CRACK! The jolt back onto the bolt, into which you are still quickdraw-tethered, stuns you. You only fell two feet, but your neck is stiff and your innards feel like they’ve been kicked by a mule.

The myth of Oliver Moon changed the face of Yosemite climbing forever.

I was gambling: two kings face down in front of me, and a third in the middle of the table, along with two spades and half my chips. I shoved my remaining $150 into the middle. Of course my opponent called and turned over two more spades. Climbing photographers aren’t the highest-paid people in the world, so a $540 pot was plenty to fire my adrenal glands into hyperdrive.

Upon arriving in a new country, first things first: Always learn how to order the local drink. You'd be surprised how far you can get with a combination of English, charades and confidence.

Joe Josephson phoned with an interesting proposal: Fred Beckey had come to town for a reunion of Montana's Dirty Sox Club, a guild of Montana climbers from the 1960s through the 1980s.

If anyone has earned an honorary membership in a group named Dirty Sox it is Washington's Fred Beckey, sovereign of American DirtBag Climbers.

Stop press! Five Ten makes slipper from Anasazi last. Sounds a bit dull, but we were amazed by what the combination does for this shoe.