OpenBeta Forums

In this episode of the podcast, we are celebrating the recipient of the AAC’s 2025 David Brower Conservation Award: Outdoor Alliance. Outdoor Alliance is the only organization in the U.S. that unites the voices of outdoor enthusiasts to conserve public lands and waters. OA advocates and amplifies the voices of recreationists to help ensure those lands are managed in a way that embraces the human-powered experience. Over the last 10 years, Outdoor Alliance has been instrumental in helping pass the EXPLORE Act in 2024, and they are receiving the Brower award for their work on passing this instrumental recreation bill. Dive in to the episode to hear about the origins of Outdoor Alliance and the power behind their methods and perspectives, featuring Outdoor Alliance CEO Adam Cramer, and the AAC’s Policy Director Byron Harvison.

Learn More About Outdoor Alliance

Take Action with Outdoor Alliance

Learn About the OA Member Organizations

---

This July, we look back at an accident in 2019. A climber took a serious lead fall while clipping the third bolt on a popular sport route in North Carolina called Chicken Bone (5.8). This climber made a fairly common error when his rope crossed behind his leg while climbing. This oversight resulted in serious injury from what should have been a routine fall.    
During the afternoon of May 6, Ranger J. Anderson received a call reporting a fallen climber. When Anderson found the patient, Matthew Starkey, he was walking out, holding a shirt on the right side of his head and covered in blood. However, he was conscious and alert. After ensuring the patient’s condition did not worsen, Anderson accompanied him on the hike. Medical assessment revealed a two-to three-inch laceration on the right side of his skull and light rope burns on his leg.
Starkey explained to rescuers that he had been lead climbing outdoors for his first time on the route Chicken Bone (5.8 sport). As he was nearing the third bolt, he lost his grip on a hold and fell. His rope was behind his leg, and this caused him to flip upside down and hit his head on a ledge below. Starkey said he was unsure, but felt like he had “blacked out.” He was not wearing a helmet.

(Source: Incident Report from Pilot Mountain State Park.)

Many of us have fallen and had the rope catch behind our leg. Usually, we get nothing more than a bad rope burn. Unfortunately, there can be severe consequences if we get a hard catch, flip upside down, and strike our head.
Pete Takeda, Editor of Accidents in North American Climbing, is back with some advice on how to fall correctly.

Pete Takeda, Editor of Accidents in North American Climbing; Katie Ferguson, Executive Assistant; Producers: Shane Johnson and Sierra McGivney; Videographer: Foster Denney; Editor: Sierra McGivney. Location: Canal Zone, Clear Creek Canyon, CO.

Avoid getting your feet and legs between the rock and the rope. A fall in this position may result in the leg snagging the rope and flipping the climber upside down.
While many sport leaders pass on wearing a helmet, this accident is a good example of its usefulness. Leading easier climbs can increase the risk for injury, as they often tend to be lower angle and/or have ledges that a falling climber could hit. (Source: The Editors.)
Editor’s Note: This was Starkey’s first outdoor climbing lead, and his lack of experience perhaps contributed to the accident.
Lead climbing carries inherent dangers regardless of the grade and amount of protection. Popular moderates might be more perilous than notoriously dangerous routes, as climbers can be more easily caught unawares on “easy” and well-protected terrain.

---

Already stacked with four-star alpine rock climbs, the Incredible Hulk in California’s Sierra Nevada got two more cool routes in 2024. Reports from the Hulk by Abel Jones and Jeremy Collins will be published in AAJ 2025; we’re previewing them here for those who might like to sample the goods this summer. You can find the complete reports, more photos, and topos for the climbs at the AAJ website—see the links below.
Over 15 years of exploring and countless days of dreaming led to the discovery of a new route on the tallest section of the Incredible Hulk. The basis for the route was an array of features I had spied over the years while climbing classics on the peak’s roughly 1,200-foot walls. During the COVID-19 lockdowns and California’s smoke apocalypse of 2020, my wife, Monica, and I took extended climbing trips to the area, armed with binoculars and our imaginations. We spent a lot of time gazing from the cliffs surrounding Maltby Lake, which offer a unique perspective from slightly up-canyon of the typical bivy area.
Putting a rough plan in place, I spent the next couple of years roping in various partners for ground-up exploration. We scoured the right side of the west face of the Hulk, trying to link the desired crack systems. After cruising dreamy, well-protected sections, we’d be stymied by closed seams or blank faces that forced us onto existing routes or dangerously loose terrain. We pioneered some decent pitches that led to nowhere in the area left of what became our final line, and we did a chossy 5.10 that topped out to the left of Red Dihedral, right of our final line.
With our ground-up methods exhausted, we started swinging around to seek out the highest-quality free climbing. The advice I got from other developers was to “make it classic,” and we aimed for that. I spent two summer seasons—2022 and 2023—scrubbing and equipping, primarily alone.
In the summer of 2024, my wife and I attempted the route and found it harder than expected. We had to redpoint most of the five 5.12s, cleaning and working our way up. The crux third pitch, a beautiful 5.13- splitter, was out of my league due to soaring summer temperatures and my still-developing fitness.
Monica and I worked out a 5.11 variation around the pitch, but the direct route deserved a proper send. Eventually the temperatures dropped, and with refined beta and support from one of the Sierra’s main crushers, Chase Leary, I was able to pull off a no-falls free ascent on August 28. The ascent included a thrilling runout due to skipping the gear placements I had rehearsed for the 5.13- crux—I climbed through the hardest part to a thumb jam, then barely got in a below-knee placement. I also got to witness some amazing onsighting by Chase, and the absolute glory light and stoke we had topping out the 1,200’ line.
Choose Joy (12 pitches, IV 5.13a) is a safe, no-grovel endurance route characterized by sustained 5.11 to 5.12- crack and face climbing between nice belay stances. We placed bolts where necessary. This route provided me with a ton of joy, and I hope it will do the same for others.

— Abel Jones

If you are an active AAC member, you can download a PDF of the 384-page 2025 American Alpine Journal right now and discover hundreds of new climbs. Log in to your Member Profile, look for the Publications section, and open the download link. The printed AAJ will be mailed out in September.
Have you climbed a long new route this year in the Alaska, Peru, Bolivia, or Greenland? We’re working ahead on these sections for the 2026 AAJ. Email us about significant first ascents here or anywhere in the world!
It’s a funny story: My first time hiking in to climb the Incredible Hulk was in 2003 with my friend Allen Currano. He caught wind of a prank I was going to pull, and he found a way to meet me at my own juvenile level. We both changed into spandex Spider-Man costumes at the base and did probably the first team Marvel superhero ascent of the peak. Other lighthearted ascents followed as I fell in love with the place, including a stimulating ski-in February ascent of Beeli...

---

Discover their incredible stories, then join us for the 2025 American Alpine Club Gala to hear more!
Brooke Raboutou grew up in Boulder, CO, where she began climbing at age two. At 11, Raboutou sent Welcome to Tijuana (5.14b) in Rodellar, Spain, becoming the youngest person to climb the route. From 2020 to 2022, Raboutou pushed bouldering grades, sending Muscle Car (V14), The Atomator (V13), The Shining (V12/13), The Wheel of Chaos (V13), Doppelgänger Poltergeist (V13), Jade (V14), Euro Trash (V12/8a+), Low Low (V13/8b) Trieste (V14), Heritage (V13), La Proue (V13), Lur (V14), Evil Backwards (V13). Raboutou was the first American to qualify for the Olympics, and during the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, she finished 5th. 
In October 2023, Raboutou sent Box Therapy in Rocky Mountain National Park and promptly downgraded it from V16 to V15. In 2024, Raboutou won silver in the combined bouldering and lead competition at the Paris Olympics, becoming the first American woman to win an Olympic medal in climbing. In April 2025, Raboutou sent Excalibur (5.15c), becoming the first woman to send the grade. 
Outdoor Alliance is a nonprofit coalition of national advocacy organizations that includes American Whitewater, American Canoe Association, Access Fund, International Mountain Bicycling Association, Winter Wildlands Alliance, the Mountaineers, the American Alpine Club, the Mazamas, the Colorado Mountain Club, and the Surfrider Foundation. For more than ten years, Outdoor Alliance has united the human-powered outdoor recreation community to achieve lasting conservation victories. Its work has helped to permanently protect 40 million acres of public land, secure $5.1 billion in funding for the outdoors, and convert more than 100,000 outdoor enthusiasts into outdoor advocates. Adam Cramer will be accepting the award on behalf of Outdoor Alliance. He is the founding Executive Director and present CEO of Outdoor Alliance. During his time as CEO, Adam has brought new sensibilities to conservation work that have resulted in hundreds of thousands more acres of protected landscapes, improved management for outdoor recreation, and thousands of outdoor enthusiasts awakened to conservation and advocacy work. He is an avid whitewater kayaker and mountain biker, but is always on the lookout for a good skatepark. 
For 52 years, Jack Tackle has focused on alpine climbing, particularly first ascents, in the Himalayas, South America, and Alaska. Jack Tackle is best known for his climbing in Alaska. He has done 35 separate trips, combining both attempts and successes since 1976, and completed 17 significant first ascents in Alaska’s various ranges. Tackle is a past Board member of the AAC (nine years) and served as Treasurer of the AAC from 2009-2012. He has been a member of the AAC since 1978. He presently serves on the Pinnacle and Grand Teton Climber Ranch committees and is the chairman of the AAC Cutting Edge Grant committee. For 30 years, Tackle was an independent sales rep for outdoor brands, including Patagonia, Black Diamond Equipment, and Vasque Footwear. In addition, Tackle guided for Exum Mountain Guides in the Tetons for 40 years, from 1982 to 2022.
Michael Wejchert began climbing as a scared ten-year-old in a swami belt. Now a scared thirty-nine-year-old, rock and ice climbing remain his overriding passion. He began writing about climbing in high school and hasn't stopped. In 2013, he won the Waterman Fund Essay Contest for a piece called Epigoni, Revisited, about a failed attempt to climb Mount Deborah in the Hayes Range of Alaska. His first book, Hidden Mountains, won a National Outdoor Book Award in 2023. His essays and features have appeared in virtually every North American climbing magazine and major media outlets: Alpinist, Ascent, Rock & Ice, Appalachia, and the New York Times, to name a few. He is a proud contributing editor at the new Summit Journal. He lives just down the road from Cathedral Ledge, New England's finest trad cliff.
As an undersized kid who wanted to be a cowboy, Kelly Cordes never dreamed that climbing would define his life. But he stumbled upon an obsession that took him to places of unimaginable beauty and infused his world with meaning. He established challenging alpine routes in Alaska, Peru, Patagonia, and Pakista...

---

Every year, the AAC bestows awards to climbing changemakers and celebrates their accomplishments at the AAC Gala. We’ll be announcing those award winners in mid July, but first, we wanted to give our listeners a sneak peak into the stories awaiting you, through diving into the life and personality of one awardee.  We invited the alpinist and climber Kelly Cordes, who will be receiving the Pinnacle Award this year, onto the pod to celebrate his outstanding mountaineering and climbing achievements, and simply to ramble a bit and tell good stories. Though too humble to brag, Cordes is known for his bold ascents, including the Azeem Ridge on Great Trango Tower, a link-up on Cerro Torre, many first ascents in Peru and Alaska, as well as his “disaster style” and “suffer well” philosophy. With a 20-year lens, we have Cordes reflect on the Azeem Ridge story and tell it anew with all that he’s learned since then. We also spend some time talking about his writing life, including supporting editing the AAJ for 12 years, and co-writing the bestseller, The Push, with his close friend Tommy Caldwell. Dive in to get just a taste of Cordes’ story, and why he’s committed to suffering well.

Episode Resources:

Learn More About Kelly Cordes

The Full Azeem Ridge AAJ Report

Learn About the AAC Gala

---

This month, we recall a tragic accident from 2023 ANAC. While recalling this accident is disturbing, it’s important to understand that there were 14 published rappel accidents that year, eight of which resulted in fatalities. The trend shows no sign of abating. In the upcoming 2025 ANAC, our data tables record a total of 15 reported rappel incidents that involved 23 climbers and ended with five fatalities. It’s not all bad news. In the 2025 ANAC, we also feature an article with tips for improved rappel safety from John Godino of Alpinesavvy.com.

On Wednesday, September 28, 2022, Chelsea Walsh (33), a documentary filmmaker, and Gavin Escobar (31), an ex–Dallas Cowboys football player, died in a fall at Tahquitz Rock (Lily Rock). The Riverside Mountain Rescue Unit (RMRU) responded to the accident and later provided an in-depth analysis. They concluded that a degraded rappel sling caused the fatal fall of several hundred feet. This was one of two fatal accidents in 2022 due to a broken rappel-anchor sling.
RMRU reported that, around 8 a.m., Escobar and Walsh told another climbing party that they intended to climb Dave’s Deviation (3 pitches, 5.9). The weather appeared good, with only a few puffy clouds. At 10:30 a.m., a team on a route to the left, Super Pooper (5.10b), saw Escobar and Walsh near the top of their route. The weather was still good.
Fifteen to thirty minutes later, it began to rain. The team on Super Pooper began talking about retreating. By noon, the weather had gotten even worse. A team on Left Ski Track (5.6) had topped out and took shelter under a rock near the top of The Trough, a four-pitch 5.4. According to the RMRU report, by this time, “(the) weather has significantly deteriorated, with thunder and heavy rain and small hail. Members of both climbing parties were surprised at how quickly the storm intensified. Water was running down rock faces and soaked all climbing gear.”
Between noon and 12:15 p.m., the team on Super Pooper began to retreat. They heard a noise from the direction of Walsh and Escobar’s route and saw two falling climbers and a very large rock falling with them. The four climbers near the top of The Trough heard the same. No one heard rockfall before the sight and sounds of the fall. When RMRU arrived, they found Walsh and Escobar at the base of a gully below The Trough. The location of the bodies aligned with the fall line below a tree that was above the finish of Dave’s Deviation. Later investigation and video taken by Walsh confirmed the pair chose the tree—with an in situ rappel sling—as a bail point. The video also showed Escobar initiating the rappel and both climbers clipped into the single webbing loop. Both climbers appeared in good spirits and unhurried in making their rappel arrangements.
The RMRU reported that the pair were found “wearing helmets, harnesses, and climbing shoes. Chelsea had a PAS girth-hitched through her harness with a locked screwgate at the far end, an unlocked screwgate clipped to an ATC, and an unlocked screwgate clipped to a hollow block. Chelsea was not connected to the rope or any anchor material. Gavin had a single-length sling girth-hitched to his harness’ tie-in points with an unlocked carabiner clipped to the sling and the belay loop. Additionally, an ATC was attached to his belay loop with a locked screwgate and both strands of the rope running through the ATC and through the screwgate. There was a four-to-five-foot loop of rope extending from the top of the ATC with two opposite and opposed wire-gate carabiners clipped to the rope. These carabiners were not connected to anything else. The rope had some sheath damage to the area around the ATC and significant sheath damage a few feet below the ATC, but there were no breaks present. Each end of the rope had a single figure 8 tied into it, one loose and one hand tight.”
The RMRU report summarizes, “As the storm moved in, the party reached the pine tree close to the first pitch of Upper Royal’s Arch and, given the conditions, decided to rappel. By the time they reached the pine tree, the webbing [around the tree] was wet, and as such, it would have been more difficult to ascertain the quality of the webbing without closely inspecting the knot and seeing the original color. They likely clipped into the webbing with their personal anchor systems. As the terrain below the pine tree is sloping, with only small areas to stand, it is likely they would have both been weighting the webbing. They then tied stopper knots into their rope, clipped it through the two wire-g...

---

The west face of Seerdengpu, a towering rocky summit of 5,592 meters in China’s Siguniang National Park, had been attempted at least a dozen times without success. Among others, West Virginia climber Pat Goodman tried six different lines during three separate expeditions. In 2024, a Chinese climber finally topped out on the 850-meter face, in his fourth year of attempts. Unable to secure a permit, he climbed alone and in secret in August 2024, completing only the second known ascent of the peak. Below is his story.
In 2015, when I first saw Seerdengpu (5,592m) from the west, I never thought that one day I would stand on the summit. The ca 850m west face was one of the great unclimbed walls of Siguniang National Park and had been attempted many times, notably by American Pat Goodman. In 2013, with Matt McCormick, he made unsuccessful attempts on three different lines, then later another attempt with Marcus Costa, and another, more toward the southwest, with David Sharratt. Costa made another attempt with Enzo Oddo. The face had also been tried by Russian, Australian, Polish, and Chinese teams. Loose terrain and objective danger appear to have been a common problem. 
Until 2024, Seerdengpu had only one ascent. In 2010, Dylan Johnson and Chad Kellogg (both USA) climbed the northeast ridge (see note below). Prior to their ascent, four parties had attempted the north face.
I first tried the west face in August 2021 but chose a poor line and retreated after 80 meters. In 2022, I changed to the previously attempted line on the right side of the wall (the line attempted by Costa and Goodman, as well as the Russian and Chinese teams). I retreated after 350 meters. Over three weeks in July 2023, I only reached 200 meters up the same line. I returned in August 2024. 
Unable to get an official permit, I had to work alone, as porters did not dare provide service. [Because of this, the author is using an alias.] I entered the valley several times as a tourist, each time carrying a 40-liter bag. In the end, I ferried a total of 75kg of equipment from the road in Shuangqiao Valley to my base camp at 4,500 meters. 
After the initial 170 meters of the face, which is 5.7, the route enters a gully. It is always wet. Some previous attempts had failed due to the volume of water, and in 2015 Costa and Oddo tried this route in January, finding the gully nicely frozen but the rock above dangerously loose. They retreated from the Russian high point. I kept mostly in the bed of the narrow gully, which was wet and loose, but easier (5.8 C1+). I made my first portaledge camp at the top of the gully at around 5,100 meters.
On the first day above the portaledge, I climbed 80 meters at 5.9 C1+. When I rappelled to the ledge that evening, I found two holes in the fly, one of them large. A small bag on the ledge had also been hit and damaged. The next day, I climbed up left on loose but easy rock (5.6), found a site for my next camp, and spent all the following day moving my equipment to Camp 2 (5,250m).
On August 24, I aided a horizontal crack and took the only fall of the route. I retreated and took a different line, a corner with a thin crack that evolved into a chimney. It was a brilliant 60m pitch at 5.9+ C2. (I suspect it would go free at 5.11 or 5.11+.) Above this, I traversed left using all my 70m rope, then went back to the portaledge for the night. I found it difficult to sleep due to the cold, and perhaps the excitement of being close to the top. 
On the 25th, I regained my high point and continued up at 5.8 C1+. That day I dropped an ascender, a Camalot, and a sling. I realized that I was losing concentration and needed to be more careful. That night, I didn’t get to sleep until 3 a.m. I was sick and cold. I left Camp 2 again at 8 a.m. on August 26—a total of 27 days since I first started ferrying loads from the road. I reached my high point at 11 a.m. and climbed for a further 150 meters to the top of the face. From there I walked 200 meters over ice and boulders to reach the highest point of the mountain, at 2:55 p.m., for its second ascent. 
Unfortunately, just 50 meters before reaching the summit, a loose boulder fell onto my left foot and broke a toe. As I started back down, it began to rain. Four hours of rappelling thr...

---

It’s that time of year again–the AAC has invited the editor of Accidents in North American Climbing, Pete Takeda, to hop on the pod to chat about emerging trends in climbing accidents. This year, we’re also delighted to have a conversation with Dr. Valerie Karr, a professor at UMASS who has stepped in to help us with a massive data analysis project. Valerie used grounded theory analysis to parse through 20 years of accidents data—picking out patterns in how human behavior contributes to accidents. We discuss some examples like risk normalization, the mentor trap, and attitudes around fixed gear. Dive into the podcast to hear about her findings and learn more about the case studies that stuck out to the editors this year.

Get the 2025 Accidents Book—Join the AAC or Renew

Learn More about Dr. Valerie Karr

---

1. A thing done; a deed.
2. A written ordinance of Congress, or another legislative body; a statute.
3. A main division of a play, ballet, or opera.
4. A play for theater, radio, or television.
5. An enticing, emotional, or unexpected series of events or set of circumstances.
   EXPLORE, in the waning days of the 118th Congress, met every definition of the words “drama” and “act” as it made its way into becoming law. As I sat at my computer watching Senator Joe Manchin ask for unanimous consent of the bill on the Senate floor, it was not lost on me that years of work, by hundreds of organizations, teetered on the edge of achievement. And it passed in a most glorious fashion. But let me back up just a bit...
   Not too long ago, in early December of 2024, the AAC policy team traveled to Washington, DC, and met up with the Access Fund and American Mountain Guides Association (AMGA). The mission was clear—examine and pursue all avenues to get the EXPLORE Act passed. At that time, attachment to the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) was still on the table, as was the possibility of being bundled in with the Continuing Resolution (CR) to keep the government funded. Additionally, there was the less probable route of the bill going “stand-alone” for a unanimous consent vote on the Senate floor, but we sensed that there wasn’t enough floor time, especially given the need to end the lame-duck session of Congress, and the condition that a unanimous consent vote had to actually be unanimous without a single dissenting vote.
   It was an all-hands-on-deck moment for recreation-based organizations—Outdoor Alliance, Outdoor Recreation Roundtable, Surfrider, The Mountaineers, IMBA, Outdoor Industry Association, organizations representing hunting and fishing interests and RV interests, and many, many more orgs, all working simultaneously in an effort to see this historic recreation bill package passed.
   Our small team focused a lot of effort on speaking with the bipartisan group of 16 senators that submitted a joint letter to the Secretaries of Agriculture and the Interior expressing the appropriateness of fixed anchors in Wilderness and wanting a report on the status of the agencies’ respective proposed fixed anchor regulations. The Protecting America’s Rock Climbing (PARC) Act, a component of the EXPLORE Act that serves to recognize recreational climbing (including the use, placement, and maintenance of fixed anchors) as an appropriate use within the National Wilderness Preservation System, further emphasized the intent of those senators, and of Congress more broadly, to preserve the historical and well-precedented practice of fixed anchor utilization in Wilderness.
   It is no secret that the waning days of the 118th Congress were fairly chaotic. Characterized by the forthcoming change of administrations, few clear “unified” priorities, and the pending departure of several longtime members of Congress, the landscape was hard to navigate. We left DC understanding the potential pathways to passage of EXPLORE, but still not certain which vehicle would get it across the finish line. The following week we saw it miss the cut for the NDAA Manager’s Amendment and concentrated on advocating for its inclusion in the CR. As the days drew closer to a potential government shutdown, we came to understand that the CR was likely going to be relatively tight compared to previous iterations, and would probably not allow for bills such as EXPLORE to ride on it. The CR was out for us. That is when we heard that Senator Joe Manchin (I-WV) was considering introducing EXPLORE as a stand-alone bill.
   This was INCREDIBLE news. However, we had some concerns as we knew that the Senate was working off of the House-passed version, which had been passed via unanimous consent (UC) in April of 2024, stewarded by Rep. Bruce Westerman (R-AR). We understood that the Senate wanted the House to address some issues in the bill, but that would require the bill to be sent back to the House for consideration and a vote...which would require time. And there wasn’t any.
   On the morning of December 19, we heard that Senator Manchin was planning to introduce the House version of EXPLORE on the Senate floor for a UC vote. For those tuning into the live broadcast, we had no idea what time the possible introduction would occur. It was observable that Senator Manchin was talking to a group of senators and then left the floor. A few hours later Senator Manchin appeared and presented the EXPLORE Act for consideration via a U...

---

How would you describe the scope of the work that goes into making the American Alpine Journal (AAJ)?

Dougald MacDonald: Producing the AA J is a year-round effort that involves literally hundreds of people. The actual “staff” of the AAJ (who are all part-timers and volunteers) includes more than 15 people, and each year we work with roughly 300 individual climbers and photographers to share their stories.
The book goes to press in late April, so the peak of the cycle is in March and April. But the work on the following year’s edition starts immediately, plus we prepare and upload online stories all year round. AND we produce The Cutting Edge podcast and the monthly Line newsletter.

What’s the history of the AAJ? How has it changed over the years?

DM: The AAJ is coming up on its 100th birthday, and unsurprisingly it has changed quite a lot over the years. It started out as much more of a Club publication, telling the stories of AAC members’ adventures. In the 1950s, with the rise of Himalayan climbing, the book started to become much more international. But it was really Ad Carter—who edited the AAJ for 35 years, starting in the 1960s—who created the wide-ranging, international publication it is today. We no longer focus mostly on the activities of AAC members—though we’re very happy to tell those stories when we can—but instead try to document all significant long routes and mountain exploration anywhere in the world, by climbers from every country.
For both the AAJ and Accidents in North American Climbing (ANAC), the most significant changes of the last 10 to 15 years have been 1) the introduction of color photography throughout both books and 2) the launch of the searchable online database of every AAJ and ANAC article ever published.

What’s an example of a unique challenge the editors have to deal with when making the AAJ?

DM: One challenge is that we come out so long after many of the climbs actually happened. So, readers may have seen something about any given climb several times, in news reports and social media posts and even video productions. But the AAJ has never been in the breaking news business. Instead, we aim to provide perspective and context. Perspective in that we don’t have any vested interest that might slant a story one way or another, and context on the history and geography that helps readers really understand the significance of a climb, how it relates to what’s been done before, and what other opportunities might be out there. Another big challenge is language barriers, since we work with people from all over the world. We’re fortunate to work in English, which so many people around the world use these days. We also use skilled translators for some stories, and online translation tools have improved dramatically in recent years. But there’s still a lot of back-and-forth with authors to ensure we’re getting everything just right.

What’s an example report that was really exciting for you to edit from the last few years?

DM: For me, personally, the coolest stories are the ones that teach me about an area of the world—or a moment in climbing history—that I knew nothing about before starting to work on a story. In the upcoming book, for example, we have stories about winter climbing in Greece (who knew?) and a mountain range in Venezuela that’s gorgeous and has peaks over 16,000 feet. Unfortunately, that range is rapidly losing its snow cover and its small glaciers. AAJ senior editor Lindsay Griffin, who is editing the story, did some cool climbs in the range in 1985, and the difference between his photos and those from today is shocking.

Are there any big differences in process between making the AAJ and ANAC?

DM: The biggest differences are just the scale and scope of the two books: The AAJ is a nearly 400-page book that tries to cover the entir...

---

Spacewalking outside the Hubble Space Telescope, John Grunsfeld wasn’t that much closer to the stars than when he was back on the surface of Earth, but it certainly felt that way. The sensation of spacewalking, of constantly being in freefall, but orbiting Earth fast enough that it felt like weightlessness, was more of a thrill than terrifying. Looking out to the vaster universe, seeing the moon in its proximity, the giant body of the sun, stole his breath away. Grunsfeld was experiencing a sense of exploration that very few humans get to. It was deeply moving, a sensation he also got in the high glaciated ranges when he’d look around and be surrounded by crevasses and granite walls of rock and ice. Throughout his life, he couldn’t help but seek out the most inhospitable places on the planet, and even beyond.
You might think that there is nothing similar between climbing and spacewalking. But when you ask John Grunsfeld, former astronaut and NASA Chief Scientist—and an AAC member since 1996—about the similarities, the connections are potent.
The focus required of spacewalking and climbing is very much the same, Grunsfeld says. Just like you can’t perform at your best on the moves of a climb high above the ground without intense focus on the next move and the currents of balance in your body, so, too, suited up in the 300-pound spacesuit, with 4.3 pounds per square inch of oxygen, and 11 layers of protective cloth insulation, you still have to be careful not to bump the space shuttle, station, or telescope as you go about the work of repairing and updating such technology—the job of the mission in the first place. Outside the astronaut’s suit is a vacuum, and Grunsfeld is not shy about the stakes. “Humans survive seconds when vacuum-exposed,” he says. With such high risks, it’s a shame that the AAC rescue benefit doesn’t work in space.
Not only is spacewalking, like climbing, inherently dangerous, it also requires intense focus, and it can be a lot like redpointing. Grunsfeld reflects that “it’s very highly scripted. Every task that you’re going to do is laid out long before we go to space. We practice extensively.” In Grunsfeld’s three missions to the Hubble Space Telescope, his spacewalks were a race against the clock—the battery life and limited oxygen that the suit supplied versus the many highly technical tasks he had to perform to update the Hubble instruments and repair various electronic systems. It’s about flow, focus, and execution—skills and a sequence of moves that he had practiced again and again on Earth before coming to space. Similarly, tether management is critical. Body positioning, and not getting tangled in the tether, is important in order to not break something—say, kick a radiator and cause a leak that destroys Hubble and his fellow astronauts inside. But to Grunsfeld, the risk is worth it. The Hubble Space Telescope is “the world’s most significant scientific instrument and worth billions of dollars. Thousands of people are counting on that work.”
Indeed, perhaps a little more is at stake than a send or a summit.
Growing up in Chicago, Grunsfeld’s mind first alighted on the world of science and adventure through the National Geographic magazines he devoured, and a school project that had an outsized effect. Grunsfeld’s peers were assigned to write a brief biography of people like George Washington and Babe Ruth. Rather than these more familiar figures, Grunsfeld was assigned to research the life of Enrico Fermi—a nuclear physicist who was instrumental in the Manhattan Project, the creator of the world’s first artificial nuclear reactor, and a lifelong mountaineer. Suddenly, science and the alpine seemed deeply intertwined.
Grunsfeld started climbing as a teenager, top-roping in Devil’s Lake, back when the cutting edge of gear innovation meant climbing by wrapping the rope around your waist and tying it with a bowline. Attending a NOLS trip to the Wind River Range and further expanding on his rope and survivor skills truly cemented his love of climbing in wild spaces. Throughout the years, climbing was a steady beat in his life, a resource for joy. He would climb in Lumpy Ridge, the Sierra, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Tahquitz, Peru, Bolivia, and many other places with his wife, Carol, his daughter, and close friends like Tom Loeff, another AAC member.
If climbing was a steady beat, his fascination with space and astrophysics would be a starburst. At first, his application to become a NASA astronaut was denied, but in 1992, Grunsfeld joined the NASA Astronaut Corps. It would shape the rest of his life’s work. Between 1...

---

Yosemite's iconic granite walls draw climbers, hikers, and outdoor recreationists from all over the world. Big wall climbers spend long days on El Cap and Half Dome above the valley floor, attempting free ascents or classic aid climbs. Due to the park's growing popularity, reservations and permit systems have been implemented. Climbing is no exception. 
In 2021, Yosemite NPS began a two-year big wall permit system pilot program in hopes it would help climbing rangers understand patterns on the wall and minimize negative impacts on the landscape through education. In January 2023, the permit program became permanent, and now all climbers staying overnight on big walls are required to have a permit. 
As with everything in the climbing community, there has been a lot of discourse surrounding this, as seen on Reddit and Mountain Project threads over the past couple of years. Climbers speculated: Would the rangers be enforcing a quota? Would these permits be available 24/7, or would reservations need to be made in advance? Would climbers have to use the dreaded recreation.gov?
Through the permit system, big wall permits are free and available for climbers to self-register 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, near the El Capitan Bridge at a kiosk near the food lockers. There is no quota for routes. 
In addition to timed permits, during peak hours (6 a.m. and 2 p.m. on Memorial Day weekend, any day between June 15 and August 15, or Labor Day weekend), climbers must make reservations to enter the park. This is a timed entry reservation that is also used at other parks, such as Zion National Park, Rocky Mountain National Park, and Arches National Park, allowing the park to regulate the influx of visitors. 
There is no formal check-in with the rangers after climbing (or bailing). Yosemite climbing rangers and stewards use the information they gather from the permit system to update an Instagram account that reports on big wall traffic. The Instagram's daily posts include information for the number of people on popular climbs like Freerider/Salathe, Zodiac, and Regular Northwest Face of Half Dome. 
"It is a work in progress, but we are trying to find a sustainable way to get that information out to climbers so that people can disperse from crowded routes if they want," said Yosemite Climbing Ranger Cameron King. The feedback the rangers have received on the account has been positive.  
Below, we've created a guide to help you navigate your next Yosemite trip filled with all the fine print and details to minimize route finding off the wall.

---

Before there were 8a.nu leaderboards and Mountain Project ticklists, before there were beta videos and newspaper articles for every cutting-edge ascent, there was a word-of-mouth understanding of who was setting the standard of the day.
Pushing the standard of climbing at the Gunks has proven to be key in the history of climbing in the United States, and any connoisseur of climbing history will know the names of Fritz Wiessner, Hans Kraus, Jim McCarthy, John Stannard, Steve Wunsch, and John Bragg—all AAC members by the way. But what often gets overlooked in the whispers of rowdy Vulgarian parties, naked climbing antics, and strict leader qualifications that swirl around Gunks history are the distinct contributions of women to Gunks climbing. A central figure in this story is the unique character Bonnie Prudden.
First, we must set the scene. Prudden was most active climbing in the Gunks in the late 1940s and early 1950s, when climbing on rock was done in sneakers with a hemp rope. Rather than boldness, a strict no-falls attitude pre-vailed, and good judgment was prized over achieving the next cutting-edge grade. Pitons and aid climbing were status quo, and without a priority on pushing the limits of the sport, the time period was considered non-competitive. While Wiessner, Kraus, Prudden, and others were climbing 5.7s (even occasionally 5.8), most climbers stuck to routes rated 5.2–5.4.
Climbing in the Gunks started with Fritz Wiessner, who went on a developing tear starting in 1935. He and Hans Kraus would be the leading developers of the area until the late 1950s, collectively establishing 56 of the 58 multi-pitch climbs put up in that period. In 30 of those first ascents, Prudden played a role, and she wasn’t just tagging along.
With competition on the back burner, the significance of leading was murky. Some of the climbers at the time proclaimed that there wasn’t a big difference between leading and following. However, the great tension and division that would characterize the Gunks’ history— between the Appalachian Mountain Club climbers (Appies) and the rebel Vulgarians that opposed their rules—came down to the question of regulating leading. The Appies, the dominant climbing force in the Gunks until the Vulgarians and other rabble-rousers splintered the scene in the 1960s, created a lead qualification system, determining who could lead at any given level. Alternatively, some climbers were designated as “unlimited leaders,” who didn’t need approval to lead specific routes.
Although they were painted as control freaks by the Vulgarians, the truth behind why the Appie crowd was so invested in regulating leading (and minimizing the risk inherent in climbing) was because they were keenly aware of the generosity of the Smileys, the landowners who looked the other way as climbers galavanted around on the excellent stone of the Trapps and Sky Top.
Bonnie Prudden was lucky enough to rise above all of the drama. As a close friend and frequent climbing partner of Hans Kraus’s (who was obviously an “unlimited leader,” being one of the first, and much-exalted, developers of the area), Prudden had frequent access to new, difficult climbs. In interviews with researcher Laura Waterman, Prudden relayed that in the early years, while climbing with her then husband, Dick Hirschland, she always led because of their significant weight difference. Later she took the lead simply because of her skill, tutored by Kraus and Wiessner.
Prudden took her first leader fall on the 5.6 Madame G (Madame Grunnebaum’s Wulst) and recalls catching a fall from Kraus only four times. At the time, 5.7 and 5.8 was the very top of the scale, and Prudden was keeping up—and sometimes showing off.
The story of the first ascent of Bonnie’s Roof, now free climbed at 5.9, is often held up as proof of Prudden’s talent, and rightfully so. But the gaps in the story and the fuzziness of Prudden’s memory of it might reveal more than the accomplishment itself.
On that day in 1952, Prudden thought the intimidating roof “looked like the bottom of a boat jutting out from the cliff,” as she wrote in an article about the climb in Alpinist 14, published in 2005.
Overhanging climbing was still a frontier to explore, but Kraus was a man on the hunt for exposure, rather than difficulty. It just so happened that the massive overlapping tiers of Bonnie’s Roof would provide both.
Prudd...

---

In this episode we have Allyson Gunsallus on the podcast to talk about an under-discussed part of the climbing community—the joys and struggles of parenting and climbing. Allyson recently produced Hand Holds, an educational film series now free to watch on Youtube, which cover a range of topics, from shifting identities, logistical challenges, and new relationships to risk as a parent and climber. After all, a toddler waddling around at the crag isn’t just a cute climbing mascot—they can also be a seismic shift in a new parent’s relationship to climbing. The series features Becca and Tommy Caldwell, Beth Rodden, Chris Kalous and Steph Bergner, Kris Hampton, Jess and Jon Glassberg, Majka Burhardt, and Anna and Eddie Taylor. Hand Holds gets into the real (and messy) beta of negotiating life through climbing and parenting, and this episode gets a sneak peak of Allyson’s philosophies and personal experience behind the project.

Episode Resources

Watch the Hand Holds Series on YouTube

Learn More About the Film Project

Learn More about Allyson Gunsallus

---

In the evening of April 22, 2024, Teton guides Adam Fabrikant, Michael Gardner, and Brendan O’Neill started skinning up Death Canyon in Wyoming’s Teton Range, aiming for Buck Mountain, near the south end of the range. A little over 20 hours and seven peaks later, they skied off Teewinot Mountain and back to the valley floor to complete the Enduro Traverse—an unprecedented ski mountaineering adventure.
Adam’s story about the Enduro will be in AAJ 2025. We’re offering a condensed version here. You can read an extended story—replete with Adam’s history of Teton link-ups—at the AAJ website.
In 1963, John Evans, Richard Long, and Allen Steck completed the Grand Traverse, a summertime traverse of ten Teton Range summits, from Nez Perce to Teewinot (the opposite direction of how this now-classic traverse is usually done today). In the 1965 AAJ, Steck wrote, “Any route or time of day is acceptable, however, only be sure to finish within 24 hours.” For the Enduro ski traverse of the Tetons that I envisioned, sub-24 hours was our sole metric, as Steck had laid it out for us.
For some years, I’ve been exploring Teton link-ups on skis with various partners, culminating with a day of skiing the Grand Teton, Mt. Owen, and Teewinot Mountain by some of their most technical routes. Sam Hennessey, Brendan O’Neill, and I pulled off this fine adventure in March 2023.
To me it seemed logical to bring all of our experiences together in a much longer traverse—to see how far we could go in under 24 hours. In the Alaska Range, I have enjoyed moving under the midnight sun for 24, 30, hell, even 64 hours—why not see how this would work back home? It gets darker in Wyoming in the spring than in Alaska, but we have headlamps.
The idea of the Enduro Traverse was to enchain the Teton skyline from Buck Mountain in the south to Teewinot, crossing over Mt. Wister, South Teton, Middle Teton, Grand Teton, and Mt. Owen along the way.
At 6 p.m. on April 22, with the day’s heat still in the air, Michael Gardner, Brendan O’Neill, and I started skinning up Death Canyon in wet, sloppy snow. Under an endless sunset, we climbed the east ridge of Buck Mountain (11,938’) and clicked in on top for our first descent at 9:15 p.m. (A full moon allowed us to complete all the climbs sans headlamps, but we did use the lamps for our descents.) We skied down Buck’s hyper-classic east face and used a piece of terrain called the Buckshot to drop into the South Fork of Avalanche Canyon.
The next climb was the South Headwall of Mt. Wister (11,490’), which flows into the upper east ridge. We reached Wister’s summit at 10:53 p.m. This was the lowest peak in our traverse, yet it packed a punch. The northeast face offered up some proper steep skiing—it felt engaging via headlamp—and deposited the three of us in the North Fork of Avalanche Canyon.
Our next ascent took us up the South Teton’s Amora Vida Couloir (much more fun to descend than ascend), and here we encountered our least efficient travel of the day, with heinous breakable crust and soggy snow engulfing our entire legs. From the top of the South Teton (12,514’), the descent by the Northwest Chute was fast and uneventful.
Now in Garnet Canyon’s South Fork, we began our climb up the Middle Teton’s Southwest Couloir, where efficient cramponing put us on the summit rather quickly. The descent down the east face into the Middle Teton Glacier route was harrowing on the refrozen undulating snow left by skiers who had descended in the warm days before us. But we were not there for the ski quality, rather the continuous movement.
From the North Fork of Garnet Canyon, we made quick work of the Ford-Stettner route, topping out the Grand Teton (13,770’) at 6 a.m., 12 hours into our journey. The sun was beginning to rise above the horizon, and it felt great to embrace its warmth again.
With a long block of daylight ahead, the three of us were confident as we descended the Ford-Stettner, with some thoughtful downclimbing in the Chevy Couloir, which is normally rappelled. (To save weight, we did not carry a rope and chose lines that would go without one.) We made our way into the Dike Snowfield an...

---

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.

---

Every year we publish several accounts of rockfall. What makes a few of these accidents so scary is the fact that several climbers have experienced this kind of accident just standing at the base of a crag.

On July 9, 2022, Anna Laila Leikvold (22) was preparing to climb at the Wizard’s Gate crag, south of Estes Park, when she was struck by a rock falling from above on a route called The Arrival (4 pitches, 5.11). Leikvold, who was wearing a helmet, was at the base of the cliff in a party of three when a football-sized rock dislodged by another climber struck her as she was fleeing from the base of the wall.
Bob Siegrist, a developer of this area and first ascensionist of The Arrival, wrote to ANAC, “I think the falling rock came from pitch two, but I did not talk with the climbers who were on the route and caused the rockfall. This speculation is based on talking with other climbers who were at the base and also my inspection of [the] route after the accident. Later, I discovered a spot on pitch two where a stone had broken off, matching the features of the suspect rock that was found at the bottom of the crag below where Anna was struck.”
Climbers called 911 and gathered to help Leikvold. Rescuers arrived with a litter, but she passed away before they reached the ambulance. Her evacuation was compounded by the rugged terrain and the lengthy hike to the road (the approach is a steep 30 to 45 minutes). Siegrist returned two weeks later and removed the bolts from the upper three pitches of the climb to prevent such an accident in the future.
There are annual instances of rockfall injuries and fatalities suffered by climbers at the base of crags. With the growing popularity of multi-pitch sport routes—often extensions of existing single-pitch climbs—the need grows for caution on the ground and above. According to “Neale D” on Mountainproject.com, “There were over 20 of us climbing at or near Wizard’s Gate [that day], maybe the most some have experienced at this crag. Most importantly, though, probably in an effort to find something open to climb, several parties ventured up multi-pitch routes while others stuck to single-pitching below.”
With a shady aspect and an elevation of 10,000 feet, Wizard’s Gate is a popular high-country escape from Colorado’s summer heat. Kim Schwartz, who was at the Wizard’s Gate on the day of the accident, says, “It’s easy to treat an area like this as a sport crag, but it is an alpine environment with all the attendant hazards.”
For those climbing or rappelling above others, avoid loose rock, look for white chalk Xs marking unstable rocks, and be aware of how the rope might catch on sketchy blocks. Consider not climbing when others are below. For those below, wear a helmet while leading, belaying, or spectating. However, remember that in this case, a helmet did not save the individual’s life. Adapting an alpinist’s sense of mountain awareness can help prevent such accidents. Watch and listen for falling rock, and choose protected areas while belaying or waiting for your turn to climb. This is especially true if there are climbers above, after heavy rain or snow, and during windstorms.
A further lesson extends to route developers or first ascensionists. Pay heed to the numbers and demographics of climbers venturing into alpine and remote areas, many of whom have little experience in the risks inherent in such terrain. Consider the potential for both human-generated or natural rockfall before establishing new routes. This is especially true for multi-pitch routes extending above established climbs.
The base of a crag can be a hazardous place. In this video, Pete Takeda, Editor of Accidents in North American Climbing, gives some tips to avoid causing rockfall while climbing and avoid being hit while at the base of the crag.
For climbing at Wizard’s Gate and similar areas, Siegrist has a few safety tips:

(Sources: Bob Siegrist, Kim Schwartz, Kelly Cordes, and Mountainproject.com.)

---

It is with great appreciation that the American Alpine Club honors and celebrates the life of Virginia (Ginnie) Boucher—an unsung hero in the Club’s history. 
Virginia Boucher was the chair for the AAC Library Committee for a decade, and a driving force in introducing best practices to the AAC Library from the 1990s onward—including online access to the AAC’s library catalog, expansion of library staff, and implementing interlibrary loans in this highly niche space of mountaineering libraries and literature. Boucher was also instrumental in the physical move of the AAC Library from the AAC’s original Clubhouse in New York to its current location among the mountains of Golden, Colorado. 
Boucher received the 2005 Angelo Heilprin Citation from the AAC for exemplary service to the Club, thanks to her transformational leadership at the AAC Library. Not only did her leadership bring the full force of library science to bear on this now world-renowned library and archive, but she also helped steward the acquisition of many pieces of the John M. Boyle Himalayan Collection and the Nicholas B. Clinch Collection, two keystone collections in the AAC’s current holdings. 
In the notes announcing her award of the Heilprin Citation, the Award Committee shares some tidbits that suggest that Boucher wasn’t just the bookish type—she also had a flair for adventure. The committee notes that she and her husband, Stanley Boucher–a lifetime member of the AAC—were known for their unplanned night descents, and had a hilarious story about fighting off porcupines in the San Juans. She climbed the Grand Teton, Rainier, and many of Colorado’s mountains, and in her early years started off her climbing at the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. 
Boucher’s extensive impact as a volunteer for the AAC’s Library Committee was fueled by her love for the mountains and her calling as a librarian. But by the time she was serving on the committee, she had left climbing behind her. In her autobiography, she writes of this part of herself: “I know a number of those who have ‘summited’ Mount Everest…those who are addicted to boulders, and a few such as myself who climb [only] in our memories.”
But even so, climbing was a part of her history and identity, and after shepherding the AAC Library into the world-class institution it is today, she recalls how her volunteer involvement with the AAC Library brought her full-circle in her career: “I have drawn upon my special library experience…to give the best advice I can to this emerging and unique library… And finally, I have returned to my beginnings; I shelve books once again.”

---

In this episode, we talk to AAC member, alpinist, and ski mountaineer, Maddie Miller, about a Nepal trip gone wrong–what she hoped was going to be a level-up in her climbing career, turned into a medical evacuation. At 16,200 feet, Maddie started experiencing signs of the extremely life-threatening medical condition HAPE, or High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. Thankfully, she had the ability to call for a helicopter, and get emergency care–all covered by her AAC rescue benefit and medical expense coverage. We dive into her experience with the freaky feeling of gurgling lungs, what other people don’t realize about this extremely deadly medical diagnosis, and what it means to feel as fit as possible but still affected by altitude.

Learn More about Maddie Miller

Learn More about AAC Rescue Benefit

Discover Melissa Arnot Reid’s Book

---

Every year we publish several accounts of high altitude pulmonary edema and high altitude cerebral edema. While most of these incidents in North America occur in the Alaska Range, any terrain above 10,000 feet holds altitude hazards. Most cases are resolved by descending immediately upon the appearance of symptoms. But as you’ll read below, last spring on Denali, bad weather delayed a rescue helicopter, and by the time the climber was evacuated, it was too late.

On May 30, 2024, an independent expedition at 14,200-foot camp notified rangers via radio that one member of their team, a 24-year-old Coloradan, had an altered mental status. The patient’s team stated that they had been dropped off by plane at base camp (7,200 feet) on May 27. Immediately upon landing, the team departed for the West Buttress Route, reaching 14,200-foot camp a day and a half later, on the evening of May 28. The team stated that upon reaching camp, all team members were feeling “OK.” 
On the afternoon of May 30, teammates alerted NPS rangers that the Coloradan—after reportedly feeling “groggy” with a slight headache—began exhibiting severe symptoms of high altitude cerebral edema (HACE) and high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). A second team member was experiencing moderate symptoms of HAPE.
Weather conditions did not allow helicopter flights on the night of May 30. A team of NPS rangers and volunteer patrol members performed 18 hours of advanced life support on the unresponsive HACE/HAPE patient throughout the night, including treatment in a hyperbaric chamber, medications, supplemental oxygen, and mechanical breathing assistance. On the morning of May 31, the patient was evacuated by helicopter with an Air National Guard Pararescue Specialist from the 212th Rescue Unit serving as the medical attendant. The patient was flown to Talkeetna and transferred to a LifeMed air ambulance for advanced care. Unfortunately, the patient succumbed to the effects of HACE/HAPE in the hospital.
As many do, this team made the assumption that living at a relatively high altitude (over 5,000 feet) and maintaining a high level of fitness would prepare them adequately for swift elevation gain. This is a severe example of the inaccuracies of this assumption. Living at altitude and having good fitness are not guaranteed to protect climbers against high altitude illness (HAI). The human body starts losing adaptations to altitude in a matter of days, which is often the amount of time that climbers spend traveling to Alaska to begin an expedition.
The Wilderness Medicine Society (WMS) recommends that, at elevations above 9,000 feet, climbers ascend no more than 1,650 feet (500 meters) to a new sleeping elevation each night. Additionally, for every 3,300 feet (1,000 meters) of elevation gain, the WMS recommends spending an extra day sleeping at a given elevation to further acclimatize.
The mountaineering rangers on Denali see many very fit climbers arriving to attempt a summit each season. Although fitness is an important factor in risk management and safe travel on the mountain, it can also make the recommended conservative ascent profile feel onerous. Unfortunately, a climber’s level of fitness has no correlation with whether or not they become stricken with HAI. Only a reasonable ascent profile and proper acclimatization will prevent climbers from becoming ill.

(Source: Denali Mountaineering Rangers.)

---