By Abbey Soukup
There are few feats greater than achieving a goal fueled by passion, grit, and little purpose beyond pure Type II fun. Horseshoe Hell is one of them.
Tucked away in the lush green hills of the Ozarks in Jasper, Arkansas, a convergence of athleticism, absurdity, tenacity, and unadulterated joy unfolds each year during the annual aptly named rock climbing festival 24 Hours of Horseshoe Hell. A little over a month removed from the experience, I’m still processing what exactly the hell happened during this fateful weekend in September, a crunchy fever dream fueled by Red Bull, protein bars, and the power of community, maybe.
While I never thought of myself as a climber who would ever compete in such an event, self-identified as mediocre and largely inconsistent in my pursuit of the sport, I was coerced by a friend, climbing setter, and one of the most badass climbers I know, Aubrey Park, to compete.
Centered around the Horseshoe Canyon Ranch climbing area, the 21-year-old climbing celebration and competition featured three events during the last weekend of September: “The 12”, 24-Hours of Horseshoe Hell, and the newly established bouldering competition in 2023, the Devil’s Disco. Each event consists of a mix of prequalified teams and competitors selected through a lottery system that participants can enter in the months leading up to the competition.
In terms of experience, this event certainly holds value in novelty. I was convinced to enter the lottery by the sentiment that there was a chance I wouldn’t be selected. When I found out we’d been selected to compete, it was minimal excitement that flooded my brain and mostly dread. But I’m not a quitter, and I trained the best I could: mediocrely and inconsistently. The day of the competition arrived without permission.
The goal of the competition is simple: climb as many routes as possible on lead and at redpoint. In simple terms, climbers bring a rope up the route with them and must complete the climb in a single, uninterrupted attempt. No breaks. If you fall, you start over.
My concerns about entering the competition specifically centered around the fact that, in my heart, I do not enjoy lead climbing. It usually scares the shit out of me, and I’m engaged to marry an extremely strong climber who will put up any rope I please. I have no reason to feel the weight of taking a whip, but I knew this was holding me back in my pursuits on the wall; that if I could desensitize myself to the sensation of climbing on lead, I’d be better for it.
Simply put, sometimes we have to do the things we don’t want to do, which, although true, feels ridiculous when applied to the event that is Horseshoe Hell.
Horseshoe Canyon Ranch features more than 900 total routes and boulder problems and approximately 420 to 500-plus bolted sport and traditional climbing routes on the main canyon walls. While there are set paths for teams to prequalify for next year’s event, teams come into the competition with different goals as a collective and as individual climbers, and different ideas of how to execute those goals. Many participants simply want to finish the competition, with the idea of breaking records or finding a place on the podium serving as a cherry on top of the experience.
For me, the idea of earning a spot on the podium was a joke I began telling Park and those who asked, “What’s your plan?”
“To win,” I’d reply with a devilish grin, ensuring whoever was asking knew there was no chance in hell I’d do more than compete and hopefully finish the 12 hours strong.
We went in with no plan, a laundry basket of 70-meter rope (our first big mistake, most climbs don’t require more than a 40), sparkly wings on our backs, and glitter on our faces. Our team name was the Crag Fairies, after all, and no, the wings didn’t count as aid.
We began on Doomsday Wall, crushing a series of 5.8s. I was pleased to feel unafraid by the fourth climb, partially due to the massive whip I took while making my last move to the anchors on the climb, New Doomsday. Along with my fear, my finger pads also diminished, dry-firing off two chicken heads while searching for the next hold. It was just more than an hour into the competition, with a painful 10 hours still to come.
The next six or so hours were bleak. I was dehydrated and under fueled. I pumped myself out on some taller routes and, feeling like the weaker link on my team, was not being transparent with my partner that I was struggling to maintain a good headspace.
After a 20-minute break, we made our way to Kindergarten Boulder in the North 40, which resurrected my sense of humor and spirit. We goofed around on some 5.4 trad routes, laughing as we haphazardly placed a single piece of gear to count the route toward our score. We raced fellow teams as we made our way down the wall, the shorter routes allowing us to enter somewhat of a flow state.
Our goal became to finish 60 climbs as a team in total, and in the last five minutes of the competition, I completed my 27th climb, allowing us to reach that goal as the competition wrapped up.
Delirious and giddy, we made our way back to the registration tent to submit our score, and the last thing I remember was a free beer in my hand and the sweet relief of tequila hitting the back of my throat — shots are a staple in “hell”. Then it was back to our Airbnb, where many of our friends were preparing to compete in the 24-hour competition the next day.
The next morning, we arrived at the ranch just in time to witness the roll call of teams for the 24-hour competition. We cheered for our friends as their team names were called. Well-rested following the craze of the day before, sleep had never felt so good.
Once the shotgun fired, signaling the beginning of the daylong competition ahead, we spent the day on a few boulder problems with our group before wandering off to spectate the 24. Better said, I watched Park crush a few routes while I continued to squeeze pus from my swollen finger pads. Personally, I had no desire to climb that day.
Though teams carry the same goal, competitors span decades in age, as well as ability. Competing in “The 12” myself was a powerful experience, and the weight of watching three-time Devil’s Disco champions Cameron Epley and Caden Rose continue to crush into hour 10 of the 24 after competing in the 12-hour event the day before was maddening and equally inspiring, especially knowing ropes aren’t even their preferred medium for climbing rock.
The pair, with Epley formerly serving as Rose’s climbing coach, have topped the bouldering competition since the event’s introduction in 2023. Seeking a new challenge, the duo decided to trade their crash pads for harnesses and ropes, opting to compete in both the 12- and 24-hour Horseshoe Hell events, climbing a total of 36 hours across two days.
“I’ve known about Horseshoe Hell for at least 12 years, but honestly, I never thought I would be going because it was a rope comp and I was primarily a boulderer. Once the Devil’s Disco came around in 2023, I was all in,” Epley said.
Saying the pair had trained “like demons,” Epley recounted their preparation leading up to their first Disco: running laps on harder routes, doing up-and-downs on easier lines, and even climbing the popular V10, Kneeling Before Power, blindfolded.
Epley attributed the team’s success, including first-place finishes and top individual scores at the Devil’s Disco from 2023 to 2025, to their shared stoke, experience, and intense training regimen. Their decision to retire from the bouldering side of Hell ultimately came down to a desire to experience the event in its entirety: 36 hours of Horseshoe Hell.
“Our entire goal this year is to go in with no plan or knowledge and learn as much as we can,” Epley said.
Although the two have done ample indoor rope climbing, their outdoor climbing experience, while impressive, is relatively limited.
“Speaking for myself, I probably climbed fewer than 20 outdoor sport climbs prior to the event,” Epley said.
“Two boulderers, completely out of their element and ready for a humbling experience. It’s going to be a great time.”
I caught up with the pair roughly eight hours into their 24-hour stint in Hell. Working through the Wall of First Morning Light in the North 40, Epley reported they were ahead of schedule as he smoothly dispatched Cows of the Mist, a cheeky 5.7. By approximately 4:30 p.m., the duo had completed 47 climbs, putting them ahead of the pace they maintained during the 12-hour competition the previous day.
Watching and chatting with the duo, I was impressed, but my ego was bruised. As previously stated, I have never thought of myself as a great climber, yet the positive attitude radiating from the pair in hour eight of their 24-hour climbathon felt like a playful mockery of my own experience.
I watched in amazement as Epley indulged in a bit of overhanging terrain not even halfway through the 24. For fun, of course. Not worried about pacing his pump. Unfazed. A true athlete wrapped up in the joy of the moment.
I said goodbye to Epley and Rose, wary of interrupting the unspoken dynamic they had built over years of climbing together.
Drunk on energy drinks and the intoxicating energy of the event, Park and I decided to stay on the ranch overnight, route-finding for our friends still competing. We watched as our friends, sleep-deprived and physically exhausted, pushed past their primitive instincts to rest and kept climbing.
As the hours counted down, the sun began to rise over the horizon of the Horseshoe, highlighting the natural curve of the canyon. My friends prequalified for the following year, and as 10 a.m. approached, they finished their final climb just after 9:30.
Coffees in hand, Park and I stood with friends on the balcony and watched the teams from the 24-hour competition descend toward the registration area from all corners of the Horseshoe. I spotted Epley and Rose out of the corner of my eye and made my way over to congratulate them on completing their self-described “36-hour suffer fest.”
“That sucked,” Epley replied with a sheepish smile when I asked how the rest of the competition went.
“I can’t wait to do it again.”
And I believe that final comment encapsulates the type-B fun that radiates from the climbing community.
Maybe we’re crazy. Maybe our brains are broken.
Maybe we don’t know how to feel life’s excitement without risking our lives.
Maybe it’s all three and then some.
In a world increasingly defined by 9-to-5 schedules and the plague of screen addiction, I feel grateful to be part of a community that exists beyond life’s ordinary expectations; one of climbers who rise from the ashes of Hell to spend a stupid amount of time on rock for no reason other than, why not?
And while winning was always a fun joke to throw around, Park and I did end up earning a spot on the podium, placing second in the recreational division.
This mediocre, inconsistent climber did, in fact, win a trophy.
And hundreds of miles away from Jasper, sitting at my computer in southeren Colorado, I can still hear the roar of Hell calling back.
Maybe for the 24-hour competition in 2027.
Anything is possible, especially at Horseshoe Hell.
My Climbing-Fit Finds of the Season
Like many of you, I’m quite picky about the clothing I play in, and as a climber, my preferences haven’t always felt considered by brands in the outdoor space. Like many women, my proportions are uniquely my own, and though we all feel that way about our bodies, it can still be an alienating process to find garments to move in that check all of your boxes.
Because my level of comfort has so much to do with my tenacity and persistence in sport, I have spent precious time and money finding pants that make me feel confident and comfortable from the gym to the crag, an ordinary session after work, or a 24-hour festival competition; a pant for everywhere and everything in between.
Let’s first establish where the bar sits for my standards in a climbing pant. It, of course, has to be breathable. I will avoid harness swamp ass at all costs. The material must hug me only where it’s supposed to. There’s nothing worse than camel toe or hybrid fabric clinging to the back of your calves. The waistband needs to be fitted but not restrictive. The crotch needs to fit my proportions, with no bulging fabric. Subjectively, I’m not a fan of form-fitting clothing, so a wide leg is always a bonus.
And my biggest pet peeve of all when it comes to women’s outdoor clothing is when brands take the men’s pant and simply add more room for ass. I don’t want a men’s pant. I want a pant made for me. A woman. And with that, my carefully curated review of my climbing-fit finds of the season.
Mountain Hardwear Woman’s Dynama High Rise Ankle Pant
Women’s Dynama High Rise Ankle Pant | Mountain Hardwear
I’ll say it once, as concisely as I can: if you’re going to use generic sizing for women (XS, S, M, L), you need to have an adjustable waistband.
These pants are not for the sh-medium girlies.
You know who you are. Your thighs are a medium; your waist is a small.
These pants were breathable and fit my legs perfectly, only to leave me with the saggiest ass and crotch imaginable. The waistband sits flush, which would be flattering if it actually fit. You can’t even fold over the top seam to simulate a tighter fit, as it uses the same thick, seamless waistband often found in women’s leggings.
If you are someone who is a true small, I think these pants are great in theory. If you’ve dealt with sizing ambiguity, save your money if you’re ordering online. These pants fit in a very objective, linear way.
Mountain Hardware Women’s Crater Lake Heavyweight Half Zip Hoody
Women’s Crater Lake™ Heavyweight Half Zip Hoody | Mountain Hardwear
In stark contrast to my feelings about the pants, this layer is durable, versatile, and cute. No sacrifice of fashion here.
I went with the purple colorway. The fabric is breathable yet insulated, keeping me warm through a morning hike or climbing session while effectively managing sweat through moisture-wicking breathability.
This core layer is in direct competition with my Melanzana as a base layer, if only the hood had a slightly better fit.
I love the quarter-zip front, but paired with the hood, it’s giving worm.
I would have liked more of a transition from the neckline to the hood itself, or for the brand to have skipped the hood altogether.
This piece did make the cut for my outfit while competing in 12-hours of Horseshoe Hell…I wore the layer throughout the coolness of the morning, and offered some protection from the sun.
Women’s Stretchdown Light Hooded Jacket
Women’s StretchDown™ Light Hooded Jacket | Mountain Hardwear
Another win for Mountain Hardwear.
This jacket answered my prayers by cropping the hem at the waist, allowing for a boxier, oversized silhouette without completely washing out my figure. It’s lightweight yet warm and packs down nicely, even in an 18-liter daypack.
The pockets are perfectly placed and appropriately sized to fit hands or a set of keys. The zippers stay secure without threatening to open on their own.
Along with the layer, there’s no doubt both of these pieces will carry me into ski season, keeping me warm and fashionable.
Rab Rowter Pants
Women’s Rowtor Pants | Rab® US
These pants are a home run and easily my most-worn pant of the late climbing season.
Breathable yet durable, they boast a slim silhouette without hugging any part of my legs. There’s a classic button-and-zipper closure in the front, with an adjustable waistband accessed through the sides.
I love cuffing the bottoms to create a more pronounced flare at the ankle, and the true-black colorway matches everything.
The waistband stays snug once adjusted but never squeezes my hips. An added bonus: it doesn’t ride down while climbing and consistently stays above the waistband of my harness.
Women’s Force Hoody
I’ll be the first to say I love the idea of a sun shirt but hate it in practice.
As someone who is almost constantly managing clothing-related overstimulation, especially while recreating, the last thing I want is another layer clinging to sweat-soaked skin. In summer heat, I want to wear as little clothing as possible, so a sun shirt is usually “forgotten” at home.
However, the Colorado sun is powerful, and in pursuit of maintaining my youth, I understand the value of sun protection. It’s also nice to avoid the greasy stickiness of sunscreen.
This Rab sun shirt is the best version of my least favorite type of garment.
It is, of course, lightweight and sun-protective, but the selling point for me is how little I notice it while wearing it. The fabric barely feels present against my skin. It doesn’t cling when wet and maintains its breathability throughout the day.
For an anti-sun-shirt recreator, I’ll wear Rab’s. And maybe even like it.
Salewa Wildfire NXT Shoe Women
Wildfire NXT Shoe Women | Salewa® USA
During my preparation for Horseshoe Hell 2026, I was looking for an approach shoe I could potentially climb routes rated 5.9 and below in. The skinny silhouette was promising, but as a slab-enthused climber who relies heavily on her feet, I just couldn’t bear the sensation of climbing without an aggressive toe.
Though they ultimately weren’t utilized for their intended purpose, this pair does rival my beloved Keen Jaspers.
I enjoy the Jaspers for their comfort and wide toe box; however, the grip on this pair far exceeded both my experience with the Keens and my expectations. Only half-joking, the grip on these shoes makes me feel like I could walk vertically up a wall without falling.
I wore these shoes for the first part of Horseshoe Hell, but in full transparency, I opted to destroy my feet and toenails by wearing my Scarpa climbing shoes for the majority of the day in an effort to save time between climbs. As a result, my approach shoes spent most of the competition living in my bag.
That all said, I’m still reaching for my Keens first when heading to the crag. Maybe if I had sized down, I would have found a new favorite approach shoe, but the Keens continue to be my clear winner for crag-day footwear.
Patagonia Women’s Outdoor Everyday Pant
Purchased impulsively in the fall of 2025, these pants have become a staple in my climbing wardrobe. Boasting a steep $120 price tag, they were admittedly a difficult purchase for me to justify, but I can confirm they’ve held up well and remain a pair I consistently reach for.
I love the look of these pants. The purple color is understated yet feminine. The wide leg is stylish while still maintaining a flattering fit through the thigh. I usually hate a drawstring waistband because it tends to feel restrictive around my lower stomach, but the stiffness of the fabric keeps everything breathable and comfortably in place. My one complaint is that you can be heard coming down the trail from a mile away. Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
The windbreaker-esque material is so loud between my legs. Though, if you have a thigh gap, I imagine this wouldn’t be much of a concern.
In my pursuit of the perfect competition pant, I ultimately found myself wearing these over any of my newer purchases from the season. They stay remarkably clean, wick sweat effectively, and don’t hold odor. The purple also paired perfectly with the Mountain Hardwear layer, completing my cute and functional Horseshoe Hell outfit.
These pants have since been discontinued, though a simple Google search boasts plenty of pairs across second hand resale and overstock websites.
prAna Send Off High Rise Wide Leg Pant
Send Off High Rise Wide Leg Pant | Womens Pants | prAna
While the Patagonias hold a special place in my wardrobe, the prAna Play Pant is my holy grail.
I own them in brown and white, and they are by far the most-worn pants in my closet. Perfectly baggy and endlessly comfortable, the waistband is snug without being restrictive, fitting my waist while maintaining the trendy oversized silhouette that dominates today’s recreation scene.
The fabric is durable but noticeably more flexible than either the Rab or Patagonia options, allowing me to transition seamlessly from yoga class to the crag.
Now two years old, they show some minor pilling, but in full honesty, I don’t take the best care of my clothes. Many garments have fallen victim to my habit of throwing everything into the dryer out of convenience. The white pair has lost some of its original brightness over the years, but not nearly enough to make me consider replacing them.
Like the Patagonia pants, they come with a steep price tag at more than $100. In my opinion, however, they are absolutely worth it.
I would buy this pant in every color if I weren’t trying to be a mindful consumer.
Perfect for climbing, hiking, yoga, lounging around the house, and everything in between, they are athleisure at its finest.
Honorable Mentions
Wild Country Session Quickdraw
Session Quickdraw | Wild Country® USA
Though not technically part of an outfit per se, the Wild Country quickdraws genuinely surprised me in terms of comfort, ease of use, and overall quality.
As a longtime Black Diamond loyalist, I haven’t often felt compelled to stray from the brand that has accompanied most of my climbing career. However, these quickdraws from Wild Country felt noticeably lighter and more dynamic, clipping seamlessly mid-route.
While aesthetics certainly aren’t a performance metric at the crag, the colorway is pretty dang cute, too.
Bajío vs. Goodr
When I first discovered Goodr, I thought my search for recreational sunglasses had ended.
The price point was right. If I lost a pair or needed to replace them, I didn’t feel devastated. Forty dollars is reasonable. They stay securely on my face without squeezing the sides of my head or pinching the bridge of my nose, and they’re incredibly lightweight.
However, before competition season, I was gifted a pair of Bajío sunglasses, and let me tell you: I didn’t know sunglasses could feel so good.
What separates them from Goodr is the curvature of the lenses and frame around the face. They almost wear like a minimalist ski goggle, except there are moments throughout the day when I completely forget I’m wearing them. More than once, I’ve frantically checked every pocket I own, convinced I’d lost them, only to discover they were sitting on top of my head the entire time.
Because of my remarkable ability to misplace my belongings, I don’t think I would personally choose Bajío over Goodr if I were spending my own money. The risk-to-investment ratio simply isn’t in my favor. However, if you’re a sunglasses enthusiast with a proven track record of not losing your shit, Bajío makes a damn good pair of shades for recreation, travel, and long days outside.
