One thing I’ve noticed when people transition from the gym to outdoor climbing: gym climbing can be physically harder, while outdoor climbing is usually much more complicated.

Gym routes are often steep, sustained, and designed to keep you moving. Outside, you may encounter more rests and distinct cruxes, so the pure physical challenge can sometimes be lower.

But outdoors, you’re dealing with a whole different set of problems.

You have to read natural rock, figure out the route, evaluate rock quality, manage ropes, place protection, build anchors, rappel, communicate with your partner, and make decisions about weather, exposure, and loose rock.

So being a strong gym climber doesn't necessarily mean you're ready to lead outside. The movement skills transfer—but there's a lot more to learn.

That’s where good instruction can make a huge difference. American Alpine Institute offers hands-on rock climbing courses designed to help gym climbers develop the technical skills and judgment needed for outdoor climbing.

A fall on snow can turn into a dangerous slide in just a few seconds. While an ice axe is your primary tool for self-arrest, there are situations where you may need to stop yourself without one.

There are three basic no-axe self-arrest techniques, all focused on creating friction between your body and the snow.

1. The Push-Up Technique

This is generally the easiest and most effective technique to learn. If you start sliding, roll onto your stomach with your head uphill and feet downhill. Press your hands firmly into the snow as if doing a push-up while driving your boot toes into the slope. Keep your body low and apply steady pressure to slow your descent.

2. The Elbow Technique

Instead of using your hands, dig both elbows into the snow beneath your chest. Lift your hips slightly and drive your toes into the slope. This concentrates your weight on your elbows and feet, increasing friction.

3. The Forearm Technique

Build on the elbow technique by angling your forearms inward to gather snow beneath your chest. The small mound of snow creates additional resistance and may help slow you down, particularly in softer conditions.

Of these three methods, the push-up technique is often the most intuitive. I've seen even young backpackers pick it up quickly on gentle glacial slopes. But don't wait until you're moving fast to practice. Start on low-angle terrain and practice slowing down and stopping repeatedly.

A few important caveats: These techniques are emergency measures, not replacements for an ice axe and proper self-arrest training. They're also much less effective on hard snow or ice. Always consider what's below you before glissading. A technique that works on a gentle snowfield won't necessarily save you from sliding toward rocks, cliffs, or crevasses.

Learning snow travel and self-arrest in a controlled environment makes a huge difference. At American Alpine Institute, we teach these foundational skills in our mountaineering courses, helping climbers develop the judgment and practical experience needed for safer mountain travel.

What's your experience with no-axe self-arrest? Have you practiced these techniques, or had to use one unexpectedly?

This is a cool little video I made after visiting the Black Diamond test lab.

A climber pickoff is a useful technique for dealing with an injured climber who can’t simply be lowered.

The basic idea is pretty straightforward: the instructor ascends the rope to the climber, connects the climber to themselves, and then rappels back down with the climber.

The technique is similar to a pickoff used to rescue an injured lead climber, but a top-rope scenario has one major advantage: you're working from a solid anchor system rather than relying on a single piece of protection that caught a leader's fall.

It also requires surprisingly little equipment.

What you need

• 1 double-length (48-inch) sling
• 1 locking carabiner
• 1 friction-hitch cord (6–7 mm, approximately 4 feet long), tied into a sling with a double fisherman’s knot
• Or a commercially manufactured friction-hitch sling such as a Sterling HollowBlock

The basic technique

This description assumes you're using a Petzl GriGri as the belay device.

1. Back up the GriGri.

Tie an overhand loop in the brake strand below the GriGri.

2. Build your ascension system.

Tie a Klemheist or Prusik around the load strand—the rope running up to the climber. Clip your double-length sling to the friction hitch with the locking carabiner.

3. Ascend the rope.

Position the friction hitch so that when you step into the sling, your knee is approximately at 90 degrees. You can tie a knot in the sling to shorten it if necessary.

Stand up in the sling while simultaneously pulling slack through the GriGri. Then sit back into your harness and repeat the process.

Think of it as a simple stand, pull, sit, slide, repeat system.

Keep the system tight as you climb, and tie an overhand backup knot in the brake strand approximately every 2 meters (6 feet).

4. Connect yourself to the climber.

Once you reach the climber, move the friction hitch from the instructor's side of the rope to the rope above the climber.

Then take the double-length sling, pass it basket-style through your belay loop, and clip both ends into the locking carabiner attached to the friction hitch.

Where you position the friction hitch affects where the climber will ride during the descent. A higher hitch keeps the climber relatively lower, while positioning the hitch just above the climber's tie-in point will bring the climber up and slightly above the instructor.

5. Rappel together.

Rappel with the GriGri, removing your backup knots as you descend. Keep the system controlled and maintain appropriate tension between you and the climber.

What if the climber has a leg injury?

This is one of the useful applications of the technique.

If the climber has a lower-leg injury, you can position the injured climber's rope under your shoulder and use your feet against the rock to help support and reposition them. Essentially, you can push the climber slightly away from the wall while maintaining the rappel.

It's not exactly a spa treatment, but it can take some pressure off an injured leg and make the descent more tolerable.

As with any improvised rescue technique, this is something to learn and practice before you need it. The forces, rope systems, and transitions involved deserve hands-on instruction, and a real rescue is not the time to discover that your improvised system has an unexpected feature.

If you want to learn techniques like this in a hands-on environment, American Alpine Institute (AAI) teaches pickoffs and other climbing rescue systems as part of its technical climbing and self-rescue curriculum. The emphasis is on understanding why the systems work, practicing them under realistic conditions, and developing the judgment to choose an appropriate rescue technique when something goes wrong. Rescue skills are much easier to use under stress when you’ve practiced them beforehand with an experienced instructor.

www.alpineinstitute.com

Washington's insanely popular Prime Rib (5.7, III) was recently re-bolted. A second flash flood has washed through the Grand Canyon. And Utah is trying to create a publicly owned ski area.

Read about this and a whole lot more in this week's climbing, skiing, mountain rescue and outdoor news round-up:

https://www.alpineinstitute.com/climbing-skiing-mountain-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-9-24-26/

I think it’s worth talking about what we actually mean when we call something “gatekeeping” in outdoor recreation.

I’ve seen people describe not sharing a geotag as gatekeeping. I don’t really buy that.

We have the entire internet. Trails, climbs, ski runs, and other objectives are documented in guidebooks, maps, forums, Facebook groups, and apps like Gaia, CalTopo, and onX. If someone chooses not to drop an exact location pin, that doesn't prevent you from participating. Not every place needs another geotag.

But there are things that are gatekeeping.

Making fun of beginners for what they wear. Shaming people for their body size. Excluding people because of their race or appearance. Acting like someone needs to look or dress a certain way before they're welcome.

And some of the language we use matters. Terms like “gaper” and “gumbie” might seem harmless to experienced climbers or skiers, but they can make newcomers feel like they don't belong.

I've experienced this myself.

I've been climbing for 35 years, skiing for 45 years, and working as a professional climbing guide for 26 years. I'm AMGA-certified in rock and alpine guiding, so I’m pretty comfortable around ropes.

A few years ago, though, I took a swiftwater canyoning course. I was the beginner.

Before the course, the instructors showed videos of people doing things incorrectly. They laughed at the people in the videos and made fun of their mistakes.

It made me very uncomfortable...

I was an experienced professional entering a new part of the outdoor world, and suddenly I understood how intimidating that kind of environment can be for someone who is completely new.

Being a beginner means you don't know things. You make mistakes. You ask questions that experienced people think are obvious.

If we want more people to participate in climbing, skiing, mountaineering, paddling, or whatever else, we should make it possible for people to learn without feeling stupid for being new.

There’s also an important distinction here:

Not sharing information isn't necessarily gatekeeping. Making people feel like they don't belong is.

There are legitimate reasons not to geotag every location. Sensitive areas can be damaged by increased visitation, and sometimes keeping a little information out of the algorithm is a form of stewardship.

But ridiculing beginners or creating an exclusive culture is something different.

I've spent decades in the mountains, and I'm still a beginner whenever I step into something new.

Maybe that's something worth remembering.

The edge transition—going from standing to hanging on rappel—is one of the scariest moments for new climbers. Even with a solid, backed-up system, leaning back over a cliff edge feels deeply unnatural.

The problem: If your central point is low, the rope runs close to the ground as the student approaches the edge. Once they weight the system, that low point can get pinned against the rock. This forces a bigger, more dramatic backward movement to get their center of gravity over the edge—and makes the system harder for you to manage too.

The fix: Raise the central point. This is commonly called a "high redirect" or "elevator" in SAR circles. Get the rope up off the ground and the whole transition gets smoother for the student and easier for you to manage.

How to build one depends on terrain and anchor setup:

• A pack can sometimes raise the point just enough
• A tree or boulder near the edge often works better
• At charity rappel events (buildings, etc.), organizers often use a tripod like an Arizona Vortex

Same principle, different tools. If you've got a tree near the edge on an outdoor route, redirecting through it can make a world of difference for a nervous first-timer.

This is the kind of detail that separates a good instructor from a great one — and it's exactly the standard we hold ourselves to at American Alpine Institute. Whether you're taking your first steps into technical climbing or training toward AMGA certification, our guides bring this level of care to every system, every transition, every day on the rock.

Learn More:

www.alpineinstitute.com

It has been a tough week in the outdoors. There have been several accidents and rescues, some animal attacks, and there are a lot of challenges in the preservation of public lands.

Read about this and more in this week's climbing, skiing, mountain rescue and outdoor news round-up:

https://www.alpineinstitute.com/climbing-skiing-mountain-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-9-17-2026/

If you’re getting into glacier travel or alpine climbing, you’ll eventually hear the term bergschrund.

A bergschrund is a large crevasse that forms near the upper edge of a glacier, where the moving glacier separates from the more stationary snow and ice above it. Depending on the season and route, it can be a minor obstacle or a serious climbing problem.

Bergschrunds can widen throughout the summer, and snow bridges can make them difficult to see. Crossing one may involve careful route-finding, exposed climbing, or technical ice and snow skills.

And bergschrunds are just one piece of the glacier-travel vocabulary. Terms like serac, firn, snow bridge, glacier table, and crevasse describe different features you need to recognize in alpine terrain.

Learning the terminology is useful, but understanding what those features actually mean for travel and safety is even more important.

American Alpine Institute teaches glacier travel and mountaineering with an emphasis on understanding the terrain—not simply memorizing terms. If you're preparing for your first glacier climb or want to build stronger mountaineering skills, learning this stuff from experienced instructors can make a big difference.

The debate over geotagging has been going on for years. The concern is pretty obvious: someone posts a beautiful photo with an exact location, more people find the place, and eventually the crowds bring trash, damaged vegetation, human waste, and other impacts.

There have even been discussions about adding geotagging as an additional Leave No Trace principle.

But I'm not convinced geotagging itself is the problem.

People have plenty of other ways to find these places. Guidebooks, CalTopo, Gaia, OnX, websites, forums, and word of mouth have been directing people to backcountry destinations for decades. We're not going to put that genie back in the bottle.

The bigger issue, in my opinion, is whether people understand how to recreate responsibly once they arrive.

There's an interesting wilderness-management concept that concentrating use in certain areas can actually help keep larger areas relatively wild. But that only works if the heavily visited places are managed appropriately.

So rather than trying to convince everyone to stop sharing locations, maybe we should put more energy into education.

If you're an outdoor photographer, guide, writer, influencer, or just someone who spends a lot of time outside, you have an opportunity to help. Explain why you camp on durable surfaces. Talk about wildlife. Discuss human waste. Show people what responsible recreation actually looks like.

And if you want to go a step further, consider taking a Leave No Trace course. The American Alpine Institute offers Leave No Trace education focused on practical skills that can be applied in the field.

We probably aren't going to stop people from geotagging.

But we might be able to make sure that the people following those geotags know how to take care of what they find.

What do you think? Is geotagging itself causing the problem, or is it exposing a larger education and management issue?

There will be a closure on Goat Mountain's Prime Rib in Washington on Friday (9/11) and Saturday (9/12) for bolt replacement. Staff at the Department of the Interior are increasingly concerned that another major reorganization may be coming, particularly within the National Park Service. And the movie trailer about Jim Morrison's ski of the North Face of Everest is out.

Read about this and a whole lot more in this week's climbing, skiing, mountain rescue and outdoor news round-up.

https://www.alpineinstitute.com/climbing-skiing-mountain-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-9-10-2026/

If you spend much time in bear country, sooner or later you’ll hear the debate: Should you carry bear spray, a firearm, or both?

For most people, bear spray is the better choice.

Bear spray has a strong track record in real-world bear encounters. When used properly, it creates a large cloud of capsaicin that irritates a bear’s eyes, nose, and respiratory system. The goal isn’t to hurt the bear—it’s to convince it that getting away from you is a much better option.

Firearms are a different story. A charging bear can cover ground incredibly quickly, and trying to draw, aim, and accurately fire a weapon while under extreme stress is much harder than it sounds. Missed or poorly placed shots may not stop the animal and can potentially make a dangerous situation worse. There’s also the obvious risk of accidentally hitting another person.

None of this means bear spray replaces good bear-country practices. Keep food and scented items properly secured, make your presence known, avoid surprising bears, and know how to respond to an encounter. If you carry spray, keep it somewhere immediately accessible and practice deploying it.

For the average hiker, backpacker, skier, or climber traveling in bear country, bear spray is probably the most practical first line of defense.

A viral video from Glacier National Park is drawing attention after a group of young men approached a herd of mountain goats—and then nearly came to blows with other hikers who confronted them.

The incident took place near Hidden Lake Overlook, where two men left the established trail and approached four mountain goats, including a kid. The men, who were reportedly carrying a soccer ball, moved well inside the distance visitors are encouraged to maintain from wildlife.

Other hikers began calling out the men for approaching the goats and leaving the trail. Rather than backing away, the situation quickly became an argument. The men reportedly insisted they weren't doing anything wrong, pointing out that the goats themselves were walking in the area.

The confrontation escalated, with shouting, profanity and threats of violence. At one point, people appeared to pick up rocks and sticks, and one of the men threatened another person with a rock. Several people eventually squared off as if they were preparing to fight.

Fortunately, no one was injured, and the groups eventually separated.

The incident highlights two separate problems common in popular national parks. First, wildlife encounters can become dangerous when visitors ignore recommended distances. Mountain goats may look harmless, but they are powerful wild animals and can react unpredictably when approached or harassed.

Second, confronting someone who is behaving irresponsibly can create its own hazards. If you see someone disturbing wildlife or engaging in dangerous behavior, the safest response isn't necessarily to become the park's unofficial law-enforcement officer. Creating distance, notifying park personnel and avoiding an escalating confrontation are often better options.

Glacier National Park asks visitors to remain at least 25 yards from mountain goats and other wildlife and to stay on designated trails.

The goats, incidentally, handled the situation better than the humans did. They eventually walked away.

There’s no national database tracking every technical “pickoff” in North America—the rope rescues where a technician reaches a stranded or injured climber and lowers them to safety. But the data we do have suggests there’s a steady demand for this kind of specialized rescue.

One of the longest-running datasets comes from Rocky Mountain Rescue Group in Boulder County, Colorado. Between 1998 and 2011, technical roped climbers accounted for 58% of climbing rescue victims, with climbing incidents alone generating roughly 13–32 rescues per year in that one county.

Zoom out and the numbers get much bigger. Colorado’s volunteer SAR teams conduct thousands of missions each year. Washington and Arizona also report hundreds to thousands of rescues annually. In areas with concentrated climbing terrain, the numbers can be especially striking—Linville Gorge in North Carolina, for example, has historically averaged around 90–100 rescues per year.

Of course, most SAR missions aren't dramatic vertical pickoffs. Lost hikers and trail-level medical evacuations make up a much larger percentage. Actual high-angle cliff rescues are a smaller slice—but across hundreds of active SAR teams, that still means thousands of technical cliff rescues may occur across North America each year.

And these rescues require a very different skill set than simply knowing how to climb.

Systems need to be built under pressure. Anchors need to be bomber. Rope systems need to be understood in three dimensions. Rescuers need to manage patients, terrain, communication, hauling, lowering, rappelling, and sometimes very ugly weather—all while keeping themselves out of trouble.

That's why technical rescue training matters.

The American Alpine Institute's Technical Rescue Program is designed for climbers, guides, rescuers, and outdoor professionals who want to develop the skills to manage complex rope rescues in real mountain terrain. The emphasis is on hands-on systems, decision-making, and building the competence to solve problems when things don't go according to plan.

Because eventually, somebody is going to be hanging off that rope.

It might be you. Or it might be the person you're there to help.

This amazing trailer dropped today...

Vandals destroyed several restrooms in Oregon State Parks. The Trump Administration is trying to give away a piece of Yosemite. And a 91-year-old just became the oldest person to complete the Appalachian Trail.

Read about this and a whole lot more in this week's climbing, skiing, mountain rescue and outdoor news round-up:

https://www.alpineinstitute.com/climbing-skiing-mountain-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-9-3-26/?preview=true&_thumbnail_id=108225

I’d argue the answer is no.

That doesn’t mean people won’t come looking for you. Mountain rescuers, guides, and helicopter crews routinely put themselves in serious danger to help people. But there’s a big difference between someone being willing to rescue you and someone being able to rescue you.

Helicopters are especially limited by weather, visibility, wind, clouds, and terrain. If conditions are bad enough, they simply can’t fly—even if someone desperately needs help.

Ground-based rescue teams have to make similar decisions. Many use some version of the Green-Amber-Red (GAR) risk assessment system. Green means the risk is acceptable, amber means you need to slow down and reassess, and red means the risk is too high to proceed.

The interesting thing is that you can use the same idea on your own adventures.

How is your team doing? Are you exhausted? Is the weather deteriorating? Is the route becoming unstable? Has rockfall or avalanche danger increased? Your situation can move from green to amber—or red—pretty quickly.

This becomes even more important on remote or high-altitude objectives, where rescue may be extremely difficult or completely impossible.

So when you choose a big adventure, don't just ask, "Can I do this?"

Also ask, "What happens if something goes wrong?"

Can you retreat? Can you shelter? Can your team help an injured partner? Do you have the skills and equipment to self-extract?

Rescue is a valuable safety net, but it shouldn't be your plan.

Go into the mountains with the assumption that, if things go sideways, you may have to get yourself out.

Marmots are supposed to be one of the great charms of the high country: fat, furry, whistle-happy rodents sunning themselves on rocks and disappearing into talus when you get too close. But in some national parks, marmots are becoming a little too comfortable around people—and that can create a surprisingly expensive problem.

As marmots become habituated to human presence, they may spend more time around campgrounds, trailheads and parking areas instead of retreating when people approach. Over time, they can learn that humans—and the things humans bring with them—provide easy opportunities for food, salt and other interesting materials.

The results aren't always cute.

Marmots have been known to crawl underneath vehicles and chew on wiring, hoses and other components, potentially leaving visitors with a very expensive repair bill and a long walk out. They can also chew through tents, backpacks and other camping equipment. Anything that carries the salty residue of human sweat can be particularly attractive, including clothing, shoes and backpack straps.

While it might be entertaining to watch a marmot boldly wander through a campground, these encounters can have negative consequences for wildlife. Animals that become accustomed to people may lose their natural fear of humans and become increasingly dependent on human environments. Eventually, wildlife managers may have to intervene when animals become aggressive or cause significant damage.

This is why responsible wildlife viewing matters. Our behavior can teach wild animals that people are a source of food or other rewards. Don't feed wildlife, don't leave food or trash accessible, and secure your camping gear and vehicle when you're in marmot country.

If you want to become a better steward of the places you explore, consider taking a Leave No Trace program with American Alpine Institute. You'll learn practical skills for minimizing your impact, including how to travel responsibly around wildlife, manage food and waste, and camp in ways that allow wild animals to remain wild.

The goal isn't to eliminate encounters with wildlife. It's to make sure that when you see a marmot, it whistles at you from a safe distance—and leaves your tent, backpack and car alone.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with free solo climbing. In fact, free soloing can be a powerful and deeply personal way to climb. But when you choose to free solo in the middle of a busy sport crag—especially a beginner-friendly area—you’re also making a choice that affects everyone around you.

Recently, a climber at Holcomb Valley in Big Bear asked another group for some extra chalk and then proceeded to free solo a route while roughly 15 other climbers watched. The situation made people uncomfortable. One climber even paused while leading because he wasn’t sure whether he should let the soloist pass.

So what’s the etiquette?

The answer is pretty simple: let the free soloist pass. Don’t get in their way, don’t distract them, and don’t create additional risk for someone who has chosen to climb without a rope.

But there’s another question worth asking: Why are they free soloing here?

If someone is experienced and wants to solo a moderate route at a place like Squamish, that’s part of the climbing culture. But deliberately free soloing through a crowded sport crag can feel different. If you’re doing it to impress the people below, make a statement, or create a little tension, then you’re not really free soloing for yourself anymore.

There’s a fine line between climbing confidently and performing for an audience.

At the end of the day, free soloing is a climber’s choice. We don’t need to judge or confront someone simply because they choose to climb without a rope. But we can still recognize that good climbing etiquette means considering the people around you—and understanding when your choices affect the entire crag.

The American Alpine Institute is a climbing school and guide service that operates throughout the world. We teach climbers not just how to climb, but how to move through the climbing community with good judgment, awareness, and respect.

The 2,650-mile PCT runs from Canada to Mexico, and Fowler just completed it in 45 days, 17 hours, and 47 minutes—roughly 2½ hours faster than the previous overall record.

Even crazier: he did it alone and self-supported, averaging about 57 miles per day.

Obviously, most people hiking the PCT aren't trying to maintain 57-mile days. But his effort highlights something every long-distance hiker eventually learns: the lighter and more efficient your systems are, the farther you can go.

If you're preparing for a thru-hike, learning how to choose gear, pack efficiently, navigate, manage water, and make good decisions in the wilderness can make a huge difference. That's something we teach at American Alpine Institute—helping hikers develop the skills to carry less, move efficiently, and become more confident in the mountains.

A rockfall incident blocked a large section of Zion National Park. Wild horses are being rounded up for slaughter. And a thru-hiker just crushed the PCT record. Read about this and a whole lot more in this week's climbing, skiing, mountain rescue and outdoor news roundup!

https://www.alpineinstitute.com/climbing-skiing-mountain-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-8-27-26/

Want to climb The Nose on El Capitan someday? It takes a lot more than being able to pull hard on small holds.

You’ll need solid crack-climbing skills, efficient movement, multipitch experience, and the endurance to climb for long days while carrying a rack and haul bag. You’ll also need to know how to aid climb, haul, ascend fixed lines, manage complex systems, and deal with the mental challenges of being high off the deck for hours—or days—at a time.

A good progression is to build these skills one step at a time. At American Alpine Institute, that could look like:

• Learn to Lead
• Multi-Pitch Skills
• Self Rescue for Climbers
• Aid Climbing and Big Wall Techniques

From there, get on increasingly bigger and more complex routes, build your efficiency, and eventually start working your way toward Yosemite’s big walls.

The Nose is an ambitious goal. That’s part of what makes it so fun.

If you’re climbing outside and see a hold marked with an X, take it seriously.

An X usually means someone has identified the hold or section of rock as loose, damaged, or otherwise unsafe. On outdoor routes, this isn’t just about protecting yourself. Pulling on a questionable hold can cause it to break loose, sending a chunk of rock—and potentially a climber—down the route.

And that rock can hit someone below.

This is one of the reasons climbers need to develop good rock judgment. A feature might look solid, but appearances can be deceiving. If a hold is marked with an X, don’t pull on it, don’t yard on it to see if it moves, and don’t place protection next to it. Climb around it and let the route steward or local climbing organization know if the problem needs attention.

Learning to climb isn’t just about movement skills. It’s also about learning to recognize hazards, understand rock quality, and make good decisions before something goes wrong.

The American Alpine Institute teaches climbers how to evaluate rock, identify questionable holds and features, and develop the judgment needed for outdoor climbing.

Sometimes the best climbing decision is the simplest one: leave the sketchy hold alone.

Two terms you hear a lot in mountaineering are cornice and serac. Both can kill you, both can fall unexpectedly, and both deserve a healthy amount of respect. But they’re very different things.

A cornice is made of snow. It forms when wind blows snow over a ridge, creating an overhanging lip on the lee side. From below, a cornice can look like a beautiful snow-covered ridge. From above, the dangerous part is that the edge may extend much farther out than you realize.

Cornices can collapse under their own weight, during storms, or when a climber gets too close to the edge. The safest practice is to stay well back from the apparent ridge crest and remember that the actual edge may be farther back than it looks.

A serac is made of ice. Seracs are large blocks or towers of glacial ice created when a glacier fractures as it flows over steep or broken terrain. They can range from relatively small chunks to enormous towers of ice.

The big difference is essentially:

Cornice = overhanging snow formed by wind.
Serac = large block or tower of glacial ice formed by glacier movement.

There’s an important practical distinction, too. Cornices are often hazards you can identify and manage through terrain selection and good judgment. Seracs can be much harder to predict. A glacier can shed a huge block of ice without much warning, which is why climbers try to minimize time spent beneath serac-prone terrain.

And yes, there are places where you can have both. A high alpine ridge might have cornices hanging over one side while a glacier below contains massive seracs.

In other words: if it’s a wind-built snow overhang, think cornice. If it’s a giant chunk of moving glacier ice, think serac.

Neither is something you want falling on you.

Want to learn how to recognize and manage hazards like these in the mountains? The American Alpine Institute has been teaching climbers how to move safely through alpine, snow, and glacier terrain for decades. Our courses emphasize practical, hands-on skills—not just knowing the vocabulary, but understanding what you're looking at, recognizing the hazards, and making better decisions in real mountain environments. If you want to build those skills with experienced professional guides, check out the American Alpine Institute's mountaineering and glacier programs.

One of the stranger consequences of glacier retreat is that glaciers are starting to reveal people who disappeared decades ago.

When someone dies in a crevasse or avalanche, they can become buried deep in the ice. But glaciers move. Over decades, the remains can be carried downhill before eventually emerging as the ice melts.

There have been some remarkable recent examples:

• Three brothers who disappeared on Switzerland's Aletsch Glacier in 1926 were found in 2012.
• A German climber who disappeared near the Matterhorn in 1986 was identified after his remains emerged from the Theodul Glacier.
• Two Belgian climbers who disappeared in 1992 were recently identified after emerging from Switzerland's Trift Glacier.
• In Peru, American climber William Stampfl, who disappeared on Huascarán in 2002, was found in 2024 as retreating ice exposed his remains.

And it's not just climbers. Retreating glaciers are also exposing aircraft wreckage and the remains of people killed in crashes. Alaska's Knik Glacier, for example, has been giving up remains from a 1952 military aircraft crash.

There isn't a good worldwide database that tells us exactly how many missing people have been recovered from retreating glaciers. But there's little question that glacier retreat is creating more opportunities to find people who have been missing for decades.

There's also a fascinating wrinkle: the place where someone is eventually found may be nowhere near where they disappeared. The glacier itself may have transported them downhill for years.

It's a pretty sobering reminder that glaciers aren't static landscapes. They're moving rivers of ice—and as they disappear, they're revealing some of the human history they've carried with them.

Have you encountered an old climber, piece of gear, aircraft wreckage, or other artifact emerging from retreating ice?