My father taught me how to climb, just as he taught me how to play guitar and ski—badly, I could say. But that isn’t quite right. Perhaps impatiently or unevenly. As a teacher, he managed to combine a sense of high expectations with a stunning lack of actual instruction. I would follow his skin track…
We are hard at work getting Season 2 ready for your ears. In the meantime here’s a poem: Walls, by Luke Mehall This link will get you 25% off anything in our online store: https://shop.climbingzine.com/discount/DIRTBAG%2520PODCAST Read more stories/watch videos/explore: http://www.climbingzine.com
A new sport is captivating the nation, smash climbing records, and overcoming the issue of being old and washed up. This is the ballad of Bobby Berns, a hero to many, a wimp to others. Once a fine climber, Bobby, was seen in photos being passed by Honnold, the Huber Brothers, Stanley (RIP), Potter (RIP),…
open jug filled by authentic rubber and stretched leather laces of Velcro rooted in gravity toward the edge of rock then toward inverted air the body of a bat hangs weightless cemented in time where wingspan takes flight, autopilot into nocturnal sleep for seconds as blood rushes to the start of a dream and your…
This story starts and ends with a chicken. On a bright morning in a high valley of the Hindu Kush, the doomed bird lay pinned atop a low stone wall that had been built by local goat herders. One sharp birdie eye looked up into the cloudless sky, the heavens a pale blue, the air…
Man what a route! As a child, I remember looking at photos of it in my Dad’s climbing books thinking, It must be like outer space to be on a wall so gigantic, so remote and featureless. But that sweep of granite stuck in my mind, and as I grew older, its beauty never diminished.…
I clipped her to the anchor, untied her knot, and pulled the rope through the gear. “I need more time.” Jessica whispered so weakly that I had to lean close to hear her. “We don’t have more time. We have to get help,” I replied. “What happened?” “You fell. You broke your arm and leg.”…
You, outdoor recreator, are probably quite educated: bachelor’s degree, possibly a master’s degree or PhD. You wore a cap and gown and were handed a number of certificates decorated with fancy letters saying you went to college and finished—maybe even college for adults, which is called graduate school. But you climb rocks or ski or…