Locations

“Hey, wake up. Wake up!” Brian whispered harshly. “There’s someone out there.” I half opened an eye and begrudgingly listened…

Walking up to the base of Freerider, I felt rested, light, but increasingly nervous. Two years ago, I’d never climbed…

The dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced here at the edge of things… …

I remember arguing with my partner about wearing his helmet before starting a climb for the day. “It’s only 5.9,”…

Trigger warning: This article discusses topics of depression, suicidal thoughts, and anxiety. For some, the content may be triggering. Please…

The black-and-white photograph is small and square, half a century old, showing my grandmother posing in front of the dark,…

Do only writers cry when a writer dies? Do only musicians cry when a guitar player dies? Do only climbers…

I see it being used all around me to describe women, often by other women: badass. I have always considered…

Gray and white clouds rack up in billowed folds like the belly scales of a snake and curl widely across…

It’s a dingy bar. Dark and musty. Where, I’m not exactly sure, but there is a feeling of sadness that…

It was getting dark, and I was wedged hot dog–style in a two-man tent between two college boys who hadn’t…

by Joanna Spindler, published in Volume 16, now available. Banner art by Rhiannon Williams We didn’t have much time Because…

I started climbing in Durango, Colorado, a small and isolated burg on the edge of the desert and the mountains,…

Over hundreds of thousands of years, water has trickled, raged, and poured down cracks and creases, winding and weaving through…

Journal entry from 10/15/2014 Zion is the word. Despite all of our differences, to so many people the meaning of…