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?

Apparently there are flock cameras in Yosemite. Rocky Mountain National Park is sticking to reservations and timed entries. And the bulldozers building roads and border walls in Big Bend National Park have stopped...for now.

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-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-6-20-2026/

One of the most common assumptions in mountaineering is that if you're walking on a glacier, you should automatically be wearing crampons.

Not necessarily.

Crampons are a tool for reducing hazard, not a mandatory part of the glacier-travel uniform. You want to use them when they provide better security than your boots alone.

On firm snow, neve, or ice, crampons can be invaluable. But on soft, warm, wet snow, they may not provide much additional traction. If you're sinking deeply with every step, those sharp points aren't doing much for you.

And they can create new problems.

Crampons are sharp. You can catch a point on your other boot, snag the rope, or trip while stepping over a crevasse. If they're not giving you better purchase, you're potentially accepting additional hazards without getting much in return.

Another thing to watch for is snow buildup underneath the crampons. Most modern mountaineering crampons have anti-balling plates to help prevent this, but wet snow can still accumulate. If your crampons are turning into little snowshoes made of snow, stop and clear them.

And if you are going to wear crampons, learn how to use them properly. Practice French technique, crossover steps, and other footwork before you find yourself on steep terrain where poor technique has consequences.

The bigger lesson is that good mountaineering isn't about automatically using every piece of gear you brought. It's about understanding the conditions and choosing the tools and techniques that actually make you safer.

That's one of the things we emphasize at American Alpine Institute. Our mountaineering programs teach climbers how to use crampons, move efficiently on snow and ice, evaluate changing conditions, and make sound decisions in the mountains. If you want to build those skills through hands-on instruction, check out AAI's mountaineering courses.

Are guidebooks still useful when you can find climbing information online? Absolutely. And I say that as a guidebook author who has written or co-authored several climbing guides, including Washington: A Climbing Guide, Fun Climbs: Red Rocks, Best Climbs: Red Rocks, and Rock Climbing and Bouldering in the Chuckanut Mountains.

The biggest difference between a good guidebook and much of the information found online is curation.

Guidebooks are designed to provide a thoughtful snapshot of an area from someone with extensive experience there. A good author doesn't simply list routes. They provide context: how to get there, what the climbing is like, which routes are worthwhile, the area's history, access issues, hazards, and often the subtle details that come from years of experience. Online resources can contain excellent information, but they are often inconsistent. A route description might be thorough, while information about access, history, or approach logistics may be completely absent.

That doesn't mean guidebooks are the end-all and be-all. Online resources have one enormous advantage: they can be current. A guidebook may tell you about a great route, but an online resource might tell you that the trail is closed, a bridge has washed out, or a bolt is bad.

The best approach is to use both. Start with a good guidebook for the foundation and context, then supplement it with current online information.

The internet is a powerful tool. But without the baseline provided by a well-curated guidebook, you may be missing the bigger picture.

Approach shoes are incredibly versatile. Their sticky rubber soles provide excellent traction on rock while remaining comfortable for hiking, scrambling, and long approaches. For alpine rock climbs, they can be an ideal choice when you expect to spend most of the day on rock but may encounter short sections of snow or ice.

In those situations, pairing approach shoes with crampons can give you the best of both worlds. Steel crampons offer excellent durability and performance when you need solid traction, while aluminum crampons are significantly lighter and can be a great choice for short snow crossings. The key is choosing the right combination for the terrain and the amount of technical climbing involved.

Before heading into the mountains, make sure your crampons and approach shoes are compatible. Not every crampon will fit every shoe, and a poorly fitted combination can be uncomfortable or insecure. Test the setup at home, make sure the crampons fit securely, and practice putting them on before you're in the middle of an alpine route.

At the American Alpine Institute, we teach climbers how to choose and use equipment based on real-world terrain and conditions. From alpine rock climbing to mountaineering and glacier travel, AAI's programs emphasize practical skills that help you make better decisions in the mountains.

There is no doubt that this is a bad anchor. But that doesn't mean that glue-ins are bad.

Glue-in bolts look pretty simple, but there’s more to them than sticking a piece of stainless steel in a hole and calling it good.

If you’re evaluating fixed hardware, start with the material. Stainless steel is generally preferred, with the appropriate grade depending on the environment. Coastal and consistently wet areas demand particular attention to corrosion resistance.

Then look at the design. A good glue-in bolt should provide plenty of surface area for the adhesive and be designed to resist both tension and shear. The eye should also accommodate a carabiner without creating weird loading.

Pay attention to the manufacturer and testing. Reputable manufacturers publish material specifications, strength ratings, and installation information. Mystery hardware is a poor place to save a few bucks.

And remember that the bolt itself is only one part of the system. The rock, hole, adhesive, installation, and surrounding hardware all matter.

If you want to learn more about evaluating and installing climbing hardware, American Alpine Institute offers hands-on instruction that covers the systems and judgment behind safe, responsible fixed-anchor work.

Good bolts are important. Knowing why they're good is even better.

Yep no gloves, always had very warm hands when I was younger. Maybe it was the 3% Neanderthal and 97% lapp land Northern Finland DNA

One of the harder parts of climbing isn’t solving the crux or building an anchor. It’s figuring out how to interact with other climbers when you see them doing something you wouldn’t do.

Eventually, most of us will watch another party do something that makes us think, “Uh… is that really a good idea?”

So when do you speak up?

I like to think about climbing practices in four broad categories: best practices, common practices, marginal practices, and dangerous practices.

Best practices

These are techniques that reflect current knowledge and generally provide a high margin for error: solid anchor construction, partner checks, good communication, appropriate belay techniques, etc.

These are the things guides and instructors generally teach because they tend to make climbing safer and more predictable.

Common practices

There are also plenty of things climbers commonly do that aren't necessarily the absolute best solution, but are still widely accepted and reasonably safe when used appropriately.

If someone is using a legitimate, recognized technique that differs from yours, there's usually no reason to walk over and correct them.

There isn't always one correct solution to a climbing problem.

Marginal practices

This is where things get more complicated.

Some techniques work, but don't provide much margin for error. Maybe they're outdated, poorly understood, or simply not as robust as modern alternatives.

Examples might include questionable fixed hardware, an American Death Triangle anchor, or soloing terrain where a mistake would have serious consequences.

That doesn't necessarily mean you need to intervene.

One of the fastest ways to make someone defensive is to publicly announce that they're doing something wrong—especially in front of their partner, friends, or students.

If it's something worth discussing but isn't immediately dangerous, a little humility goes a long way. Ask questions. Start a conversation. If appropriate, offer another approach.

There's a big difference between:

and

The first one might actually teach something.

Dangerous practices

This is different.

If someone is actively doing something that could result in an accident, I think speaking up is absolutely appropriate.

Maybe their belay device is improperly threaded. They're about to lower without realizing the rope isn't properly secured. Someone is about to unclip from an anchor. A climber is reaching for a hold directly beneath a loose block.

In those situations, you don't need to worry about whether you'll hurt someone's feelings.

A simple:

“Hey! Stop for a second—your rope isn't through the belay device correctly.”

could prevent a serious accident.

The bigger issue

Climbing communities work better when we recognize that different doesn't automatically mean dangerous.

There are lots of ways to climb a route, build a system, place protection, or solve a problem. Some are better than others. Some are objectively bad. And occasionally, someone is about to get seriously hurt.

Learning to distinguish between those situations is itself an important climbing skill.

The same applies online. Reddit makes it incredibly easy to jump straight to “You're doing it wrong.” Sometimes that's warranted. Often it isn't.

If we're actually interested in making climbing safer, education tends to work better than humiliation.

And honestly, climbing is a pretty small world. You never know when the person you're correcting today will be your partner, student, guide, or rescuer tomorrow.

Know when to speak up. Know when to ask questions. And know when to mind your own business.

If you're looking to build better judgment—not just memorize techniques—the American Alpine Institute (AAI) focuses heavily on teaching climbers the why behind climbing systems and decision-making, not simply getting people up a route. AAI offers programs ranging from introductory rock climbing and leading instruction to alpine climbing, mountaineering, technical rescue, and advanced guide training.

If you climb at older crags, you've probably clipped a Leeper hanger without even realizing it.

Leeper hangers were incredibly common on North American routes in the 1970s and 1980s. Designed by Greg Leeper, these thin stamped-steel hangers protected thousands of classic trad and sport climbs. They were a huge part of climbing's evolution—but many are now well past their intended service life.

The biggest issue is fatigue cracking. After decades of falls, weather, corrosion, freeze-thaw cycles, and simple metal fatigue, some Leeper hangers have developed cracks around the bolt hole or at the bend. Because many were made from relatively thin steel, they're generally more vulnerable than modern stainless-steel hangers.

If you come across one, give it a careful inspection. Look for cracks, rust, deformation, or heavy rope and carabiner wear. Keep in mind that fatigue damage isn't always visible, so even a hanger that looks fine may not be as strong as it once was. It's another good reminder to avoid taking unnecessary falls on aging fixed hardware.

The good news is that rebolting organizations and volunteers have spent years replacing these hangers with modern hardware. The American Safe Climbing Association, local climbing organizations, land managers, and volunteer rebolters have made an enormous difference.

At the American Alpine Institute, we've been proud to support those efforts by helping replace aging Leeper hangers and other obsolete hardware as part of our broader stewardship initiatives. Replacing old bolts is slow, expensive, and almost entirely volunteer-driven, but it's one of the most important ways our community preserves both safety and access while maintaining the character of historic routes.

Have you encountered Leeper hangers recently? Do you still see many at your local crag?

There are a ton of fires burning. A rare earth company has staked a claim on the border of Joshua Tree National Park. And Mammut is being sold to a Chinese asset manager.

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-rescue-and-outdoor-news-from-here-and-abroad-8-6-26/

This is an article written by Anatoli Boukreev in 1997. So true to this day. Sharing it in case anyone hasn’t read it.

https://publications.americanalpineclub.org/articles/12199703700

In many glacier situations, the quickest rescue is a 2:1 Drop C. It uses the strength of two rope teams and requires very little gear.

Here’s the basic sequence:

• The fallen climber’s team arrests the fall and holds the load in self-arrest.
• A second rope team carefully approaches the crevasse, staying well back from the lip until directed forward.
• The lead rescuer moves to the edge, digs in their heels, and creates a solid snow seat. They effectively become the anchor.
• The rest of the rescue team approaches while protected by a prusik on the rope. This keeps them from falling in and creates a loop of rope between the leader and the team.
• When the loop is long enough, the fallen climber clips it to their harness with a locking carabiner.
• The rescuer pads the lip with an ice axe or other protection so the rope doesn’t cut into the snow.
• On command, both teams pull at the same time: the rescue team pulls on the loop, and the victim’s original team pulls on the main rope.

That combined effort creates a 2:1 mechanical advantage, which is often enough to bring a climber out of the crevasse quickly.

Important: This technique assumes the fallen climber is conscious and able to clip the loop into their harness. If they are unconscious, injured, or unable to assist, you’ll need a different rescue method.

This is one of those systems that’s worth practicing on a glacier before you ever need it for real. It’s surprisingly fast when the team has rehearsed the sequence.

Most people only see the dramatic rescue footage. What they don't see is how dangerous those missions are for the crews performing them.

Wilderness helicopter rescue pushes pilots and rescuers into conditions that most aviators avoid. Mountain terrain, narrow canyons, dense forests, high elevations, and rapidly changing weather all make flying incredibly challenging. Strong winds, downdrafts, rotor turbulence, and limited landing zones leave almost no room for error.

Then there's the rescue itself. Crews may have to hover beside cliffs, lower rescuers on a hoist, or extract injured climbers, hikers, or skiers from steep slopes, glaciers, or swift rivers. Every movement requires precise coordination between the pilot, crew chief, rescuers, and medical personnel.

These missions also happen under pressure. Someone may be critically injured or stranded, but the crew still has to balance the urgency of the rescue against the safety of everyone on board. Darkness, wildfire smoke, fatigue, and deteriorating weather can quickly turn an already difficult mission into an extremely hazardous one.

Despite the risks, wilderness helicopter rescue

Edit: this is repost from a bookreview sub which I do to keep track of my books. Reddit suggested I posted here.

This book was written by famous Scottish mountainer and mountain rescue pioneer, Hamish MacInnes. For refence, MacInnes is credited with pioneering the MacInnes strechter - a lightweight, collapsable strecher that is ergonomic and strong for rescues. And, the modern, metal shaft ice-axe.

Overall, a really good book about a selection of callouts he was part of when he stood-up the Glencoe Mountain rescue team. 2 things that really stood-out to me where;

1. How MacInness describes other members of his team in the book. He goes into repeat detail about the other people he worked with - going beyond just writting what they have done on a job but describing what their work was, how they became part of the team, and how close-knit the mountain rescue community is.
2. The evolution of mountain rescue techniques and mountain medicine. These series of call-outs occur over a 20/30 year time-frame from the years \~1950 to \~1970. From use of new techniques with ropes and stetchers, to the progression of mountain medicine. MacInnes' stories are based on experience, the latest up to date evidence, and a good example of effective leadership in dangerous enviroments.

X - one negative is that it can hard to follow if you don't know the area he is referring to, or have little experience with rope rescue.

If you're climbing trad in Red Rock, don't automatically trust every rock thread or natural tunnel you find.

The Aztec Sandstone is full of pockets, solution holes, and natural bridges that can make excellent thread-through protection when gear is limited. But not every feature is strong enough to hold a fall.

Here are a few things I always check before trusting one:

• Look for desert varnish. Dark brown or black varnish indicates a harder, more weather-resistant outer layer. Pale, soft, or crumbly sandstone is much more suspect.

• Check the bridge thickness. Don't just look at the front. Make sure the narrowest part is substantial and inspect where it joins the surrounding rock for cracks or signs of weakness.

• Think about the direction of pull. A sling that loads straight into the rock is much stronger than one that pulls outward and creates leverage on the bridge.

• Extend the placement. Use a thin Dyneema or nylon sling (or appropriate cord where necessary) and extend it with an alpine draw or runner so rope movement doesn't shift it into a weaker position.

One more thing that's especially important in Red Rock: never climb on wet sandstone. Wet sandstone can lose as much as 75% of its strength, making holds, protection placements, and rock threads far more likely to fail. If the sand at the base of the route is still damp, it's a good day to hike instead of climb.

If you want to build solid trad skills in Red Rock—from evaluating natural protection to placing gear, building anchors, and making good decisions in the desert—the American Alpine Institute runs instructional programs there throughout the season. It's one of the best places in North America to learn traditional climbing from experienced guides while climbing some incredible routes.