“I’m glad Royal Robbins isn’t here to see this shit show,” I said to myself as I watched the youngsters on Yosemite’s Nutcracker defy death by way of ego and inexperience on his 1960s classic. It was one of those experiences in climbing where I try to turn off my emotions and deal with things…
Long before we decide, the path is carved for us. Sliced through existence to be forged for this one, and beyond. The goals we strive for in this life, the roles we thrive in, the roads we stride on, all to guide us through the night of our own inner selves, as we run from…
We’ve never done this, and perhaps it would be a failure (anything can be) but I’m hoping to rally a big subscription push for The Climbing Zine. Our goal is to add 100 new subscribers in the next month! NOTE: WE HAVE REACHED OUR GOAL OF 100 AND ARE GOING FOR 200! The Zine, as…
From Townie Books in Crested Butte, Luke Mehall and friends tell stories from his books American Climber and The Desert, and a few out of the box tales as well. Mehall is the author of five dirtbag climbing books, and he’s the publisher of The Climbing Zine. The Desert is Luke Mehall’s fifth and final…
I see it being used all around me to describe women, often by other women: badass. I have always considered it to have a good connotation, as it implies confidence with a splash of style. Diverse, strong-willed women deserve an empowering word that delivers a heavy compliment—one that says, “She’s got things under control.” The…
Tim Foulkes yarns a tale speaking on Luke Mehall’s fifth dirtbag climbing book called The Desert. The Desert is Luke Mehall’s fifth and final offering in his series of dirtbag climbing books. The book begins with Mehall’s first trip to The Desert, a visit to Indian Creek in 1999, and chronicles nearly two decades of…
Fall Tour Kickoff: Thursday, August 15th 7:00 p.m. Townie Books 414 Elk Ave. Crested Butte, Colorado Dear readers, reviewers, promoters, podcasters, reporters, editors, bloggers, and anyone else interested in climbing and the great outdoors, Once upon a time, I felt the surge of inspiration to put words onto paper. I don’t remember many moments of…
One thousand twenty-seven. One thousand twenty-eight. One thousand twenty-nine. My head is lost in some sort of vortex. I’m not sure if I was I counting the steps from the parking lot to the base of this ocean of a wall…maybe it was the rhythm of my pulse. Blood leaving. Blood returning. by Michelle Dedischew …