Tuesday Night Bouldering
“Hi Jeff, you don’t know me but my name is Wade Fairley. I’m an adventure photographer and I’ve secured some funding to climb a peak in Irian Jaya. Just to give you an idea, we want to climb a 2,000-foot limestone wall on Ngga Pulu, a sub-summit of Carstenz Pyramid."
The best story about Lee Sheftel has nothing to do with climbing.
During a hot summer day, while climbing with my friend Dan, I took off my shirt. Sorry, it happens. The muzzle-loading firearm that is my pallid skin shot a round of the sun's white-hot reflection at everyone within range. There was an instant massacre of eyeballs and appetites.
You can run, but you can't hide
The scorched desert expanse surrounding Las Vegas smears together into one terrible brown color as Chris Sharma, Dalia Ojeda, Miguel and I whiz along at 90 miles per hour in an old Jeep Grand Cherokee. The American West, this celebrated frontier, as tame as it has become with commercialism and super highways, is still the last good place I know of for real adventure.
A desperate search for climbing's soul.
Where are all the dirtbags? I'm not talking about these imposter dirtbags, the new-age lurkers taking up all the parking spots at Camp 4, Indian Creek and Miguel's Pizza with their pimped-out, Direct TV-receiving Sprinter vans that look like college dorm rooms on 26s.
Anderew Bisharat struggles on his long time climbing project at Rifle, Colorado.
The music rippled through the fall air, crisp and bright as a Red Delicious apple. The thumping drums that were laced into the treble by the DJ evoked...
In my mind, the trad climb was desperate and runout but only in my mind. I mashed chalk into my palms and recalled a scene from one of my all-time favorite movies...
Tell me what oxygen smells like. Don't say, nothing, either because nothing isn't something. Those who make something out of nothing are either immaculate...
Steve House does not understand what hard journalism is really like...