Dream Big! Live Your Dreams!
When I first arrived in the Needles of South Dakota in May of 1978 I had no idea how this place would change my life. Back then the climbing culture was almost entirely populated by eclectic individuals and things were no different in the Needles—it was just a microcosm of the American climbing scene. We
Disclaimer: This story reflects the author’s recollection of events. Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of those depicted. Dialogue was re-created from memory. Rescue on the Grand Teton: I remember standing below the fixed rope at the top of the Moraine and thinking—who in their right mind would still
Paul fell. The rope tightened in my hands. The hook with the extra tape on it shifted on its hold and popped like a gunshot. The two lowest hooks were ejected off the wall and slid down the rope landing in my hands.
Bivouac From Hell is the harrowing tale of a climbing adventure gone wrong. The narrator, Peter Delannoy, tells the tale of climbing Mt. Schistler in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming when he was twelve along with a group of other climbers. The group bites off more than they can chew and they pay a
Disclaimer: The following story contains strong language and blasphemy that some may consider offensive. I give the story an R rating. Read it at your own risk. I lashed myself to the summit of the Needles Eye and glanced at the dark clouds roiling in the sky. The super cell surged toward us like a
Rock fall in the mountains happens all the time. These events are explosive, immediate, and usually happen so fast there is usually no time to react. What I remember most about my own experiences is the utter violence and power of these events. In August of 1976 I witnessed a large portion of a mountainside
The wind, the breezes, moving air. After forty years of mountaineering I have a thing about the wind. In the high places near the cliffs, the walls, and massive peaks the wind is always moving, first one way and then another. Sometimes the wind is welcome—a cooling elixir on a hot day. At other times
I edged away from the main line, drifted toward the wall on the left and pointed my light into the hole that I saw there. The low ceiling pushed me to the floor of the passage where the silt rose up threatening the visibility. I lowered my head and turned my light inside the worm
When I was eleven years old my father sent me away for the summer