The Breakthrough: It’s free up here. The Skills: learn at the resort, show it off in the backcountry. Photo: Devon Balet/devonbaletphoto.com

We asked our readers if the future of the sports of skiing and snowboarding was at the resort or out in the backcountry. Our minds were blown when 91 percent of you said it’s in the backcountry. It must be more complicated than that, right? Steve Casimiro sure thought so. So we thought it would be best to have him face off with backcountry freak Rob Coppolillo over where to find the future of the sport.

Earn Turns

Ten million people will inhabit Colorado by 2050. Next time you’re huffing carbon monoxide on I-70, just squint your eyes and imagine twice the number of cars. Imagine ten-million mouth-breathing, car-crazed bipedal snow-monkeys hellbent on sliding downhill with Chinese-made equipment strapped to their feet. Imagine that line of unwashed humanity twice as long and twice as mean, at ten times the price. Welcome to the future.

Is that really what the ski/snowboard experience is supposed to be? That’s a dim future. Here’s what will really grow the sport, what will make people fall in love with the experience:

Why don’t we all just take our AIARE Level 1, ditch the Dukes for some Dynafits, read the CAIC bulletin, call in well and hit the backcountry? Peace and quiet, untouched snow, the rhythmic breathing of the uphill, relying on partners you trust, and the feeling of a bottomless snowpack, I’ll take these over mouthbreathers stacked four abreast, the six-hour trip from the far side of the tunnel on a Sunday afternoon, I think I can handle that future. But hey, maybe that’s not your gig.

I get it, we all need to practice and learn in-bounds, but on-piste skiing is to backcountry what a flight simulator is to flying. If all the resorts closed tomorrow, there would still be skiing and snowboarding. Plenty of it. And as prices, crowds and petrochemical shortages rise, more and more people will turn away from the resorts.

Okay, I’m overstating my case. I love resort skiing. It’s early season and I’ve already been up to Breck and Loveland to conduct some Serious Ski Journalism. But as the ant pile has grown, the resort schtick has become a tough proposition.

Some will say the risk of avalanches, the difficulties of learning without the ease of the lifts and the physical demands of the backcountry will deter the everyman among us, but I say it’s about time the average Joe trades his eight-dollar chili-in-a-bread-bowl lunch for the satisfaction of a perfectly set skin-track. Let the backcountry redefine the American man and woman.

Or don’t. Maybe the backcountry’s already crowded enough.

Rob Coppolillo grew up skiing in Colorado and driving I-70 before it became a parking lot. He teaches avalanche courses for Alpine World Ascents and skis plenty in-bounds, despite his backcountry leanings.

Resort to This

Does the future of skiing lie in the backcountry or in ski areas? That’s easy: ski areas.

Without question, most of the last decade’s ski stoke has been generated by what’s happening in the backcountry and sidecountry. It has been nothing less than a revolution as rippers have taken to the fresh and deep beyond the patrolled boundaries, fueled by major advances in alpine touring gear and, more importantly, the allure of untracked adventure skiing. So the spirit says backcountry. But for the “future” of skiing—in which the sport remains vibrant and dynamic, with new ideas and participants—the answer is ski areas.

Here’s why: Ski areas are a superior gateway. They’re easier, less threatening, safer and offer faster access to the joys of snow sliding. The odds of anyone learning to ski outside a developed setting are near zero—it’s just too difficult, too intimidating. New skiers and their progress will always come through the resorts.

Ski areas simply allow you to ski more, and the best thing you can do to become a better skier is ski. It’s all about the mileage, and nothing beats making laps on a lift to gain experience. At a resort with high-speed lifts, you can get a season’s worth of backcountry runs in just a couple of days.

Ski areas also allow for increased social influence. More people equals more opportunity to see how others do it, whether you’re on a lift watching someone goat a sketchy face or standing in the KT-22 liftline eyeballing the race to the Fingers. Nothing inspires like witnessing rad lines all day.

Ski areas offer the best first taste of the backcountry fruits. Your initial flailing attempts at deep snow come at the ski area, then you start to figure it out, then you get decent at it, then one of your buddies says, hey, I know a place where there’s no tracks, and then all of a sudden you’re in the sidecountry. You gain skills, gear and motivation to go deeper—via the ski area.

The backcountry? Sure, it’s where I want to be, always. But, the future? It starts with a lift.

Steve Casimiro is the editor of Adventure Journal and the former editor of Powder magazine. His first turns were in a ski area, his last turns were in the backcountry.

Reader Response from the Web

Because in the world of anonymous online comments everyone has a say.

When the best price you can get for Keystone is $97, they’ve priced themselves out of being worth it. The drive, the gas, the parking… I can take my backcountry skis and hit Echo Lake in 45 traffic-free minutes from Littleton, ski for three or four hours, then drive home. There’s no stress and the only cost is the price of gas. I haven’t resort skied in two years and I’m not missing it. The traffic and the all day commitment were tough enough, but $100 lift tickets? That’s three strikes and you’re out!
—Reg Cox

Comment below and you could be featured in our next issue!

Illustration: Kevin Howdeshell/kevincredible.com

October is the Northern Hemisphere’s most soul-filled month, with all of the past and possibilities for the future colliding in that golden tilting light. The day I sat down to write this column, especially for Coloradoans, those two elements of old and renewed were obviously mixed. At the same time that the news of Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis’s death was starting to scribble across the wires, Wolf Creek Ski Area was celebrating its earliest opening ever with three feet of fresh.

After John Elway, Davis may have been the most important figure in football in this state, providing the rag-tag Broncos with their own Darth Sidious to battle in a final showdown for AFC West supremacy in remake after remake. Cursed, booed and even hated, with three Super Bowl titles to his resume, Davis’ silver-and-black empire continues to provide us with a ready villain to measure our own hometown heroes against. Thanks for the melodrama, Mr. Davis. You will be missed.

And for those who think that these things—death and good luck and the mysteriously recurring patterns of the universe—happen in threes like I do, it was a poignant week. Apple founder Steve Jobs lost his fight with pancreatic cancer, starkly reminding everyone who can’t imagine existence without their iPhone, iPad or MacBook, that even the greatest innovators are still bound by the tenuous web of life.

As for the third? Personally I found it in the passing of Charles Napier, the character actor who played Tucker McElroy in the Blues Brothers. As the lead singer and “driver of the Winnebago,” for the Good Ol’ Boys, he famously told Jake (John Belushi) Blues, “You’re gonna look pretty funny tryin’ to eat corn on the cob with no fuckin’ teeth!”

How all of that got me thinking about the only John Elway poster I ever owned I can only imagine. Just something in that gold, cold air and all the old images it sent spinning like a kind of highlight reel across my mind I guess.

It was one of those perfect sports hero posters that capture the athlete in absolute control of his realm, striding confidently into action as bodies swirled to the right and left. Elway was all decked out in his home turf Broncos stallion whites with his magic blue and orange No. 7 on his chest, his blue eyes ablaze at something moving downfield, and the football still cocked in his arm as he prepared to unleash another leather lightning bolt.

There was the sense of something still about to happen that fascinated you most. That part you invented about the trajectory of the throw, and the receiver still running even now, still just about to look over his shoulder to find the ball and make the catch.

My friend Olan gave it to me for Christmas. He lived down the street growing up in Park Hill. We’d never exchanged Christmas gifts before, but Olan could do unexpected things. He was the first (and only) white kid I ever knew who really could break dance. And in high school he disappeared for a few weeks to Mexico to sell Para-Sail rides on the beach until the towrope broke. Then he brought his new friend Pancho home with him, who wore three pairs of socks under his huaraches when we went to teach him how to snowboard in City Park when the snow was ankle deep.

It was Pancho who became the teacher though, putting his arms out like a bird once he’d strapped in, then floating to the bottom of the little hill. “Like surfing,” he said, to the amazement of both of us.

I haven’t spoken to Olan in years, though I have looked for him on Facebook, where your past and all of your old neighbors and classmates and girlfriends and ski buddies and even people who have died continue to exist. There are two skiers in particular who lost their lives in the past year, one in a slide and one in an avalanche, who I am continually invited to “friend.” And whose pages continue to fill up with messages and remembrances from the people that really did know them, who keep celebrating their lives in an ongoing digital tribute.

Sometimes I wonder how it would feel to actually try to friend someone like that, and if people have, and then how you would feel to receive a note confirming the request. But I also sometimes wonder if I would even recognize a few of the Facebook friends that I do have if I were to pass them on the street.

I suppose there is someone who monitors those pages, especially for the online shrines and message walls that any jackass or virus could turn into an ongoing advertisement for poker sites or secrets to weight loss. And I suppose I just wanted to tell Olan that I remember Pancho, and that poster, and how every October I think of how much of the history of our lives are stored in the memories of someone else.

I took that poster to college with me, as my personal hometown, home-team flag to fly on my wall in direct opposition to all of the Larry Birds, Michael Jordans and Dan Marinos that my classmates had put up beside their other posters of Jim Morrison and Clint Eastwood and Jimi Hendrix. It became my kind of scarlet letter or donkey tail when in two consecutive Super Bowls, the Broncos endured excruciating loss after excruciating loss.

But that wasn’t the reason I tore that poster down, and then into little bits. I did that because I was upset about a girl. And because I wanted that wall to look as bare as my heart. Which is the trick of memory, that for every recollection you hold dear, there are still quite a few other things you’d just as soon forget.

Here’s to all of the snow to come, and to a season that stays as deep as it started at Wolf Creek.

Peter Kray is an East High School graduate who married a Cherry Creek girl. He keeps a framed copy of John Elway’s Broncos rookie card next to his wedding photo. You can read more of his writing, including excerpts of his upcoming novel, The God of Skiing, at shredwhiteandblue.com

Welcome to the Future: Can bros on boxes save the sport? Photo: Devon Balet/devonbaletphoto.com

We asked our readers whether the future of skiing and snowboarding was at the resort or outside the resort. And the answer got complicated. So we have broken our head butt response down into two parts. This issue, young gun Mike Rogge faces off with crusty vet Peter Kray over whether new-shcool urban and off-resort ski parks are going to save (and grow) the sport…

Urban Assault

Peter Kray went to St. Lawrence University, which means he loves a good Hot Toddy, a thick L.L. Bean catalog and the impression that he’s an “outdoorsman.” Me? I went to a state school. The skiing sucked and the only “crew” I knew was the group of shredders I drove hours with to Jay Peak. When we didn’t have the means to drive all that way, we hit rails and homemade jumps in a friend’s backyard. My fondest hazy memories of college were our attempts to ski the unskiable. And it only made us want to ski more.

Over the last 20 plus years, much has transpired in the schussing world. Skiers learned non-aerialist tricks in “snowboard parks,” influencing groms to form their own “parks” at their home ski area, backyards, local streets and anywhere a slippery surface could be found or created. The definition of the term “out of bounds” has evolved way beyond the sidecountry.

Today, one can ski anywhere—from the indoor slopes of Dubai to the inner city of Boston to the North Face of the Aiguille du Midi. But don’t get it twisted (or twister spread-ed)—it’s the regular-ass skiers that will save the sport, not all the backcountry bounders on brand new AT gear.

According to the latest SnowSports Industries of America (SIA) numbers, there are seven million skiers in North America. The most startling statistic in SIA’s report? Eighty-three percent of first timers never return to the slopes. Their problem? “It’s cold, frustrating, dangerous, expensive, too far, feet hurt,” says the group polled. And who can blame them? Strength and confidence are acquired attributes, the price of gas is sky high, and the ’90s ski vacation is as much a myth today as the term “travel agent.” Oh yeah, ski area cheeseburgers cost $16 and parking will set one back $20 and two miles from the lifts. So what’s the solution? We need to bring skiing to the masses and rebuild the sport’s foundation.

Enter New York City’s Winter Jam, an event originally held in Central Park then later relocated to Brooklyn for 2011. The Saturday snow shindig encourages New Yorkers to give downhill skiing a shot from the safety of their own borough. And regardless of how many times the hardcores spout that we don’t need these “gapers,” we do. Along with Denver’s Ruby Hill rail yard and Maine’s Peyson Park, these free skiing (not to be confused with freeskiing) locations are exposing people to a future of downhill bliss that they otherwise might not have seen. With a little luck, they’ll grow into weekend warriors and ski bums that’ll settle into resort towns across the world and ensure a viable future.

The buzz word over the last five years has been “sustainability.” (If you’re in New Mexico, like Peter, then the buzz word is always “meth.”) For skiing to be sustainable a new crop of skiers must emerge. They will not magically appear from a Chamonix crevasse or a secret stash in Vermont. They’ll rise from the parking lot of a major metropolis and save those of us plundering powder hundreds of miles away.

Mike Rogge is the associate editor of Powder. He lives in Southern California but still tells everyone he’s from the East Coast.

Old Guard

Wow. Did someone from Powder, the magazine that celebrates the soul of skiing, just take me to a stats class? I show up all ready for the stoke and shred discussion, but instead I have to sit down with the accountant and a presentation on PowerPoint. Maybe I should have brought my calculator to crunch all the variables, but to paraphrase Chevy Chase, after new snowfall and total vertical, when it comes to skiing, “My understanding was that there would be no math.”

Not that I don’t think Mr. Rogge has a point. The fact that freeskiing is blowing up from the city parks of Manhattan to the tiny hills of Minnesota, giving every kid with sticks a chance to grind rails and wear lime green pants half way down his ass is awesome news for every ski retailer in America who didn’t bet his whole accessories budget on belts. And with slopestyle and halfpipe skiing set to debut in the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, we haven’t seen the half of it.

But to argue that just because more kids can slide sideways down the escalator at the Paramus Park Mall is going to result in a whole new generation of ski bums is like saying that more people are getting laid because of the accessibility of porn on the internet. Actually skiing big mountains is like having sex with someone else. You either are really doing it, or you really aren’t.

I would argue that what we’re really seeing is a whole new level of urban-based specialization in the sport. The same way U.S. aerialists like Trace Worthington and the late great Jeret “Speedy” Peterson could make your head spin with all their in-air oscillations, it never really got the masses’ asses off their collective couches. And the same way I actually learned how to snowboard on Ruby Hill with a bunch of bros in high school, none of us are still doing it (riding, that is).

But a lot of us are still skiing. Why? Because our parents took the time to drive us—and keep driving us—to the slopes. And that’s the part of your argument where I think there’s still a connection you’ve missed. Your article on the dryslope skiing craze in England in Powder was one of the best things I’ve read so far this year. You just never told me how all those young Sheffield skiers are going to finally transfer their emerging talents to the real-world stage of the Alps. Unless Harry Potter and all of their Hogwarts bros are just going to ferry them over on broomsticks after the next Quidditch match.

Peter Kray is Elevation Outdoors’s editor-at-large. He thinks Tim Tebow could slide rails.

Illustration: Kevin Howdeshell / kevincredible.com

My father wouldn’t let my brother and I play football because he was worried it would destroy our knees. Skiing has always been king in my family, and any activity that might threaten our ability to carve the slopes every Saturday and Sunday was viewed suspiciously.

But football fascinated us, and we still watched every Broncos game on TV until the snow came, or listened to the radio coming back from the hill. And we still played full contact pick-up games almost every afternoon in the fall, coming home with our school shirts torn, and the occasional bloody lip or black eye.

Once a year we also beat the crap out of each other at an annual full tackle tournament called The Blood Bowl, which was always held the day after Christmas on the soccer fields at Denver’s South High. A drunken, belligerent, old score settling, no-rules kind of scrum invented as a multiple high school crossing excuse to punch each other out and play some ball, it kept getting bigger every time we held it, and somebody went to the hospital every year. I remember in particular helping a big kid named Christopher from the Bonnie Brae neighborhood into the back of a station wagon after he had his kneecap pushed halfway up his thigh.

But busted bones and noses were the standard fare, and hangovers for everyone involved. I cracked my ribs once and took a good shot to the jaw, and I couldn’t laugh or run or cough for a month afterwards. But that was my only notable injury from all those Blood Bowl years. My best bruises I got on the mountain, like two broken thumbs, a concussion and a couple of scars. Which is the irony I guess, that my dad thought we were safer zipping through the trees than we were sprinting straight into each other on the field.

In that same vein, I think a lot of pro athletes hear the word “skiing” and think it’s an immediate invitation to end a career. John Elway, the greatest quarterback to ever play the game of professional football, had it in his contract that he couldn’t hit any of Colorado’s many nearby slopes while he played—I imagine it’s a given in the contracts pros sign now, along with no motorcycle riding, or no pick-up basketball—and he spoofed that very legally binding line item with an ad where he came down the run in a limo fitted with treads, reaching out the automatic window with his ski poles.

With more and more skiers buying AT gear to get out in the untracked, we have noticed a bit of animosity forming between the new crop of AT folks and telemarkers (as in when our AT friends say “Telemarking is stupid” or when tele-skiers say AT stands for “Aging Telemarker”). When we asked our readers which discipline was, in fact, stupid… they got offended by the question. Though 70 percent of you said telemarking was indeed stupid. So we decided to have AT adherent Tom Winter and tele-goddess Heather Hansman square off over which form of skiing was more “free.”

Freedom Flies

For the sake of a fair argument I’ll admit that there are plenty of ways in which alpine skiing is superior to telemark skiing. If you want to go really fast on groomers, or blow every vocabulary letter of cruciate ligament in your knees, then you should probably alpine. But if you’re looking for freedom, tele is where you will find it.

Just so we’re clear here, let’s talk about what freedom is. If you go by Miriam Webster’s eighth definition, which I did, you get this: “the quality, especially of the will or the individual, of not being totally constrained; able to choose between alternative actions in identical circumstances.”

That’s exactly what telemarking does, it gives you the ability to choose. Skiing, at its core, is about the turn, and teleing throws another set of turns into the mix. If you’re feeling lazy or the snow is manky, you can stand up and make alpine turns. But you can also make deep snow, knee-to-face tele turns. And I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to do that. If you lock your heel down on an alpine setup you’re just that, locked down and option-less.

I know what you’re going to say about how much technology has advanced, and now you have 4-ounce Dynafits for the uphill, or 40 DIN Dukes for the downhill. I get that, and I agree. Heavy bindings and set-back pivot points don’t do anything for uphill efficiency. I wish tele bindings were progressing as quickly as AT ones, and I’m so glad that they give you the freedom not to have to make telemark turns. If you can’t keep you skis under you and you’re fearful of tips flying at your face (there goes your social life) that’s your own fault, not the binding’s.

Comment below and you could be featured in our next issue!

Illustration by Kevin Howdeshell/kevincredible.com

We asked our readers to tell us who they think rules Colorado—natives or transplants? And we were downright shocked that 64 percent of you gave the nod to those not born on the sacred soil of our fair state. So we decided it would be appropriate for our Elwayville columnist, native son, and Broncos homer, Peter Kray to stick up for his home state. And to make a case for the transplants, we thought there would be no one better than Telluride’s favorite foster son, and unabashed Chiefs fan, Rob Story. So here they go, squaring off for the soul of the Invesco at Mile High State…

Land of the Freeloaders

Anyone who’s driven in the state of Colorado has no doubt seen those “NATIVE” bumper stickers–the green and white ones meant to evoke the Colorado state license plate. Whenever I spot a car with one, I feel sorry for the occupant.

I want to ask: Are you really so desperate to be known as a born-and-bred Centennial Stater that you need to broadcast it to truckers on I-25? C’mon. A bumper sticker doesn’t make you a true Coloradan; driving a Subaru does.

My Subaru is a navy-blue, 1997 Outback. I should explain that Subaru ownership was not a given with me: I was born in Kansas City, went to college near Chicago, and spent seven years in California before moving to Telluride in 1998. These days, though, I embody the best of Colorado: I climb 14ers, ski all winter, mountain bike all summer, and legally smoke medicinal marijuana every 4:20 I can.

I don’t care if you were raised in Pueblo: Transplants like me put the “rad” in Colorado. Perhaps you’ve heard of Lindsay Vonn, the first American woman to ever win three overall skiing World Cups. Vonn lives in Vail now, but learned to ski on a 309-vertical-foot hillock in suburban Minneapolis. Perhaps you’ve heard of Chris Davenport, the Aspen resident who became the first guy to ski (not just climb, but ski) all 54 of the state’s 14ers in a single year. Davenport was born at sea level in Massachusetts. Perhaps you’ve heard of John Elway, who not only won two Super Bowls as a Denver Bronco, but also runs the team as executive vice president of football operations. Elway has more juice than any Coloradan besides the governor. He, too, was born at sea level, and spent his formative years on the West Coast.

Comment below and you could be featured in our next issue!

Here are our picks for the best women’s climbing gear to help you look good while making fools of the boys:

1. La Sportiva Women’s Miura VS
Women’s feet tend to be slimmer, with less volume through the arch and heel. With that in mind, Italian shoemaker La Sportiva modified its classic, lace-up Miura model with a simple Velcro closure and a more narrow and down-turned profile for laser-toe precision.
$155; sportiva.com

2. Native Eyewear Chonga Sunglasses
One way you can make a fashion statement in the backcountry is with some ultra-chic shades. The Chonga is definitely that, but more importantly it’s also lightweight, grippy and durable. And that sassy silhouette provides full coverage, clear vision and polarized protection. We think they are the best all-purpose sunglasses—and recommend them in Pearl Swirl.
$89; nativeyewear.com

3. Pusher B-Bag Chalk Bucket
Made by one of the original bouldering-specific gear manufacturers, this climbing essential is simple, sleek and smart. The B-Bag holds oodles of chalk and its flat base and tapered shape keep it sitting upright. A Velcro side pocket stores keys, phone and lip balm.
$29; pushergear.com

4. Verve Lorelli Sports Bra
Renowned climber and Verve Clothing founder Christian Griffith designed this sexy sports bra with a daringly low neckline and flattering cross-back straps that perfectly trace the contours of the athletic feminine physique, yet still provide utilitarian support and comfort. Each well-tailored garment is hand-sewn in Boulder, Colorado.
$32; verveclimbing.com

5. Cryptochild Iron Palm Hangboard
Want to improve your climbing, ladies? Get stronger. Fasten this hangboard above your door, and every time you pass through crank out a few pull-ups on the big slopers, wide and narrow pinches, and varied-depth crimp rails.
$99; soillholds.com

6. Marmot Urban Hauler Tote
The simple Japanese fishing bag design of this tote makes for a stylish and well-organized bag good for carrying your shoes to the crag—or your laptop to the cafe. The slender shoulder straps conveniently convert into nifty carry handles, and the low-profile internal and external zipper pockets are easy to access.
$50; marmot.com

7. Ibex Balance Boy Short
One overlooked, but undoubtedly important, bit of apparel sense is to keep your cute derriere cool, covered and comfy with wool undies. Ibex’s ultra light merino wool fabric is soft on the skin, wicks moisture and resists odor. The Balance Boy Short’s seamless, low rise fit never bunches up—perfect for any athletic pants.
$29; ibexwear.com

8. Elemental Herbs Herbal Healing Kit
A day on the rock can be brutal on the skin and lips. This all-encompassing little kit gives you everything you need to protect and replenish yourself. Case in point: the highly effective zinc sport sunscreen offers strong SPF 22 sun-shielding while replenishing with a formula of organic green tea leaves and rose hips infused. Made with organic calendula, comfrey, lavendar and plantain, the All Good Goop moisturizerer helps heal scrapes, bruises and blisters.
$53; elementalherbs.com

Climber Abbey Smith guides at Hueco Tanks, Texas, and lives in Eldorado Springs, Colorado.

A dude’s guide to climbing gear.

1. PrAna Titan
Meet this man’s favorite pair of climbing pants.These lightweight brushed-cotton-and-polyester knickers provide the types of little features a climber appreciates—gusseted crotch, adjustable waistband. Longer than shorts but shorter than manpris, the knickers extra length protects your flesh on knee scums.
$65; prana.com

2. REI Revelcloud Jacket
A warm jacket is a necessity to keep you warm between goes on your latest project. At 12.5 ounces (and compressible down to the size of a NERF football), the Revelcloud is the perfect layer to shove away in a pack and pull out when it gets chilly. The low bulk and high versatility make it ideal for drawn-out belays or multi-pitch routes. Plus it’s insulated with 50 percent recycled polyester.
$139; rei.com

3. Metolius Express Haul Pack
Rock climbing tears the skin off you hands, wrists, elbows, knees and ankles. Suck it up—luckily skin grows back. Fabric does not. Since a climber drags his pack over rough terrain day-in and day-out, it needs to be extra tough or it will soon be riddled with permanent holes.  Enter the Express, made of light-yet-abrasion-resistant Durathane. It’s quite functional on the wall, too, thanks to haul-bag-style clip-in points, two three-pocket daisy chains and an “unbreakable” aluminum-closure buckle. Tuck-away shoulder straps and a removable waist belt mean you can convert it into a haul bag. Oh, and it’s guaranteed for life.
$109; metoliusclimbing.com

4. Evolv Geshido
It’s impossible to recommend just one climbing shoe since they are each designed for different conditions. But the (relatively) comfy Geshido can do a little bit of everything well—its slightly downturned toe makes for nimble edging and you can still jam it in cracks.
$135; evolvsports.com

5. Native Apex
The perfect pair of dude’s sunglasses need to be fashionable for the city or the crags. These babies deliver. Like all Native’s shades, the Apex is built with the brand’s ultra-light Rhyno-Tuff material, so it can withstand a decent drop. It features interchangeable lenses and the optional Polarized Reflex is easy on the eyes when faced with high-glare conditions on the rock.
$109/$129 Reflex lens; nativeeyewear.com

6. Black Diamond Ozone
The ultra-sleek, 320-gram Ozone is built with a technology BD calls Kinetic Core. Translation—thin strands of polymer fiber called Vectra line the entire harness, keeping the weight and bulk down and providing comfort alongside support. It’s perfect for redpointing a route at Rifle or wiggling into tight chimneys in Eldo. And the lime green color is hot.
$100; blackdiamondequipment.com

7. Patagonia Men’s Capeline Skivvies
Ah, the age-old question: boxers or briefs? How about both? Patagonia’s Sport Boxer Briefs are built from the brand’s action-ready wicking Capeline 2, a 54-percent recycled polyester that features an odor control treatment (trust us, your partners—climbing and romantic—will appreciate this). Other climbing friendly features include a no-chafe, brushed elastic waistband and an easy-access fly. If you’re simply looking for comfy undies for post-crag chilling, check out Patagonia’s Silkweight Boxers and Silkweight Boxer Briefs.
$30-$32; patagonia.com

8. Metolius Techno/Techno ID
It’s impossible to get away from your gadgets these days and this seemingly basic chalk bag is made for the modern climbing geek. Its ergonomic shape features a downslope opening for easy access and stiff side panels that hold the bag open. Inside, there’s a pocket for an MP3 player. Don’t worry it seals tight so you won’t lose your toys when you are on route.
$25; metoliusclimbing.com

EO bloggger Chris Van Leuven is the author of Yosemite Sport Climbs and Top Ropes.

Illustration: Kevin Howdeshell/kevincredible.com

I’m old enough to remember mixed tapes, especially one we passed around in college titled, “Saabs, Quattros and Wagoneers.” I can’t remember a single song that was on it, except that it was some sort of Freedom Rock meets punk rock meets classic rock mash-up. What was important was the title, a backhanded tribute to a guy everyone knew as Rado Dude. Rado was one of those guys who drives you crazy, but is your buddy, too. His biggest problem was whenever he got nervous, he would start bragging about how Colorado was the coolest place in the world.

But we all tried to wrap ourselves in that aura of place—we thought that just being from Colorado made us cooler than we really were. It’s just that ‘Rado always took it a little too far. His shtick was that the whole state was just L.A. at altitude, where everything’s a scene, and all the rock-climbing, powder-skiing, condominium-owning pot growers are all too hip to care. The clincher, was when some kid from the East Coast asked him, “So what does everybody drive out here?”

“Dude,” ‘Rado Dude replied (insert own surfer/stoner accent here), “It’s all Saabs, Quattros and Wagoneers.”

Anytime I remember that line, in my mind I-70 becomes this asphalt River Styx leading right into Yuppie Hell in which we’re all just a bunch of air-conditioned zombies listening to Sting on KBCO.

But Colorado is really nothing like that. That’s just the part of Colorado the realtors are trying to sell. Drive down Federal at noon and you’d think the state was made of green chile roasters, that everyone still drove Pontiacs and Pintos. Get south of Belleview on a Sunday and there’s still real hay in the bed of those F150s and S10s. And those are definitely real gun racks in the back windows.

The point is that in every CO zip code, there is always a different sense of what it means to live here. I’ve always thought of Coloradoans as a kind of happy mix of western attitudes—encompassing the mountains, the city and the eastern arc of the prairie—and that our elevation was our unique bond. But that’s not nearly as much fun as sticking stereotypes on people for the sake of making sweeping generalizations about who they are. Or in the spirit of old ‘Rado himself saying, “This state’s just filled with Ropers, Dopers and Dudes.”

Ropers: This is still cowboy country. It always will be, too. From the Arapaho who first lived here to the original Colorado cattlemen to all the 4-H clubs and the annual “yee-haw” extravaganza that is the National Western Stock Show, ropelines run deep in this state. And after deep powder skiing, cowboys and Indians are what out-of-staters still imagine Colorado is all about. Even though I grew up near City Park, I had cousins back East who thought the Pony Express was how we got our mail. And between the reality of the working ranches and the mirage of guys in cowboy hats working the scene in Lo-Do, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the pardners and the poseurs here. Tell the next one you see, “I’d like to take you to Brokeback Mountain,” and if he knocks your teeth out, he’s probably the real deal. If he doesn’t? Well, you’re on your own from there.

Dopers: Medical marijuana is doing a lot more than Elwayville’s altitude to elevate its reputation as the highest city in the world. That should only continue to increase as late breaking news out of Amsterdam is that a new conservative government has signed a law barring tourists from the hash bars. So does that mean we’re going to see an increasing wave of medical marijuana vacationers? Is now a good time to finally launch your ‘Pot, Powder and Pizza’ package tours? Not likely. But it does mean a lot more stoners from across the country are considering moving here. If that will automatically result in more drum circles in Boulder, or Widespread Panic shows at Red Rocks, I don’t know. I do know it’s more fun to laugh about than the geriatric gang in Aspen that got busted for operating a major cocaine ring a few weeks ago. Or the out-of-control meth use. An attorney friend once told me he gets calls almost daily to defend some tweaker who, after being high for 10 days, committed some spectacularly stupid crime like trying to break into a jewelry store that wasn’t closed.

Dudes: Somewhere in the micro-brew swilling middle of it all are the Dudes. A little bit like old ‘Rado himself, with a mountain bike, some backcountry skis and a Grateful Dead sticker on his lacrosse stick, Frisbee or Saab, he is the kind of guy who likes to work as hard at his fun as he does at his job as an editor, realtor, architectural landscaper, publicist or personal trainer. As fond of quoting Thomas Friedman as Robert Hunter, he is either posting that he is at the airport again on Facebook, planning a trip to Moab or reading Elevation Outdoors. Easily distracted by texting, ski area webcams and ladies in yoga clothes, a Dude will gladly take an hour to tell you about the novel he has been working on for the past 10 years. Part River Runs Through It, part Catcher in the Rye, part Cliffhanger, “it’s the real story of the Rockies that’s never been told.” (You can easily end this conversation by asking to see a chapter or two). Remarkably well-versed in the Rolling Stones discography, website design, movie quotes and Costa Rican land rights, he can often not recall what he had for breakfast an hour ago. Next time you see one, say, “Yo, dude,” and then he will know that you’re from Colorado, too.

Taste, bud: You’ll find menu items like this proscuitto-wrapped yellowfin tuna at Fruition in Denver. Photo: Platephotography.com. 

There are so many new restaurants with farm-to-table and locavore offerings springing up in Colorado that there must be some synchronicity with the pastimes of outdoor sports and eating fresh, healthy food. Here’s where you can indulge:

Bittersweet
Denver
Dubbed “our farm in the city,” by its owners, Bittersweet opened in December in a Wash Park building formerly occupied by a gas station. Award-winning Chef Olav Peterson and his wife Melissa were able dedicate 600 square feet for planting, using land directly in front of the restaurant and erecting raised beds around the side patio. The garden produces the lettuces, corn, squash, berries and herbs served inside.
bittersweetdenver.com

Black Cat
Boulder
Since 2006, Black Cat has been dishing up farm fresh fine dining by partnering with local growers. In 2009, chef/owner Eric Skokan went one step further; creating a 70-acre farm that cultivates 250 different varieties of lettuces, vegetables and herbs, and eight different kinds of livestock. For the second year in a row, Black Cat Farm is offering Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) shares in an effort to become an incubator for the further development of Front Range cuisine.
blackcatboulder.com

Colterra
Niwot
Chef/owner Bradford Heap has been planting the organic beds around Colterra since the restaurant’s inception in 2006. But this year, he’s armed and dangerous with a new sprinkler system and a more aggressive plan to cultivate as many of the restaurant’s greens, vegetables, herbs and edible flowers as possible from the 1,000-square-foot garden surrounding the patio.
colterra.com

Fruition
Denver
Fruition’s 10-acre farm in Larkspur turned two years old at press time, which is hard to believe when you look at how far chef/co-owner Alex Seidel has taken it in such a short time. Besides providing the herbs and produce to create the restaurant’s “sophisticated comfort food,” the farm also houses more than a dozen egg-laying chickens and 70 sheep producing two varieties of cheese.
fruitionrestaurant.com

Gaia Bistro
Denver
Patrick Mangold-White and Jon Edwards have been sourcing herbs and veggies from Gaia’s backyard since they opened the organic bistro in 2006. In fact, there’s barely any space left behind the charming Victorian thanks to three 8-foot by 16-foot plots, an herb garden, grapevines, and rhubarb stuffed into every spare nook. At press time, the rhubarb was ready to start producing strawberry-rhubarb crepes–a summertime customer favorite.
gaiabistro.com

Meadow Lark Farm Dinners
Boulder
Meadow Lark hosts dinners twice a week from June to October at one of eleven local farms in locations ranging from Brighton to Lyons. Chefs create meals on the spot, based on the farm’s daily harvest, and prepare them in a school bus that’s been retrofitted with a gourmet kitchen.
farmdinners.com

Ski Bums Till Earth
In April 2009, ski guide Eric Henderson broke his neck in Alaska. He was lucky to be alive. To help recover back home in Victor, Idaho, Henderson and his now-wife Megan pulled some tables out into a field at their Blue Flax Farmand

began On the Farm, serving family style meals to about 50 guests at a sitting, with each meal featuring a local producer and all ingredients sourced within 25 miles of the garden.

“We spread the word, via Facebook, farmer’s markets, hotels and local shops,” says Henderson.“ It’s the closest I will ever come to being a preacher. To me food knows no boundaries and I feel empowered to help spread this message.”

Henderson is not the only skier tunred local food advocate. Alison Gannett has gained fame not just as an extreme athlete but as an environmental activist as well. Her Save Our Snow Foundation fights climate change and her Holy Terror Farm, which she founded in Paonia with Jason Trimm, is that activism in action. The organic farm espouses the local farming ethics from her online farmers market cooperative LocalFarmsFirst.com.

“We are now almost 100 percent self-sufficient, and sell hundreds of varieties of harvested-to-order veggies, fruit, berries, beef, pork, eggs and chicken on this farm-to-table market,” she says.

—Doug Schnitzspahn

Roped: Coppolillo at Red Rocks. Photo: Courtesy Rob Coppolillo.

We asked our readers if free soloing—climbing without a rope or protection—was pure or stupid. You were mixed: 53 percent said stupid, 47 pure, many noting that it depended on the situation and the person. So we asked Rob Coppolillo and Timmy O’Neill to hash out the finer points of life on the edge.

On Belay

The litmus test, for me, is this: at the moment my foot skates or the rock breaks or the raindrops begin … will I say to myself, “This just wasn’t worth it”?

In imagining the instant I peel off the rock, I can’t escape the feeling I’ll hate myself for throwing away my life on something as utterly pointless as soloing. Climbing is already in-your-face enough, do I really need to drop drawers and spread my cheeks in the face of God, provoking her/him/it to smite me?

I soloed a bit in my 20s, before cams were affordable and the Sport Park existed—but only easy stuff like the Third, the First, and my halcyon ropeless achievement: the Wind Ridge (5.6). Gradually, though, as I grew up I saw a few people die and just as important, I saw their friends and family stumble onward without them. It takes little-to-no perceptiveness to recognize the damage inflicted upon those left behind–particularly parents–by nuking oneself, especially for something as self-serving as rock climbing.

Saving a buddy in combat, rescuing a child from a burning building, working oneself to death to get the family ahead—die for any of these and St. Pete will pat you on the back as you pass the Gates. Climbing? It’s an activity literally without benefit to anyone but the practitioner, which is to say, it’s self-indulgence to the extreme. Activities llike these are left to privileged, Western, white men, guys usually lathered in the “I feel so alive when I’m on the edge” delusion. If that’s what I need to feel alive, then maybe the rest of my life needs a little reinvestment.

I’m all for personal freedom, accountability, pursuing my life in the way I see fit, but it’s simply too narcissistic to risk it soloing, as if dying won’t affect those in my orbit. If a guy goes out and gambles away the family fortune without the wife and kids knowing, everybody calls him King Douche. If he splatters himself at the base of the cliff, then he gets the Bro-gnar Medal for Valor? Doesn’t make sense to me.

As Captain Yossarian might’ve said, “Anything worth dying for is probably worth living for.” Your kids, your parents, your minxy girlfriend, Michele Bachmann running for president, the Holy Grail of the manworld (I’m talking about a three-way!) … or just another bluebird day with warm rock to climb and Timmy-O to lead the hard pitches: I say stack the odds in your favor–tie in–and stick around, because life is pretty good.

Rob Coppolillo is a writer and climber living in Boulder—and he believes most of the above. Read his Master of None blog at ElevationOutdoors.com

On Your Own

Climbing outside with ropes exposes one to serious hazards—falling rock and ice (and, well, falling itself) being the deadliest. But those dangers are an integral part of why we climb. The paradox of a person feeling more alive by being closer to death contradicts conventional wisdom, and even amongst high-adrenaline junkies the free soloist is a mystifying creature. When I climb ropeless, I am not failing to heed some warning bell in regards to impending doom. I solo long, easy rock climbs as my expression of one of life’s greatest pleasures: moving fast and light in the physical wilderness on an immaculate expanse of stone matched with the intellectual, moral and visceral challenge of route-finding in the wilderness of the mind.

The difference between dating and marriage is a commitment centered on faith. That same conviction applies to the free soloist and his objective, except in this union “there is no death until we part.” The fundamental difference between using a rope or not is the value one places in heightening risk and the associated return on that investment. Is this perilous gamble symptomatic of a death wish or indicative of a rudderless, leisure class in search of meaning?

The crux consideration is simply this: Does free soloing, or for that matter climbing, have import to anyone other than the participant? The answer is personal. It is lived, not defined in a magazine column. It is determined by the degree to which you take possession of your own life and the measure of ownership that you sub-contract out. I do not disregard the potential loss of family and friends. The fact is we live different lives and the grief guilt trip is simply not part of my calculation. My life is about choices and I rationally believe all of them lead to more life, not less. Free soloing isn’t light fare, think more Turducken than Lean Cuisine, more Leo Tolstoy than Danielle Steel, and like a meal or a book it’s your personal choice whether to sink your teeth into it or not.

Timmy O’Neill’s life involves being very present in dangerous places, whether behind a drum kit, in front of a microphone or at the base of the First Flatiron for his 213th free solo.

Reader Response from the Web

Because in the world of anonymous online comments everyone has a say.

It’s actually a bit of both. The joy from a free solo is always weighed against the potential harm that might result from a single lost grip. As skills and bravado decline and sanity grows with age, I think the needle leans toward stupid.

—Terry

Face Time: Longs Peak’s Diamond calls to climbers craving a big wall alpine experience—and keeps them coming back for its secrets. Photo: John Dickey

Trust is the heart of any relationship. Without trust, it’s all up for grabs. Trust requires intimacy—and the risk of harm. If that’s the case, I’ve had a rich relationship over 15 years with The Diamond. I’ve climbed the famed face via new routes, in the cold clutches of winter and as a summer free climb. It’s given me epics, hospitalized me and taken a friend’s life. For many rock climbers, it’s an end in itself—and a worthy one at that. As Matt Samet, former editor of Climbing magazine says, “It’s the premier, most committing high-alpine cliff in the Lower 48.”

Welcome to life on the Diamond.

2:30 a.m.

An ascent of the Rockies’ most storied alpine face usually starts when most days end. I’ve done the commute many times and now I almost enjoy the drive through Boulder in the wee hours of Sunday morning, when the last dregs of the weekend are tottering home. They’ll face inevitable hangover or walk of shame, while my climbing partner Andy Donson and I will be elevated above the whole Front Range. Our goal is a true alpine rock climbing experience on Longs Diamond face. It’s not our first time, and it won’t be our last. But we treat it with a deference born of hard experience and anticipation informed by past success.

Even in mid-summer, there’s a chill in the air since the parking lot is at 9,400 feet. I’ve been here as early as 1 a.m. and as late as 6 a.m. Either way, the days seem stretched out. If the Diamond had an easily defined quality it’s the long day—and this parking lot serves both as a starting point and a psychological nadir. At least once, I’ve actually bailed from this very point, even before starting up the trail.

The lot is already full—the curse of Longs Peak on a summer weekend. Andy and I silently collect our gear and stride into the forest. The woods are monochrome and our headlamps cast Blair-Witch funnels as we bob up the trail. Andy has a wry, British sense of humor, though for some reason—maybe it’s the thin air—we begin our usual cackle of endless and nonsensical banter. It’s the kind of humor that bears misery well.

3:30 a.m.

Shortcuts. On a winter attempt on the Diamond, I once got lost in these woods. We spent an extra hour trolling through waist deep snow before getting spit out in a drainage a quarter mile off the trail. Now, in August, even in the dark, it’s hard to get lost since the trail is full of climbers. On any given Sunday, more than 100 people will gun for the summit via the class 3 Keyhole Route. Some carry daypacks. Some shiver in shorts and cotton tees while clutching plastic shopping bags with bottled water and granola bars. We’ll see some of these folks on our way down, exhausted after a long fruitless day. Some will shine through their sunburn, having stood atop the prize summit. With our packs and harnesses, we like to think we give off a hard-core aura but who’s to say we are having more fun. When it comes to adventure, Longs Peak is an equal opportunity employer.

The gray sky eases into the first pinkish strains of dawn as we break through tree line. The Diamond is foreboding, even as the first sliver light dapples the face. I’ve been to the Himalayas, but hold an undiminished awe at this sight, a face so sheer, Samet says of it: “you could drive a Mini Cooper along it were it tilted horizontally.” First climbed by Dave Rearick and Bob Kamps in 1960, the Diamond has been the focal point of groundbreaking climbs and scene of countless epics. And it keeps calling me back.

5:00 a.m.

We bust out along the old trail through jumbled moraine. The Diamond fills the horizon. The air is redolent of pine and mountain air until a cloying, mock-fruity tinge of chemical toilet wafts in. We clamber above the dwarf pines where the trail to the Keyhole, the most climbed route of any fourteener in Colorado, splits from our track. I take a coffee-driven break in the open-air privy, enjoying the scenic wonders at 11,500 feet.

The routes on the right side of the Diamond often require overnight bivouacs on the face or the long ledge bisecting it, called Broadway, But one—I think better—alternative is to hike with heavy loads through the endless switchbacks up to the juncture between the east face and the long sloping incline of the north face called Chasm View Overlook which looms above The Boulderfield camp.

From here, a few rappels onto Broadway save the arduous semi-technical load humping required by a direct approach. I’ve done the Chasm Overlook option more than once, rappelling in for a new aid line, spending several nights cowering under a tarp with lighting blasting Chasm View. At one point, the lightning was so close that the flash and the sound of thunder were indistinguishable.

Such memories are a reminder that climbing the Diamond by any means, season or time frame epitomizes an ideal: it’s a test not of how you function when everything is perfect, but how you manage when everything is wrong. If there’s any lesson to learn here, it’s the knowledge of how you dealt, not what you did.

Today, we try to spare ourselves that kind of epic. We’re going light and fast—the day trip strategy most climbers adopt, tracking for the Yellow Wall and one of the three most popular routes. Don’t be fooled. Popular does not mean easy and fast is never fast enough. In summer, the Diamond, often wet or frozen, is blindsided nearly every afternoon by monster thunderstorms. Add to that the technical difficulty. Samet says, “Most of the free climbs—many the work of the tireless Roger Briggs—are stout, from 5.11 to 5.13,” adding, “All begin on the exposed Broadway Ledge, at 13,000 feet—you’ll be huffing like a glue fiend.” Yep.

6:00 a.m.

True sunrise. We reach the stream-laced meadows below Chasm Lake. We’ve now entered the amphitheater and the treeless, rocky terrain shimmers in the early morning light. We filter water, skirt the lake and traverse up rocky slabs.

In winter, this lake freezes solid and it’s easy to cross it and access climbs up along ethereal and transient ice features, to classic alpine routes like Keiner’s and the Notch Couloir. Indeed, the first time I ever climbed Longs Peak was via a winter ascent of the Diamond.

That three-day effort was training for bigger things and though meaningful for me, it was just another insignificant blip in a long pageant of climbs here by both the famous and the unknown. Significantly, Tom Hornbein, used Longs as training for first ascents like Everest’s West Ridge in 1963. He’s climbed Longs more than 70 times, including the Diamond, at the age of 65, noting, “It has all the flavors of so many different mountains.”

Above Chasm Lake we enter yet another iteration of the alpine environment. Now about five miles in with an altitude gain of nearly 3,000 feet, its time to find a second wind—the day is just starting.

6:30 a.m.

We stop for a breather and scope the face. Last time we were here, Andy was in a stretcher, waiting for a helicopter. We’d been attempting a new free ascent when Andy, rappelling, dislodged a rock and was struck in the head. He lost consciousness and slid down the rope until he miraculously hit a ledge where he stuck with about 25 feet left in the rappel rope and another 800 feet to the ground. Immediately after the accident (the rock cracked his fiberglass helmet), it was hard to tell which of us had the sharper acuity. The dialogue upon Andy’s return to consciousness,

Andy: Pete what are you doing here?

Pete: Do you know who I am?

Andy: Yes, you’re Pete.

Pete: Do you know where we are?

Andy: Hmm… (looks around at the unmistakable cleaved wall, the view of Denver’s brown cloud, and the massive exposure), the Diamond?

Pete: Do you know what time it is?

Andy: No, do you?

Pete:  Well, no. But that’s not the point.

Despite its popularity the Diamond still can provide pure adventure, with first ascents and first free ascents. For those seeking other challenges, the Lower East Face, which is as massive as the upper Diamond, claims established fright-fests and copious climbing options. To the right, the Chasm View Wall has two of the amphitheater’s best moderates—excellent warm-ups for bigger routes and great options if the Diamond is crowded.

The trickiest part of our climb is the North Chimney, a 400-foot trough of rubble-strewn slabs and rock steps rated 5.4. Andy and I choose to free solo, trading the safety of the climbing rope in favor of speed. It’s the scariest part of the day. The rock is loose and fussy, and the real danger comes from the climbers above us and their predilection to drop or dislodge rocks in the narrow confines of the chimney. It’s like playing pinball with boulders. The only safe options are to get in the chimney early, late or improve your chances by climbing on the weekday. It’s only a matter of time before there will be a serious rockfall related accident here in the North Chimney.

7:00 a.m.

We’ve ended up in the middle of a queue for D-7, one of the Yellow Wall routes encompass most summer Diamond traffic. The masses tend to flock to The Casual Route—he 1978 link up of existing pitches via an improbable and spectacular traverse—the easiest route on the Diamond. For those seeking more edge, the 5.11’s to the left include Pervertical Sanctuary, Curving Vine, and D-7. Ariana on the far left margin of the wall is a prize at 5.12a.

As we start up, we pull out the rope, a precaution given the patches of ice and treacherous footing. I remember a friend who died here soloing the “easy” ground to the base of the technical part of the climb. The guy who did the first free ascent of the route we are currently climbing, died free soloing last year. But we find the rhythmn of ascent as the wall takes on the aura of a place haunted by ghosts and memories of accidents and near fatalities. To our right, a decade ago, I nearly rappelled off a rope, pinching the slippery ends with fingertips as I swung about, looking for an anchor. Last year, in the shady corner 100 feet to the left I lost my front teeth in a big fall. Farther right I had half our belay explode from a rotten crack.

I won’t bore you with descriptions of climbing, adrenalin, etc. Lets just say that the climbing is a pleasant blend of face holds and jams. The sun is warm while it lasts. The climb is classic, well within our abilities.It’s still tense and vaguely terrifying because, the actual climbing is secondary to the totality of the experience. It’s a reminder that ascending the Diamond by any means, season or timeframe epitomizes an ideal, not a test of how you function when everything is perfect, but how you function when everything is wrong.

9:30 a.m.

Anticlimax. Halfway up the route, I drop a climbing shoe. After a brief chat Andy and I rappel down. We’ve both climbed the route, so rather than tempting the weather gods we opt to head home.

The definition of classic is, “something of lasting worth or with a timeless quality.” The Diamond provides value for those who have come before and those who will come after. It’s that way for Andy and I. Even on this, the most benign of days, getting to Mills Glacier is like getting out on parole.

Pete Takeda lives in Boulder, Colorado. He’s an author, writer and climber. Check out his latest adventures here and here.

Online Resources:

• A definitive Diamond History by Roger Briggs.

• Overview and details.

• Description and suggestions on the “easiest” route.

Books:

• Classic Rock Climbs No. 08 The Diamond of Longs Peak, Rocky Mountain National Park by Richard Rossiter (Falcon, 1997)

• Longs Peak: The Story of Colorado’s Favorite Fourteener by Dougald Macdonald (Westcliffe, 2004)

• Rocky Mountain Naional Park: High Peaks: The Climber’s Guide by Bernard Gillett (Earhbound Sports, 2001)

Guide services:

• Total Climbing

Sail Away: Relaxing at the top of the Black Canyon’s Maiden Voyage (5.9-). Photo: BJ Sbarra

Here on the Western Slope, the running joke is that we have all the really good bad rock. And while there’s no shortage of bolted choss, there are several noteworthy crags with top notch trad climbing that rivals Colorado’s finest. With that in mind, here are our picks for the best summer trad climbs west of the divide.

OPHIR WALL / CRACKED CANYON

A mere stone’s throw south of Telluride is some of the best summer cragging in Colorado: Cracked Canyon, home to many fine single-pitch outings, and the nearby Ophir Wall, with adventure climbs up to 900 feet tall. Both offer challenging routes on highly featured ryholite in a stunning alpine setting.

Beginner: Pirouette, 5.7
In a canyon with several good easier climbs, this splitter finger crack may just be the best. Perfect jams, ample face holds and great gear will have you smiling the whole way to the top.

Classic: Orange Peel, 5.10
You can’t miss this beautiful line, one of the most striking climbs in Cracked Canyon. Steep hand jams and decent rests lead to a short finger crack crux, finishing up with fun, easier climbing to the top.

Extra Credit: Hot Wee Wee, 5.9
This multipitch adventure follows a massive left facing corner system up the center of the cliff, offering everything from face climbing to offwidth in four or five pitches.

EAST ANIMAS

A relatively unknown but high-quality climbing area in Southwestern Colorado, East Animas faces due west, and, on summer mornings, provides excellent shady conditions to sample some of the classic pitches at this unique sandstone crag.

Beginner: Byrd’s Classic, 5.8
This enjoyable climb is an excellent intro to the area, following corners and cracks that weave around two imposing roofs.

Classic: Watch Crystal Crack, 5.10+
The centerpiece of its namesake cliff, this striking line can be done either as one mega pitch to a bolted anchor or in two shorter pitches that top out the formation. Sustained and varied 5.9 climbing takes you to the optional belay, from which things get steep, but good finger locks and big holds will get you through to the lower angled, runout finish.

Extra Credit: Durangutan, 5.10
While not a pure trad pitch, this route offers three interesting pitches of varied climbing up the wall left of the Watch Crystal. The first is a stemming dihedral, the second mostly bolt protected face climbing and the third sparely protected face that tops out the formation.

INDEPENDENCE PASS

The high alpine crags of Independence Pass make for the perfect summer getaway, with brilliant trad routes in the 5.8 to 5.10 range. The rock is a metamorphic granite that tends to be steep but featured, making for some exhilarating moderates.

Beginner: Right Wing, 5.6, Turkey Rocks
There are few routes of this grade in the area, but this one is sure to please regardless of your ability level. A short first pitch traverses past an unlikely steep section, and the second follows low angle cracks and knobs to the top.

Classic: Dean’s Day Off, 5.11+, Lincoln Creek
If you only climb one route on the Pass, this should be it. A stunning seam splits the cliff for 35 meters, requiring delicate footwork and balance. It’s hard to fathom this was first lead barefoot by Henry Barber as you eek your way up this trad testpiece.

Extra Credit: Mad Arab, 5.10, Grotto Wall
One of the more unique routes in the area, Mad Arab challenges with an exciting and unprotected start that leads to the real business, an almost horizontal offwidth section that climbs easier than it looks thanks to some hidden holds.

BLACK CANYON OF THE GUNNISON

Black Canyon is losing its once fearsome reputation, as more and more people discover that the trad routes here offer fantastic climbing in one of the most spectacular venues in the country. Many of the routes are too sunny for summertime, but a few excellent climbs lurk in the shade, and you’ll likely have the place to yourself.

Beginner: Maiden Voyage, 5.9-
The best easy route in the canyon offers several pitches of fun, moderate crack climbing on solid rock. It’s a great way to experience the Black without committing to one of the longer and/or more serious climbs.

Classic: Comic Relief, 5.10
The Comic Relief buttress faces due west and can offer pleasant climbing in the shade until about midday. Although one of the shorter routes in the canyon at 1,200 feet, it’s a mega classic, with pitch after pitch of outstanding crack climbing, from fingers to corners to splitter hands on mostly perfect stone.

Extra Credit: A Midsummer’s Night Dream, 5.11-
Wait until this side of the wall goes into the shade and then head down the Cruise Gully for some afternoon fun. It’s mostly varied and fun 5.9 climbing, the crux is short and the route should go quickly for a competent party.

GLENWOOD CANYON

There’s a lifetime’s worth of exposed rock in this canyon, but trad climbers will be mostly interested in the numerous granite outcrops. Somewhat reminiscent of the stone in the Black, you’ll find everything here from easy shorties to huge all day adventures.

Beginner: Jungle Book, 5.7
No Name is a small trad zone with a quick approach and a handful of good climbs. The best for getting acquainted to the area’s old granite is Jungle Book, an enjoyable romp up a featured corner.

Classic: Sucking Wind, 5.10+
A once forgotten classic, the highlight of this historic route is a long pitch of sustained and steep finger and hand jams. Those looking for further adventure can climb the final and often avoided last pitch.

Extra Credit: The International, 5.10+
This is Glenwood Canyon’s biggest adventure climb, following 2,000 feet of granite and limestone to the rim of the canyon. Most will be happy to simply gaze at this loose and scary affair from afar, unless you’re one of those types…

Check out these guidebooks: Rifle & Western Colorado Rock Climbs, Telluride Rocks, Durango Sandstone, Black Canyon Rock Climbs

BJ Sbarra runs the website SplitterChoss.com, where you can find beta on more of the Western Slope’s lesser known gems.

Bolts and Brews: An Upslope India Pale Ale waits patiently for its owners to finish climbing. Photo: Randy Gresham.

When it comes to outdoor endeavors, Colorado is outdoor sport freak central, and there are few better ways to unwind after a long bike, hike or climb than tipping back a pint—or plowing through a tasty beer sampler.  Luckily, our state is home to more breweries than 14,000-foot peaks, so finding a tasting room for post-adventure imbibing is never a problem.

Boulder

Boulder is the birthplace of Colorado microbrews so it’s hard not to raise a pint of Singletrack Copper Ale with the folks over at Boulder Beer Co. who started the Rocky Mountain craft craze way back in 1979. The tour through this historical gem is tops in Boulder and it comes with a pint to sip while you take a peek at the brewing process. Then there’s Upslope Brewing Co., which has embraced the microbrew-in-a-can craze with its pale ale, india pale ale and new brown ale. Taste the beers and tour the brewery at the Lee Hill Road tap room.

Climb up a thirst: Tackle the East Slab, a 5.5 classic route that introduces climbers to the many great routes of Boulder Canyon

Colorado Springs

The Springs might not seem like a drinking epicenter, but there is some serious beer at the base of Pike’s Peak. Bristol Brewing Co. is the granddaddy here, having set up shop all the way back in 1994. Its tasting room is a local gathering spot, and yes, they call their tasting room pourers “beertenders.” Just a little bit west and virtually in the shadow of the stunning Garden of the Gods, sits Trinity Brewing Co., a place that takes tasting seriously. Pint glasses? Pfft. Just like Bordeaux deserves different stemware than a Burgundy, Trinity recognizes that its Belgium-style beers need unique glasses to compliment flavors and aromas.

Climb up a thirst: You may want to bring a beer with you to the picnic-table-sized top of Montezuma’s Tower, a 120-foot climb and rappel that somehow makes Garden of the Gods more epic, to calm your nerves.

Durango

Durango is a biking town, a skiing town, a climbing town and a beer town. Breweries seem to dot the tiny town’s landscape (which only claims about 10,000 legally aged drinkers) more frequently than stoplights. Ska Brewing Co. brings music culture into its tasty beers, and its new (as of 2008) 24,000-square-foot facility includes a two-level tasting room, beer garden and enough local flavor to have you wishing you lived around the corner.  Right in the heart of downtown sits another locals’ favorite, Steamworks Brewing Co. This full-scale brewpub and eatery serves a diverse offering of award-winning beers—but gets taken over by the college crowd late night. Durango and Carver brewing companies round out the local beer scene, which equates to a brewery for every 2,500 adults. Suds heaven.

Climb up a thirst: There are several noteworthy spots within a few minutes of downtown, including East Animas.

Fort Collins

It just wouldn’t be a brewery list without mentioning New Belgium. Sure, it’s huge by craft standards, and that’s a turnoff for some. But the tasting room buzzes nearly round the clock for good reason—the beer is free (!) and damn good. Plus there’s all those cool cruiser bicycles floating around. The free tours are the most interesting in the business, but require advanced reservations. Just down the road is Odell’s Brewing Co., which is worth a stop just for another swill of 90 Shilling alone, and Equinox Brewing Co. will satisfy your off-the-beaten path craving with its coffee shop vibe and live music in the garden.

Climb up a thirst: The Horsetooth Reservoir is home to world-class bouldering.

Longmont

Oskar Blues Brewing Co. in Lyons gets all the credit for revolutionizing canned beer by, well, putting good beer in a can. Its Lyons roots are still strong with its original brewing headquarters on Main Street serving all that canned goodness, and offering a vintage arcade room to gobble up your quarters. The brewery, however, has moved to Longmont to accommodate demand. The Tasty Weasel Tap Room anchors the experience here in the middle of the brewery. Take a tour of the massive canning and brewing facility, tip back a Dale’s Pale Ale then head to the headwaters of the Mighty St. Vrain to see where Left Hand is made. OK, the St. Vrain isn’t as mighty as the Left Hand Brewing Co. label would lead you to believe, but you’ll forget that embellishment once a Good Juju ginger beer or Milk Stout hits your palate. The Left Hand tasting room exudes the laid-back Boulder County vibe, which makes everything taste even better.

Climb up a thirst: The Monkey’s Skull in St. Vrain Canyon near Allenspark offers four 5.10 routes that are challenging and complex but still quite manageable.

Jacob Harkins is the founder of Local Winos Media.

Chad Greedy gets an alpine high. Photo: Caroline Treadway

Colorado’s high peaks and big, solid rock faces offer some of the finest alpine climbing in the country. The Diamond Face on Longs Peak is the preeminent alpine big-wall in the Rockies and the Crestones and San Juans offers multi-pitch alpine routes on par with some of the best in the Alps. But what about all of those big granite blocks up in the Colorado high country?

Recently many climbers have turned their attention away from the summits of the state’s towering peaks to focus on the massive boulders littering the bases of these mountains. That change in attitude began not long after the introduction of the commercial crash pad in the 1990s, which allowed for riskier climbing above uneven landing zones. Soon, climbers began to explore the dramatic valleys of Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP). As climbers shifted their perspective to climbing these smaller, harder summits, suddenly they saw the potential was limitless.

Rocky Mountain National Park’s Emerald Lake was the first place climbers ventured into in the high country for bouldering in earnest. But the arduous two-mile approach to 10,080 feet, erratic weather patterns and complex landings here didn’t endear the place to  a bouldering community that was accustomed to easy roadside access. However, the quality of the stone and pristine setting beneath the towering walls of Hallett Peak drew some intrepid souls.

In the fall of 1998, world-class climber Tommy Caldwell hit upon another prime bouldering spot in the park. Chaos Canyon’s gigantic field of blocky and swirly gneiss surrounding Lake Haiyaha, which sits at 10,219 feet.

“Chaos was the freaking mother lode,” says Caldwell, an Estes Park local. “For me it was like winning the lottery.”

In an adrenaline frenzy, he spent two days, exploring the heap of boulders below the sparkling lake. The overhanging features and complicated landings called for stacks of pads, so Caldwell invited his friends Herman Fiessner and Brian Capps to join him. Over the first few days, they established a handful of classics in absolute solitude.

Shortly after, Caldwell left on a two-month trip to California. The news about Chaos Canyon’s riches spread like wildfire, and local residents were among the first to head for the new bouldering playground.

“The first day I returned home to Estes I hiked straight up to Chaos and there were about 25 people in the boulders,” says Caldwell.

The exploratory vibe and potential for hard climbing soon attracted Dave Graham, one of America’s strongest climbers. Over the next few years, Graham and his friends, including Luke Parady, Chad Greedy, Nick Sagar, Theo Merrin and several others put “The Park” on the map by laying a solid foundation of modern test pieces up to V14 on the obvious boulders in Lower and Upper Chaos. In an instant the value of these blocks of high alpine granite increased and everyone wanted to stake their claim.

The influx of climbers led groups of industrious boulderers to search for gems in other alpine areas based on rumors from traditional climbers and by scanning aerial photos on Google Earth, TerraServer, Bing and USGS Maps.

In the summer of 2002, Ben Scott, Ken Kenny and Rob Pizem decided to explore the lush valleys of 14,265-foot Mount Evans near Idaho Springs. Five years prior, Pete Takeda had recognized great potential on the granite blocks scattered around the tundra below the multi-pitch route he was climbing on the Black Wall. It was 1997, and he thought, “no one is going to come here for bouldering.” But he managed to convince Phil Benningfield, Eric Greene and Pete Zoller to visit the area a couple of times even though most people didn’t yet believe the place held much potential as a bouldering destination.

Kenny and Pizem became converts, however, and they convinced Scott and a few others to hike from the Summit Lake parking lot at 12,830 feet down into the glacial cirque along a scenic trail laden with delicate alpine flowers. From the rim, it was immediately apparent that they had entered the promised land. Hundreds of king-sized blocks with steep angles, immaculate features and flat landings spread out over four stacked areas they dubbed simply A, B, C and D.

“I couldn’t imagine a more spectacular bouldering scene,” Scott says. “I was giddy like a little kid in a candy store.” There were sticky slopers on rounded arêtes, miniscule crimps on sheer faces and smooth, blocky features on overhanging walls.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Scott said. “I could literally see Denver from the boulders and not one of them appeared to have been climbed on before.”

That first summer, Scott along with his crew of Jeremy Bisher, Jason Tarry, Dave Ludders and Cameron Cross cleared a trail system through the scrub oak, cherry picked the best lines from V0-V10 and attempted the hard projects. Only a handful of climbers knew about the boulders at this time, and with RMNP now discovered, they remained tight-lipped about the place. But word got out.

“Suddenly Area A was cooler then Lower Chaos, and before we knew it 50 people were sitting at the Dali boulder one day.”

As soon as climbers began sharing photos, videos and 8a.nu scorecards boasting hard first ascents, it was impossible for any boulderer to resist. The abundance of boulders and cool conditions in an unspoiled landscape drew climbers from around the globe. In a matter of a few years, Colorado’s alpine boulders went from being virtually unknown to an international bouldering destination.

This new approach also birthed a generation of boulderers willing to explore further and climb higher than ever before.

“Generally speaking, before RMNP climbers didn’t hike much to boulders,” Caldwell remarked. “Chaos introduced a spirit of exploration into the high country for bouldering.”

For the past five years, Colorado’s alpine environs have been regarded as one of the best places to boulder and beat the heat during the summer months. Development has continued at a consistent pace and the gaps are filling in with enjoyable moderates alongside some of the hardest problems in the world. Although the most obvious spots at the popular, Original areas are now nearly exhausted, there are still endless projects hidden amongst the talus and trees.

Of course, too much growth can be a bad thing. The fragile alpine tundra has taken a serious beating from foot traffic and crash pad placement over the last 10 years. Rocky Mountain National Park rangers are monitoring the impact—they are most concerned with the proliferation of off-trail use.

“The easiest way for them to shut down these climbing areas is to say boulderers are destroying the fragile environment,” Scott says. “Everyone needs to start working together to preserve this amazing area.”

Legitimizing the scene, Sharp End Publishing released a Bouldering RMNP and Mount Evans guidebook in June, documenting nearly 400 problems. But there are other areas and the supply of boulders is far from exhausted.

“If you look at all of Colorado, there are thousands of potential boulders,” said Jamie Emerson, the author of the guidebook. “It really comes down to how far people really want to hike.”

Climber Angela Payne agrees: “The extra work and effort that it takes to reach these areas is well worth the all-around experience of climbing in an alpine area.”

Writer Abbey Smith recently returned from bouldering in the Indian Himalayas. Colorado’s alpine bouldering areas are her inspiration and training ground.

Hot Rocks Bonus

ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK
RMNP contains some of the most beautiful boulders in the state, perhaps only rivaled by Mt. Evans. The setting is alpine, with crisp granite and gneiss boulders. Positioned in a talus field, at 10,000-11,000 feet. Classics here are Autobot (V5), Tommy’s Arête (V7), and Bush Pilot (V11).

MOUNT EVANS
Accesing these perfect, freestanding granite blocks requires a steep, burly one hour hike in after parking at 10,000 feet. The reward? Super classic highballs. Archetypal lines not be missed are Timeline (V0+ R), tall and with a committing finish via slopers on licheny ripples; Maker’s Mark (V5), 15 feet, climbs hanging arête to slopey mantle; and Bierstadt (V9), ascending the underbelly of the Bierstadt Corridor.

INDEPENDENCE PASS
Independence Pass contains a plethora of alpine bouldering on granite and metamorphosed gneiss located at 10,000 feet. The base of the Grotto Wall, beneath the trad line Cryogenics 5.11c is the Upper Boulderfield, a good place for beginners. The Ineditable (V6-V7 X) is one of the tall/great Colorado problems. The moderate highball here is Jaws (V3), which ascends a jug haul along roof to an engaging crux 20 feet off the deck.

—Chris Van Leuven

Stronger Than Fiction: Largo’s career has traversed from the first free acscent of The Nose to writing. Photo: Keith Ladzinski

Nicknamed “Largo” becaue of his massive size, 55-year-old John Long, has spent almost a decade seeking that perfect suspended moment in time. Alongside the likes of Rick Harrison, Ricky Accomazzo and Jim Bridwell, Largo was one of the original Stonemasters, who pushed the envelope in the 70’s California climbing scene. In 1975, he, Bridwell and Billy Westbay made the first one-day ascent of El Cap’s The Nose. He then spent the 1980s exploring jungles and islands with Bridwell and later with Dwight Brooks. He rappelled off the world’s largest waterfall, and discovered the world’s largest river cave.

Long holds two post-graduate degrees, one in fine arts with an emphasis on lit and one in psychology. He says they were, “just on the side, fucking around, because I was interested in it at the time.” Largo’s always been a writer, whetting his craft with literary magazines and climbing mags in college, and progressing into adventure writing (both fiction and non-fiction), TV shows and the Hollywood movie script of Sylvester Stallone’s “Cliffhanger.” He’s authored 16 books, and 1,000 television shows, ranging from David Frost’s Nixon interviews, to comedy with Chris Rock. “I never had another job,” he says.

Today, he’s tirelessly publishing vignettes, primarily focusing on climbing coffee-table books, evoking the experience through his work in text and photos, with a firm emphasis on design. These books are like “mini movies” he says.

How did you start climbing?

I started lifting weights in high school in the ’60s. I just kept getting bigger and bigger. It was fun swinging 150-pound dumbbells. But it got to be too much, I was weighing like 225. I didn’t want the ghastly amount of drugs you had to do [to compete]. And it got in the way of climbing and ocean kayaking. I got started in climbing at 15, then it got pretty hot and heavy once I was a junior—I could drive. Then we went all the time.

Rick Harrison and Ricky Accomazzo were both in my town. Accomazzo was a spectacularly great climber at one time. Harrison pretty much did everything—from the Totem Pole, to multiple lines up El Cap, even [John] Gill boulder problems. He lived right up the street from me. At Rubidoux, near Riverside, we ran into Phil Haney. He used to climb with Gill. Up to that point we were pretty dangerous. He was super-athletic, and climbed like Gill, climbing V8 back in the early 70s. He was one of the first climbers to use chalk. So we got chalk bags and we were off. We were climbing in red PA’s, RD’s. Those were pre EB‘s. I also climbed in Robbin’s boots for a bit but I didn’t like ‘em.

What was one of your most memorable climbing experiences in the early days?

Pisano [Overhang], 12c/d in 1973 at Suicide [Rocks]. It was the first world-wide legitimate 5.12. The pro was terrible. The whole summit block was expanding. It’s a [roof] offwidth. Rich Harrison rapped off the lip and slammed a bong in so I had pro at the end. This flake [the pro was in] was really expanding. I arranged two weird pieces of pro underneath the thing and gunned it and made sure I didn’t come off. I couldn’t fall off of it because I would have broken my back.

How did go from climbing to exploration?

I went into jungle explorations in the ‘80s. I did a few trips with Bridwell. Then with Dwight Brooks. We spent six or seven years around the South Pacific, visiting islands. One of the cool ones was the world’s largest river cave in the Gulf province of Papua New Guinea that was only rumored to exist. But it did.

Any memorable experiences from those trips?

In 1988, I went to Venezuela for a Guinness Book of World Records TV show—they wanted to break the world rappelling record. I decided to do it on Angel Falls. I went down there with Jim Bridwell. That’s a big ass wall, 3,000 feet. We had all these 600-foot rappels. Sometimes, you’d be hanging way out from the wall. When you reached the end of the rope, you had to tie in the other. It was dangerous as shit. It was windy. We were finally able to swing into a shoulder after 2,000 feet and finally got down. We had machetes to clear the landing zone for the helicopter. It was foggy, stormy and night. Back then, it was all seat-of-the-pants stuff. No radar. The only way to see was to be close to the river. I held Bridwell out of the helicopter to see the trees. He’d yell to me and I’d yell directions to the pilot. The trees were chewing into the blades. That was pretty much a nightmare from the second we stepped out of the helicopter on top until we were outta there. It’s amazing we didn’t die.

Do you find writing to be a challenge?

You’re trying to bottle lighting, to grasp and channel that experience and put it onto the page.  You’re trying to find that suspended moment with almost no intervening on the writer’s behalf, to get it straight down. People can interpret it however they want. I used to be really hard-fisted with it. Now, I write as simply and cleanly as I can.

What are you working on now?

My agent got me on narrative picture books, a hybrid of an art book and a novel.  We’re doing a book on glam utopia. Bisexuals. Tattoos. I’m also doing one called Sand in My Hair on beach culture. Dean Peterson is the photographer.

And what about Stonemaster Press?

It’s just a sideline thing. We started a small book publishing company to do elite hardback climbing. Next is Seminal Yosemite, starting back at Astroman [first free ascent in 1975] up to Dean Potter soloing the Rostrum with a parachute and Honnold free soloing Half Dome. That should be a super good project with unbelievable photographs from over the years. We call it a mythos: word, narrative and design.

Chris Van Leuven is the co-author of Yosemite Big Walls and blogs for Elevation Outdoors.