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In this episode of the AAC podcast, we have adventure writer Cassidy Randall on to talk about her new book, "Thirty Below." Thirty Below is the gripping story of the Denali Damsels–a group of female adventurers who achieved the first all-women’s ascent of Denali, also known as Mt. McKinley, the tallest peak in North America.
Everyone told the “Denali Damsels,” that it couldn’t be done, that women were incapable of climbing mountains on their own. It was 1970. Men had walked on the moon; but women still had not stood on the highest points on Earth. But these six women were unwilling to be limited. They pushed past barriers in society at large, the climbing world, and their own bodies.
Following vibrant mountaineers with a lot of personality, like the stubborn Grace Hoemann and the brilliant chemist Arlene Blum, this book tells a rich tale of a community's set of limiting beliefs, and the women who dared to prove them wrong, despite disaster and risk on the expedition.
In the episode, Cassidy and the AAC dive into some of the experiences of these women that pushed them to achieve more and more in their mountaineering careers, the challenges of archival research, and capturing a climbing story that is too often forgotten.

Buy the Book

Learn More About Cassidy Randall

Learn More About Arlene Blum

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A prominent trend in international climbing is the rise of local climbing communities and cultures around the world, not least in Nepal. As documented in Bernadette McDonald’s award-winning
Alpine Rising
book, Sherpas and other Nepali climbers, who long worked in the mountains only as skilled employees, now guide their own paying clients and, increasingly, go climbing for fun, with impressive results—the 2021

first winter ascent of K2

being the most dramatic example.
The 2025 AAJ will have our biggest Nepal section in many years—at least 38 pages of new routes and exploration—and one reason is the number of Nepali climbers exploring their local mountains, from the first ascent of 6,750-meter Khumjungar to success on the huge south-southwest ridge of Cho Oyu after more than 40 years of attempts.

Here, we’re sharing the story of a Nepali expedition to the remote and wild Kanjiroba Himal: Three 8,000-meter guides went on a post-work holiday adventure and succeeded on the first ascent of a 6,500-meter peak.

In the premonsoon season of 2024, Nepali guides Vinayak Jaya Malla, Pasang Kami Sherpa, and Pasang Rinzee Sherpa worked commercial expeditions to 8,000-meter peaks. After returning to Kathmandu, they enjoyed only a few days of rest before heading to Jumla in West Nepal, arriving on June 4. They were perfectly acclimatized for the adventure ahead: the first ascent of the highest summit of the Patrasi group, situated on the western rim of the Kanjiroba Sanctuary, a trip partially sponsored by the Mount Everest Foundation. None of the climbers had previously trekked or climbed in the area.     
Along with four helpers from Kathmandu, the team drove to Pere (2,700m) on June 5. Adding a local guide and three porters, they then walked four hard days via the Chaudhabise Valley to a base camp at 5,050 meters below the west side of the Patrasi group. Day three involved crossing the Tang Tang Pass (4,950m) and descending to an overnight camp at 4,100 meters in the Changda Valley, where they met an encampment of local people gathering yarsagumba (caterpillar fungus) for traditional Tibetan and Chinese medicine.
At 8 a.m. on the 10th, they began their ascent of Patrasi. They first climbed a 200-meter snow couloir to reach the northwest ridge of Patrasi II (6,471m). After climbing 11 belayed pitches with rock to French 5a (around 5.8), and simul-climbing other sections, they reached 5,700 meters, where they were able to fashion a partial tent site. For safety, they slept that night in their harnesses.
The following morning, they left at 5 a.m. After another 11 pitches (up to M4) and a little simul-climbing, they arrived at 6,000 meters, where they decided to pitch their second camp at around 4 p.m. The climbing had been quite challenging, in cold and windy conditions with intermittent snow showers. The rock was poor, and there were many places where protection points were 10 to 15 meters apart.
At 4 a.m. on June 12, the three set out for a long summit push. Following the corniced ridge, then crossing a section of hard blue WI3, they reached the top of Patrasi II, descended a little to a snow slope, then headed up onto the left flank of the northeast ridge of Patrasi I. They reached the 6,521-meter summit at 4:35 p.m. in cloudy weather.
The descent was long and tiring, with their muscles cramping toward the end of the day. Downclimbing and 15 long rappels (they climbed on 70-meter ropes) took them back to the 6,000-meter camp. It was 9:30 p.m., and they didn’t bother to cook, instead falling asleep very quickly.
On the 13th, it took the trio almost 11 hours to descend all the way to base camp. By the 17th, they were back in Jumla. All equipment and nondegradable waste was packed out, and they left only five snow stakes, 10 pitons, and some cord on the mountain.
Commenting on the trip, Pasang Kami Sherpa said, “This expedition added an interesting chapter to my mountaineering journey. It was in stark contrast to my experience on 8,000m peaks, where fixed rope, oxygen, well-stocked camps, and support systems are the norm. Here, we were on our own, a small team carrying only essential things, making our own decisions, and adapting to whatever ...

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March 2025
The American Alpine Club (AAC) and Mountain Hardwear are excited to announce the 2025 McNeill-Nott recipients. With the untimely death of Sue Nott and her climbing partner Karen McNeill on Sultana (Mt. Foraker) in 2006, the AAC partnered with Mountain Hardwear to establish the McNeill-Nott Award in their memory. This award seeks to preserve the spirit of these two talented and courageous climbers by giving grants to amateur female climbers exploring new routes or unclimbed peaks with small teams.
Heather Smallpage will receive $2,000 to attempt big wall and alpine-style first ascents in a little-climbed region of Baffin Island: Arviqtujuq Kangiqtua (formerly Eglinton Fjord). Natalie Afonina, Shira Biner, Char Tomlinson, and Kaylan Worsnop will all join the expedition, which will be almost entirely human-powered. The expedition team will travel over 250 km by skiing, climbing, packrafting, and walking. The team hopes that this expedition will not only inspire people to see what is possible for female and nonbinary alpinism but also emphasize how increasingly essential and joyous these spaces are in this sport and will tell a story that includes voices that are often quieted or left out of the climbing media.
Angela VanWiemeersch will receive $4,000 to attempt to establish a technical line in alpine style on a 5,000-meter peak in the Pamir Alai mountains of Kyrgyzstan. Allie Oaks will join VanWiemeersch on this expedition. Oaks and VanWiemeersch have been growing a long-distance partnership over the last four years and will be doing a training trip in the Canadian Rockies this April. This will be their first big expedition together. 
Brooke Maushund will receive $1,000 to attempt to climb and ski unclimbed peaks on the Southern Patagonian Icefield (Hielo Continental) with a primarily female team. Since avalanche forecasting in the U.S. during austral summers, Maushund was driven to extend her winters in the Southern Hemisphere. After spending close to four months skiing in Patagonia last year, starting to learn terrain, snowpacks, and weather patterns, she is excited to continue learning through exploratory skiing in this dynamic, wild environment. 
Applications for the McNeill-Nott Award are accepted each year from October 1 through November 30.
Berkeley Anderson, Foundation and Grants Coordinator: [email protected]

About Mountain Hardwear

Mountain Hardwear, Inc., was founded in 1993 and is based in Richmond, CA. We exist to encourage and equip people to seek a wilder path in life. For 30 years, we’ve built essential equipment for climbers, mountaineers, and outdoor athletes and have supported expeditions on the world’s highest peaks. Relentless precision continues to inspire everything we do — our designers sweat every stitch and detail to continuously improve function, durability, and comfort. Mountain Hardwear is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Columbia Sportswear Company that distributes its products through specialty outdoor retailers in the United States and 34 countries worldwide. www.mountainhardwear.com

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In this episode, we sit down with Kai Lightner to chat about his Reel Rock film, Death of Villains. Kai gives us a behind the scenes look at how the film came to be, some of the key themes of the film and how challenging it was to be so vulnerable about subjects like eating disorders and rediscovering how to climb in his growing body, and the big fight, believing that he could meet his childhood dreams of climbing 5.15. We also talk about redpoint strategies, injury, the partners who have shaped him, and what he’s discovered recently about climbing, even after 20 years in the sport!

Learn More about Kai Lightner

Kai Lightner’s Instagram

Climbing for Change

Reel Rock Tour

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Wild as it may seem, every year we publish at least one report of a climber getting their knee stuck in an offwidth crack. Sound crazy? It happened to Martin Boysen on Trango Tower and more recently Jason Kruk on Boogie Till You Puke. 
On January 8, Climber 1 (female, 25) got her knee stuck in a wide crack on the Regular Route (3 pitches, 5.7) on Queen Victoria Spire in Sedona. Climber 1 was following four friends on her first outdoor climb when she attempted an “alpine knee” while pulling onto a ledge on the second pitch.
An “alpine knee” is when you place that joint on top of a high hold and use it for progress, instead of a foot. Rather than helping her onto the ledge, Climber 1’s knee slipped into a four-inch-wide crack, where it wedged and became stuck. Others in her party tried pouring water over her knee in an attempt to free it but were unsuccessful. 
At 5:15 p.m., the Coconino County Sheriff’s department was contacted to perform a rescue. By 8 p.m., the SAR team had arrived. It took over an hour to free the climber from the crack, and by then the climber was exhibiting signs of mild hypothermia (they had started climbing at 12:30 p.m.). The climbing party was airlifted off the spire. The stuck climber was not injured and refused treatment.
The climbers in this scenario did “everything right,” according to the SAR team. They tried to free their partner, and failing that, they initiated a rescue. Many relatively easy routes have awkward sections or styles of climbing that may seem above the technical grade when first encountered outdoors. Care should be taken when making a move where a slip or fall could result in injury or entrapment. It took about four hours to free this climber, and temperatures at the crag dropped to around 30°F. Consider worst-case scenarios when preparing for a climb, as unexpected events could result in prolonged exposure to the elements.
(Source: Dan Apodaca.) 
If getting your knee stuck in an offwidth is so common, what do we do if it happens? In the video analysis, ANAC editor Pete Takeda provides some tips on how to prepare for this kind of worst-case scenario when rock climbing.

Credits: Pete Takeda, Editor of Accidents in North American Climbing, and Hannah Provost, Content Director; Producer: Shane Johnson and Sierra McGivney @Sierra_McGivney; Videographer: Foster Denney @fosterdoodle_; Editor: Sierra McGivney @Sierra_McGivney; Location: Cob Rock, Boulder Canyon, CO

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March 2025
The American Alpine Club and Black Diamond Equipment are pleased to announce the 2025 Cutting Edge Grant recipients. The Cutting Edge Grant continues the Club's 120-year tradition by funding individuals planning expeditions to remote areas featuring unexplored mountain ranges, unclimbed peaks, difficult new routes, first-free ascents, or similar world-class pursuits. Five teams have been awarded a total of $25,000 for this cycle, with objectives featuring a low-impact style and leave-no-trace mentality looked upon with favor. Black Diamond Equipment is a proud sponsor of the Cutting Edge Grant and a key partner in supporting cutting-edge alpinism.
Vitaliy Museyenko will be awarded $6,000 to attempt a new route on the southwest aspect of Kishtwar Shivling (6,000m), located in the Indian Himalayas. The mountain's main summit has only been reached once; the east summit was climbed in 2014, and the east pillar was climbed in 2015. Vitaliy Musiyenko will be attempting the route with Sean McLane. If they have enough time and energy in the tank, they hope to attempt another, unclimbed mountain with a similar altitude in the area.
Michael Hutchins will be awarded $6,000 to attempt the southwest face of Rimo lll (7233m), an unclimbed 1600m face in the eastern Karakoram of India. Hutchins and Chris Wright discovered this objective because Wright caught a glimpse of the Rimo peaks after an expedition in 2012. Stefano Ragazzo will join them on their expedition. The team of three are all mountain guides with extensive climbing experience: Ragazzo recently rope-soloed Eternal Flame on Nameless Tower in Pakistan; Wright received the Piolet d'Or in 2020 for his team's ascent of Link Sar; and Hutchins has climbed six of seven major peaks in the Fitz Roy massif.
Tad McCrea will be awarded $4,000 to attempt the southeast pillar of Latok lll (6,949 meters) from the Choktoi Glacier. Latok III has never been climbed from the Choktoi glacier but was summited from the west face in 2011. The expedition team will include Jon Giffin and Thomas Huber. The three climbers attempted the proposed route in 2024 but had to descend before bad weather moved in.
Zach Lovell will be awarded $4,000 to attempt a new route on Dorje Lhakpa (6966m), located in the Jugal Himal, about 55 kilometers northeast of Kathmandu. Japhy Dhungana and Joseph Hobby will join Lovell on this expedition, which will involve over 1,000 meters of technical climbing from 5900 to 6900 meters. Dhungana and Lovell did their first new route in the alpine together in Nepal several years ago and are looking forward to another adventure in Dhungana's home country. Hobby and Lovell have also spent countless days climbing and skiing together, from the contiguous U.S. to Alaska. Lovell is honored to call both of them some of his closest friends and looks forward to spending time together as a team of three.
Ethan Berman will be awarded $5,000 to attempt the southeast "hidden" pillar of Ultar Sar (7388 m), located in the Karakoram Range of Pakistan. The route is a striking 3000m line, with the lower half of the route consisting of 1500m of steep snow and ice climbing with a couple of mixed steps, and the upper half consisting of a 1500m stunning rock pillar that cuts a line through the sky all the way to the summit. Maarten van Haeren, Sebastian Pelletti, and Berman attempted the route in the spring of 2024, reaching a hanging glacier at 6000m before turning around due to dangerous snow conditions. They made three attempts total, each time climbing a bit higher while learning how to move safely through the complexities of the route. They are fired up to return to Pakistan with the support of the Cutting Edge Grant and hope to apply all that they learned last year to increase their chances of success.
Applications for the Cutting Edge Grant are accepted each year from October 1 through November 30.

Contact:

Berkeley Anderson, Foundation and Gr...

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII
Dear AAC Members,
Thank you for taking the time to dive into this second edition of the AAC’s quarterly Guidebook. A lot of things are changing at the AAC, and we are energized by the new opportunities that these changes afford. We are re-envisioning our measurable impact and excited to further support our members in a way only the AAC can.
This Guidebook is just that—your guide to the work that you make possible through your membership. When you read these stories— from celebrating volunteers like Maurice Chen, who is bringing our much-beloved Accidents in North American Climbing to international audiences (which you can read about in “Found in Translation”), or the shattering finding of member Eric Gilbertson that Rainier’s summit is shrinking ( in “The Height of Mountains”), to all the world-class climbing you can find at our cozy lodging facility at the New River Gorge, as well as the profound impact our grants program has on our members (as seen in “Sea to Summit” and “Life: An Objective Hazard”)—you’re seeing the AAC’s mission at work: the advancement of knowledge, inspiration, and advocacy.
While we’re excited to share these stories with you, there is also a lot going on behind the scenes that hasn’t made it into a full-fledged story yet. Many of these happenings you can find highlighted in our “AAC Updates” section that follows. As we kick off this new year, we are also excited about ongoing projects that will shape the future of the AAC, like developing a new website, which will make it easier for our members to take advantage of their benefits.
Finally, I want to take a moment to celebrate the impressive advocacy success that the AAC helped make possible at the end of 2024. The unanimous passage of the EXPLORE Act is a historic moment for recreationists, and as law, it will significantly expand access to our nation’s public lands and protect climbing in our beloved Wilderness areas. In December, the National Park Service also announced that they are discontinuing their proposed fixed anchor guidance; the AAC thanks the NPS for sensing the need to reevaluate the proposed regulations and looks forward to collaborating with them in the future on fixed anchor guidance. Looking forward, we are equipped to adapt our tactics to future challenges in order to advocate for the needs of our members, and all climbers.
At the AAC, we’re pulled together by our passion for climbing, and that passion is woven throughout these pages. Our expansive grants, affordable lodging, significant research findings, impactful advocacy work, and more are only possible because of your membership, donations, and commitment to climbing.
Nina Williams
AAC Board President
Operations and Governance
Lodging
Advocacy

Education

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII
Jessica Anaruk and Micah Tedeschi spent the short summer season of Alaska on separate drift boats for sockeye salmon. Their days were long and filled with hours of manual labor, setting the net on the ocean and picking fish. It was not uncommon for Anaruk to work 16 hours and get around three to four hours of sleep most nights—her captain was an aggressive fisher. But at the end of their season, they were trading in their XTRATUF boots for climbing shoes and, powered by the AAC’s Catalyst Grant, heading to the big walls of the Mendenhall Towers, seven granite towers that rise high above the surrounding Mendenhall Glacier in southeast Alaska.
Anaruk and Tedeschi met while living in Durango, Colorado. A 24-hour car ride to El Potrero Chico, Mexico, with mutual friends solidified their friendship. After a week and a half of climbing on limestone in the desert, the origins of this expedition were born. Tedeschi was intrigued by Anaruk’s experience of commercial fishing in Alaska. Their conversations poured like concrete, solidifying when spoken. They would spend the upcoming summer fishing and then go on a climbing trip afterward. A unique pairing of sea and land.
“My goal throughout my life is to get to know different parts of Alaska, and [in] this season in my life, the mountains of Southeast Alaska are drawing me in. I intend to create a relationship with this part of Alaska that I admire deeply,” wrote Jessica Anaruk in her grant application.
A few summers ago, Anaruk was interning in southeast Alaska. She spent a lot of time on the water gazing at the surrounding mountains, dreaming of climbing on the tall peaks. Her passion for Alaska’s fierce oceans and grand mountains is a deep fire that runs through her.
“I think it’s fun to go to all these different places and to see the vast difference of the mountains ... and just to get to know it more and connect to the land,” said Anaruk.
They embarked on a training trip to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison in May of 2024. Since they would encounter unfamiliar terrain in Alaska, they chose The Scenic Cruise (1,700’, 13 pitches, 5.10d), a route that was longer and more challenging than the routes they planned to climb on the Mendenhall Towers.
After that, their summer at sea began, and there was no climbing in sight.
Growing up in Akiachak and Anchorage, Alaska, as well as in Oregon, Jessica Anaruk was always on the water. Jessica is Yup’ik from the Akiachak community. Every summer, she and her family returned to their fish camp on a slough of the Kuskokwim River to subsistence fish for salmon, fishing for personal, family, and community consumption.
“Returning to commercial fish[ing] is a way I’m able to express this part of myself while also making an income. I learn something new about the land, the work itself, as well as myself every time I return,” said Anaruk.
In contrast, sometimes climbing feels like being alone at sea. “Being an Indigenous woman in climbing is definitely not something I see very often,” reflected Anaruk.
They fished almost every tide, twice a day. Bristol Bay is home to six major pristine water systems and 31 federally recognized tribes, including the Central Yup’ik, Alutiiq/ Sugpiaq, and Dena’ina. The bay is divided into five management districts; each opens and closes to fishing for periods of time. This allows salmon to lay eggs upriver, repopulat- ing and continuing to thrive so fishing remains sustainable. The district Tedeschi was fishing in would open for 12 hours and then close for another 12 hours, allowing more time to rest and relax.
In contrast, Anaruk’s captain and district allowed for more aggressive fishing. It wasn’t uncommon for Anaruk to work 16-hour days picking and setting the net. Despite the exhausting labor, the early-morning sunrises, the two-hour-long sunsets, and seeing bears roaming the beach keep Anaruk coming back.
“What sustains me is how it continually connects me to my culture, the land, salmon, and people,” said Anaruk.
Physically, commercial fishing doesn’t translate much into climbing beyond picking fish out of the net, which requires hand strength. But the mental aspect prepares you for long, arduou...

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII

Across the Pacific, on the small island of Taiwan, climber Maurice Chen received an email from Dougald MacDonald, the Executive Editor of the American Alpine Club. It was July 2024, and the summer air hung as heavy as mist. Attached to the email was a large document: the full version of the 2024 Accidents in North American Climbing (ANAC). Chen called his two colleagues at the Taiwan Outdoor Climbers’ Coalition (TOCC), Matt Robertson and Ta Chi Wang. Together, they began their meticulous work—marking pages, circling terms, and discussing any accident relevant to Taiwanese climbing in obsessive detail. The task ahead would be long and tedious.
Taiwan is an island shaped like a yam, floating between the South and East China Seas. It sits in the shadow of two superpowers, one threatening to occupy it and another half-heartedly protecting it. A young island by geological standards, it was formed by the collision of two tectonic plates. The island is 89 miles wide and 250 miles long, with its eastern half stitched to its western half by a spine of mountain ranges. Among these ranges are 151 peaks taller than 10,000 feet, with the tallest, Jade Mountain, standing just shy of 13,000 feet. Taiwan is a land of sea and sky.
The island’s diverse climate shifts from coastal tide pools to alpine tundra and back to tide pools in less than a hundred miles. Thanks to these rich natural landscapes, the Taiwanese have always embraced outdoor activities such as hiking, mountaineering, diving, biking, surfing, and climbing.
The first mountaineering clubs of Taiwan were formed as early as 1905. Chen and Robertson belonged to Taiwan’s third generation of climbers, Wang to the second. The first generation of Taiwanese climbers were born during the Japanese occupation, and were early-century mountaineers, tackling the many tall peaks with traditional expedition and siege-style strategies.
Mountaineering and hiking gained mainstream attention when a list of a hundred notable mountains was published in 1972, aptly named “Taiwan’s Hundred Mountains.” The serious Taiwanese mountaineer aspired to climb all hundred.
By the late 1970s, mountaineering boots were the go-to climbing shoe, but tales of the Stonemasters had floated across the Pacific. Wang remembers reading an issue of Climbing Magazine that his friends and brought back from the States, but without the internet, information passed slowly. The climbing scene lagged behind the Americans and Europeans by about half a decade. Gradually, Taiwanese climbers began distinguishing rock climbing from mountaineering.
When Chen began climbing in the 1990s, free climbing—primarily trad climbing—was already widespread. By the time Robertson arrived in Taiwan in 2002, sport climbing had just begun to gain traction. In the mid-2010s, the indoor climbing scene boomed, and the number of gyms tripled. Due to the limited real estate in the maze-like Taiwanese cities, most of these facilities were bouldering gyms, which gave rise to the fourth generation of Taiwanese climbers, predominantly boulderers.
Published annually since 1948, Accidents in North American Climbing documents the year’s most significant and teachable climbing accidents. Get it annually as an AAC member.
Each membership is critical to the AAC’s work: advocating for climbing access and natural landscapes, offering essential knowledge to the climbing community, and supporting our members with our rescue benefit, discounts, grants and more. 
Chen and Robertson met at Long Dong (meaning “Dragon’s Cave”), a seacliff climbing area on the northern end of the island.
Climbers have compared Long Dong with the Shawangunks in New York or Clear Creek Canyon in Colorado, but Wang waves away those comparisons—it cannot be compared because the serenity of home is an incomparable experience. Seacliffs rise out of the Pacific and waves crash behind the belayer, requiring not only knowledge of the rocks but knowledge of the tides. The lines are short and stout, punchy, getting the grade in less than 50 feet in most places.
This was before the first climbing gym in Taiwan had opened, and the pair collaborated to pu...

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII
Eric Gilbertson was on the summit of Rainier. Or was he? With the differential GPS set up in front of him, he hopped from foot to foot—it was cold up there, but he was also anxious to confirm his suspicions by applying a more rigorous measuring process to the changes he could see with the naked eye. Funded by the AAC Research Grant, he had used an Abney level to measure the relative heights of Columbia Crest, the traditional icecap summit of Rainier where he stood now, as compared to the actual highest point in the summit area—the southwest edge of the crater rim, which was a rock outcrop.
Based on the Abney level, Columbia Crest was distinctly shorter than the southwest rim. With calculations spinning in his head, he noticed the unmistakably dirtier, more trampled quality of Columbia Crest, the way dirt and rocks seemed to muddle the pure snow dome, bringing a wilted quality to the landscape, especially compared to what he could remember seeing in old photographs of Rainier’s summit. He would have to wait to process the data from the differential GPS to be sure exactly by how much the summit had changed. Yet more than the relief of seeing his hypothesis likely confirmed, a bigger question loomed: Were mountains, which so many consider the stalwart indicator of the unmoving, the unchanging, the steady, actually shrinking? And what would it mean if they were?
Eric Gilbertson is a man of many lists and projects. Each of his projects coalesces around peakbagging, and now surveying. The idea to research the current heights of the five remaining icecap peaks in the Lower 48, which includes Rainier, started when Mt. St. Helens eroded off the top 100 highest peaks of Washington list. Gilbertson had discovered that St. Helens had been steadily eroding by four inches each year since 1989, and because of that, St. Helens had technically fallen off the top 100 list around 2021. As an exacting, rigorous person who prizes accuracy above all in his life’s work, Gilbertson was intrigued—were there more discrepancy in the heights of the other top 100 Washington mountains? If his goal was to do all the hundred highest, and be the first to do them all in winter no less, he wanted to do it right.
Before fact-checking the hundred highest list, before measuring the status of the five historical icecap peaks of the Lower 48, Eric and his brother Matthew had been pursuing what they called “The Country High Points Project.” Though the brothers are each respected alpinists in their own right, with several technical first ascents and inclusions in the American Alpine Journal to Eric’s name, they are peakbaggers at heart. Which is why they conceived of the project to get to the highest point of every country in the world, as defined by UN members and observer states, plus Antarctica. Thus, there are 196 highpoints on their list. So far, Eric has gotten to the highest point of 144 countries and Matthew has ticked 97.
Eric says he sees the project as a framework for creating opportunities for really interesting adventures. “[It] kind of requires every kind of skill set you can imagine. It definitely requires high-altitude mountaineering, like K2 is on there and Everest, but it also requires jungle bushwhacking in the Caribbean or hiking through the desert in Chad. There is so much red tape you have to get through—like in West Africa there are so many police checkpoints so you have to navigate those—so many languages you have to speak, logistics to make it interesting, and the other interesting aspect is [sometimes we don’t know which] is the highest mountain, so in comes the survey equipment.”
When, in 2018, the brothers determined the highest point in Saudi Arabia had actually been misunderstood all along, Eric became particularly interested in exactness and discovery, and how these elements added an interesting complexity to getting to the great heights of the world. A lot more was unknown than one might first imagine, given our information-overload culture. Not knowing if the mountain you were climbing was even the highest point in the country added a challenge that seemed to surpass even first ascenting.
Yet Eric is not always flitting across to the farthest reaches of the world. As an associate teaching professor at Seattle University, he is rooted a good portion of the year, so he is constantly finding ways to feed his passion for discovery and peakbaggi...

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII
If you haven’t logged some ascents on West Virginia stone, that’s a gap in your climbing resume that you should rectify immediately. You won’t regret making the trek to climb on the New’s tiered roofs and bouldery, sequency walls. The New River Gorge (NRG) is one of the few truly world-class destinations in the U.S., and a trip to visit in 2025 would be an easy way to ensure your climbing year is filled with unbelievable climbing— the kind that has you yelling, “WOW I LOVE ROCK CLIMBING” halfway up the wall.
The NRG boasts miles of challenging climbing on ironclad Nuttall sandstone cliffs. Many routes overlook the stunning New River Gorge, or you can travel deep into the vibrant West Virginia forest and find hidden cliffs with stellar routes. The rock is composed of 98% quartz—some even claim it’s harder than Yosemite granite. With over 3,000 established routes, the NRG has almost every type of climbing: run-out and well-bolted, slab, overhangs, cracks, techy vertical faces, corners, arêtes, trad and sport climbing, and bouldering. Technical small holds, long reaches, big moves, and old-school bolting leave many shaking in their climbing shoes. You’ll never get bored if you love finding a sequence of moves that unlocks a climb. And you’ll never feel better than when you push through the mental challenge and pull off the move.
“It’s a humbling place to climb, so you have to be willing to be humbled a lot,” said Jane Kilgour, the Community & Guest Services Manager at the AAC New River Gorge Campground.
The caliber of climbs makes every fall and try-hard scream worthwhile.
“[The New River Gorge] is the kind of place where people come for a week, and they end up staying for three months and then moving around their plans for the year so they can return again next season,” said Kilgour.
The best advice for visiting the New: chase stars, not grades. The quality of lines and routes is why climbers can’t get enough of the NRG.
As an AAC member, enjoy discounts at AAC lodging facilities and dozens of other locations in the AAC lodging network.
Each membership is critical to the AAC’s work: advocating for climbing access and natural landscapes, offering essential knowledge to the climbing community through our accident analysis and documentation of cutting edge climbing, and supporting our members with our rescue benefit, discounts, grants and more. 
The New River Gorge National Park is on the land of the Cherokee and Shawnee, among other tribes. We acknowledge their past, present, and future connection to the land. To learn more, visit the Sandstone Visitor Center on your trip.
In the 1970s, West Virginia locals began developing the New River Gorge, focusing on what would become the Bridge Area before the NRG Bridge was completed in 1977. Classics like Chockstone (5.9), Jaws (5.9), and Tree Route (5.10) were climbed in the Bridge Buttress area and graded initially as 5.7. Locals continued to put up more routes, moving on to the Junkyard Wall.
Whispers of amazing climbing at the New River Gorge spread, and the 1980s brought a new wave of climbers who pushed grades and technical difficulties in the area. Rapscallion’s Blues (5.10c), Leave It to Jesus (5.11c), and Incredarete (5.12c) were put up, and with every season, more climbing areas were discovered. In the late ‘80s, sport climbing and Lynn Hill came to the New. Eric Horst put up the first 5.13 in the New, Diamond Life, and Lynn clinched the first ascent of the Greatest Show on Earth (5.13a), setting a new standard for women in the New River Gorge.
Hard sport climbing ruled the early 1990s. The late Brian McCray put up difficult lines on overhanging walls, including the first 5.14a, Proper Soul. Development plateaued in the late ‘90s, as the NPS acquired most of the climbing cliffs, and a power drill ban was enacted in 1998. Currently, the NPS accepts permit applications for new routes. In the 2010s, many 5.14s were bolted and sent, including Trebuchet (5.14b), Coal Train (5.14a), and Mono...

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In this episode, we’re sitting down with AAC member David Corvi to talk about his Live Your Dream grant experience—a beautiful day that turned into a 24 hour epic on Mt. Whitney in September of 2024. Getting off route, climbing through pockets of ice and show, and getting lost on the descent were only some of what the team experienced that day.
Because there is another layer of complexity to this story, a mental load that added a unique weight to that experience. David’s trip to Whitney was also in memory of his stillborn son, Charlie. In the episode, David shares about his family’s experience with infant and child loss, how climbing and other forms of outdoor adventures have helped him process his grief and continue to parent Charlie even though he is gone, and likewise he reflects on how physical challenges, like half marathons and the Whitney trip, are a way to honor the life Charlie won’t ever get to experience. Dive into this episode to hear about your classic alpine day gone wrong, and just one way that grief and loss can be processed in the mountains.

Apply to the Live Your Dream Grant (Opening March 1st, 2025)

Charles Martin Corvi Fund Website

How to Buy the Book: “Dear Charlie...Letters to My Son: A Father's Journey of Loss, Grief, and Remembrance”

Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzalez
Healthy Birthday (Stillbirth Prevention Advocates)

Star Legacy Foundation

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

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The west face of Sloan Peak, about 20 kilometers southwest of Glacier Peak in Washington’s North Cascades, has seen a flurry of winter climbing in the past five years. But one obvious plum remained: a direct route up the center of the face, with an intimidating crux pitch leading past steep rock to a hanging dagger. In January, Northwest climbers Justin Sackett and Michael Telstad picked that plum, climbing nearly 2,000 feet up the west face in a long day. We’re sharing Telstad’s report for AAJ 2025 here.

The west face of Sloan Peak (7,835’) has been at the forefront of my mind for about as long as I’ve been winter climbing. Despite numerous attempts, the main face was unclimbed to the summit in winter until 2022, with the completion of Superalpine (IV WI3/4, Legallo-Roy). In 2023, the Merrill-Minton (a.k.a. The Sloan Slither, 1,600’, IV WI4+) climbed partway up the center of the face, then moved rightward to join Superalpine. A previous winter line on Sloan Peak, Full Moon Fever (IV AI4 R 5.8, Downey-Hinkley-Hogan, 2011), started on the west face then angled up the northern shoulder.
Directly above the point where the Merrill-Minton cuts right to easier ground, a large hanging dagger is guarded by gently overhanging, compact gneiss. Known as one of the biggest unpicked plums in the North Cascades, the direct line past the dagger was going to get climbed sooner or later—it was just a question of by whom and in what style. When a perfect weather window arrived in the forecast, I convinced Justin Sackett to drive up from Portland for an attempt.
Early on January 19, 2025, we stepped away from the car and into the rainforest. We reached the base of the route at first light. Following the Merrill-Minton for the first three pitches, we encountered climbing up to WI5 R—a far cry from the moderate ice reported on the first ascent. Below the dagger, we took a short break and got ready for an adventure. I’d chosen to leave the bolt kit behind. This route deserved an honest attempt on natural gear before being sieged.
After traversing back and forth a few times, I chose my line to the ice and started up. The rock on this portion of the wall is highly featured but compact and fractured. Just about every seam that might take gear was packed full of frozen moss; finding decent protection was a slow, agonizing process. A steep crux near the end of the pitch held potential for a huge fall, but an improbable no-hands rest allowed me just enough of a reprieve to get good gear.
Justin joined me in the sun above the dagger, and we continued up a pitch of perfect blue water ice to snow slopes. Rather than finish via the standard scramble route, we opted for an obvious corner system above us. Reminiscent of Shaken Not Stirred on the Mooses Tooth in Alaska, this narrow slot held steps of water ice broken by sections of steep snow—the ideal finish to an excellent climb.
Arriving on the windless summit around 3:45 p.m., we took a short break and began our descent along the southeast shelf. After what felt like an eternity of steep downclimbing, we post-holed back to the cars, arriving a bit after 8 pm. Our direct new route is called Borrowed Time (1,900’, IV WI5 M7).

In a sad footnote to the Sloan Peak story, a climber was severely injured in a long fall on the mountain about a week after the ascent reported above, apparently attempting one of the initial pitches on either this line or the Merrill-Minton route. The climber was pulled from the face in a dramatic helicopter mission—the five-minute video from Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office is a remarkable window into such rescues. We wish the climber well in his recovery.

Crashhhhh! rang through the perfectly still night. To say this woke up August Franzen, Cody Winckler, and me would be a lie. How could we sleep? We were camped below the biggest objective of our lives, on our first trip to Pakistan, alone in the Yashkuk Yaz Valley aside from our two cooks and liaison officer back at base camp, surrounded by the most beautiful, terrifying, inspiring, and chaotic mountains we’d ever seen. Now, on the glacier beneath Yashkuk Sar I (6,667m), about a mile past our advanced base camp, I poked my head out the tent door to see a gargantuan avalanche roaring down the peak’s north wall, its powder cloud billowing toward us.

“Should we run?” asked August.

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Originally published in Guidebook XIII
I.
Zach Clanton was the photographer, so he was the last one to drop into the couloir. Sitting on the cornice as he strapped his board on, his camera tucked away now, his partners far below him and safe out of the avalanche track, he took a moment and looked at the skyline. He soaked in the jagged peaks, the snow and rock, the blue of the sky. And he said hello to his dead friends.
In the thin mountain air, as he was about to revel in the breathlessness of fast turns and the thrill of skating on a knife’s edge of danger, they were close by—the ones he’d lost to avalanches. Dave and Alecs. Liz and Brook. The people he had turned to for girlfriend advice, for sharing climbing and splitboarding joy. The people who had witnessed his successes and failures. Too many to name. Lost to the great allure, yet ever-present danger, of the big mountains.
Zach had always been the more conservative one in his friend group and among his big mountain splitboard partners. Still, year after year, he played the tricky game of pushing his snowboarding to epic places.
Zach is part of a disappearing breed of true dirtbags. Since 2012, he has lived inside for a total of ten months, otherwise based out of his Honda Element and later a truck camper, migrating from Alaska to Mexico as the seasons dictated. When he turned 30, something snapped. Maybe he lost his patience with the weather-waiting in Alaska. Maybe he just got burnt out on snowboarding after spending his entire life dedicated to the craft. Maybe he was fried from the danger of navigating avalanche terrain so often. Regardless, he decided to take a step back from splitboarding and fully dedicate his time to climbing, something that felt more controllable, less volatile. With rock climbing, he believed he would be able to get overhead snow and ice hazards out of his life. He was done playing that game.
Even as Zach disentangled his life and career from risky descents, avalanches still haunted him. Things hit a boiling point in 2021, when Zach lost four friends in one season, two of whom were like brothers. As can be the case with severe trauma, the stress of his grief showed up in his body—manifesting as alopecia barbae. He knew grief counseling could help, but it all felt too removed from his life. Who would understand his dirtbag lifestyle? Who would understand how he was compelled to live out of his car, and disappear into the wilderness whenever possible?
He grappled with his grief for years, unsure how to move forward. When, by chance, he listened to the Enormocast episode featuring Lincoln Stoller, a grief therapist who’s part of the AAC’s Climbing Grief Fund network and an adventurer in his own right—someone who had climbed with Fred Beckey and Galen Rowell, some of Zach’s climbing idols—a door seemed to crack open, a door leading toward resiliency, and letting go. He applied to the Climbing Grief Grant, and in 2024 he was able to start seeing Lincoln for grief counseling. He would start to see all of his close calls, memories, and losses in a new light.
II.
With his big mountain snowboarding days behind him, Zach turned to developing new routes for creativity and the indescribable pleasure of moving across rock that no one had climbed before. With a blank canvas, he felt like he was significantly mitigating and controlling any danger. There was limited objective hazard on the 1,500-foot limestone wall of La Gloria, a gorgeous pillar west of El Salto, Mexico, where he had created a multi-pitch classic called Rezando with his friend Dave in early 2020. Dave and Zach had become brothers in the process of creating Rezando, having both been snowboarders who were taking the winter off to rock climb. On La Gloria, it felt like the biggest trouble you could get into was fighting off the coatimundi, the dexterous ringtail racoon-like creatures that would steal their gear and snacks.
After free climbing all but two pitches of Rezando in February of 2020, when high winds and frigid temperatures drove them off the mountain, Zach was obsessed with the idea of going back and doing the first free ascent. He had more to give, and he wasn’t going to loosen his vise grip on that mountain. Besides, there was much more potential for future lines.
But Dave decided to stay in Whistler that next winter, and died in an ...

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This episode is for the gear nerds out there. The climbing world loves to reminisce on some of climbing’s great inventions of the past, but what’s happening in gear innovation right now? We put together some brief interviews with innovators past and present, to dive into tinkering in the climbing world, then and now.

We’ll start with an excerpt from Yvon Chouinard’s "Legacy Series" interview to hear him reflect on revolutionizing the ice axe. Next, we’ll take a massive leap forward into present-day sport climbing tactics, and chat with Will McNeill, of HangDog Climbing, whose ultralight clip-up device is becoming all the rage in the world of sport projecting. Next, we’ll chat with Brent Barghahn, of Avant Climbing Innovations, about squeaking out the last bit of efficiency for rope soloing systems and hard trad climbing. Then, we’ll take a step back in time again, and chat with Jack Tackle about the late John Middendorf’s legacy in innovating the A5 portaledge, to set us up for our last conversation, a discussion with Nathan Kukathas of Grade 7 Equipment. Nathan is known for inventing the G7 Pod, which many say has been one of the biggest innovations for alpine climbing in years.

Through it all, we’ll talk about inspiration, what it takes to innovate in the climbing gear space, what could be next for climbing gear, and lots and lots about textiles, 3-D printing, and climbing harder.

HangDog Climbing (Clip-up Device)

Avant Climbing Innovations (Top-Rope Solo Lanyard and Flip-Stops)

Grade 7 Equipment (G7 Pod)

John Middendorf’s Gear History Website

The Cutting Edge Podcast: Jannu North Face

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In this month’s Prescription, an expert climber made two crucial errors in her rope ascension/top-rope solo system. She fortunately escaped with relatively minor injuries.

This accident was featured in the 2024 Accidents in North American Climbing.
On October 8, 2023 Whitney Clark was ascending a fixed rope at the start of Valkyrie (17 pitches, 5.11+) when her single ascension device was jammed by a sling. She fell 30 feet to the ground.
Clark wrote to ANAC:
“We woke at around 6 a.m. and made our way to the fixed line from the day before. The days were short and we had many pitches to do. My partner, Luka Krajnc, went first, using a Grigri to jug and then transitioning to climbing. About 40 feet up, he clove-hitched the rope to a bolt. I then started jugging with a single Micro Traxion. Thirty feet up, I leaned back on the rope. My body weight wasn’t supported because the sling around my neck [part of the top-rope solo setup] got sucked into the device and caught in the teeth of the Traxion. The rope was sliding against the sling. I hadn’t tied a backup knot.”
Clark attempted to wrap the rope around her leg. But her rope was new, thin, and slippery. She wrote, “I grabbed the rope and slowly started sliding down. Eventually the rope burn was too painful and I let go. I hit the ground, landed on my feet, and fell backward. I struck my lower back and then my head. I was wearing a helmet. Because the ground was angled, some of the force was dissipated, though I landed six inches from a large rock spike.
“I never lost consciousness but was in a bit of shock. Luka rappelled down and did a spinal exam. He got me comfortable, and I sat there for a while. I had pain in my back and my left ankle. I used my inReach to call for a rescue while Luka retrieved our stuff. I started crawling and butt-scooting to where a heli could reach me. I would have loved to have self-rescued, but it’s a 16-mile hike out. It took about 2.5 hours of crawling to make it to a flat place. Four hours later, a helicopter airlifted me to the Visalia Level III trauma center.”
 Whitney Clark’s progress-capture device failed when the as-yet-unused retention sling got stuck in the device as she was ascending. It is common practice to use a sling and an elastic connection to hold the progress-capture device upright as one climbs along a fixed rope. Photo: Luka Krajnc
Top-rope soloing is becoming increasingly popular. In this video, Pete Takeda, Editor of Accidents in North American Climbing, and IFMGA/AMGA guide Jason Antin are back to provide an accident analysis and give you some quick tips on how to mitigate risk when top-rope soloing.
Top-rope soloing is an integral part of modern climbing. Currently, only one device (the El Mudo) is designed and commercially available for top-rope (and lead) soloing. There are many ways to configure these systems and we’ve demonstrated one possible solution here.
Solo top-roping allows a climber to self-belay when no partner is available, for a team to work on individual sections of a route without the need for a belayer, or for two climbers to move simultaneously, as in this situation. The errors Clark made were using only one device to safeguard her progress and not tying a backup knot.
“I was jugging by pulling on the rope, syncing up the slack, and sitting back,” Clark said. “The route was meandering and the fixed line didn’t allow me to readily climb, so I decided to jug straight up the initial blank slab. The sling around my neck was going to hold the Traxion upright [allowing the rope to feed freely] once I started climbing. I haven’t done any top-rope soloing since the accident. I probably will at some point, but I will definitely use two devices. This was the first time I only used a single progress-capture device.”  (Source: Whitney Clark.)
Each membership is critical to the AAC’s work: advocating for climbing access and natural landscapes, offering essential knowledge to the climbing community through our accident analysis and documentation of cutting edge climbing, and supporting our members with our rescue benefit, discounts, grants and more. Plus, get the new 2025 member tee!

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Every year, ice climbers flock to the Ouray Ice Festival to test their skills on the human made ice flows in the park. A select few test their skills on the ice climbing competition wall. Routes are created that include ice, rock, and plywood in the Scottish Gullies section of the ice park. 
The American Alpine Club sat down with USA ice climbing competitor Keenan Griscom. Griscom was rocking a North Face leopard-print 1996 retro Nuptse puffer and Y2K gray wrap-around sunglasses, as chill as the ice around us. We chatted about growing up competing in ice climbing competitions, his new link up Tommy's X (5.14b) in Clear Creek Canyon's Nomad’s Cave, and his experimental competition headspace. The experiment succeeded clearly, since Griscom took home the gold in the Ouray men's lead finals the next day.

AAC: You were the youngest American to win the Ouray Elite Mixed Climbing Competition at age 16. When did you start climbing? How did you get into competitive ice climbing?

Keenan Griscom: My dad actually started me ice climbing when I was four or five here in Ouray. So I've had tools for a long time. And then through Marcus Garcia, [I] found the competition scene and got hooked. I was doing rock comps, and the community in the ice climbing comps was just, so, so good and supportive and friendly, so, as someone who's already into competing, starting the ice comps is just like, oh, this is it. This is a cool spot to be in.

AAC: What was it like competing at such a young age?

KG: I don't know, I've been competing since I was nine. It was somewhat second nature. I've always wanted to give it [my] all in the comps. And Ouray was really special because when I started, there weren't any age categories. It was just the open format, and anyone could sign up. So if you were in, you're competing with everyone. My first two seasons, I didn't place particularly well. But it was so cool to be competing with people like Will Gadd and Ryan Vachon and all these epic mixed-climbers and alpinists who I looked up to.

AAC: What drew you to continue doing competition ice climbing while you fell away from competition bouldering and rock climbing?

KG: I stopped competing in rock comps mainly because the scene isn't as welcoming. There's a lot more toxic competitive nature there, and a lot of people get really worked up and will take other people down to get a better result. There's not really any of that in the ice climbing crew. Ice climbing comps are really fun. I'm going to stick with that. But I've been rock climbing outside nonstop.

AAC: On that note, I noticed you put up an alternative finish to Tommy's Hard Route (5.13d)—Tommy's X (5.14b). What is the relationship between route development and ice climbing? How do those two things relate, if at all for you?

KG: They don't relate a ton since I haven't really done much development for ice or mixed. I've gotten a lot of help from mentors like Marcus, who I met through ice climbing, to teach me development ethics. That route, specifically, it's in a cave near my house, and there's a lot of link ups. I didn't put in any new bolts [for Tommy's X] it was just a new line that hadn't been done yet.

AAC: And what inspired you to do that?

KG: Tommy's Hard Route (5.13d) is an old school natural line in a cave that's almost all manufactured. There is this really, really big dead point crux that I always thought was super, super interesting. Then it's over. You do this really gnarly dead point, and it's jugs to the chains. Which is nice, but more sustained climbing is more my style. There's this other route called Predator X (5.13a/b) that comes in from the left and finishes basically directly above that dead point. And one day, I was wondering if I could link those up, and then it'd be like a perfectly straight line of bolts through the wall. Yeah, it ended up being a really interesting crux sequence after the initial crux.

AAC: That's awesome. You also boulder, can you tell me a little bit more about that?

KG: Yeah, I grew up almost exclusively sport climbing, and then started to do ...

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“In recent years, the peaks of Zanskar have seen increasing popularity with mountaineering expeditions. Despite this, there are still plenty of unclimbed summits from 5,500m to 6,500m….”

That’s the start of a report for AAJ 2025 from Matic “Matija” Jošt from Slovenia, who has completed four exploratory expeditions to Zanskar, in the southwest of Ladakh, India, in the last decade. Jošt’s detailed, photo-rich trip reports have prompted a lot of recent activity (including three additional reports in the upcoming AAJ). Below, we offer highlights from Jošt’s latest exploration, plus a brief Q&A with the man himself.

“Uroš Cigljar, Tilen Cmok, Boštjan Dečman, Nejc Škrablin, Tomaž Žerovnik, and I arrived on July 7 at base camp in the Chhogo Tokpo, the eastern branch of the Haptal Tokpo. [Tokpo is a word for “valley” in this area of India.] While several parties had visited adjacent valleys and climbed a few peaks on the watershed ridges with the Chhogo, the only reported climbing expedition to visit the Chhogo valley was an Indian-Romanian team in 2016 that climbed one peak and attempted another (AAJ 2017).
“A very complex 6,431m mountain known as T16 was our main objective. [Peaks above various Zanskar valleys were numbered by Kimikazu Sakamoto, whose teams made exploratory expeditions in Zanskar from 2009 to 2016; Sakamoto published the first climber-friendly topographical sketches of these mountains.] The lower south summit was climbed by Romanians Cosmin Andron and Cristina Pogacean in 2016, but the easiest approach to the main top appeared to lie up the south slopes above the Khapang Glacier, east of the Chhogo valley. The big riddle was finding a suitable passage from the Chhogo to the Khapang, and we decided to devote part of our acclimatization to solving this problem.
“Aiming for a col on the ridge south of T16, we hiked up a side glacier, passing the route climbed by the Romanians, and climbed a 300m west-facing gully (300m, D+ 60° M3) to reach the col (5,836m). From there, it would be easy to descend to the gentle Khapang Glacier and traverse over to T16’s main peak.
“The whole team returned to the col camp on the 14th, and the next day, in perfect weather, we climbed south-facing slopes above the Khapang Glacier and along the east ridge to the summit of T16 (600m, D+ 60°). Our expedition had been organized by a club from the Slovenian town Šentjur, so we named our route Šentjurka (900m, D+). We later encouraged people in the nearest village, Tungri, to suggest a name for the peak, and they came up with Skarma Mindruk Ri. (Skarma is “star,” and Mindruk is a specific star in the constellation of Pleiades.) Maybe the name will catch on.”
Later in this expedition, Jošt and Žerovnik crossed a different col to reach the Korlomshe Tokpo, where a British team in 2015 had attempted what they called a “Matterhorn-like peak.” The Slovenians climbed the east face and south slopes to reach the 6,130m summit. “We named the route Charlatan De Balkan (500m, D+ 60° ice) after an album by a popular Slovenian group,” Jošt writes. “As the peak was absolutely nothing like the famous Swiss mountain, we named it Antimatterhorn.”
Team members also attempted the west face of unclimbed Peak 5,435m, close to base camp, and made the first ascent rock tower east of camp, which was dubbed Ibex (5,321m).
By July 24, most of the party had left base camp. “Although I’ve been climbing around 45 years, I don’t have much experience with soloing, but I decided to try the north face of T9 (6,107m), which I had seen from the Antimatterhorn approach,” Jošt writes in his report. “I left base camp at 1 a.m. on the 25th, carrying two axes but no rope. The north face became icier and brittle the higher I climbed, but at 8:30 a.m. I reached the west ridge. The upper section of this ridge was rockier, but in one hour I was standing on the summit.” Uncomfortable with downclimbing the north face he had ascended, he headed down a couloir on the southwest face to a neighboring glacier, traversing the mountain, and made it back to base camp by 3 p.m.
“The locals suggested the name Spao Ri for the peak. It means “brave mountain.” I named the route Old and Abandoned (700m, TD II/III 75° ice). Why? Because I’m not young anymore.”
Jošt’s comprehensive report from the 2024 expedition, in...

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It’s bouldering season in Hueco Tanks, Texas. While most consider bouldering relatively safe, it is perhaps the most accident- and injury-plagued facet of climbing. This month we bring you an accident that took place in 2024 on a famous John Sherman highball called See Spot Run.  
This accident will be featured in the 2025 Accidents in North American Climbing.
On January 22, I (Pete Korpics, 35) was attempting to climb a long-standing project of mine called See Spot Run (V6). I was well aware of the risks involved and that it would require ample padding. 
During previous sessions, I had placed six or more pads in a wide area including the back of the fall zone. Six pads or more is ideal, but I was admittedly negligent on the day of the accident, as I felt I’d complete the route and was excited to do it. I also felt that the pad number and pad placement—five total and not as wide as prior attempts—was adequate, given the presence of two spotters. I felt very strong getting to the crux. After pulling through the crux, I got very pumped, lost momentum, and hesitated. We all know that moment when you feel uncertain about the next move. In those moments we tell ourselves, “Do it anyway.” Sometimes this works, but often it doesn’t. In this case, I fell. 
I fell from roughly 15 feet up, with quite a bit of force. My spotters were hesitant to put their bodies in harm’s way. I had told them that, above the crux, staying clear was the best thing to do. Having two people injured is worse than one. 
Due to the momentum of the fall and the poor pad placement, my left foot hit the rock and right foot hit the pad. I severely sprained my ankle. It was probably not helpful that it has in the past received the same injury.  
Bouldering is inherently dangerous, and highball problems particularly so. Besides being a four-star John Sherman classic, See Spot Run is a notorious ankle breaker. It is 25 feet tall and described on Mountainproject.com as “one of the more notorious highball problems at Hueco.”
During the same season that Korpics had his accident, other falls from the route caused multiple ankle sprains.

Keep ‘Em On The Pad!

On highballs, the impact forces of a falling climber can be equally hazardous to the spotter. The general rule for highballs (and all bouldering for that matter) is to ensure that the falling climber lands on the pads and stays on the pads after impact. Spotting might look less like controlling and guiding the fall, and more like giving the falling climber a shove to keep them on the pads. The spotter(s) should also protect the head and neck from striking bare ground, rocks, etc.
Korpics wrote to ANAC: ”Preventable action would have included better pad placement and more pads. We could have used thinner pads to cover gaps between pads. This accident may also have been prevented by assertive spotting, and a strong shove from one of the spotters would have landed me on the pads. That possibility was negated because I had instructed my spotters to stand clear if I fell from above the crux.
“Confidence should not lead to complacency,” he continued. “I’d been climbing a lot and climbing well, including numerous highballs prior to the accident, so I’d let my guard down. I do not blame the spotters, as I had given them specific instructions. I had placed the pads, I chose to climb despite knowing more pads would be better, and the injury was my fault.”
(Sources: Pete Korpics, Mountainproject.com, and the Editors.)

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Climbing is a powerful force that connects us. Even when climbing takes a backseat in our lives, we are still connected to the people we have partnered with, the places we have climbed, and the impact we have had.
Today, we celebrate the 100th birthday of one of our members, Bill Atkinson. Bill started climbing in the Shawangunks in the late 50's and joined the American Alpine Club in 1978. He was the New England Section Chair and was awarded the Angelo Heilprin Citation Award in 2006 for exemplary service to the Club. He is one of our oldest members and has been a member of the American Alpine Club for 47 years.
Happiest centennial to you, Bill!

Bill, your presence in our climbing world has been productive and prolific—and your life has been the same! Your postings have always been inspiring. Thanks for doing all of those. Some segments should be required before being granted membership in the AAC!

We never climbed together – except at the Annual AAC New England Section and some Annual Dinners. That is to say, climbing up to the bar. I'm fifteen years younger, so you were out there ahead of me. But I have you beat on one score! I climbed Mt. Sir Donald via the same route you took, but back in 1962. I was also in the Bugaboos that summer.

You'll be getting a lot of these postings, so I'll keep this short. Thanks again for all you've done for our world. Happy Century! Hang around for another 15 so you can help me celebrate mine.

–Jed Williamson

Happy Birthday, Bill,

You are one very special person, a thoughtful, helpful climber with such an important history of climbing in New England. I respect you and your contributions to the AAC and climbing. Hats off to you, young man. I salute you for your many contributions.

Thank you, and special wishes every day.

Happy Birthday,

Bruce Franks

Rick Merrit celebrates Bill's Birthday by remembering the times they connected through climbing…

Bill was a great section leader as I became more involved in the AAC. He worked hard to recruit and recognize new members through our section's formal dinners. I remember climbing with him on White Horse Ledge in North Conway when he was in his 80s. I also remember hiking with Bill and his friend Dee Molinar when the ABD was at Smith Rock.

Warm regards to Bill,

Rick Merritt

I mainly know Bill through the AAC, specifically the New England chapter, which Bill energetically chaired for many years. We all looked forward to the wonderful black tie annual dinners held in the old Tufts mansion in Weston, MA, that he so carefully organized.

I always enjoyed listening to Bill's extraordinary life experiences, like when he served as a radar navigator in a B52 in the Pacific during WWII, or marveling at his many fascinating inventions and creations, like the beautiful chess boards he crafted and, of course, his amazing climbing career. Bill remained extremely active as a climber long after most of his peers retired, and I remember he climbed the Black Dike when he was 80, I think! That may have been the oldest ascent ever!

I've always appreciated Bill's kind, soft-spoken character and the interest he always showed in others. Bill is a true Renaissance man, and I feel fortunate to know him.

Happy 100th birthday, Bill!

What a milestone!

–Mark Richey

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