Standing there, gaping at this monstrous and inhuman spectacle of rock and cloud and sky and space, I feel a ridiculous greed and possessiveness come over me. I want to know it all, possess it all, embrace the entire scene intimately, deeply, totally, as a man desires a beautiful woman. —Ed Abbey, Desert Solitaire (Note: this piece is an excerpt from Mehall’s new book, The Desert. Source ..read more

Volume 23 is now available to preorder and will be released in June Preorder here Cover photo of Kaya Lindsay on Whipping Boy by Mary Eden Here’s a look at the story list: Comin’ In From The Top by Chris Schulte In The Company of Friends by Ed Webster Climbing Through The Fog by Colleen Tirtirian To Live and Die in Yosemite by Luke Mehall From Self Harm to Self Love by Kaya Lindsay Tides by Sarah... Source ..read more

Acknowledging the roots and conceptualizations of the outdoor activities that we so passionately pursue enriches our participation and ties us to the land, as well as to one another. When we view our industry through a historical lens, we inevitably hear about John Muir, Sir Edmund Hillary, Royal Robbins, and other giants of outdoor recreation. We revere them based on their successes and physical accomplishments. by Aaron Mike, published in the new Zine, Volume 18, now available. Banner photo of the author on the final pitch of What’s My Line, Cochise Stronghold in Chiricahua Apache homelands ..read more

I remember arguing with my partner about wearing his helmet before starting a climb for the day. “It’s only 5.9,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” I insisted that wearing a helmet on a multipitch trad climb shouldn’t be up for discussion. After a few more tries at explaining my discomfort, he started up the climb. Helmetless. “Oh fuck,” he said. This piece is published in the new issue of The Climbing Zine, Volume 17, now available. He was climbing the second pitch up when a lot of slack started to give in the system. I pulled in two arm lengths of slack before hearing the sickening sound of my partne ..read more

If I close my eyes and never awaken  A thousand adventures I hope to have taken Some with family and some with friends All of them undoubtedly cherished in the end  So don’t sit inside and cry, “boohoo”  Feelin’ sorry for me and feelin’ like poo Instead get yourself where there are no crowds Look all around you and scream out loud,  “Hey, Dan! This one’s for you!”  Dan Escalante passed away in an avalanche in 2020 while skiing near Crested Butte, Colorado. He wrote this poem some twenty-five years before he died, and he definitely had thousands of adventures. We miss y ..read more

Trigger warning: This article discusses topics of depression, suicidal thoughts, and anxiety. For some, the content may be triggering. Please use your own judgment, and if you feel that you are in crisis, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. With my feet planted firmly on the belay ledge halfway up the rocky face of Mount Shuksan, I took what felt like my first full breath since leaving basecamp on the Sulphide Glacier eight hours ago. Around me, the other women adjusted their seats on the precipitous rock, giving me space to squat, my back pressed against the wall behin ..read more

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 fights the jaw’s urge to clench tight. Or the way the mouth creates a small O as it attempts to open against a bright smile while the eyebrows grow high and round in moments of joy. Presently lying facedown in a pile of cactus, I scream a different kind of scream. Note: This piece is published ..read more

Exactly 24 years ago today is when I mark my official start as a climber: 4-20-99. I finally mastered the figure 8 knot that day, the knot of infinity.  This was during the worst year of my life, I was severely depressed, and was on a dangerous cocktail of substances. I told no one about how I was feeling, and I thought I was going to die soon.  Later that day I learned of the Columbine high school shooting.  For some 4-20 is a day to celebrate cannabis, and I do love cannabis (sativa especially) and celebrate its legality where I live in Colorado, but I always think of these he ..read more

Milton had overgrowth knots, the greasy kind, matting his beard to his wooly secondhand pullover, which sagged without shape over his sulking frame. As he sat in the passenger seat beside me, looking a bit like Schulz’s Pig-Pen, I almost admired it. His was a special form of dereliction. Speckled as much by bourbon as by the morning-after coffee stains, Milton’s drool spatter ticked a trail from the apparent hole in his mouth to the cause of all his woes—his bleeding heart. Something was broken in there. You could see it, especially if you had the same condition. Under his ocean eyes and that ..read more

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 crisp and thin. Warmed from night’s stillness by the brilliant sun, flies buzzed lazily over the rocky ground and surrounding talus. Three men, Pakistanis from a nearby valley who made their living climbing local cliffs—and not, judging by their progress, dispatching chickens—surrounded the doomed bird. One held the bod ..read more