June’s humid breath settles in waves over the Mount Washington Valley as the sun dips low in the west. A shadow Cathedral Ledge pools at the base of the real one, growing long toward the chalets and the strawberry fields as I belay my partner up behind me. The air is heavy—with evening promising little…
It is like any other start to a day of climbing in the Black Canyon. Dave and I are up before the sun, throwing down coffee and a quick breakfast, and assembling all the hardware needed for the day’s climb. We gently descend down the Cruise Gully, careful not to dislodge any loose rocks, with…
by Lucas Roman. This story is published in Volume 18. Banner photo by Hobo Greg Brad Gobright is pure of heart. So pure, in fact, that he may never have faced a dilemma in all his life. That’s not exactly serving him well right now, as he’s stuck in a pickle of his own making,…
Luke’s conversation with Sam MacIlwaine, who contributed the poem “Dirtbag” to Volume 25 of The Climbing Zine, and is also featured on the back cover of that issue. Subscribe/ score some books/clothes/stickers: https://shop.climbingzine.com/ Our sponsors for Season 7: Kilter: http://settercloset.com (email holds@kiltergrips.com for more information) Osprey: https://www.osprey.com/ Scarpa. Use this link to shop Scarpa products, and The Zine…
Typical Sunday used gear peruse. Filing through overpriced ultralights. Old green rock empire robot. Outdated, unwanted, undervalued… “Perfect.” This cam had chemistry, To be there for someone in the thinnest of situations, In the wildest of areas, Attached at the hip. Now devoid of adventure, Grown apart, Told that it’s not the…
Screams are a colorful thing. Each one has its own distinct message. An anger, a joy, a pain. The nature of each rings clear somewhere deep in our instincts. From the sound alone, you can practically see the scrunched nose and raised upper lip of a shout delivered in loud fury. Yet slightly muffled as…
It’s your mom’s minivan pimped out And only seats two Because if it wasn’t hard enough to live in a van It’s way harder to hook up in one This poem is published in The Climbing Zine Book 2, now available. Banner photo by: Kristen Hughes With a full set of seats in…
In Memory of Towyn Williams (1926 – 2016) I associate much of my childhood with a little white farmhouse in the Welsh countryside. My roots are firmly planted there. Planted between the rows of strawberries and the tunnels of raspberry bushes. by Rhiannon Williams note: this piece is an excerpt from The Climbing Zine Book,…