Skip to content

Only Falls on The Big Island 8c - Fontainebleau #bouldering

Videos
1 1 29 1

Suggested topics


  • Wild 5.14 Roof Crack Necronomicon Climbed Again

    General News climbing
    1
    0 Votes
    1 Posts
    55 Views
    GrippedG
    The horizontal crack has only been climbed a handful of times since the first ascent in 2011 The post Wild 5.14 Roof Crack Necronomicon Climbed Again appeared first on Gripped Magazine. https://gripped.com/news/wild-5-14-roof-crack-necronomicon-climbed-again/
  • 0 Votes
    1 Posts
    60 Views
    GrippedG
    Kilian Jornet just completed one of the most inspiring mountain enchantments off all time, and it was all human powered The post Kilian Jornet Climbs 72 U.S. Peaks in 31 Days – all Over 14,000 Feet Tall appeared first on Gripped Magazine. https://gripped.com/news/kilian-jornet-climbs-72-u-s-peaks-in-31-days-all-over-14000-feet-tall/
  • The Line: A Climb for Kei Taniguchi

    General News climbing
    1
    0 Votes
    1 Posts
    73 Views
    American Alpine ClubA
    In 2009, Kei Taniguchi from Japan became the first woman to win a Piolet d’Or (along with climbing partner Kazyua Hiraide) for a new route up 7,756-meter Kamet in India. Tragically, neither Taniguchi nor Hiraide are still with us. In AAJ 2025, we’re publishing a story by Akihiro Oishi, Taniguchi’s biographer, who set out to complete a route she had attempted years earlier in Nepal. We’re sharing part of Oishi’s story here. “Mr. Hagiwara, what mountain is this?” The question was asked by Kei Taniguchi as she looked at a picture taken by Hiroshi Hagiwara, editor of Rock and Snow, in 2013. The photo showed the unclimbed northeast face of Pandra (6,673 meters) in eastern Nepal. In 2016, Taniguchi attempted Pandra with Junji Wada, retreating from two-thirds height (AAJ 2017). On return to Japan she wrote, “I’ve opened Pandora’s Box. I will definitely go back to check what’s inside.” Tragically, a month later, she fell to her death from Mt. Kurodake in Japan. I interviewed many people to compile a book about Kei’s life, called A Piece of the Sun. In the final chapter, I hoped to incorporate a scene in which some of us, including Wada, climbed Pandra. However, Wada was seriously injured just before our team was due to leave Japan, and the expedition was postponed. Finally, in 2024, eight years after Kei’s accident, I went to Pandra with Suguru Takayanagi and Hiroki Suzuki to complete Kei’s route. Wada had become a family man, starting a new life. We arrived at our 5,100-meter base camp on October 12. The approach to advanced base and the face itself had changed significantly in eight years due to global warming: The northeast face looked far drier than in pictures taken by the French team that completed the first route up the face. [In October 2017, one year after the attempt by Taniguchi and Wada, French climbers Mathieu Détrie, Pierre Labbre, and Benjamin Védrines completed Peine Plancher (1,200m, WI6 M6; see AAJ 2018).] After acclimatization, we left advanced base for Pandra at 7 a.m. on October 25. It took three hours to reach the foot of the wall, after which we climbed to a bivouac site at 5,500 meters, where we pitched the tent using a snow hammock. The climbing to this point, following the line taken by Taniguchi and Wada, had involved crumbling rock and brittle ice. On day two, we climbed three pitches of excellent, steep alpine ice, dubbed the Pandra Great Icicle. Above, a couloir with poor protection and belays cut through the center of the face, and at 5,800 meters we made our second bivouac. On the 27th, we headed directly toward the summit. [From around this point or below, in 2016, Taniguchi and Wada traversed to the north spur; the 2024 team continued direct and joined the line of the 2017 French route, which came in from the left.] At around 6,000 meters, the French party had found a pitch of M6. Takayanagi, who is about ten years younger than us, onsighted that pitch easily—he should achieve great things in the Himalaya. At 6,200 meters, we found a bivouac site beneath a rock outcrop. The next morning, we left our bivouac gear and headed for the top. Takayanagi climbed an overhang that was much more difficult than the M6 the day before. We then climbed ice and difficult sugar snow, with little meaningful protection, to reach a snow cave at around 6,500 meters after dark. We shivered through the night in just the clothes we were wearing. With Suzuki in the lead, it took only 30 minutes to reach the top the next morning. Suzuki shouted, “Whoa, we did it!” I’ve been climbing with him for 20 years, but this was the first time I’d heard a serious roar. By 4 p.m. we had returned to our snow cave, and the following day we rappelled to the base. We named our route A Piece of the Sun. It will continue to burn in our hearts and guide us toward greater mountains.                   —Akihiro Oishi, Japan, with help from Kaoru Wada, Hiroshi Hagiwara, and Rodolphe Popier 2004 Taniguchi and Kazuya Hiraide complete a https://americanalpineclub.org/news/2025/8/12/the-line
  • One last night of final fights in Innsbruck

    Videos climbing ifsc
    1
    0 Votes
    1 Posts
    81 Views
    IFSCI
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDFCMKtFb4A
  • A key component of being able to trad climb

    Videos climbing
    1
    0 Votes
    1 Posts
    81 Views
    EpicTVE
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkZzG6nG1mk
  • 0 Votes
    1 Posts
    82 Views
    IFSCI
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrerFCngJuw
  • Guidebook XIV—Grant Spotlight

    General News climbing
    1
    1 Votes
    1 Posts
    135 Views
    American Alpine ClubA
    We stared out at the treacherous somber surfaces, weathered by wind and storm. The mountains transformed in our minds, revealing an expanse impossible to comprehend. It is upon this sea of summits we desired to stand. I was born in flatland central Wisconsin, and often biked with my childhood friend Devin Grdinic up the 1.56-billion-year-old, 1,924-foot prominent hill, Rib Mountain, located in our hometown. From the gouged rim of the hundred-foot quartzite quarry, we grew an affinity for mountains, dreaming of summits. In our early 20s, ambitious and hell-bent, we drove from Minneapolis to Mt. Elbert in a day. Devin did the planning, and I went along. Knowing the importance of acclimatizing but lacking the time, we spent a night in the Never Summer Mountains. With a pound of venison strapped to my chest to prevent the blood from leaking in my bag, we set forth to high camp and shivered through the cold night. In the morning my appreciation of the mountains solidified as I opened the tent to the majestic view. Over a cup of coffee at a wayside diner a few years later, Devin proposed another scheme—to tag Mt. Whitney, the tallest in the lower 48. Without hesitation, I said yes. We descended into the smog of LAX and drove north to the Sierra Nevada. Finding residence in Mammoth Lakes, we improved our acclimatization period by visiting the ancient bristlecones of the White Mountains of California. Parking late in the afternoon on October 7, 2008, we hit the Mt. Whitney Trail with heavy packs. Unbeknownst to us, our map remained in the back seat. We missed the creek crossing at Lower Boy Scout Lake and went off-trail, bushwhacking into the night. Panicked, we trudged over bush and boulders, reaching an icy ledge where my foot slipped and I hung by loosely fitted gloves. Devin instinctively reached with his hiking pole and hoisted me back up. Clearly, my intrepid aspirations were on a slippery slope. Miraculously finding Upper Boy Scout camp in the dark, we shivered through the night with inadequate sleeping pads as winds battered our tent. In the warmth of the morning, we set off to climb the wrong mountain. Returning to camp, we planned one final attempt before we’d miss our flights. With little sleep, we set off before dawn, reaching Iceberg Lake as Whitney’s east face prominently glowed orange. At the base of the snow-filled Mountaineer’s Route gully, we realized we were a bit over our heads. With blistered feet and tired shoulders, we descended. Over the next seven years, Devin and I summited Mt. Temple, Mt. Shasta, Mt. Baker, and Mt. Rainier together. In the years between doing Shasta and Baker, I was introduced to technical rock climbing by my close friend Ross Nueske, a serious square-jawed man who wore a mischievous plotting grin. Ross and I enjoyed climbing multi-pitch trad routes, but after a decade of rock climbing, something still felt unfinished. The memory of Whitney taunted me to return. I purchased an entry permit for the summer of 2020. While climbing at the North Shore of Minnesota that June, I received a message from Devin. He had been diagnosed with life-threatening leukemia. Complete devastation washed over everyone close to him. I recall sitting by Lake Superior, staring into the empty blue horizon, trying to process the news as waves lapped sorrowfully over the pebbled shore. Dreams of the future in jeopardy, one small dream being Whitney, the gravely worse one—losing my best friend. Life lingered in a fragile balance as we stayed in contact over Devin’s year-long struggle. Through multiple series of treatments that brought him to the brink of death, he ultimately survived, thanks to a miraculous bone-marrow transplant. In 2023, I purchased another North Fork of Lone Pine entry pass. The new plan was for Ross and me to climb the East Buttress (1,000', 11 pitches, 5.7) on Mt.Whitney. Devin invited his older brother Marcel Grdinic, a chemistry teacher from Chicago, to join him in attempting the third-class Mountaineer's Route. Two months before the trip, I ruptured my right distal biceps tendon while bouldering. Orthopedic surgery was needed, followed by six months of nonuse: no climbing, no lifting, and the struggle to use my left hand for everything. The trip still went on, albeit with a hiking-only itinerary. Clouds Rest, a famed trail in Yosemite National Park, gave everyone a magnificent view of the Valley. https://americanalpineclub.org/news/2025/5/14/guidebook-xivgrant-spotlight
  • 0 Votes
    1 Posts
    109 Views
    IFSCI
    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDcC24owZHE