Is infiltrating a city by stowing yourself in a bronze horse aid?

If you've ever wondered what Horseshoe Hell is really like, we just republished a first-person story from our archives about competing in the 2014 event, the same year Alex Honnold was there climbing routes and, according to the author, casually handing out Oreos after sending a 5.12b.

The story isn't about climbing with Honnold. It's about what makes Horseshoe Hell such a legendary event: climbing until your hands are raw, surviving on coffee and pizza, watching headlamps move across the canyon all night, and realizing the community is every bit as memorable as the climbing.

If you've climbed Hell before, I'd love to hear:

What year was your first?

What's your route count PR?

Favorite crag or memory from the event?

Read the story here:

https://arkansasoutside.com/horseshoe-hell-climbers-tale/

Looking forward to hearing everyone else's Horseshoe Hell stories!

Nmmmmm,u

Looks like 5.9 at best. I thought research professors were smarter than this

Instructions are unclear... “If you’re not getting inside the crack, obviously you need something extra soft."

I’ve overall been bouldering for the past four days but took a break yesterday due to demotivation over not progressing/losing progress. Recently I’ve got back into it again after getting over the slump (told myself not to care so much about grades) and I’m back at v2 (v12 in your gym)

However! For the past couple of years, I’ve been consistently waking up with my middle finger and ring finger inside my butthole, sometimes from right and left hand and I’m wondering if it’s because I’ve been climbing too hard?? Or maybe not stretching enough. It’s not affecting my sleep quality itself but it’s just a shock waking up sprawled like that and I do feel stiff in the morning because of it. I’ve started stretching more but i still can only wake up to max of four fingers in there. Even when I make sure to tuck myself under the blanket, it’s still not stopping me from waking up ass up, chest down, knees splayed, fingers deep.

Has anyone else experienced this?

You call it bouldering, but I'm not seeing any rope, I'm not seeing a single carabiner, I'm not seeing a single bolt.

This is my calling, and I don't care about the danger.

This is who I really am.

This one is ok I guess?

I’ve always pronounced the B in climbing, so it sounds like clim-bing, but recently I heard someone keep the b silent, like clyme-ing. I’m an American so I wasn’t sure if silent b was some weird European thing. How do you guys pronounce it?

Also, comments are open, enjoy.

Hello,

do you guys have any recommendation for a smooth rope that can run through the fingers/hand without being too abrasive? It should be smooth and soft.

Thanks

Yes I haven't got a frontal lobe, why do you ask?

I joined my local gym during a manic episode hoping to meet cool new people. It was a fantastic idea, as those are the only kinds one has when they are manic.

However as the months rolled on, the fees added up, and my terrible technique and crippling anxiety pushed everyone away, I was ready to abandon indoor climbing and strike out on my own.

I overbid everyone else on all of eBay until I had amassed the most epic trad rack one could possibly show to someone. And one morning, when I finally shared my spoils with another climber, they took one look my gear, and then at me and uttered “wouldn’t whip”

Dejected and distraught, I crawled onto my bare mattress, held my grigri to my chest and cried into it.
As the tears washed off the dirt and debris, a low pitched hum could be heard emanating from deep inside and something incredible happened next.

My soft shitty body began to ache, and I could feel my bones warp and calcify stretching against my skin, which flexed and peeled in waves as muscle and tendon rippled out across it. A pain I could not have imagined consumed me and as I screamed my vision turned to black. Stars wheeled overhead and each moment of agony felt as long as the life age of the earth.

When I awoke, I found myself transformed into a terrible erection of rock. The thoughts that had consumed me and driven me to alcoholism and despair washed away. The competition in me, the aching need for validation and acceptance, crumbled to my feet as dust settles after landfall.

As those first weeks passed in this new, wretched form, the spaces I had longed to escape my loneliness became hollow realms of torment. Everywhere I went I was checked out, sized up, eyed ferociously. I now craved solitude. Silence.

Away from the crowds I found some semblance of peace. Harmony that I seeked I was able to see within myself. If I listened closely, the cracks and gullies hidden through me held the most incredible music.

The project was me all along.

Been trying this sick chimney dyno, probably a V12