And as you journey into outerspace
May the angels help to lead the way
May the prayers that our families made
Shine up on your soul to keep you safe
—Scarface, “Smile”
It was a splitter summer day in Boulder, Colorado, with blue skies above and beautiful people all around. I was sitting across from my friend Charlie Hund, a climber I’d met in El Potrero Chico, Mexico, the previous season.
Note: this is the introduction from Volume 25, now available
Banner photo of the author replacing the bolts on La Malinche, Potrero Chico by Ivan Ioza
Charlie had been helping me gather photos for the dedication to Matt Richard for this issue. Matt died in a climbing accident in Potrero earlier this year.
Matt’s loss reverberated through our Potrero community in a devastating way. Though I barely knew him and we only spoke a couple times that didn’t seem to matter, our community had lost one of our own.
Matt and I had both been working on the same climb in Potrero, and in the last conversation we had, we shared good wishes to each other; I’d recently sent the climb, and Matt was close. (Days later he would send.) It was a moment of camaraderie I’ll always think of when I think of Matt and that season in Potrero.
Even though Charlie is a new friend, our conversations often go beyond the surface-level material of when two people are getting to know one another. We’ve talked a lot about loss and growth and what it’s like to be in our forties as we navigate what climbing and the community continue to mean to us.
My relationship with climbing has changed dramatically over the last few years. I no longer have an appetite for risk or for the big walls that used to dominate my psyche. Yet, climbing is as important to me as it has ever been. When I’m lying in bed at night, I still dream of first ascents and trying to climb my hardest.
As a leader and an OG in this community, I feel a calling to also tell stories about this time in my life. Though I still feel a strong drive to climb, the outcomes, the goals don’t seem to matter as much as they used to; the process and the partnerships become more important as time goes by. Once you’ve climbed so many big walls and done first ascents, it becomes more difficult to put meaning to another accomplishment of moving upward on rock.
New single-pitch routes and training are at the center of my climbing these days. If I’m at a crag and there’s potential for new lines, you can be assured that is where my mind is at if I have a far-off, thousand-mile gaze, dreaming while awake, looking at the wall is if it were a canvas on which I can create my art.
In Potrero, creating new routes comes with rewards and challenges that are unique. There’s often loose rock that needs to be cleaned, and because Potrero gets so much traffic in the busy season, the cleaning often needs to happen when people aren’t around, while also relying on a lookout (or two or three) to make sure others aren’t coming up the trail and into harm’s way.
My friend Will Coy has been a reliable companion over the last couple of years to help out with all this unsung “dirty work” for new routes. He’s not afraid to wake up early before the crowds get out to help me clean, learning during the process.
Will and I established a gem in Potrero called Smile—Sonrisa in Spanish—this last season. It took us a month or so of careful cleaning and bolting, and finally the climb was ready.
Right as we were finishing, my buddy Matt Kleinert from Durango heard about this new route and wanted to try it. We hiked up to the climb, and since he was so psyched, we agreed to let him go first. Before he started up, I informed him that the climb hadn’t even seen the first ascent yet so to be careful of loose holds.
Right when I told him that, he started untying, he hadn’t realized that we hadn’t sent the climb yet, and out of respect, he offered to give me a belay and let me get the first ascent.
I politely declined and encouraged him to go for it. Matt then proceeded to onsight the pitch and later noted that he tried extra hard with the knowledge he was getting a first ascent. Matt’s smile on Smile was worth passing up the opportunity for personal glory. And now my friend’s name will be in the history books of Potrero.
As time goes by and I live out my favorite climbing memories in my mind, I can’t help but get more sentimental about my climbing partners than the actual climbs. Those moments we shared are some of the most sacred moments of my life.
And these days I’ve realized the act of climbing doesn’t even have to be a central part of my climbing friendships. Charlie and I have yet to tie in together—I sure hope we do someday—but I know that either way we are here for one another, for support, good conversation, and navigating this crazy thing called life on the third rock from the sun.
Smile.
Peace, Luke Mehall
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