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URBAN CLIMBER MAGAZINE - FINISH HOLD
Got something to say that we can close the book on? Send it over to
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 FINISH HOLD - #26
“Climbing far transcends some recreational activity that bides my time. It’s a lifestyle that unites my mind, body and soul in a beautiful, chaotic melody.” —Mark Mellette  FINISH HOLD - #25 - Good Friction
A cold wind whips through Prescott, Arizona, howling as it weaves past trees and my house. Out in the driveway the wind is so strong it’s hard to stand. I unlock my truck and climb in. With a turn of the key, it gives a whine of protest before starting. As I drive through downtown an unseen force pushes me from side to side.  FINISH HOLD - #24 - Alex is #1
Small-town girl Alex Johnson, 19, of Hudson, Wisconsin, took first for the women in the bouldering World Cup this June, at the Teva Mountain Games in Vail, Colorado. She climbed with confidence and determination to beat out the reigning world champ, Anna Stöhr and 13th-ranked Katharina Saurwein, both of Austria. Alex’s win helped answer the question, “Can American competitors hold their own on the world stage?”  FINISH HOLD - #23 - Homesick
WORDS AND PHOTO BY TIFFANY HENSLEY - A wide-angle panorama of drastic and dark mountains underscoring toothily the bronze, dawning sky—voluptuous clouds slothed over these mountains with hypnotizing rhythm; a slow, single, continuous heartbeat. Rusty boulders with pock-marked faces look up at these clouds, a light darkness moving across their bulky bodies in abstract patches.  FINISH HOLD - #22 - The Fence on Carter Lake
By Matt Samet - Sometimes they blow up the boulders quietly, sneaking in at night to unroll their fences. And sometimes the heavy machinery moves under your nose, the dynamite seated by expert, brutish hands. Since matter can neither be created nor destroyed, lamenting lost rocks is a cosmic mistake. A two-foot hunk of stone has neither more nor less intrinsic value than a 20-foot one. Tell yourself that, no matter what might come.  FINISH HOLD - #21 - Chalkcloud
Chalkcloud of thoughts/Irregular breathing beating against/The heart expanding/Gripping the palms/Fist of energy released like flicking/Water to dry ground/Squeeze the mind/The tension pushing out/Worry and wish/While sweat pellets reflect/Blue-grey/The sky and rock unified in mirror/As chalked fingertips/ Ground white magnesium carbonate/Consume the body’s watery origin/The first touch on stone/Carefully sensitive/Conserves the energy for this tactile task  FINISH HOLD - #20 - excerpt from THE NIGHT CLIMBERS OF CAMBRIDGE
Quote excerpted from The Night Climbers of Cambridge. Originally published in 1937 under the pseudonym Whipplesnaith, it was written by a group of Cambridge graduates who, during their time as students, found adventure and kinship climbing the ancient, stunning architecture of their university and town buildings. The book, which is now seeing its 70th edition, has earned cult classic status and is a must-have for climbers of all types. Look forward to the next issue of Urban Climber for a feature story about the fascinating Night Climbers of Cambridge.  FINISH HOLD - #19 - Backstepping
I walk, I walk/ in pine-scented sun/on a waking rattler/Serpentine glide/with delicate flagging/lean-she sendsIcy moonlit drifters/gently tap/on my tent/I dream wild dynamic flashes/of leaping/withering sockeye/Ouch!/A black fly tries/your good spot  FINISH HOLD - #18 - Memoirs of Yamnuska
whose hands and feet are craving real rock/whose eyes would rather squint at the sun than glimpse another grey cloud/whose ears are reminiscing the rustling of the trees/whose nose and mouth wants that refreshing, clean breeze/and whose entire being is just home-sick for Nature/and to return again to the wilderness.  FINISH HOLD - #17 - Before
“What about that?” he said over and over, pointing to each new sequence as if it were a game, and I, who had not yet fallen, still a novice, reached up for a jug hold and swung my body into a lieback, feet crossing, hips twisting back and forth up the cave roof, above the broken concrete blocks, the limestone rippling yellow and purple, as the shadows wavered, cool as underwater plants  FINISH HOLD - #16 - My Friendly Nemesis
People are imprisoned by their homes/The cold guards their door/Children stare out windows, hopelessly bored/So cold, and a blanket of snow/The trees shiver each time the wind blows/Beautiful I think, cold and pristine/The crowds die out along with the green/Step out of the car, piggy back my old friend/Exhale like a dragon, my breath spells out “send”/Walking through the forest, I spot nemeses from the past  FINISH HOLD - #15 - A Familiar Reflection
WORDS BY JASON ROBERTS/ PHOTO BY KRISTEN UBALDI - As I gently brush my hands off, intent on approaching a new problem in an unknown gym, the clutter of random holds and neon tape sends me spiraling down memory lane...This journey into the psyche of a climber began 3,000 miles away, on the east coast, when I was nineteen. A short time after being introduced to bouldering, I was fortunate to realize the most incredible aspect of the sport - its absolute ability to elevate past the importance of winners and losers and zero in on personal rewards, friendships and mind-altering experiences.  FINISH HOLD - #14 - Fusion
What is art for/But to search and explore/The vast and obscure/Depth of e -/ Motion after exact/& fluid motion/We climb a rock/With soul devotion/How can art Be/Without a constant/Reach into creativity/So reach high/Girls n guys/It matters not  FINISH HOLD - #13 - A Perfect Moment...
a perfect moment.../...unfolds after eight hours in the back seat of my pick-up truck when two young rock climbers get psyched to pull down. never mind that it's eleven thirty at night, and we still have an hour left on the drive home. never mind that they're third day on and planning to climb hard tomorrow.  FINISH HOLD - #12 - [sAne.]
The ability to flow smoothly through a particular set of motions in a particular discipline has always fascinated me, especially when executed spontaneously. Whether going for a perfect link up of power moves on linoleum or on rock, going to a live performance or performing myself, I admire the ability to flow through a complicated sequence of events. I love to climb. I love to dance. I can't help but draw on whatever surfaces I can make a mark on.  FINISH HOLD - #11 - Live Your Ticklist
You won't know bouldering until you approach your project with a cool stride, masking the turmoil of anxiety and tension in your gut. You won't know bouldering until your hands have been dipped in your chalk and are bearing down on the beginning holds; a meeting of old acquaintances. You won't know bouldering until the nervousness, the pressure and all thoughts that stray from your sole purpose dissipate, aware of only the rock and nothing else.  FINISH HOLD - #10 - History in Stone
It's last summer and I'm standing in northern Utah's Logan Canyon. A light breeze carrying the scent of scrub oak and evergreens touches my face. I breathe deeply, taking in the canyon's thick smell. Looking at the large limestone wall dotted with small metal bolts, I prepare myself to dance with the mountain. The stone speaks and each climb has a personality of its own.  FINISH HOLD - #9 - Harvest
As I approach I feel the crisp chill mountain breeze fill me, making me one. / The frost capped grass crunches beneath me. / Around the bend, down the hill looms the dragon. / Defeating me everyday during the summer. / I feel it taunt me as I casually assemble my armor. / The past will not become the future.  FINISH HOLD - #8 - What does it mean to be an urban climber?
It means treasuring the weekends away, crossing out the weekdays of your calendar as you approach Friday, when you plan to take yet another sick day and head out to the Valley, to Bishop, to Lost Rocks, to wherever you and your friends have planned, with already having called and e-mailed back and forth all the details of who is going to drive and bring food and who has what gear.  FINISH HOLD - #7 - Making The Best of What's Around
We stop and listen. It is midnight in a well-lit construction sight, and my friend and I are trying to look invisible despite the crash pads on our backs. A few moments pass; the only sounds are the creaking of the building, and plastic sheeting flapping in the breeze outside. We keep on walking. Down a corridor, through a door, and into a large room. There is a forklift, a couple spools of electric wire, boxes upon boxes full of asbestos, I-beams, a half-eaten pizza, and about a centimeter thick layer of dirt, dust and grime on the floor. But we don't see any of this. |
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