It’s 1981, and I’m 22 years old, about to graduate from college, trying to sort out what happens next. And there’s this guy I really like. He’s good looking, smart, funny, and a rock climber. I confess, I had this thing for rock climbers, especially those with large biceps. by Barbara Noseworthy, published in Volume…
I’d been driving past this rock, near Hanksville, for years. It’s just begging to be climbed but looked impossible without drilling a ladder of large holes for spikes (rebar? footing stakes?) of some kind. And what kind of fun is that? The “rock” appeared to be too soft to nail, too crumbly to bolt. There…
I was told it must’ve been awful for a person like me to spend the large majority of days locked down in a cell. Every “awful” thing is an opportunity for the spirit to rise above. Words and art by Isaac Wright, published in Volume 22, now available The truth is that nature…
by Pat Ament (note the full version of this piece was published in Volume 17, which is now available in print.) Banner photo by the author. Ascetic solitude is difficult. You withdraw from the world to get a clearer glimpse of who you are, what you are doing, and where life is taking you. The…
Me and my higher self, We often would speak Somehow we lost the connection, Might meet at Joshua Tree —Nas, “Nobody” Banner photo of Hobo Greg by Emmie Snead My greatest fear as a climber is becoming crusty. Not the good kind of crusty but the bad kind of crusty. The crust that…
Dear Kurt, This is a letter I don’t want to write. Writing is often difficult to get started, but this one is nearly impossible because you are gone, at least in the physical. It was in the evening of my birthday when I learned that you were presumed dead on Mt. Cook in New Zealand. …
As I listened to my boyfriend make his tenth phone call of the hour, I absentmindedly stirred vegetables and reflected on the events of the past month. Fuck this season, I overheard from the kitchen. Together, we had been stunned by a hero’s suicide and his partner’s avalanche burial, witnessed my mentor’s paralyzing accident, and…
I’m here writing this morning because it’s my birthday. For many years, starting in my late 20s, I used to write every morning when I wasn’t out climbing. That practice came out of the general writing advice that if you want to be a writer, you should write every day. But climbers, well, we’re different.…