“Hey, wake up. Wake up!” Brian whispered harshly. “There’s someone out there.” I half opened an eye and begrudgingly listened to the deafening silence. “I don’t hear anything man, I’m sure it’s nothing.” “SHHHHH!!!!” Brian’s face was pressed against the mesh fabric of the tent, as he peered out into the darkness. I thought of…
Milton had overgrowth knots, the greasy kind, matting his beard to his wooly secondhand pullover, which sagged without shape over his sulking frame. As he sat in the passenger seat beside me, looking a bit like Schulz’s Pig-Pen, I almost admired it. His was a special form of dereliction. Speckled as much by bourbon as…
The dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced here at the edge of things… —Ursula K. Le Guin, Dancing at the Edge of The World My first sense of it is auditory. I am walking toward the rim, eyes straining to see over an edge I can’t yet…
We have restructured our Patreon system to include more offerings and discounts. The Patreon is not only the best way to support our “Dirtbag State of Mind” podcast, but it’s also a great way to score discounts in our Climbing Zine Store. Here’s a look at the three offerings we have: Five On It $5…
The first of our series of conversations recorded this summer in Lander, Wyoming. Shara Zaia wrote a beautiful piece is Volume 24, our current issue, and we discuss that essay and much more. Zine links: Support our podcast on Patreon KEEP THE ZINE ALIVE + Subscribe Score 15% off anything in our online store Our…
The Climbing Zine is now accepting stories, photography, and art for our 2024 volumes. Below are our loose guidelines. Words The Climbing Zine publishes thought provoking essays, stories, and poetry. Word count can be anywhere from 200 to 10,000. Our aim to publish work that focuses on the essence of climbing; we’ll publish accounts of…
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…
Though I’ve been dangling off the cliffs of Yosemite for twenty-plus years now, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with intimidation at the base of the roof crack known as Separate Reality. Taylor and I had just rappelled in, and it was his lead, which was just fine with me. Taylor is a relatively…