaineer Edmund T. Coleman joined the party in Olympia and wanted to summit, but he had to turn back after losing his pack during a difficult crossing of the Tatoosh Range during the approach.

The long approach

The party departed from Olympia on Aug. 8, 1870, traveling southeast toward Mount Rainier. They were accompanied by Coleman and a group of well-wishers who escorted them to Longmire’s ranch on Yelm Prairie, 48km from Olympia.

At the ranch, Longmire provided pack horses. They then proceeded to Bear Prairie, hiring Sluiskin as their guide. Sluiskin was so convinced that the two climbers would perish that he promised to wait two days before reporting their deaths.

Between August 14 and 16, Stevens and Van Trump rested at their base camp and prepared for the ascent.

The ascent

On August 17, 1870, Stevens and Van Trump began their climb at dawn. They ascended via the challenging Gibraltar Ledges route, located on the southeast face. This route starts at a low elevation and follows a steep rocky ridge known as Gibraltar Rock, which connects to the upper snowfields and glaciers leading to the summit.

They navigated through loose rock, steep snow-covered slopes, and icy sections, arriving at the crater (at 4,317m) in the afternoon. From there, they made a final traverse to Columbia Crest at 4,392m.

After summiting, night fell, and the weather turned bad. They sheltered overnight in a steam-heated ice cave within the crater.

A difficult descent

The next day, Stevens and Van Trump began to descend early in the morning down the Gibraltar Ledges. On their way down, Van Trump slipped on ice and slid 12m, injuring his thigh but surviving the close call.

Finally, they reached base camp late in the afternoon on August 18, reuniting with their guide, Slusikin.

The duo's ascent marks the beginning of recorded mountaineering on Mount Rainier.

John Muir

Scottish-American writer and conservationist John Muir summited Mount Rainier in the summer of 1888. He also climbed via the Gibraltar Ledges route. He later wrote about his experience and helped secure the mountain’s protection as a national park in 1899. Muir was struck by Mount Rainier’s extensive glaciers and surrounding wildflower-rich meadows.

"Of all the fire-mountains which, like beacons, once blazed along the Pacific Coast, Mount Rainier is the noblest in form," Muir wrote.

Other notable ascents

The Gibraltar Ledges route saw its first winter ascent on Feb. 16, 1922. The party was led by Jean Landry and Jacques Landry, possibly alongside Ranger Oliver G. Cornwell and others.

In the autumn of 1935, Ome Daiber, Jim Borrow, and Arnold Campbell summited via the Liberty Ridge route on the north side. Liberty Ridge is Mount Rainier’s most iconic and dangerous route.

The Disappointment Cleaver route is on the southeast side of the peak. Dee Molenaar, Jim Wickwire, and four companions first ascended it on Aug. 23, 1950.

Since its first ascent, thousands of mountaineers have climbed Mount Rainier, which now has over 20 climbing routes.

To date, there have been 370,000-400,000 successful ascents. The success rate is around 50%. The success rate for guided climbs is higher.

Fatalities

Approximately 130 people have died Mount Rainier, including Willi Unsoeld of Everest fame in 1979. Almost every year, there is a fatality.

On Dec. 10, 1946, a U.S. Marine Corps transport plane carrying 32 Marines from San Diego to the Naval Air Station at Sand Point, Seattle, crashed into the South Tahoma Glacier on Mount Rainier’s southwest flank. In stormy weather, the plane hit the mountain at around 3,230m, killing everyone on board.

On June 21, 1981, a massive ice avalanche hit a guided team on the Ingraham Glacier route at 3,353m. A serac collapse triggered the avalanche, which buried 11 of the 29 climbers.

In May 2014, a six-person team was probably hit by an avalanche on the Liberty Ridge route. It killed all six climbers. The team was last spotted on May 28 at 3,962m.

A 22-year-old climber died on Saturday in a fall from Scotland's highest mountain. His climbing partner, 30, is in the hospital with significant but not life-threatening injuries. Both men are believed to hail from England.

A rescue and a tragedy

Around 5 pm on Saturday evening, Police Scotland received reports of two injured climbers below the Moonlight Gully, a popular beginner's ski route.

Late Saturday night, the Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team (LMRT) located one injured but alive climber who had managed to move downhill. They evacuated him to Raigmore Hospital in Inverness. Strong winds and snow then forced them to pause the search.

The next morning, they found the body of the second climber, who was deceased. Scottish police have not disclosed the cause of death nor released the names of either climber. The families, however, have been notified.

Both men fell about 60 meters during the accident.

Fickle weather

At 1,345m, Ben Nevis is the tallest mountain in the UK and draws more than 125,000 visitors per year, according to Scotland's tourist board. The weather around Ben Nevis last week alternated between sun and rain. On Saturday, heavy storms caused the closure of surrounding trails due to flooding. Snow was also falling.

This kind of weather is typical in the Highlands. It impedes rescue efforts and has led to deaths before. More than 100 people have died on the mountain since records started in 1849.

The UK's busiest mountain rescue team

This was the fourth rescue for the LMRT this week. The number of rescues rises every year as more tourists flock to the Highlands and to Ben Nevis in particular.

"As an entirely voluntary team, responding to calls and attending training is a huge demand on time, and it is unnerving to see these numbers rise so quickly," said the LMRT website. "Taking the lead in a team like this requires extraordinary fortitude, resilience, and a remarkable ability to survive on little sleep and lots of chocolate bars."

You can donate to the LMRT here.

Saudi Arabian World Cup climber Sara Qunaibet was the victim of improper use of a Petzl GriGri by a professional coach. She suffered two broken feet and a broken back but could have easily died, especially considering she fell from just below the top anchors and landed beyond the pads.

The incident occurred last year, before the French rounds of the IFSC World Cup held in July 2024. But video of the accident just surfaced. It’s a powerful reminder of the importance of proper techniques and equipment protocols.

Petzl specifies a particular technique for feeding slack for its GriGri, and as always, the brake hand must control the brake strand of the rope. This video and detailed analysis by the narrator reveal that the coach blatantly ignored these rules and committed several other significant errors.

Ironically, the route was an easy warm-up for Qunaibet, and the accident occurred during a test fall that many climbers do to mentally prepare for lead climbing during the training session. And — grab your seat — two other professional coaches were present, one chatting with the belayer the entire time Sara was climbing.

This article first appeared on GearJunkie.

Nathan Longhurst of the U.S. has been on a tear to climb New Zealand’s 100 greatest peaks in one season since last November. Today, the 25-year-old completed his task, summiting his 99th and 100th peaks, 3,151m Mount Sefton and 2,764m The Footstool. As he often did on this unique project, he paraglided from the top of Sefton to The Footstool and began climbing from there.

Longhurst is only the second person to complete the list and the first to do so in a single season. The first man, Don French, took 30 years to notch them all.

Not only did Longhurst paraglide from each summit, but sometimes, he flew from the top of one peak to the base of another. Occasionally, he has even landed high on a subsequent peak and climbed from there.

"He doesn’t claim to have climbed those peaks in the traditional sense," Dan Cervelli, who managed Longhurst’s social media, told ExplorersWeb when we first reported on his project back on February 3.

As he climbed The Footstool, a small crowd waited in nearby Hooker Valley, watching him through binoculars. When Longhurst landed his paraglider near them, officially finishing the project, they became the first to congratulate him.

Longhurst has documented all his climbs on Instagram, where his handle is nathan358. At home, the alpinist, trail runner, and paraglider splits his time between Salt Lake City, Utah, and Mammoth Lakes, California.

The late, great climber Hansjorg Auer described the Schiefer Riss route up the north face of Sagwandspitze as one of the most terrifying climbs in the Austrian Tyrol. In 2013, he, David Lama, and Peter Ortner became the first to complete the line in winter.

It took them two tries, including "the worst night of their lives" on the brittle rock of that cold and hostile face.

Earlier this week, two elite Tyrolean alpinists, Simon Gietl and Martin Sieberer, finally repeated that momentous line.

The route

Schiefer Riss (meaning "inclined crack") is a diagonal route on the fragile and often wet rock of an 800m face. Hias Rebitsch and Roland Berger first climbed it (in summer) in 1947. No one repeated it for almost 30 years. Only a handful of teams have attempted it at any time of year.

After the talented trio did the first winter climb in 2013, Hansjorg Auer said: "The grade makes no sense here because no grade is capable of describing the level of commitment we had to assume in order to reach the summit."

After doing the first winter repetition, Martin Sieberer agrees.

Why so scary

"The grade of Schiefer Riss is about VI/M7 and 80º on ice/snow, but on that route, it is not the grade that matters," Sieberer told ExplorersWeb. "It's the sustained steepness, combined with brittle rock, difficulty, and length. The face is about 800m high, but since you climb a lot sideways, the total length is actually about 1,000m (20 pitches)."

Sieberer adds that it involves many hard pitches, hardly any fixed gear, loose rock, and no good bivy spots. "We slept on a narrow ledge with half a tent and only one sleeping pad," he said.

The Austrian climber is not surprised that so few have climbed it. In summer, unstable rock makes the face even more hazardous. "It's safer in winter," he says.

But that safety is relative, as he noted:

We were quite scared at some points, because there are so many loose flakes just waiting to fall down. We even had a rope cut by a falling rock on the first day. On some pitches, the only protection is mental (not really enough to stop a fall), so you definitely have a lot of no-fall zones. We also had to be extremely careful descending, since we rappelled the whole face.

A late friend's dream

"Do not underestimate that wall!" said David Lama, who died with Auer and Jess Roskelley in 2019 in an avalanche in the Canadian Rockies. Lama called the Sagwand north face "the Tyrolean Eiger."

In 2022, Martin Feistl, a rising star in elite Austrian climbing, attempted the route with Amelie Kuehne but had to turn around mid-wall. Yet the challenge fascinated him, and he planned to try again, this time with a three-person team that included Gietl and Sieberer. Unfortunately, Feistl didn't live to make his dream come true. He fell 40m to his death last year while free soloing the south face of the Scharnitzspitze. He was just 27.

Strangers on the wall

Gietl, from the Italian part of the Tyrol, and Sieberer, from the Austrian side, had never climbed together before. They wanted to take on the project as a memorial to their common friend, Martin Feistl.

View this post on Instagram

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"Martin Feistl mobilized Simon and me to join him on the route, and we planned to attempt the climb as soon as conditions allowed," Sieberer told ExplorersWeb.

They credit their success in large part to the detailed information that Feistl and Amelie Kuehne shared with them, particularly how to navigate through the maze of rock and icicles on the lower part of the route.

On Saturday, a group of climbers hung a huge U.S. flag upside down from the top of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

The inverted flag is considered a sign of distress or an imminent threat to the country. It was displayed as a protest against the massive job cuts affecting a significant number of National Park workers, according to the San Francisco Chronicle.

Also, a fired Yosemite National Park Service worker rappelled down El Capitan to protest the cuts, readers posted on X.

El Capitan had a particularly high number of visitors that day, since many weekenders had come hoping to see the famous "firefall." This impressive optic phenomenon occurs when the evening sun hits the Horsetail Falls on the east side of El Capitan. It transforms the falling water into what looks like fire. El Capitan's firefall only happens in late February, when the position of the sun vis-a-vis the falls is just right.

The protesters told the San Francisco Chronicle they were exercising their right to free speech. They wanted to peacefully draw attention to the fact that "public lands in the U.S. are under attack." Through this act, they sought to inform park visitors who might not be aware of the situation.

Outcry against cuts

The Trump administration has fired 1,000 National Park Service employees as part of its broad effort to downsize government, the Associated Press reported. However, AP also reports that the recent outcry has prompted the Federal government to restore a few positions.

Recently, the Search and Rescue Service at Denali National Park has faced severe cuts that could leave the park with only six rescuers to cover 2.4 million hectares.

Instead of a fancy restaurant for Valentine's Day, ice climber Juho Knuuttila of Finland took partner Sara Skoglund to the north face of Breitind in northern Norway. They celebrated February 14 with a new route in conditions possibly more appropriate for Halloween.

One must admit the location, on Senja island above the Arctic Circle, is romantic in its own frigid way: fiords, the dim light of February at that latitude, and the formidable wall of Breitind coated in a thin layer of verglas. The climber's short report on social media read in part:

We had a double rack of cams. We used two. We had ice screws. We ended up climbing 3cm thick verglass covering slabs. We had nuts and pitons. We were hammering them deeper into icy cracks for safety.

Second route

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This is the second route that Knuuttila has opened on Breitind, after he and Sami Modenius climbed Finnjävel in 2022. Thus, he already knew the sort of terrain and the high commitment the climb would involve.

"We got what we expected," he admitted.

Except for a rough topo, below, Knuuttila has not yet posted further details on the route. Skoglund has also not said anything about their memorable date.

Senja is the second-largest island in Norway outside of the Svalbard archipelago. Breitind, a formidable wall of granite, is the highest peak on the island and the only one (barely) surpassing 1,000m. Its highest northern point is 1,017m. Breitind also has a South peak and a West peak.

I'm halfway up the wall, and I'm in trouble. Excited by the prospect of my first climb outside the confines of the gym where I trained, I neglected to plan my route all the way to the apex of my climb. Instead, on the ground, I chose a likely outcropping and sent it, only to realize 20 meters later that my line terminated in a smooth granite face.

My toes are balanced on a narrow crack just wide enough to support my weight, and my body is pressed against the stone. My arms are outstretched, smearing my torso on the rock face and relying on friction and prayer to keep me upright. I look to my left. There's a tiny knob, maybe a meter away. If I lean and commit, I might catch the knob before gravity catches me. But there's no going back if I do. A butterfly floats by my face. I don't know what to do.

In the video game I'm playing, my character Aava's arms and legs start to tremble, and her breathing quickens. It's the game's way of telling me I'd better master this decision paralysis quickly before I lose my grip and drop to the ground.

In real life, sitting at my desk and staring at my computer screen, my palms start to sweat.

And that's kind of remarkable.

Who are climbing games for?

Climbing games are having a bit of a moment. The game I'm playing, Cairn, is just the latest in a handful that have been released in the last few years. Mostly the province of small and independent game studios, climbing simulators range from fantasy-oriented (Jusant) to hyper-realistic (New Heights). And climbing is a major part of popular adventure games like Uncharted, Tomb Raider, and The Legend of Zelda. Though to be fair, the ascents in those games have about as much to do with real climbing as Indiana Jones has to do with real archaeology.

As a long-distance backpacker, mountain biker, trail runner, skier, and general interest outdoor journalist, I often come into contact with (and write about) climbers. I'm also an avid consumer of adventure stories, which means I burn through the mountaineering and climbing shelf at my local library pretty quickly.

But I've never been one to limit my hobbies to one or two categories, and I'll happily blast aliens in shooters (Halo), strategize with friends in fantasy role-playing games (Balder's Gate 3), or sneak around in stealth-based historical settings (Assassan's Creed).

The experiment

And so before picking up Cairn, I had a lot of curiosity about climbing games. Mainly, who are they for? I recognize I'm somewhat of a weirdo in the outdoor adventure world. A lot of people with an outdoor sport pursue it at every opportunity and do limit their other hobbies, especially if they want to excel. They also talk about their sport endlessly (if you've ever chatted up a climber at a party, you know the word "beta" is always only two sentences away.)

So it's hard to imagine a serious climber trading cliff time for a darkened room. It's equally hard to imagine a gamer used to the flowy, absurdly unrealistic climbing mechanics of most video games enjoying a climbing simulator's more grounded approach. I, an outdoor enthusiast with limited climbing experience and a side hobby as a gamer, might just stand in the middle ground.

So, I downloaded the Cairn demo to find out.

Backpacks and robots

The story is simple — a climber named Aava has her sights set on the first summit of the fictitious Mount Kami. That's pretty much it. Get Aava to the top. How you get there is more or less up to you, as my adventure with the smooth granite face showcased.

There are some anachronisms. For one thing, Aava is wearing not a stitch of sponsored gear. Frankly, that comes as a relief to someone who watches as many climbing films as I do. Instead, she's decked out in strange arm and leg wrappings, looking for all the world like an athletic Egyptian mummy. Her pack appears to be of the antique canvas and buckle variety. It's also huge. You really have to admire her raw strength, if not her packing skills.

She also has a little robot helper who takes phone calls and retrieves pitons after she reaches safety, which I imagine would be handy in real life and probably isn't as far away as you think it is, technology-wise. For some reason, this robot, who was supposed to be belaying me, let me fall to my death at least twice. I haven't decided if it's a bug in the demo or the developer's way of imparting the (admittedly sound) advice that you shouldn't trust robots.

One limb at a time

But beyond that, Cairn is as probably as close to real climbing as you can get without actually climbing. The game lets you control one limb at a time, and you've got to scan the rocks for cracks, ledges, handholds, and toeholds, then carefully reach out for them.

There's no flashing red screen or timer bar to let you know when you've overextended Aava's capabilities, just body animations and sound effects to indicate she's growing taxed. You can use chalk and shake Aava's hands out. You can drive in pitons and give her a break. Put a foot on a dodgy hold, and Aava will slip right off it. Gain a relatively safe ledge, and she'll sigh in relief.

The thrill of rock

My general familiarity with climbing books and films served me well while playing. On one occasion, I was stuck until I looked around and noticed a vertical crack running for a few meters above my head. I stretched, got a hold, and crack-climbed. If I knew nothing about climbing, I might not have known that was possible. Instead, I felt for all the world like the rock-climbing protagonist in a memorable scene from Dan Simmons' silly but nevertheless highly enjoyable sci-fi climbing novel The Abominable.

Cairn's animation is also nicely dialed in, with Aava's movements — the way she reaches out, feels the stone, gets herself into positions, and uses holds — immediately familiar and realistic. There are also some nice little nods to broader outdoor culture. In my few hours playing the game, the only food items Aava has in her pack are noodles and a candy bar that looks suspiciously like the Norwegian chocolate bar Kvikk Lunsj. The developers certainly did their research. Things feel pretty real. Most of the time.

One notch too risky

There was a time, perhaps somewhere halfway through my second or third readthrough of the Jon Krakauer oeuvre, that I thought I might take up climbing. I spent a year at my local bouldering gym before admitting that with a stocky build and shorter-than-average arms, I'm better suited to sports that use gravity rather than fight it. Also, it felt maybe one notch too risky for the expectant father that I was at the time.

But I remember what it felt like to succeed on a line that I thought was beyond me, the thrill of topping out, the frustration of slipping on a hold I thought I had on lock, the excitement that built just before a risky move.

Absurdly, Cairn recreates all these feelings, albeit without the attendant benefits of moving more than your fingers. The game is hard, slow, and frustrating. It's also a lot of fun, so much so that I had to force myself to stop playing and start writing, lest my editor never get this story. And that dichotomy, maybe more than any other element in the game, is what really feels like real climbing.

Sweaty palms

All of which takes me back to my original question.

Who are climbing simulators for? 

I've long suspected that most climbers look at climbing-specific video games with a bit of animosity, if not downright loathing. In addition to being a poor substitute for real climbing, I imagined they'd feel frustrated by the details gotten wrong, the movements glossed over, the terminology mangled. An unofficial straw poll of my climbing acquaintances proved me right — they were mostly uninterested in climbing games. Some were openly antagonistic to the very concept.

But that might be changing, in part because climbing simulators like Cairn are getting better at getting those details right. My friend and colleague Sam Anderson, climber and writer of many excellent ExplorersWeb stories, told me he's recently changed his tune.

"I've been meaning to try a climbing game. Some of the crust has flaked off my opinion that they are wack, invalid, etc. I no longer feel the impulse to shit on them in any conversation in which they come up," he said.

The gaming crowd

As for the gaming crowd, well, there certainly seems to be an audience. For one thing, developers pay close attention to trends and download numbers, and new climbing games wouldn't keep being released if every single one was tanking. Jusant, for instance, has nearly 3,000 "very positive" reviews on the Steam platform.

But perhaps the real audience for Cairn and games like it is, well, me and others like me. I'm fascinated by climbing and mountaineering; I read the books, attend the film festivals, and spend a lot of time internally dissecting the motivations and powerful impulses that propel climbers upward. At the same time, I'm quite happy with my current sports and their risk/safety quotients. I have no desire to have a friend stand at my funeral and say, "He died doing what he loved."

Instead, I'm satisfied, pleased even, to dip a toe into the world of granite and clouds safely from behind my computer. In that sense it's not all that different from reading a climbing book or watching a film, two activities that many non-climbers participate in.

The drawback? Cairn isn't a real story. The benefit? You feel, at least in some ways, like you're doing something you know you'll never do in real life. Sweaty palms and all.

New Year's Eve on a snowy peak under a starry sky: It sounds like the perfect way to ring in the New Year. But tragedy doesn't take a vacation over the holidays. As some toasted the evening with friends in a warm venue, two separate outings in Spain and Italy ended in disaster.

The bivouac influencer

Gerard Olive built himself a high profile on Instagram by specializing in "extreme bivouacs." His handle, Xutonthetop, had 52,000 followers. Photos and videos showed him tucked in a sleeping bag on mountaintops, grassy plains, and snowy terraces, accompanied by typical influencer verbiage about freedom, overcoming limits, etc.

One bivy, in particular, went viral. In 2022, he strung a hammock between two granite outcrops on the Salenques-Tempestades ridge in the Pyrenees.

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The two-kilometer-long ridge has several exposed passages and is the most technical route to reach 3,404m Aneto, the highest peak in the Pyrenees. When dry, it involves sections up to 5+ (UIAA grade) on excellent granite.

In winter, the scenery changes radically. Hard snow and ice plaster the rock, and the climb becomes a serious challenge requiring advanced mixed climbing skills. In Olive's mind, it would mark a perfect finale to his 2024 bivvies. He would repeat the 2022 hammock stunt in winter.

The last climb

On December 30, the influencer left his car in a parking area in the Pyrenean village of Benasque and walked to an untended alpine hut. Here, he met a Mexican climber, the last person to see him alive. On the following morning, he left by himself toward the Llosas Valley, on the south side of the Aneto massif.

His family became worried when he failed to return home on January 2. The GREIM, the Spanish Mountain Rescue service, started searching on January 3, but the helicopter couldn't survey the area properly due to cloudy weather.

No one knows for sure the route he might have taken. Local climber Jonatan Garcia, one of the most prolific climbers in the area -- someone who has soloed the Salenques-Tempestades 50 times -- tried to duplicate a possible route Olive might have taken.

There was no trace of him on the south face of Aneto. He surely fell down the ridge at some point, north of Aneto. Garcia shared his opinion about Olive's route with the helicopter pilots. The following morning, they searched that area and found Olive's lifeless body.

Deadly traverse

"I don't think Gerard [Olive] planned to climb the entire ridge on his own, as he was not that experienced," said Garcia. "Rather, he tried to access the ridge at his planned bivy point by traversing from the summit of nearby Margalida Peak."

The problem, Garcia said, is that this traverse is exposed and difficult even in summer. The terrain alternates between smooth rock slabs and a very steep, slippery grassy ramp.

"In winter, it is worse," Garcia went on. "With fresh snow, it's avalanche-prone and requires progressing on very hard snow or ice, with...no mistakes allowed."

Social media pressure

Garcia thinks Olive's heavy backpack, with his bivouac gear and cameras, might have been a burden. Rescuers found his stuff scattered along the slope. The hammock was still perfectly folded; he probably had no chance to use it.

"Social media is a double-edged sword," Garcia told ExplorersWeb. "It gives updated information about routes and areas, which has a positive impact on safety. But it also has a darker side. Some people feel too much pressure to increase their followers, even if that means taking excessive risks.

"Also, the positive feedback boosts self-confidence, in some cases beyond what is sensible," he added.

Another tragedy, this time in Italy

No one noticed something had gone wrong for Aziz Ziriat, 36, and Sam Harris, 35, until they failed to catch their flight back home to London on January 6. The two friends were hiking the Adamello Massif in the Italian Alps.

"The family knew the climbers intended to use the Malga Dosson bivouac (2,360m) on New Year's Eve and then hike in the area for a couple of days before descending to the valley and going straight to the airport," Monica Malfatti, press manager of Trentino Alpine Rescue Services, told ExplorersWeb. "It seems like they wanted to reach the Rifugio Care Alto, but they got lost due to foggy weather."

Once the alarm was raised, Scorso Alpine Services launched a search, but conditions were difficult. There was a notable avalanche risk, and helicopters and drones couldn't see much in the fog. Volunteers used quads to search the trails leading to refuges where the missing hikers might have found shelter.

Backpack found

On Wednesday, with slightly better conditions, the helicopter took a team of rescuers to the Malga Dosson hut while the pilots searched further above. They found the backpacks of the missing climbers at the hut. The rescuers also located the last ping from one of the climber's cell phones near Conca Pass, at about 2,600m.

The helicopters airlifted 15 rescuers to the area, and they started searching on foot with snow probes. Shortly after noon, they found the body of one of the climbers, soon identified as Sam Harris.

"[It] was found under the snow, at the foot of a rock face, at the base of the south face of Carè Alto," stated a press release by the Scorso Alpino Trentino. "The dynamics of the accident are still being examined by the police, but it is possible that the mountaineer fell from above."

Efforts then focused on finding the second climber, but deteriorating weather soon suspended the search. Because of the high risk of avalanches, helicopters flew everyone back to the valley. The search will hopefully resume tomorrow, Friday, weather permitting.

Not about experience

Asked by Explorersweb, members of the Italian Mountain Rescue Service admitted that winter holiday rescues have become more frequent because people have more free time to spend in the mountains.

"People want to discover something different during the holidays, but the accidents during this time may involve both inexperienced and very experienced climbers and hikers," said Simone Alessandrini of the press office at the Italian Mountain Rescue Service.

It's the conditions that are different: Frozen terrain, cold, unstable weather, and shorter days make winter forays more liable to go wrong than their summer equivalents.

Alessandrini mentioned a spectacular rescue that took place on the Lastoni di Formin in the Belluno Dolomites on New Year's Eve. This one had a positive outcome. Three young climbers took the wrong rappel line while climbing the Re Artù route.

Stranded for hours

"They began their rappel but ended up stranded — two of them about 60 meters below the summit and the third about 20 meters lower," Alessandrini said.

The rescue took from 5 pm until after midnight.

"After several unsuccessful attempts to approach the overhanging area where the climbers were stuck, the helicopter dropped off a Belluno rescuer and its own technical rescuer on the summit, at an altitude of 2,630m. It then flew back to the valley to pick up a team of four additional rescuers."

The team worked in subzero temperatures, setting up a rappel system to reach the stranded climbers and lifting them back up to the summit. They then all descended the normal route of the peak until they reached a flat area where the helicopter could land.

Four climbers have opened a new route on the south side of 5,740m Simon Bolivar Peak in Colombia. According to them, it is the country's highest mountain. Neighboring Pico Cristobal Colon is almost the same altitude and vies for that distinction, but the four of them also summited that peak earlier on the same 18-hour day and say that Simon Bolivar is slightly higher.

Ricardo Rubio, Salomon Torres, Brian Kalet, and Alexander Chaves climbed the little-known giant via a new 250m line on the south face. They set out from an Advanced Base Camp pitched on the Colon Glacier at 4,750m. Getting to their starting point took them several days of trekking through jungles and across glaciers on an old-fashioned expedition supported by many local porters. The new M5, 5.9 route starts from the col separating the two peaks and goes up mixed terrain, they told Desnivel.

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"We set off from ABC at 00:30 on December 18, navigated the Colon Glacier, and summited Colon's peak (5,730m) at 6 am," Alexander Chaves reported on Instagram.

They then retreated to the saddle separating the two mountains and went up the south face of Simon Bolivar via a mixed route. They summited at noon and had returned to Advanced Base Camp by 7:30 pm.

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The climb drew our attention not because of its difficulty or size but because it featured a mountain range we had not previously written about.

Glaciers of the Caribbean

When thinking of South American mountains, the Andes and Patagonia first come to mind, but the continent hosts several other massifs with peaks surpassing 5,000m. Among them, the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta on Colombia's Caribbean coast is particularly unusual.

Isolated from the Andes by two river valleys, the Santa Marta range rises right from the shores of the Caribbean. It is the second-highest coastal range in the world after the Mt. Saint Elias range on the Canada-U.S. border. It lies in a Biosphere Reserve, and after troubled years of guerrillas and narcos, it now offers safer access to trekkers and climbers. Its landscape varies from tropical beaches to glaciers on the highest peaks, with jungle, rainforest, and high moors in between.

The debate on whether Simon Bolivar or Colon is the country's highest peak remains open. Note, however, that another Simon Bolivar Peak (5,007m) is the highest mountain in Venezuela.

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In the last week and a half, we have done our best to present a list of the 10 best outdoor expeditions of 2024 among the hundreds we have covered at ExplorersWeb. We are aware we have probably failed at the task.

Setting a "best" among climbs, treks, polar expeditions, kayak adventures, and others, each of them unique, is difficult. We still publish the list every year, accepting that opinions will differ, as a way to congratulate those who've stepped out of the ordinary, inspired us to work harder, and excited us about our own future adventures.

Yet a list of 10 is so few. There are so many more we would have wanted to have on that list! The least we can do is to mention many more worthy projects that we couldn't include -- in chronological order, to avoid all signs of classification. It proves that adventure is far from over; there is still a lot left to do. We look forward to covering it in 2025.

Winter 2024

In January 2024, Jeff Mercier, Greg Boswell, and Hamish Frost completed several hard Scottish winter routes, following the philosophy of "the harder, the better."

January 31: Historic Dru-Droites-Jorasses Trilogy The winter feats started in the Alps, thanks to one of the prominent climbers of the year: Benjamin Vedrines of France. Together with good friend Leo Billon, he climbed the three big North Faces of the Alps -- the Drus, the Droites, and the Grandes Jorasses -- in winter, onsight, all free climbing in one continuous push without bivouacs on the wall, in just three days.

February 13. Two weeks later, Guillaume Pierrel -- somehow -- skied down the north face of the Dru.

February 19. Great news from Patagonia: ‘Riders on the Storm’ on Torres del Paine was finally free-climbed. After 18 days on the sheer face of the Central Tower, Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll, Nico Favresse, Siebe Vanhee, and Drew Smith free-climbed the legendary route 33 years after a German team first opened it.

After the feat, O'Driscoll still didn't feel up to going home and returned to Torres del Paine and soloed the complete Skyline Traverse of the four Torres del Paine between February 22-25.

Spring 2024

May 17. Jim Morrison, Christina Lustenberger, and Chantel Astorga completed the first ski descent of the Great Trango Tower in Pakistan's Karakoram. The famous granite spire (6,286m) draws big wall climbers, not skiers. Yet this team managed to find a continuous line of snow, waited for the right conditions in early spring, and sent it. A month later, Lustenberg and Guillaume Pierrel joined forces for a scary ski descent on New Zealand's Aoraki/Mount Cook.

May 24. During the height of the 8,000m season, news came of a new route climbed alpine style on a Nepalese 7,000'er. Charles Dubouloz and Simon Welfringer opened a beautiful new line on 7,029m Hungchi in the Khumbu.

May 29. On Kangchenjunga, Bartek Ziemski of Poland made a complete ski descent after summiting without oxygen in difficult conditions. He teamed up with Oswald Pereira, who climbed on foot.

Summer 2024

July. During the summer, attention focused on K2, where alpine-style teams attempted new routes. Most of all, Kayuza Hiraide and Kenro Nakajima made an incredibly bold but ultimately fatal attempt on the West Face. In addition to climbing, paragliders Sebastian Kawa and Sebastian Lampart of Poland took off from Skardu and soared over K2 and Masherbrum.

Also in July, Micha Rinn and Christian Bickel made the first complete Skyline Traverse of all the summits in the Italian Dolomites.

July 28. Also impressive was Benjamin Vedrines and Jean-Yves Fredriksen's no-O2 summit of K2 and paragliding descent. Vedrines also set a mind-blowing speed record by climbing from Base Camp to summit in 11 hours. Liv Sansoz and Zeb Roche also flew down in a tandem paraglider.

Professional paraglider Chrigel Maurer and mountain guide Peter von Kanel, both from Switzerland, climbed all 82 of the 4,000m peaks in the Alps in 51 days. They became the first to link all 82 peaks by paraglider.

This summer, an international team composed of Masha Gordon, Oswaldo Freire, Jack Sturm, and Joshua Jarrin made three first ascents in 30 days in the Shimshal Valley in northern Pakistan.

August 7. In the Pamirs, Olga Lukashenko, Anastasia Kozlova, and Darya Serupova of Russia opened two new routes on the Ashat Wall in Kyrgyzstan's Gissaro-Alai.

August 10. Philip de-Beger, Lorenzo Heis, and Aleksi Mujirishvili made the first ascent of 6,497m Virgerab Sar in the Karakoram.

August 13. Liu Yang and Song Yuancheng made the first ascent of the fourth-highest unclimbed mountain in the world: 7,221m Karjiang I on the Tibet-Bhutan border.

August 17. Mike Keen pulled into Qaanaaq, North West Greenland, after completing the final leg of his 3,200km kayak along the Greenland coast.

Later in August, Zach Fritz and Taylor Rau paddled 4,400km from Fritz’s family cabin in Minnesota’s North Woods to Chantrey Inlet, Nunavut, on the shores of the Arctic Ocean.

Matteo Della Bordella, Symon Welfringer, Silvan Schupbach, and Alex Gammeter made the first ascent of Droneren, a remote 1,980m wall in East Greenland. But the climb was only part of the adventure. They spent 33 days in the Arctic, kayaked 450km, then climbed 35 pitches on a wall with difficulties up to 7b in pure trad style. They also had four encounters with polar bears.

In late summer, Matteo de Zaiacomo and Chiara Gusmeroli made the first ascent of 5,300m Sckem Braq, a technical granite tower in Pakistan's Nangma Valley.

September 7. Nicolas Roulx and Catherine Chagnon completed their mammoth 140-day journey across Canada from west to east. The duo cycled, canoed, sailed, and hiked the 6,900km.

September 14. Veteran badass climbers Mick Fowler, 68, and Victor Saunders, 74, made the first ascent of 6,258m Yawash Sar in Pakistan. They climbed a new route on the northwest face in their usual elegant, alpine style.

In October, Japanese teams made several notable ascents. One group from the Japanese Alpine Club made the first ascent of 6,524m Phungi near Manaslu. Another team from Himalaya Camp made the first ascent of 6,207m Sanctuary Peak in western Nepal.

A few weeks later, two other Japanese teams succeeded in Nepal. Akihiro Oishi, Hiroki Suzuki, and Suguru Takayanagi made the second ascent of the northeast face of 6,673m Pandra near Kangchenjunga. Also in the Kangchenjunga region, Hidesuke Taneishi and Hiroki Yamamoto made the first ascent of 6,652m Pholesobi peak via a 1,500m ED+ direct line on the north face.

Adam Bielecki of Poland and Louis Rousseau of Canada went to the Hunza Valley in Pakistan’s Gilgit-Baltistan region. While they failed to climb their main goal (a first ascent of one of the area's 6,000'ers), they completed two first ascents of nearby unnamed peaks during the acclimatization phase.

Poor conditions prevented Mykyta Balabanov and Mykhailo Fomin of Ukraine from climbing a new route on Makalu. Looking for a Plan B, they moved to Ama Dablam and pioneered a new route up the lonely West Face.

Hybrid is not the hardest mixed route Simon Gietl has opened, but it's definitely one of the most beautiful, he told ExplorersWeb.

Gietl opened the new line last weekend at the Pisciadu wall in the Sella Dolomites. The route includes sections up to M8 and requires considerable mental strength.

How it happened

It all started with a car accident, the South Tyrolean mountain guide Manuel Oberarzbacher explained. He and Simon Gietl were driving to the ice-climbing walls when their car slipped on the icy road and spun out into the snowy roadside. It took them two hours to free it. It spoiled the climbing day, but the two men had time to discuss potential projects over a cup of coffee.

Oberarzbacher mentioned the so-called Schwartze Wand (Black Wall) on Groedner Joch, a summer route on the Mur de Pisciadu, near Gardena Pass in the Dolomites. Winter conditions were reportedly excellent. "Why not try something new [there]?" Oberarzbacher suggested.

On December 9, the pair went to the base of the wall and set off right away. "The beginning was promising," Oberarzbacher wrote. "Beautiful, positive holes and ledges."

They made rapid progress, but as soon as they reached the ice, they realized that they had forgotten their ice screws.

That was how a second good climbing day was also ruined.

The next chance came on December 12.

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On the wall

This time, Oberarzbacher and Gietl were prepared and equipped. They started to the left of the Schwartze Wand. After a quick first pitch, they got to the real work on the second pitch, with sections of mixed climbing (M8) and ice (WI6). The climbers recall the third pitch as an enjoyable, beautiful part completely on ice (WI5+). The crux was right ahead, on the fourth pitch.

The fourth rope length was the most difficult, said the climbers. It followed a crack that took them right under a cluster of free-hanging icicles they had to cross.

"The fourth rope length was the key to the entire route," Oberarzbacher said. "Technically demanding, it required determined climbing and absolute focus."

The route ended at the top of the icicles, totaling 100m of climbing. Difficulty grades, pitch by pitch, are M5, M8/WI6, WI5+, M8+/WI5+. Oberarzbacher and Gietl free-climbed the route entirely, with some Friends and six ice screws but no bolts. As PlanetMountain notes, it is a "modern" route that includes long sections on compact rock, alternating with the little ice adhering to the cracks and ledges.

The community repeats and approves

Gietl's Instagram posts about the new route drew admiring comments from Quentin Roberts, Francois Cazzanelli, and many others. Yet Gietl especially values the verdict from the first pairs who repeated Hybrid a few days later. They were demanding judges, but the verdict was enthusiastic.

Local climbers Alex Piazzalunga and Daniel Ladurner were the first to try the new line, and they sent it on the first try.

"The name reflects the characteristics of the [beautiful] route, a perfect mix of rock and glacier drawn on the wall of the Pisciadu," Piazzalunga noted.

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The second pair were Scottish aces Greg Boswell and Jonathan Joly, who were spending a week ice climbing in the Dolomites. After the climb, Boswell wrote, "So good. Thanks for the creation. It made us very happy!"

Boswell also posted a video and commented on his own social media:

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The 2024 edition of the Piolets d'Or awards is taking place over the next few days in San Martino di Castrozza in the Italian Dolomites. Organized by the Group de Haute Montagne, a Piolet d'Or been the most prestigious recognition in mountaineering since the awards began in 1992. Piolet d'Or is French for "Golden Ice Axe."

The Piolets d'Or originally promoted French alpinism and awarded a single climb as the best of the previous year. Since then, it has evolved to be more international. A crisis in 2007-08 caused by the aversion of many climbers to competition prompted a rethinking.

Now, several climbs are recognized each year for their excellence. The committee also introduced a Lifetime Achievement award. The first recipient was Walter Bonatti, and the second was Reinhold Messner. This year, it will go to Jordi Corominas of Spain.

The latest addition is a special mention for female mountaineering, given this year to Nives Meroi of Italy.

At ExplorersWeb, when we introduce a climber as a Piolet d'Or recipient, it implies that this person is a highly skilled alpinist with an impressive record of alpine-style climbs. Alpine style signifies a particularly pure form of climbing, where small teams attempt difficult goals in a minimalist way.

Who judges these awards, and what criteria do they use?

What makes a 'good' climb?

Social media boasts enthusiastic claims of mountaineering "records" and "historic feats." Yet publicly celebrated climbers like Nirmal Purja and Kristin Harila, the two fastest to climb all 14 8,000m peaks, were not even nominated for their achievements. Nor have extreme athletes with unquestioned skills and worldwide fame, such as Kilian Jornet. Meanwhile, Paul Ramsden of the UK holds a record five Piolets d'Or but is little known beyond the community of hard-core alpinists.

This year, three teams will receive one of these coveted Piolets d'Or:

• Americans Matt Cornell, Jackson Marvell, and Alan Rousseau for a new route on the North Face of Mount Jannu in Nepal's Kangchenjunga region.
• Hugo Beguin, Matthias Gribi, and Nathan Monard of Switzerland for a new route on a 6,000m peak in the Indian Himalaya.
• Kazuya Hiraide and Kenro Nakajima of Japan will receive theirs posthumously for the first ascent in 2023 of the North Face of Tirich Mir in Pakistan. It will be the fourth Piolet d'Or for Hiraide and the third for Nakajima. Sadly, both perished earlier this year while trying to open a new alpine-style route on the West Face of K2. True to a pure mountaineering style, they were attempting this bold new line on the world's second-highest peak without previously fixed ropes or camps, in a single push from base to summit, just two men alone on unknown terrain.

"The awards aim to celebrate commitment, the taste for adventure, and the sense of exploration," the organizers state on the Piolet d'Or website. The summit matters less than how the climbers attempt to reach it.

Sending a message

According to the organizers, the goal is not merely to award the best climbs.

"The purpose [is] to use these ascents to promote clear ethical messages regarding our practices as alpinists around the world, in line with the UNESCO classification of alpinism as an intangible cultural heritage," the Piolets d'Or organizers state.

Each year features many remarkable climbs from around the world. Previously, the jury came out with a shortlist, then chose two or three award winners from them. Recently, they have decided to highlight all significant ascents. This year, the list includes over 50 expeditions. In an environment as variable as the mountains, picking two or three among these seems anything but easy.

Their criteria include style, level of commitment and self-sufficiency, the spirit of exploration, and the technical ability required, among others. The jury also factors in respect for other climbers, local communities, and the environment, as well as how the teams try to minimize resources.

Not everyone happy

Not everyone in the mountaineering community loves the Piolets d'Or. Some climbers dislike the whole idea that one climb is somehow better than another and refuse to accept an award if given; others ask the jury not to nominate them.

The committee tries to avoid the flavor of winners and losers and instead promotes a collective celebration of excellence in alpinism. That is why the selected climbs are announced in advance. However, the awards are still a great distinction, and of course, the climbers' sponsors love them.

One source of debate among wider audiences is how far we should encourage high-risk alpinism. It is hardly a coincidence that over a dozen former Piolet d'Or winners have later died in the mountains. In 2024 alone, the organizers will pay tribute to Hiraide, Nakajima, and three more: Russians Dmitry Golovchenko and Sergey Nilov, and Archil Badriashvili of Georgia. All perished while climbing in the last two years.

Marek Holecek has two Piolets d'Or in his career. Last month, he climbed the terrible east face of Langtang Lirung, ordinarily a sure awards candidate for 2025. But Holecek's partner, Ondrej Husherka, died in a crevasse fall during the descent, which eliminates the climb, excellent though it was, from Piolet d'Or contention. Some years ago, a Russian expedition received a Piolet d'Or, despite losing two members. A controversy erupted, and since then, the jury only awards climbs in which everyone survived.

Babsi Zangerl climbed Freerider (VI, 5.13a) on El Capitan in Yosemite this past weekend, reaching the top of the 1,000m-tall formation without falling on the first attempt. Reaching the top of a climbing route in this manner is called a “flash.”

Zangerl’s flash is the first on one of the most famous climbing cliffs. Zangerl, 36, of Austria is one of the best all-around rock climbers on Earth, notching ascents across bouldering, sport climbing, trad single pitch, trad multipitch, and big wall routes. She was supported by her long-time partner and equally talented Jacopo Larcher on the historic ascent.

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A brief history of flash attempts on El Capitan

In 2012, British climber Leo Houlding nearly onsighted (climbing a route from the ground up without falling on the first attempt, without any prior knowledge or ever seeing anyone else climb it) Freerider, only taking a single fall.

Then his compatriot Pete Whittaker flashed Freerider in 2014, but his ascent has a few asterisks. Whittaker fell while attempting the Huber variation of the route on his third day. He “saved” his flash attempt by taking the Teflon Corner, essentially detouring around the section where he fell.

Zangerl’s Freerider flash is the first “clean” attempt.

German brothers Alexander and Thomas Huber established Freerider in 1998. It gained notoriety in 2017 due to Alex Honnold’s successful solo ascent (no rope), highlighted in the movie Free Solo.

Larcher nearly flashes Freerider

Larcher, being Zangerl’s climbing partner and having never touched the Freerider route, also attempted a flash. Unfortunately, he fell on the first difficult “boulder problem” on the route.

“I don’t have much to say, except that I went first on the boulder problem, didn’t see a key pin scar, and fell,” he said when asked how he felt about his attempt today.

He did agree that at least he wasn’t under the once-in-a-lifetime pressure of flashing a route for the remainder of Zangerl’s attempt.

When asked to reflect on the historic flash, Zangerl said, “When we got to the summit, it felt unreal. I was happy for myself and, at the same time, sad for Jacopo. Climbing onsight or flash is like this; you only get one chance, which can feel even more brutal on a 1,000m big wall.

“But Jacopo took it in his stride, and his unwavering, 100% support all the way to the top was fundamental. It’s a true testament to his character. As I said before, I can’t thank him enough. It was certainly the biggest mental challenge I’ve ever faced in my climbing career.”

Zangerl and Larcher are well-known in the global climbing community as the “power couple” of the current era of professional climbers.

This article first appeared on GearJunkie.

Speed climber Filip Babicz took advantage of the first ice of the season in the Alps, opening what he described as a "modern mixed" M7 route on the NE face of the Petit Flambeau, a classic spire in the Mont Blanc massif.

The direct, 200m line that goes up the central part of the slabby granite face. Unlike other projects, which Babicz spent months planning, he had an "intuition" to jump on this route. Quickly, he enlisted UIAGM guide Heike Schmitt, bought the tickets for the cable car from the Italian side of Mont Blanc, and went for it on November 1. (He just posted the details yesterday.) He called the route Partita Lampo (Lightning Game).

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Good news and bad news

For those considering a repetition, Babicz says there is good and bad news. First, the belays are bolted with spits and the route begins just 20 minutes from the Sky Line cable car from Courmayeur to Point Helbronner. (It's been closed since November 4 but reopens on November 29.) Finally, still on the plus side of the ledger, the descent from the summit to the Col de Flambeau is an easy trek.

However, the route should not be underestimated, he cautions. Except for the belays and two bolts (one on the third pitch and another on the fifth), it must be protected. Babicz and Schmitt used Camalots nº 1, 2, and 4.

Pitch-by-pitch description

Babicz detailed the route on social media. First, there is a long but straightforward M3 pitch from the snowfield to the center of the face's shield (a big, smooth slab).

The second pitch follows a series of thick, ice-filled cracks, including an overhanging section (25m, M6+). Happily, the belay is on a comfortable terrace. The route then follows two dihedrals and the final overhang of the shield. It then turns slightly to the left and continues up a chimney until the belay (30m, M6).

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The tricky fourth pitch required climbing a smooth face with little protection until Babicz reached another dihedral above and to the left. This was the crux of the climb. He then followed the dihedral until the belay (20m, M7).

The fifth length of rope was easier. Eventually, Babicz followed the ridge to another belay, then continued to the foresummit of the Petit Flambeau, just 10 meters beyond (30m, M3). He said he could have rappelled down the route but found it easier to descend on foot via the Col Flambeau.

Filip Babicz of Poland specializes in speed -- and often solo climbs -- on routes around the world, but especially in the Alps. This past September, he climbed all four ridges of Matterhorn in 7 hours, 43 minutes, and 43 seconds.

Previously, he did speed ascents of the complete Peuterey Ridge to Mont Blanc, Piz Badile, and Grand Capucin. He is also a superb dry-tooler, with feats such as the first repetition of Bring da Ruckus. Many consider this Scotland’s hardest mixed winter route.

Whatever happens today will decide the success or failure on the east face of 7,234m Langtang Lirung. Marek Holcek of the Czech Republic and Ondro Huserka of Slovakia are on their fourth day on the unclimbed east face, struggling to find a way up.

"Either we reach the summit ridge, which would be nice, or we have one more overnight stay somewhere on a 70-degree ice slope," Holecek reported over satellite phone from the wall.

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Langtang Lirung lies southwest of Shisha Pangma, on the Nepal side of the border with China. After waiting for days at the bottom of the wall for the snow to stop and for the face to shake itself clean of avalanches, the pair set off at 3 am on October 25.

On that first day, they still had to deal with some sluffs of snow falling over them. Still, they managed to make some progress and set their first bivouac on a rock promontory.

On October 26, they advanced another 200m on unknown terrain and stopped for a rest -- but probably little sleep -- on a tiny ice ledge with their legs bent. Sunday passed similarly.

Yet, meter by meter, the determined climbers are approaching the summit ridge. Once there, the summit will be within their reach.

Climbers Tanner Wanish and Michael Vaill racked up a major accomplishment in Yosemite over the weekend, shaving an impressive 35 minutes off the previous record on a famously difficult route that only a handful of other climbers have even attempted.

The Yosemite Triple Crown is a composite route linking three classics: The Nose on El Cap, the Regular NW Face on Half Dome, and the South Face of Mount Watkins. The route includes 2,448m of climbing and 77 pitches connected by 30km of hiking. As if that wasn't hard enough, to claim the Triple, you've got to send all three in under 24 hours. That's why only nine teams have completed the feat.

 

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Wanish and Vaill managed it in 17 hours and 55 minutes, besting the previous record of 18 hours and 30 minutes. That record was held by Brad Gobright and Jim Reynolds, according to Wanish.

Details on the pair's achievement are scanty as of this writing.

"A perfect day in the park. Will share some fun details and stories later, for now we’ll smile and sleep," Wanish shared on his Instagram today.

Maxim Ropes, one of Wanish's sponsors, notes he's only been climbing for about five years. And ExplorersWeb sister site GearJunkie reports that the pair has only been tackling big walls for an incredible three years.

 

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Note: A previous version of this story incorrectly stated that Alex Honnold held the Yosemite Triple Crown speed record, and that that record sat at 19 hours. 

When we’re not outdoors, we get our adventure fix by exploring social media and the web. Here are some of the best adventure links we’ve discovered this week.

Above the Storm: In July, Bronwyn Hodgins, her husband, and four friends arrived in Greenland for 65 days of kayaking and big-wall climbing.

The first 35 days were extremely demanding. After paddling for up to 15 hours a day, they took on the granite wall at Qaersorsuaq. The group was attempting to establish a new route. But as they climbed, a storm descended. The storm trapped them for days in their portaledges.

The Case for Explorers’ Day: The second Monday of October can be a polarizing day in America. It has historically been known as Columbus Day, celebrating Christopher Columbus's landing in the New World. Since the 1970s, some have organized a counter-celebration: Indigenous Peoples’ Day.

This author suggests replacing both with Explorers’ Day. He believes it would be a unifying holiday and points out that everyone is a descendant and a beneficiary of explorers in some way.

Homemade drones

Homemade Search and Rescue Drones: In 2023, experienced hillwalker Charlie Kelly set off to climb Creise, a Munro in the Scottish Highlands. Later, he messaged his partner to say he would not be back that night, but not to panic, he had extra layers and food.

Kelly never made it home. Initially, mountain rescue teams found nothing. But rescue workers from the Lake District, Dan Roach and David Binks, thought they could help. They had been working on new software to help drones identify missing people. Two drones and one hour later, they found Kelly’s body.

The Impacts of Climate Change on Mountaineering in the Ecrins Massif: Mont Blanc and the Valais Alps have been important study areas for the effect climate change is having on mountaineering. Now, researchers are applying the same techniques to the Ecrins Massif.

Using a 1974 topo guide as their baseline information, researchers have used GIS, statistical analysis, and interviews to assess the area. On average, each route is affected by nine climate-related processes, and nearly 25% of routes are now inaccessible in summer.

Dealing with negativity

Learning the Power of Low Expectations: Ryan DeLena always thought of himself as a trad climber. Then he went to Rumney’s Northwest Crags, specifically Stoned Temple Pilot. It was his first 5.12a, a grade that always eluded him. Despite initial success on the crag, he was unable to recreate it.

Day after day, he went back, getting more and more negative after each failed attempt. How had he got to the top before? Why could he not replicate it? His expectations dropped so low he expected to fall. With this in mind, he decided he might as well change it up to see what would happen.

Daft Things Hillwalkers Do: Some things in life only make sense when you are on a hill. When did a single carabiner ever come in handy? Certainly not when clipped to the shoulder strap of a rucksack with no other climbing equipment to hand. Other common sights include maps flapping around people's necks and middle-aged men striking the same conqueror pose, one leg raised on a rock.

Guiding in Antarctica

The Perfect Job in Antarctica: Slovenian mountaineer Ales Cesen is heading into his sixth season in Antarctica. An ex-competition climber, mountain guide, and two-time winner of the Piolet d’Or, Cesan was always looking for the next experience. Then he landed in Antarctica. He had never seen anything like it, and guiding tourists on the coldest continent was a stable job that paid slightly more than his work in the Alps or the Himalaya. His only advice to those considering it: be willing to work in sometimes miserable conditions.

Climbing After A Brain Injury: In 2019, Astra Lincoln was in a bike accident. Years later, she is still suffering from post-concussion syndrome. In 2023, there was a glimmer of hope as the endless pain started to lift. She booked a climbing trip with a friend. Before the accident, her life had revolved around climbing. Now, years down the line, she was forced to confront the shame she felt about her condition.

Jordi Corominas of Spain has received the Walter Bonatti Lifetime Achievement Award from the Piolet d'Or committee.

Well known among fellow climbers, Corominas's name might be unfamiliar to many readers -- not because his achievements are not worth it, but because he has avoided the spotlight throughout his climbing career.

A man of few words and a full-time UIAGM mountain guide, he is not what contemporary audiences picture as a celebrated climber. He doesn't pose with Guinness record certificates, doesn't have a press team, and doesn't take selfies at mountain festivals. The guy doesn't even do Instagram! Believe it or not, he still prefers books.

Born in 1958 in Barcelona, he is a long-time resident of Benasque, a small mountain town in the Spanish Pyrenees. He has always placed style above records and chooses his goals not by their popularity but by their difficulty and aesthetics.

He started young. Corominas was just two weeks old when his mom took him on his first bivouac in the mountains. In the 1990s, he did all the hard, long routes in the Pyrenees, summer and winter. Along the way, he opened a series of new rock and mixed lines. At the turn of the millennium, he moved on to the higher ranges: the Andes, Patagonia, and the Himalaya.

High-altitude climbs

These included Indian peaks such as Thalay Sagar, Shivling, and Meru; Andean nevados and Patagonian spires; and some unfulfilled dreams, such as the new route he attempted on Tengi Ragi Tau in 2008.

On the 8,000'ers, Corominas started off with Dhaulagiri in 1991, made a no-oxygen attempt on the North Side of Everest in 2000, and Gasherbrum II in a single push in 2006. Other than these, he never showed great interest in the standard routes. The Himalayan giants offer other faces to the most daring. In Corominas's case, two peaks marked his career: K2 and Lhotse Shar.

Lhotse Shar was the first peak he tried in the Himalaya, a crazy attempt at a very young age in 1988. He attempted the Austrian route and reached 7,400m. He returned quietly in 2010, also trying the mighty South Face of Lhotse Main. In 2019, he made a third attempt on Lhotse Shar, as well as the South Face of Nuptse.

It is characteristic of Coromina -- and one of the reasons he is not so well-known -- to aim high and not be afraid to fail. This happened on Lhotse Shar, on Gasherbrum IV (two alpine-style attempts in 2006), and on the South Face of Shisha Pangma in winter.

The pirates of K2

Yet Corominas's career will always be linked to the Magic Line on K2. At the time, the Magic Line -- up the SSW Ridge of K2 -- was considered to be the hardest technical ascent of the mountain. Climbed only once and never attempted since then, it was a "suicidal line," in the words of Reinhold Messner.

Corominas achieved the second ascent ever on a solitary push after his climbing partners retreated. No one has done it since.

Apart from its success, the expedition was distinguished by its creative, ambitious approach, its Jolly Roger flag at Base Camp, and the Bonatti Forever sign at the mess tent. It was also a turning point in how expeditions communicated with audiences: open, honest reporting on their progress, accompanied by stunning pictures at a time when there was the internet but no social media or smartphones.

ExplorersWeb was there to share the news, and the community behind us lived the team's difficulties and waited tensely as Corominas continued alone up the mountain. We also cried with the team as Manel de la Matta suddenly fell sick in Camp 1 and died.

For such a communicative expedition, it was quite peculiar that Corominas, the only summiter, was the least keen to speak about it. His refusal to give interviews or speak too much about the climb only enlarged his fame. He just kept guiding, planning his own climbs, and listening rather than speaking.

A transitional figure

Corominas represents a transition from the wild and somewhat reckless 1980s to a more carefully planned, technical approach to high-difficulty routes on higher mountains. But most of all, he defines himself as a transmitter of the knowledge he has received from his parents, his teachers, and his friends.

Hence, he has devoted his life to guiding and teaching others as a professional guide (still active) and as a coach of younger alpinists.

At the beginning of December, he will have to book a couple of days in his calendar and travel to San Martino di Castrozza in the Italian Dolomites, to take the stage and receive his golden ice axe, not for K2 or any other route, but for a lifetime of them.

“We’re trying to awaken minds with a bold gesture,” 31-year-old French climber Seb Bouin said of his ropeless climb this week. Personally, I can’t say watching this terrifying 183m ascent up a French skyscraper makes me feel “awakened.” But my palms certainly feel sweaty.

Bouin — known for pulling off some of the hardest sport routes in the world — evidently decided he needed to venture “outside his comfort zone,” he said on Instagram this week. So he joined in the riskier endeavors of fellow countryman Alain Robert, a legendary free soloist called the “French Spider-Man” for his bold, ropeless ascents of mega-tall buildings.

The French duo posted videos and photos this week of their Saturday ascent up Paris’s Total Tower. It was supposedly Bouin’s first free solo climb, and he acknowledged that starting off with a skyscraper sounded like a “crazy idea.” It also doesn’t help that climbing buildings is generally frowned upon by those in charge of public safety. Indeed, the 62-year-old Robert claims he’s been arrested more than 150 times for climbing buildings.

'Life is precious'

Bouin didn’t immediately respond to a request about how he and Robert arranged the climb. But in the post of this slow-moving video taken by photographer Jan Virt, Bouin seems to sense the outsized reaction the stunt may provoke. He frames the ascent as a way to remind others that “life is precious.”

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There’s no doubt that Alex Honnold’s Oscar-winning Free Solo helped put rock climbing into the center of mainstream conversation. Honnold’s ropeless ascent of Yosemite’s El Capitan defies the need for explanation. It’s one guy climbing a sheer 1,000m rock face without protection. We know the stakes.

The feats of climbers like Seb Bouin or Adam Ondra, however, are harder to communicate to a general audience. These crushers can scale routes significantly more difficult than anything Honnold has ever attempted. But if you’re not a climber, you’d be forgiven for not seeing the difference between Bouin’s 5.15c Suprême Jumbo Love, which exists at the upper ceiling of what’s possible, and a much easier route in Red River Gorge.

Free soloing

Free soloing, on the other hand, triggers an instant reaction. This is arguably even truer in an urban setting, where there’s an undeniable power to see people occupy a space that’s usually off-limits to us fragile humans.

It’s the terror of potentially watching someone fall that keeps us watching — and Robert seems to know this. In another Instagram post Wednesday, Robert published a short video of the “frightening moment” he almost fell.

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Since he’s wearing a camera on his helmet, every moment is recorded.

“All of the sudden I have SLIPPED LIKE NEVER BEFORE and nearly fell,” Robert wrote. “However, having a good mindset and mastering my fear is one of my best assets. At least I could speak with Seb who was few meters above and explain to him what just happened to me. That was surreal.”

Sure is — almost as surreal as watching this high-stakes drama play out on social media.

This story first appeared on GearJunkie.

Here’s the deal: If you want visual stimulation and alpine drama, look elsewhere in a climbing documentary. But if you want a dense mountain report from an ambivalent veteran, immune to travails that could force lesser souls to the brink, keep watching.

Colin Haley’s 2023 solo bid on the Supercanaleta, a Fitz Roy masterpiece that loosens the bowels of even the staunchest climbers, is as simple as that. Haley doesn’t feel sorry for himself, wears the anachronistic facial sun shades, and executes a laborious and impressive ascent.

While filming himself.

Here’s a tidbit from one of the alpine world’s most stoic customers in the high alpine:

"I’m kinda just physically and mentally fried a bit. I kind of think this super-intense, stressful stuff is not for me anymore. [But] even just bailing from here is definitely going to be a very long journey. It’s something like 4,000 feet of rappelling from here to the ‘schrund."

Stick around for an incisive self-inventory in the meadow below. Spoiler alert: don’t bet against my guy.

Amity Warme is tough. It’s no surprise she’s willing to take a big, complicated, 25-pitch bite out of El Capitan the old-fashioned way.

Watch Warme and Brent Barghahn do just that in Ground Up. Arc’teryx chronicles the two penitents on an old-fashioned "ground up" attempt on El Capitan’s El Niño (Pineapple Express variation, 5.13b/c).

It’s a characteristic outing for Warme who, Alex Honnold assesses, "brings a little bit of that old-school mountaineering vibe to modern performance rock climbing."

Power screams and physical-limit climbing

The ascent comes off as a modern foray into the canon of rock climbing — ground-up style, or climbing without rappelling or scouting pitches, is the oldest way to climb El Capitan. It used to be the only accepted way and didn’t become possible in free climbing until several generations of climbers had tangoed with the wall.

If you like a try-hard, you’ll appreciate this pair’s effort. Hang on tight for power screams, physical-limit climbing through clouds and rain showers, and plenty of roof-wrangling.

Murphy’s Law doesn’t quite descend over the climbers like the Yosemite Valley storms do. But this eight-day siege is an adventure by definition, and the team grapples with unexpected and uncontrollable events.

It’s a mixed bag. One thing you won’t find in it, though? Ask Warme.

"You know what they say — excuses are like buttholes," she quips. "Everyone’s got one and no one wants to hear yours."

Message received.

At the top of his reach, Mark Hudon can only just touch Jordan Cannon’s head.

It’s an odd first impression about Free as Can Be, the Arc’teryx chronicle of the unlikely climbing duo, but it definitely hits. Does it owe to their matching outfits which, intentional or not, immediately paint Hudon as Cannon’s mini-me?

Is it Cannon’s skinny, sneaky height or Hudon’s yawning wingspan?

If the quirky Hudon is some kind of odd doppleganger for the polite Cannon, neither one seems to mind the arrangement.

“Jordan [targeted] Mark. It’s very sad, actually,” climber and filmmaker Cedar Wright jokes. “He’s preying on a senior citizen so that he can go and send his projects.”

Wright’s take is characteristically needling and clever.

Free as Can Be weaves several storylines together around one core thread, which is the year Cannon spent supporting Hudon on his goal to free climb El Capitan.

63-year-old vs 20-something

The novelty is clear but limited in a story about a friendship between a 63-year-old and a 20-something. Which makes it a good thing the film’s directorial choices are sometimes circuitous.

Hudon’s own story as a talented but uncelebrated 1970s Yosemite pioneer is vibrant and informative.

So are the interviews, especially one with Brad Gobright — which lands eerily in the 2021 film after his 2019 death.

And while the dynamics between Hudon and Cannon aren’t necessarily fresh, they do offer interesting qualities. How would Cannon, a young technician, support this transient, enigmatic elder in his challenge quest? By surprising him with a travel-oriented training program packed with modern techniques and aspirational objectives.

It builds to become a slow-burning endearment. If the odd couple setup didn’t stimulate me, the camera’s ability to capture the evident adoration between the two did.

Cannon can be serious to the point of insufferable. And while Hudon’s default mode is impish, he doesn’t always play the funny man between the two.

“Today, we’re teaching an old dog new tricks,” Cannon says in voiceover, shooting a cell phone video of Hudon racking up.

“Me being the old dog,” Hudon retorts skeptically.

“You only look old,” Cannon fires back.

Hudon’s face — half “good one, wise guy,” half “wanna fight?” — is priceless.

Overall, Free as Can Be’s colors pop. It would be easy for the film to posture at wisdom while limiting itself by sentimentality. Instead, skillful storytelling allows it to mimic the skill of its protagonists: it catches lightning in a bottle.

When we’re not outdoors, we get our adventure fix by exploring social media and the web. Here are some of the best adventure links we’ve discovered this week.

Climbers Paddle to Winter Wonderland: A cold spell in January created a wonderland of ice formations in Squamish, British Columbia. Adventure photographer Jimmy Martinello spotted the incredible ice landscape while hiking and immediately mustered a team of ice climbers.

Climbing Germany’s Highest Mountain in Birkenstocks: A viral video shared by a German mountain guide shows an unidentified tourist climbing Zugspitze in Birkenstocks. Though he might have taken a cable car most of the way, climbing any of the route in sandals is irresponsible.

This follows reports of a Chinese climber attempting to summit the Matterhorn without appropriate gear just a few weeks ago. Two wild examples of how not to climb a mountain.

The rules of thru-hiking

Does Your Thru-Hike Count if You Miss a Few Kilometers?: Hitchhiking, taking a ride, or leaving the route for a few miles is relatively common during a thru-hike. A detour can leave some hikers disappointed, as though they have not truly completed their route.

Mary Skylis and Michael Brekkie took on the Appalachian Trail together in 2015. One is a purist who thinks missing a few miles on your thru-hike degrades its integrity. The other sees the official route as more of a guide than a strict map to follow.

The World’s Most Extraordinary Tiny Hotel Rooms: The world’s first capsule hotel opened in Osaka, Japan in 1979. Over time, the tiny hotel rooms have spread. From a sleeping pod that hangs from the side of a cliff to a nook between bookshelves, this list contains eight of the most extraordinary mini-hotel rooms you can find.

Flash floods in the Grand Canyon

Hiker Dead After Flash Floods Hit Grand Canyon: Heavy rains have flooded sections of the Grand Canyon National Park, killing one hiker and injuring several more. Chenoa Nickerson’s body was found 20 miles from where she went missing, at mile 176 of the Colorado River by a rafting group.

Over 100 tourists needed to be rescued as floods washed through campsites and hiking trails. Those on the trails said it went from a relatively calm morning to a life-or-death situation.

Bikepacking Norway’s Best Gravel: Josh Reid and his cycling partner take on the "Of Milk and Navvies" bike-packing route in Norway. The 383km journey combines two of the country's most popular gravel cycling routes: the Mjolkevegen (the Milk Road) and the Rallarvegen (the Navvies Road). Taking the duo through valleys, mountain passes, and cattle pastures, the ride concludes at one of Norway’s longest fiords.

The end of a climbing career

Alannah Yip Didn’t Have a Picture-Perfect Career Ending. And That’s OK: Alannah Yip is one of Canada’s most successful competition climbers. She was the only female climber on the Tokyo Olympic team, but she didn’t make the cut for Paris. Here she talks about everything that happened in between: losing funding, changing coaches, living with alopecia, and falling in and out of love with competition climbing.

Man Left Behind By Co-Workers on Hiking Retreat: A group of 15 co-workers on a hiking retreat in Colorado split into two groups. One group went to the summit of Mount Shavano, the other hiked towards the saddle. Somehow one man was left behind. He summited alone but got lost on the way down. A storm hit and he struggled against freezing winds and rain. At 9 pm, a search and rescue team set out to try and find him.

It has been a tough summer season in the Alps. Rockfall is increasing as climate change melts the permafrost holding the rocky faces together, heavy rains flooded alpine towns, and there has been a rash of deaths, including three in a week on the Matterhorn.

The Matterhorn is a hugely popular peak, with roughly 3,000 summits per year. With so many climbers, accidents are inevitable. There are four to six deaths per year, mostly the result of rocks or falls. Many deaths (and all three last week) occur on the descent, a hair-raising, three-and-a-half-hour highwire act along a sharp ridgeline and down through loose rock.

The short film Way to the Matterhorn does a solid job showing off the mountain's most popular route, the Hornli Ridge. Some 70% of climbers choose this route, which gets exceedingly busy in peak season. But presenter Julia Lyubova and local Zermatt guide Andreas Steindl are lucky. Climbing early in the Covid pandemic and with poor weather predicted for later that day, they have the mountain mostly to themselves.

After a very early start from the Hornli Hut, we're treated to a spectacular sunrise from high on the mountain and some vertigo-inducing shots of the windy summit ridge. But the film doesn't shy away from the difficulties of the descent.

Careful footsteps and nervous chatter

On the way down, climbers are typically physically and mentally tired. The descent can require rappeling, and it's easy to wander away from the route without an experienced guide.

Lyubova and Steindl are up and down without incident, yet you can feel Lyubova's nerves through sections of the descent. Quiet moments are punctuated with heavy breathing and nervous chatter.

"The descent feels much harder than the ascent," Lyubova explains. "I am not sure if I have done anything more frightening in my life before this."

In a crowded field of climbing films that are increasingly hard to tell apart, Mike Call’s The Artist kept me guessing. My notes are tangled and scrawled, and (perhaps largely due to personal reasons) would be stained with saline if I’d been leaning over the paper instead of backward.

Can you expect the son of this woman to portray a mundane hero?

Let me explain what I mean by “kept me guessing.”

Here’s a linear story arc The Artist could follow:

Boone Speed anchored sport climbing in the 1990s, burning a trail through American Fork Canyon that fried everyone not named Chris Sharma. Then he played an instrumental role in inventing modern bouldering gear and creating the market for it. Then he became a world-class photographer.

All along, his unforgiving personality burned just as hot as his ambition. He ostracized some of his closest friends. Everything he did “put a dent in the world,” in Call’s words, but he appeared to pay the price for it. It looked like he couldn’t break through whatever membrane was keeping him restless in his own skin.

Then later in life, he cooled off — realizing, as he says in the film, that his oldest relationships are the most important thing. He sums up the epiphany with a familiar sentiment: “How much better does it get?”

All of that’s true. But, like all art, there’s what The Artist appears to do, and then there’s what it actually does.

Here’s what it actually does:

Describes Speed’s early dynamism from behind the lens

Call was Speed’s earliest videographer. Three decades later, their relationship is the same. But instead of depicting a one-dimensional Speed by handing him the narrative reins, Call tells it his way — which adds depth to his subject right away.

Emphasizes real-world outcomes

Introducing key mentors like Maria Cranor, Black Diamond’s marketing director while Speed was embroiled in generating the modern bouldering market, provides accountability. Cranor and other key influences create rules and boundaries for young Speed, shaping his decisions.

Pusher, a company that Speed helped found, wasn't just a collective of heathens. It was the first climbing company that paid no attention to anything except bouldering. Pusher sold an aesthetic involving T-shirts, ads, and some seminal videos. It also made climbing holds.

Allows its aesthetics to penetrate

The Artist exalts the aesthetic principle of reduction: Do more with less. You can see it in Speed’s interior decoration, with demure houseplants and a small reproduction of one of his father’s sculptures. It’s also the principle he applies to guide his photography.

And if you’ve ever climbed, you know how to apply it.

The film stays out of the way, allowing emotive expression from images, colors, and interview subjects alike.

Pumps the gas — but doesn’t over-rev

Speaking of Speed’s father, don’t miss the son describing how he felt after his father died. But don’t expect lingering close-ups of misty eyes or quivering lips. Call knows the viewer can feel every bit of the moment’s pathos without having their head dunked in a bucket of it.

(For the record, yes, this is the part that got me choked me up.)

Elsewhere, skip to 14:10 for peak tough-guy Boone.

Focuses on the art, not the artist

So The Artist doesn’t focus on the artist?

Correct, it does not. Instead, it watches what the artist is watching: his subjects. In a way, Speed is the hero of the film. But not really. Because it’s actually about everyone except him.

In the fat part of the bell curve of climbing films, production crews can labor in dramatics, saturated visuals, or tired storylines.

Another segment in the big part of the curve is the predictable. We watch a climber trace a typical heroic cycle of accepting challenge, faltering, transforming, and eventually meeting the challenge to achieve redemption.

The Artist pretends to be both; instead, it’s neither.

There's more to explore that way.

If people rock climbed before 1492, the evidence is conjectural.

Villagers inhabited the Sky Caves of Nepal, carved into stone hundreds of meters off the ground, as early as the seventh century BC. Asked how the ancients got up there, locals are known to quip, “The lamas fly.”

Similar sites exist in the western United States, where thousand-year-old groups like the Mogollon left faint traces of climbing to cliff dwellings and cultural depots such as Hueco Tanks.

But no documented record of a climb existed anywhere in the world until 1492. That year -- which coincidentally was also the year that Columbus set sail -- King Charles VIII decided to force one of his military engineers to climb Mont Aiguille — a 400m limestone mesa some called Mount Inaccessible. On its flat top, angels allegedly cavorted.

The engineer's name was Antoine de Ville. He and 10 other intrepid souls started up the northwest face armed with wooden ladders.

By all accounts, de Ville and his team did reach the 2,087m summit. After their unlikely flurry up hundreds of meters' worth of ladders, nobody else repeated it for centuries.

Most advanced ever

De Ville’s first ascent was the most advanced known rock climb relative to the rest of its era. Former American Alpine Journal editor J. Monroe Thorington’s 1965 report had this to say about the Mont Aiguille route: “The ascent was said to be ‘half a league by ladders, and a league by a route terrifying to see and even more so to descend.’ Only a few years after the event, Antoine de Ville was spoken of as an ‘alchimiste,’ a sorcerer!”

According to Thorington's research, ground witnesses sourced from French authorities corroborated that de Ville had actually summited Mont Aiguille.

De Ville simply called the ascent “le plus horrible” — “the worst.” Details on the campaign itself are scarce. But all 11 members, including multiple religious officials and a “ladder-man to the king,” seem to have topped out on Mont Aiguille.

Quick repeaters scurry up ladders

De Ville and his crew first spent a few days on the summit meadow building a mountain hut -- no details on how they carried the lumber up those ladders. They also erected a few crosses in the name of Charles VIII and wrote fantasy reports about unusual flora and fauna, and some mysterious human footprints.

The note about footprints turned out to be prescient, Thorington reported. Two more groups of local nobles and bureaucrats soon followed de Ville’s ladders to the top.

“Imagine their astonishment,” he wrote, when conspicuous people such as a viscount popped up onto the mesa.

Ladders, sorcery, or otherwise, it’s beyond argument that de Ville was ahead of his time. Later climbers retrofitted his route with fixed safety gear, including iron chains. American climber and historian W.A.B. Coolidge repeated it in 1881. His account, per Thorington:

"The way (center of NW face) lies through several deeply cut fissures, or rather, hollows of the most extraordinary nature. At one moment, we seemed to be in the very bowels of the mountain in a great cavern, whither scarcely any light penetrated. The rock is very smooth and bad to climb, so I was glad to avail myself of the iron chains.”

Today, climbing beta website The Crag calls de Ville’s route the Voie Normal and rates it at a gentle 4a (5.4).

Maybe controversially, the site credits the first ascent to Jean Liotard in 1834 — the man who allegedly arrived second, 342 years after de Ville.

Of course, most believe that de Ville genuinely summited the peak. A few have even tried to re-enact the legendary ladder ascent for a documentary project. It continues to be an intriguing objective for the historically minded.

Tomorrow’s objective: Mont Aiguille- The oldest documented rock climb in the world 1st done in 1400… pic.twitter.com/4bySgInEbp

— Mark Seaton (@guidemark) July 2, 2024

A brief story in Japan's YBS News today reported the death of a young man at the 8th station of the Yoshida route on the Yamanashi side of Mt. Fuji. While sad, it would not be news except for the fact that the deceased is world-class rock climber Keita Kurakami. He was just 38 years old.

Kurakami had a serious heart condition, and he knew it. But he had refused the prescribed treatment, which would have meant the end of his career.

Kurakami was born in Gunma prefecture in 1985 and started climbing in high school. He was first attracted to bouldering. After about a decade, he re-focused on trad, multi-pitch, and big wall climbing outside Japan. He had a particular passion for opening new routes.

In 2015, he and partner Yusuke Sato opened what was considered the hardest multi-pitch route in Japan -- Senjitsu no Ruri, “A thousand days of lapis lazuli” -- up the Moai Face of Mt. Mizugaki.

Kurakami wrote a long report about the climb, the mountain, and his own perceptions of climbing for Alpinist magazine. Read it here. Two years later, he made the fifth ascent of Walk of Life, a famous E9 6c slab route in the UK.

In 2018, Kurakami completed the first free climb rope solo of Yosemite's El Capitan. (He climbed alone but self-belayed with a gri-gri and rope system.)

"Kurakami had redpointed every individual pitch on the Nose the previous year but decided that he wasn’t satisfied with his style because he didn’t free the route from the ground in a single push," Alpinist wrote about him. Kurakami had promised to return to El Cap and "climb it in a better style."

He also held a degree in physics and shared a transcendental view of climbing "as a continuum of contact points and discovery where nature, people, the past, and the future intersect," as he put it. "I aspire to free climbing as an expression of physical art and philosophy."

Cardiac condition

Kurakami's cardiac condition showed up in 2021 after a hard training session. He was taking an active rest day, cycling with friends, when he collapsed at a street light, and his heart stopped. Paramedics managed to revive him on their third attempt.

Doctors diagnosed a ventricular arrhythmia caused by "exercise-induced coronary spasm angina." Kurakami was told to quit climbing or risk sudden death. They also suggested that he get an implantable cardioverter defibrillator, a kind of pacemaker that can also deliver an electric shock. After reflecting on it for the three days he spent in the Intensive Care Unit, he refused.

"I thought that giving up climbing would be a choice I would regret later on," he told a Japanese magazine in 2022. "Even if I lived to be 70 or 80 without climbing, would that really be a happy life for me?"

He decided that an implanted defibrillator could also malfunction and chose not to take that risk.

Kurakami read all he could about cardiac disease. He returned to exercising, following training methods from Kilian Jornet and Steve House. A year after he collapsed, Kurakami had returned to bouldering, running, and climbing for 18 hours non-stop. He felt 90% recovered. He progressively returned to climbing but always carried an AED with him.

"I chose a life with climbing over the risk to my own life," Kurakami said. "But if the time came when I had to choose between climbing or my wife and family, I would not hesitate to give up climbing."

Climb till the end

It is not clear if Kurakami changed his routines or treatment since then. According to his Instagram, he climbed till the last moment. Last week, he posted photos of himself rope-soloing Freedom, a 5.13 route.

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Today, he set off on his last hike up sacred Mt. Fuji. Although the mountain is officially closed until July 1, some climbers venture up its slopes off-season. A friend who joined him called the emergency services when Kurakami lost consciousness some five hours into the hike. Kurakami was taken to the hospital, but this time, doctors could only confirm his death.

American climber and photographer Drew Smith was kind enough to share some photographs for this story. Smith met Kurakami when he rope-soloed El Cap.

"He was a very kind and joyful guy to be around," Smith recalls. "The climbing he liked was very challenging and intense, but he had a calm presence and great energy."

It’s a bridge too far to paint Jacopo Larcher as a revisionist. But in European rock climbing, he’s trying to synthesize a future that diverges from its past — and he’s not afraid to confront history in order to do it.

Ask yourself: Would you forgo a bombproof bolt for a marginal cam placement if you were facing a nasty fall?

 

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That’s the game Larcher plays all the time as he barnstorms around his home continent, ignoring bolts on sport climbs. He accepts the hazard as part of an effort to reframe the role of the expansion bolt — the central piece of hardware in a modern route developer’s toolkit.

Making 'the sharp end' even sharper

Larcher is The Traditionalist, in his new role for The North Face as well as in practice. Since the mid-2010s, he’s blazed his own trail through the climbing world by creating specific, hard climbs that would terrify most people.

Lead climbers attempting the menacing crux on 2021’s Shikantaza must rely on thin aid climbing gear, placed behind a flake that threatens to rip off, tensioned to cams below to stay in place. Nobody knows how hard Shikantaza is because Larcher never gave it a definitive grade — and nobody else has tried it.

In keeping with the ethics of The Traditionalist, the route could very well stay that way for good. Larcher refused to bolt it partly in deference to its original developer, who tragically died in unrelated circumstances in 2017. And partly because he’s decreasingly interested in the sport climbing game.

Shikantaza is a king line on a spectacular boulder in an idyllic Italian valley — how many souls would siege it if Larcher defanged it with a hammer drill?

To be clear, bolting has advanced rock climbing as a sport more than any other single factor. Most of the world’s hardest routes are impractical to protect with traditional gear, and many are impossible to protect traditionally.

Some are just extremely marginal. Those are the ones where Larcher makes his living.

Watch him jam a skyhook into a tiny horizontal seam on Jeune Et Con, then pound on it with his fist to secure it. Realize, along the way, that it’s the only piece of protection on the whole rig.

A little contrived?

Elsewhere, things get a little contrived. But when they do, it’s important to remember that all climbing is fairly contrived.

Into the Sun is Larcher’s extension of a high-ball boulder problem by Fred Nicole. To begin, the climber stands on bouldering pads with a harness on and starts up. The boulder problem ends at a big hole at about three-quarters height. At this point, the climber usually lets go, falling to the pads below. Instead, a helper hands the climber a pre-rigged rope and trad gear on the end of a pole.

The climber grabs the gear and clips into the rope, the helper becomes a belayer, and the climber tops out on the boulder after another three vertical meters.

It’s a little silly. Until you consider that Seb Bouin, Adam Ondra, and the rest of the mutants in the Flatanger Cave often switch between ropes mid-climb. Or that Alex Honnold, on the first ascent of the 15-meter high-ball boulder Too Big to Flail, amassed 36 crash pads at the base. Or that high-altitude climbers are locked in an ongoing mud fight over whether it's fair to use supplemental oxygen — in an industry that relies on it at least 90% of the time.

Faster, lighter?

Above the noise, though, there's one mountain perspective from which Larcher’s traditional fixation makes perfect sense. The seemingly invincible “fast and light” ethic supports it all the way.

Bolting a first ascent is heavy, gnarly, expensive work. Plugging a little gear, rappelling down, and walking away like nothing ever happened? Comparatively, it’s light as a feather. If a first ascensionist can get away with it, why face the burden of drilling a bolt at all?

Of course, "getting away with it" is relative. Fear and risk tolerances vary.

Will legions of sport climbers hang up their quickdraws in Larcher’s image? Pile their online shopping carts high with loads of arcane trad and aid equipment like beaks, skyhooks, and ballnuts? Play with sketchy gear placements and evaluate what climbing and, by extension, life is really about?

I doubt it. It’s too easy (and fun) to show up to a cliff someone already bolted and start playing around on it — trust me.

But Larcher’s not trying to change the past, he’s trying to influence the future. Hard trad climbing, he points out, is a “young movement” in Europe.

“You can really see that other climbers who don’t trad climb start to realize there is this other discipline,” Larcher says in the film. “[Trad climbing] never gets boring. You have to deal with your fears. You have to sometimes decide if you want to go for it, knowing there might be consequences.

“For me, It makes me feel more alive.”

Seems like word’s getting around.

Matteo Della Bordella, Silvan Schupbach, Symon Welfringer, and Alex Gammeter are heading to an unclimbed wall on the East Coast of Greenland that they have only seen in a photo.

This will be Della Bordella's fourth expedition to Greenland. But, as he told ExplorersWeb, this time will be different. "We're going to a much more remote place," he said.

The only person who has previously climbed there is Mike Libecki, a National Geographic explorer, photographer, and climber. In 2019, Libecki and his brother Andy climbed some isolated walls in Greenland, as he posted on his Instagram account:

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"The wall we want to climb is really out of reach, further up the east coast," Della Bordella said. "I guess the most practical way to approach the place would be in a boat, but we want to keep our usual way of approaching by kayak in a completely independent (and sustainable) way."

Della Bordella noted that kayaking to and from the wall will take a month, nearly two-thirds of their planned expedition time.

"I am aware it looks too tight a schedule, but we believe that if we used other means, we would miss an important part of the adventure."

A long paddle

The climbers have experience kayaking Greenland's fiords, but not so far up the open east coast.

"We will have to paddle much longer than on previous expeditions, and directly on the ocean, following the coastline." That involves more waves, currents, stronger winds, and sea ice.

The plan is to start paddling from a hunters' settlement.

"A local hunter will take us there from Tasiilaq [the main town in Eastern Greenland]. From that point, we will be completely independent, carrying all our supplies and gear in the kayaks," Della Bordella said. He estimates they will paddle a total of 600km, 300km each way.

In fact, Greenland's granite walls are becoming popular among trad and big-wall climbers from around the world. Places like Upernavik and the Mythics Cirque are seeing more climbing teams opening new routes every summer.

"Greenland is remote and has plenty of possibilities, and at the same time, the weather is not bad in summer," Della Bordella noted.

For the adventure, Della Bordella has again teamed up with good friends Silvan Schupbach and Symon Welfringer, his partners on the 2021 Greenland expedition. The three of them also attempted to climb the Karakoram's Ogre (Baintha Brakk) and opened a new route on The Ogre's Son (Baintha Kabata Peak). This year, the team will add a fourth member, Alex Gammeter of Switzerland.

Charles Barrett, a 40-year-old rock climber convicted of sexual abuse, was sentenced to life in prison Tuesday.

The longtime Yosemite climber had been convicted of two counts of aggravated sexual abuse and one count of abusive sexual contact, according to a news release. All three incidents occurred at Yosemite National Park in 2016, said U.S. Attorney Phillip A. Talbert.

“Barrett’s long history of sexual violence supports the imposition of a life sentence,” Talbert said in the news release. “He used his status as a prominent climber to assault women in the rock-climbing community, and when his victims began to tell, Barrett responded by lashing out publicly with threats and intimidation. This case is a testament to the courage of the victims who reported these crimes.”

Barrett committed the crimes in August 2016, when the victim was visiting Yosemite for a weekend of hiking, according to court documents. Barrett, who was living and working for a private business in the park, sexually assaulted her three times over the course of the weekend.

During the trial, three other women testified that Barrett also sexually assaulted them, Talbert said Tuesday. Those assaults were not included in the charges against Barrett because they occurred outside federal jurisdiction. However, they were allowed as additional evidence in the trial.

“It is time to put a definitive end to Barrett’s reign of terror,” one of his victims said, according to The Sacramento Bee.

A lack of remorse

It wasn’t until several years after that 2016 weekend that charges were filed against Barrett.

In 2017, he “purposely” climbed at the same gym as a victim he had assaulted in 2000, prosecutors said. That woman disclosed Barrett’s assault on her to the gym owner, which resulted in Barrett harassing and threatening her for several years. In August 2022, he was convicted for the criminal threats he made in January 2022.

That same month, federal prosecutors charged him with sexual abuse, leading to a two-year trial that ended today with life in prison for Barrett.

While in custody for this case, Barrett made hundreds of phone calls, prosecutors said. During these calls, he showed “no remorse or regret,” Talbert said in the news release. Instead, Barrett threatened to use violence and lawsuits against the victims, claiming they created a conspiracy to ruin his life.

This case was the result of an investigation by the National Park Service.

“We are grateful for the tireless work of the National Park Service investigative team and the U.S. Attorney’s Office to bring this case to justice,” Yosemite National Park Superintendent Cicely Muldoon said. “Today’s sentencing sends a clear message about the consequences of this criminal behavior. It makes Yosemite a safer place for the climbing community, park visitors, and our employees.”

Barrett’s sentencing comes days after The New York Times reported on accusations of sexual assault by mountaineer Nirmal Purja. The story included other notable examples of sexual misconduct in climbing — including Barrett.

This story first appeared in GearJunkie.

Climbs in the Buttermilk Boulders don’t surrender easily, even to the world’s best pebble wrestlers.

At first sight, it’s easy to figure out why. The quartz erratics hulk over the broad playa of the Owens Valley in eastern California. Savage crimps in steep faces guard top-outs that soar above 15 meters. Around icons like the Grandma and Grandpa Peabody Boulders, generations of hopefuls have steadily pounded the landscape into dust by throwing down palatial crash pad carpets.

When a climber scores a first ascent in the Buttermilks, it’s a big deal. Jared Roth pulled off an unthinkable ascent with Rastaman Vibration (V12, 15m) in 2002. Roth started Rastaman from a standing position, skipping some entry moves too radical for the time and place. Eight years later, Paul Robinson finally unlocked them, forcing a sit start after two years’ work: Lucid Dreaming, V15.

A similar saga played in the Sierra foothills above the Peabodies. Bouldering luminaries Chris Sharma and Jason Kehl started clashing with the Golden Boulder’s steep, soaring face in the early 2000s. But neither climber could solve its puzzle of crimps and contortions. In 2011, Sonnie Trotter finally skipped half of it, creating the shoulder-start rig Standing on the Shoulders of Giants (V9). But the ground-up line remained one of the Buttermilks' last unclimbed centerpieces — until this spring.

 

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Freefall veteran

Keenan Takahashi is a gamer. The 30-something-year-old has invested the majority of two decades into the climbing game. Takahashi is as recognizable for his unkempt mustachios as for his gung-ho style on rock. He’s tamed big rigs and exacting projects all over the world. He has been called “obsessive,” and he's probably spent more time in freefall than most people have spent on the couch.

In April, he added another notch to his belt.

The Gold Standard (V15) is the long-deferred completion of Trotter’s Shoulders. Watch Takahashi wage and win the first ascent war here — in painter’s pants and gondolier shirts.

To psych up, he invokes a Soundcloud rapper.

“Chicken f*ckin’ bone, now it’s on!”

Firmly. Consistent with the Mellow label, this joint is a familiar chronicle of the ups and downs of high-ball prospecting. Alongside partner-in-crime Katie Lamb, Takahashi frets, focuses, and fumes through the effort.

If the central Californian sometimes seems overstimulated, it’s a short leap to guess why. Takahashi’s investment in The Gold Standard spanned years. His tendency to fixate obviously fueled progress but increased the pressure.

Insipid chatter

Also get ready for insipid chatter from spotters (admittedly, I cannot control this when I am the spotter) and Mellow’s vulnerability to dramatization. Some will struggle with disjuncts between production elements and on-screen events, like when a yearning, tense musical crescendo intensifies as a headlamped Takahashi proceeds up the rig but falls — uneventfully, from a height of about five meters.

Anyone who’s done it, though, knows that climbing a worthy project feels more intense than post-production could ever make it seem.

ExplorersWeb couldn’t reach Takahashi for comment as of this writing, but his Instagram post caption is a can’t-miss. Want a drive-by tour through the strange, standout mind at the top of the Buttermilks? Here you go.

“The only difficulty was self-imposed, and to see it for what it is allowed me to step away from the outcome and focus on the moment. The wind rose, and I just felt excited to give it hell…I’m not really sure how to write a caption about something that I’ve been looking at for 12+ years, trying for six seasons, and thought I might never send. But… I’m f*cking psyched to have seen this one through!!!”

Chicken bone, Keenan.

The world’s only Oscar-winning free soloist is at it again.

Alex Honnold broke another record on El Capitan, rope soloing the iconic Salathe Wall (5.13b or 5.9 C2) almost fast enough to cut the existing standard in half.

Honnold tagged the El Cap summit just 11 hours, 18 minutes after he left the ground on Thursday, he told the San Francisco Chronicle. In terms of speed, the effort was the equivalent of a moon landing — the previous solo record on the Salathe stood at just under 20 hours.

That mark briefly belonged to Brant Hysell, a Lake Tahoe-based climber who ticked the route in 19 hours, 58 minutes on May 11. His 12-day stint at the top of the Salathe speed pile ended a decade-long reign by Cheyne Lempe, who posted a 20:06 run in 2013.

Game on

Why didn’t Honnold snatch the record sooner? Because Lempe is his friend — but he doesn’t know Hysell.

“When it was my friend who held [the record], it would have felt weird to go and dunk on him,” Honnold explained. “But if it’s someone I don’t know, it’s like, game on!”

The free soloist adds his new record to a growing list of El Capitan benchmarks, including the overall Salathe speed record (4:55 with the late Sean Leary in 2009).

The Salathe shares big swaths of El Cap with the Freerider (5.12d, and the climb from Free Solo, in case you’ve been under a rock since 2017). Honnold attributed his relatively blazing speed on Thursday’s record burn to his familiarity with the wall — he free soloed segments of it.

Like his record-setting effort, Honnold’s Yosemite visit was over in a flash. He bailed out of the park on Friday morning, according to the Chronicle, bound for his Las Vegas home after a “big-wall tuneup” trip and a record he said “felt like low-hanging fruit.”

No Big Deal.

Two climbers fell approximately 300m while ascending Mt. Johnson in Denali National Park on April 25, the National Park Service reported late last week. The fall killed Robbi Mecus, 52, a New York State forest ranger. Mecus' climbing partner, Melissa Orzechowski, 30, remains in critical condition.

According to multiple reports, the two climbers had roped up while tackling The Escalator, a 1,500m mixed-terrain route on 2,560m Mt. Johnson's southeast face. Other climbers who saw the fall alerted the Alaska Regional Communication Center at 10:45 pm that evening.

The witnesses descended to the stricken climbers, where they confirmed Mecus' death. They then dug a snow cave and treated Orzechowski's injuries until help arrived the next morning.

Orzechowski was airlifted to a hospital in Anchorage. Rangers recovered Mecus' body on Saturday, April 27.

Deceased climber's background

According to The Adirondack Explorer, Mecus was a fixture in the Upstate New York climbing scene and was active in rescues and outdoor education. In her 40s, Mecus came out as a trans woman and later told North Country Radio that she felt accepted by her community.

“Over her 25-year career with DEC, Ranger Mecus demonstrated an unparalleled passion for protecting the environment and New Yorkers,” said interim New York Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) commissioner Sean Mahar.

Orzechowski is a former teacher, an accomplished climber, and co-founder of the Adirondack Queer Ice Fest. A GoFundMe has been created to help offset Orzechowski's recovery cost and transportation for her family to the Alaska hospital where she's being treated.

When we’re not outdoors, we get our adventure fix by exploring social media and the web. Here are some of the best adventure links we’ve discovered this week.

Finland’s Ice Swimming Fanatics: Avanto, as Finland's agonizing practice of ice swimming is known, means cutting a hole in the ice on a frozen lake and hopping in. Some cut tiny plunge pools, others fashion swimming-pool-sized holes for many to use.

Finns swear by this folk tradition, insisting that it lets them survive the dark, brutal winters. Many say it helped them overcome depression, addiction, and bereavement.

As you step into the icy water, time slows, they say. Your body is in shock, and numbness quickly spreads through your limbs. It is debatable if this is a form of water torture, but you feel good afterward. And the longer you stay, the bigger the benefits.

Odd job

Antarctic Fire Captain: Of all the unusual outdoor jobs out there, fire captain in a place covered with snow and ice ranks right up there. But that is what Nicki Schauman does. He is the fire captain in Antarctica. Schauman has worked for two seasons, providing fire support for three U.S. facilities at the South Pole.

So far, there haven't been any fires, but if one did start, it would spread quickly in that dry and windy place. It is hard to replace anything in Antarctica. They only get cargo and supplies a few times a year.

Nearly everyone on Schauman's team is also an EMT, paramedic, or aircraft rescue firefighter. They are always needed for something.

Here’s Why I Don’t Love Your Trail Dog: Brian Metzler loves hitting the trail and running with his two dogs, but he loathes encountering off-leash dogs on these runs. The loose dogs have charged him often and bitten him four times. Some owners shout the cursory, "Don’t worry, my dog won’t bite," but mostly, they say nothing.

When one aggressive terrier kept running at him and his dog one day, he politely asked its owner to control her dog. He swiftly got told to "f-- off." When he began running again, the terrier followed. Metzler sped up, and so did the terrier. As its owner shouted for the dog to come back, Brian encouraged it to stay, while heading for the muddiest puddles possible.

Durango's train race

A Candy Bar Fueled Durango’s 52-Year-Old Bike Race: The Iron Horse bike race goes a brutal 75km over two 3,000m passes in the San Juan Mountains. The aim is to beat the train to the top.

Nowadays, around 3,000 cyclists tackle this contest every year, but that is not how it began. In 1971, Tim Mayer bet his brother Jim he could not beat the train on his bike. Jim took up the challenge. He outraced the train and won a candy bar. The brothers teamed up with a third partner a year later, and the annual race began.

Yucatan Jungle Hike Could Help Maya Communities: Mexico’s Camino del Maya is a 110km hiking and biking trail that opened in 2020. It took three years to build and was created to help reverse centuries of colonial exploitation in the Yucatan.

In Mexico, jobs, education, and medical care are limited outside of a couple of centers. Local communities created the trail to preserve their Mayan history and culture by helping them survive without leaving their villages for cities.

All the guides are local, and 80% of the profits go back into the community.

Chinese-American Aviatrix Overcame Racism to Fly During WWII: On Oct. 24, 1932, Hazel Ying Lee became the first Chinese-American woman to earn a pilot’s license in the U.S.

Just months earlier, she took lessons at the Chinese Flying Club of Portland, which trained Chinese-American men to return to China to help defend their country from Japan. The boys treated Lee like their little sister. She idolized them and wanted to be one of them.

When she was in the sky, it did not matter that her heritage was Chinese or that she was a woman. No one could see her, and she could be completely herself. Eventually, she became one of just two Chinese-Americans who flew as pilots in WWII.

Confronting a different world

A Cranky Old Man Returns to Climbing: When Dave Pagel ended up on crutches, everyone assumed he’d been in a climbing accident. He very quietly told them he acquired the injury gardening. Slamming his foot repeatedly into a shovel had ruptured the sinew in his ankle.

He went from a sore ankle to crutches, to a limp, to a walking stick to a wheelchair. Climbing disappeared from his life. When a surgeon finally figured out what had happened and fixed his ankle, he couldn’t imagine heading back into the mountains. He was used to his new sedentary life.

Then his dad dropped dead, and that scared him. He began working out and eventually picked up a climbing magazine. The world of climbing had evolved more than he ever expected. The big question was, did he want to jump back into the new game?

Congrats, You’re Dating a Surfer!: Dating a surfer isn’t for everyone, but this writer thinks those who do are some of the luckiest out there. He’s even made a list of why these partners are so fortunate to date individuals like himself.

First, a surfer's reliability. You can always count on them to be there, unless, of course, the waves happen to be particularly good that day. Then there’s their cleanliness. Your car and house will absolutely not be covered in surf wax, zinc, and endless trails of sand.

Last is their spontaneity. They are always up for random weekend activities, as long as they involve the ocean and their surfboard. But you go have fun at the farmers' market. They’ll see you when you get home, at exactly the time they said they’ll be back.

On April 23, Patrick Johnson and Patrick Gephart of the U.S. summited 6,487m Tengkangpoche in the Rolwaling Himal. They did their new route alpine style via the north face, according to the managing director of Itrek Everest, via The Himalayan Times.

According to Johnson, Tengkangpoche's north face was rather dry. After studying the face from several angles, they chose a route that linked several sections of ice and mixed terrain through passages they deemed safe.

The climbers bivouacked at around 4,570m before beginning the ascent. They then navigated easy ice to the base of a smear of ice on the clean rock face. Johnson says they were pleasantly surprised to climb it in two fantastic pitches at WI3+.

The pair then continued directly up the north face, linking pitches of easy ice and mixed terrain with long sections of steep snow.

"A final pitch of WI3 led us to the east ridge," recalls Johnson. "We bivouacked at 6,000m and endured a sleepless night with neverending wind."

The duo continued east toward the summit in clear weather, navigating a steep, narrow ridge with long sections of ice and neve.

Johnson recalls that several seracs and crevasses guarded the final ridge, but they passed with careful route finding. They finally reached the top of Tengkangpoche on April 23 at 3:30 pm, in the clouds.

They judged their new route WI3+/M3 Steep Snow, 1,500m.

In her first Alaska climb since losing several toes to severe frostbite two years ago, Anna Pfaff and partners Andres Marin and Thomas Bukowski established a new 983m route on the south face of 3,429m Mount Providence, although they had to turn around 100m below the summit.

The three flew onto the Thunder Glacier below Thunder Mountain and Mount Providence. Thunder Mountain has a good collection of routes up its various gullies and chutes, but Mount Providence has seen curiously little attention. They decided to go for a new line up the center of the south face, which Marin had spied before the climb. They carried food for two days.

According to Bukowski, the route was the full package: ”Lots of steep snow stepping, some funky mixed sections that Andres [Marin] styled (M5?), a narrowing ice chute where I found surprisingly good ice (AI4?), and some steep (70º?), sugary, faceted snow that Anna [Pfaff] burrowed through.”

Precarious ledge

After the first day of icy rock climbing, they bivouacked on a precarious ledge below a wall. The next morning, they climb an even harder and colder pitch, eventually reaching their high point.

They were aware that the weather was supposed to worsen shortly. They weren’t prepared for a second bivy and needed time for the descent. In the end, they descended shy of the summit.

"We had already climbed the steepest and hardest part of the mountain," said Marin. "It was a hard decision to make, but at the end of the day, [it was] the right and responsible thing to do.”

They named their new route Journey Through the Castle of Providence (983m, V, M5, AI4, 5.10).

Pfaff lost several toes in 2022 after climbing the difficult 1,200m Harvard Route on Mount Huntington with Priti Wright. Last year, she climbed Kyajo Ri in the Himalaya with some partners, but this was her first time back in Alaska.

”Seeing Anna [Pfaff] back in the Alaska mountains, climbing hard with a smile on her face, was an awesome and emotional thing to see,” wrote Marin on social media.

Although their route did not end at the summit, climbing is about much more than reaching the summit. Mark Twight wrote once that his best and most beautiful routes didn’t end at the top.