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Some people move through the mountains with a kind of calm confidence that makes difficult things look very natural. Tyler is one of those people.

Watching Ty climb during our overlap in Chalten, and again in the Black Canyon, was such a treat and a reminder of why he’s one of the best guides around. A wealth of knowledge unlike anyone else, yet always a willingness to share it with those around him.

Beyond being an absurdly strong climber, he’s a genuinely good human and friend. Grateful our paths crossed down south and psyching for what’s ahead!

First and third photos from a mission on the H Wall with @chris_deuto last month and second from the Torre Egger traverse with @sebapelletti

Some people move through the mountains with a kind of calm confidence that makes difficult things look very natural. Tyler is one of those people.

Watching Ty climb during our overlap in Chalten, and again in the Black Canyon, was such a treat and a reminder of why he’s one of the best guides around. A wealth of knowledge unlike anyone else, yet always a willingness to share it with those around him.

Beyond being an absurdly strong climber, he’s a genuinely good human and friend. Grateful our paths crossed down south and psyching for what’s ahead!

First and third photos from a mission on the H Wall with @chris_deuto last month and second from the Torre Egger traverse with @sebapelletti

Some people move through the mountains with a kind of calm confidence that makes difficult things look very natural. Tyler is one of those people.

Watching Ty climb during our overlap in Chalten, and again in the Black Canyon, was such a treat and a reminder of why he’s one of the best guides around. A wealth of knowledge unlike anyone else, yet always a willingness to share it with those around him.

Beyond being an absurdly strong climber, he’s a genuinely good human and friend. Grateful our paths crossed down south and psyching for what’s ahead!

First and third photos from a mission on the H Wall with @chris_deuto last month and second from the Torre Egger traverse with @sebapelletti

A self-proclaimed Rastafarian, seeker of suffering, and one of the most genuine souls I’ve ever crossed paths with. I’m endlessly grateful for the experiences I’ve shared with Ben so far — from big walls in Brazil to nights on glaciers beneath the granite spires of Patagonia — and even more psyched knowing there are plenty more ahead of us.

We first met in the Wind River Range a few years back and bonded over big walls, dirtbagging, and a mutual longing for adventure. If there’s one thing for sure: if you’re headed into the mountains with Ben, it’s going to be an adventure.

Beyond psyched to be back in Ben’s new home of Yosemite Valley for a few weeks as he steps into his new role with Yosemite Search and Rescue. The valley gained a good one.

Photos from our days under and on Fortaleza.

A self-proclaimed Rastafarian, seeker of suffering, and one of the most genuine souls I’ve ever crossed paths with. I’m endlessly grateful for the experiences I’ve shared with Ben so far — from big walls in Brazil to nights on glaciers beneath the granite spires of Patagonia — and even more psyched knowing there are plenty more ahead of us.

We first met in the Wind River Range a few years back and bonded over big walls, dirtbagging, and a mutual longing for adventure. If there’s one thing for sure: if you’re headed into the mountains with Ben, it’s going to be an adventure.

Beyond psyched to be back in Ben’s new home of Yosemite Valley for a few weeks as he steps into his new role with Yosemite Search and Rescue. The valley gained a good one.

Photos from our days under and on Fortaleza.

A self-proclaimed Rastafarian, seeker of suffering, and one of the most genuine souls I’ve ever crossed paths with. I’m endlessly grateful for the experiences I’ve shared with Ben so far — from big walls in Brazil to nights on glaciers beneath the granite spires of Patagonia — and even more psyched knowing there are plenty more ahead of us.

We first met in the Wind River Range a few years back and bonded over big walls, dirtbagging, and a mutual longing for adventure. If there’s one thing for sure: if you’re headed into the mountains with Ben, it’s going to be an adventure.

Beyond psyched to be back in Ben’s new home of Yosemite Valley for a few weeks as he steps into his new role with Yosemite Search and Rescue. The valley gained a good one.

Photos from our days under and on Fortaleza.

A man of many talents. The best gringo asador Chalten has ever seen, one hell of a tin whistle player, and a true new friend, among many others, I’m so grateful to have met in Chalten. Also the only man I’ve ever met to never be caught without sporting a fanny pack no matter the situation.

The first photo, Will indulging our ears during an afternoon sesh at the boulders. The second nearing the summit of Mermoz as @chris_deuto and I began our descent. We stumbled upon Will and @ev.bot charging up behind us from an adjacent route. No better feeling than running into friends atop some of the most beautiful peaks around!

A man of many talents. The best gringo asador Chalten has ever seen, one hell of a tin whistle player, and a true new friend, among many others, I’m so grateful to have met in Chalten. Also the only man I’ve ever met to never be caught without sporting a fanny pack no matter the situation.

The first photo, Will indulging our ears during an afternoon sesh at the boulders. The second nearing the summit of Mermoz as @chris_deuto and I began our descent. We stumbled upon Will and @ev.bot charging up behind us from an adjacent route. No better feeling than running into friends atop some of the most beautiful peaks around!

One of the most impressive skylines around. No matter which angle you gaze from, the scale of the Torre massif can never be comprehended. I miss this place dearly, but as @chris_deuto kindly pointed out to me in our final days in Chalten, “you’ve gotta leave if you ever wanna come back.”

See you at the end of the year El Chalten.

The sun setting to the west of the range.

#patagonia #cerrotorre #mountain

One of the most impressive skylines around. No matter which angle you gaze from, the scale of the Torre massif can never be comprehended. I miss this place dearly, but as @chris_deuto kindly pointed out to me in our final days in Chalten, “you’ve gotta leave if you ever wanna come back.”

See you at the end of the year El Chalten.

The sun setting to the west of the range.

#patagonia #cerrotorre #mountain

One of the most impressive skylines around. No matter which angle you gaze from, the scale of the Torre massif can never be comprehended. I miss this place dearly, but as @chris_deuto kindly pointed out to me in our final days in Chalten, “you’ve gotta leave if you ever wanna come back.”

See you at the end of the year El Chalten.

The sun setting to the west of the range.

#patagonia #cerrotorre #mountain

One of the most impressive skylines around. No matter which angle you gaze from, the scale of the Torre massif can never be comprehended. I miss this place dearly, but as @chris_deuto kindly pointed out to me in our final days in Chalten, “you’ve gotta leave if you ever wanna come back.”

See you at the end of the year El Chalten.

The sun setting to the west of the range.

#patagonia #cerrotorre #mountain

Chris doing only what he does best; standing on a badass summit with a smile on his face.

@chris_deuto @blackdiamond

El Chaltén

Four months here feels hard to process, let alone sum up.

I came down with no expectations — just a sense that I needed to spend time in a place that demanded something of me. No checklist or timeline, just an open mind.

There were days that required everything I had, and days that gave more than they took. A few peaks I’d only seen in a guidebook are now part of my own story — but what sticks with me aren’t the summits. More than anything, it was the people.

Shared boulder sessions, asados, weather windows spent talking about life and what we’re all chasing. The kind of friendships that form when everyone chooses to be here and embraces it all the way.

I didn’t expect it to feel like home. I thought it would be temporary.

Instead, it grounded me and helped me care a little less about proving something and a little more about just being present.

Grateful for my first full season here and the people that made it what it was. Already looking forward to the next.

El Chaltén

Four months here feels hard to process, let alone sum up.

I came down with no expectations — just a sense that I needed to spend time in a place that demanded something of me. No checklist or timeline, just an open mind.

There were days that required everything I had, and days that gave more than they took. A few peaks I’d only seen in a guidebook are now part of my own story — but what sticks with me aren’t the summits. More than anything, it was the people.

Shared boulder sessions, asados, weather windows spent talking about life and what we’re all chasing. The kind of friendships that form when everyone chooses to be here and embraces it all the way.

I didn’t expect it to feel like home. I thought it would be temporary.

Instead, it grounded me and helped me care a little less about proving something and a little more about just being present.

Grateful for my first full season here and the people that made it what it was. Already looking forward to the next.

El Chaltén

Four months here feels hard to process, let alone sum up.

I came down with no expectations — just a sense that I needed to spend time in a place that demanded something of me. No checklist or timeline, just an open mind.

There were days that required everything I had, and days that gave more than they took. A few peaks I’d only seen in a guidebook are now part of my own story — but what sticks with me aren’t the summits. More than anything, it was the people.

Shared boulder sessions, asados, weather windows spent talking about life and what we’re all chasing. The kind of friendships that form when everyone chooses to be here and embraces it all the way.

I didn’t expect it to feel like home. I thought it would be temporary.

Instead, it grounded me and helped me care a little less about proving something and a little more about just being present.

Grateful for my first full season here and the people that made it what it was. Already looking forward to the next.

El Chaltén

Four months here feels hard to process, let alone sum up.

I came down with no expectations — just a sense that I needed to spend time in a place that demanded something of me. No checklist or timeline, just an open mind.

There were days that required everything I had, and days that gave more than they took. A few peaks I’d only seen in a guidebook are now part of my own story — but what sticks with me aren’t the summits. More than anything, it was the people.

Shared boulder sessions, asados, weather windows spent talking about life and what we’re all chasing. The kind of friendships that form when everyone chooses to be here and embraces it all the way.

I didn’t expect it to feel like home. I thought it would be temporary.

Instead, it grounded me and helped me care a little less about proving something and a little more about just being present.

Grateful for my first full season here and the people that made it what it was. Already looking forward to the next.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

2025

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this year, and the truth is, I don’t think I fully can — not yet. It doesn’t feel like something I get to summarize. It just is what it was.

This year was defined by movement. Across borders, up walls, and through my last year of classroom buildings; somehow.

Many long days shaped by weather and a heavy pack; by doubt and the moments that cut through it. Storms shared on ledges. Quiet mornings with no agenda but patience. Conversations spoken in different languages, yet understood anyway. I learned that progress isn’t always a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just choosing to stay long enough for meaning to show up.

Finishing my master’s at 23 still feels surreal when I stop long enough to feel it. For years, school and the road existed apart — one grounding me, the other pulling me away. This year they met somewhere in the middle. And now, looking out at what’s next, I’m realizing how little certainty I actually have. No mapped plan. No guarantees. Just a direction that feels honest and uniquely mine to follow.

I’m grateful for the discomfort, the shared effort, and the reminders to stop and take it all in every once in awhile. The places mattered, but the people mattered more. They always will.

Thanks everyone for a beautiful 2025.

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

I’ve come to learn that being optimistic with low expectations isn’t the worst mentality to have when it comes to climbing in the mountains.

In the third week of November, antsy to get back into the massif, Chris and I saw a small weather window on the horizon. As the window approached, team by team bailed on the window, even consulting @rolo_garibotti to which he replied, “It’s hard to call it a window.”

Needless to say, our stoke got the best of us and Chris and I went and had a go at the Whillans ramp on Poincenot. We hiked to Paso Superior in poor conditions with the mountains hardly visible and decided to wake up early to give it a shot.

We left camp at 2:30 am and reached the summit by 11:45 am, simul-climbing the route in about 5 pitches. After rapping Whisky Time(with a taped over core shot rope), we were back at camp just before 5:00 pm, in what we thought was truly the best way to make the most of a 24hr brecha. Psyched!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Frames from Guillaumet! Hard to believe this was nearly two months ago, but here I am catching up on posting photos. What an intro to the massif! It was a stunning couple days in the mountains with great climbing and psyched partners! Blue bird days in the mountains here are hard to come by, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have gotten such a window on my first trip out!

More photos from the mountains coming soon!

Ever wonder what it’s like to live in a cloud?

On day 5 of 7, a storm rolled in on our “base camp” 1,000 feet up Pedra Da Fortaleza in Espírito Santo, Brazil. The storm lasted for a day and a half, and while rain was nearly a daily occurrence on Fortaleza, this storm was unlike any other, leaving us trapped in the ledges with all of our haul bags outside on “The Finger” ledge burrito wrapped by the cheapest tarp we could find weeks earlier. Nothing else quite like it!
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#brazil #climbing #storm

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

It seems that in just the blink of an eye,
I’ve gone from barefoot and sunburnt to bundled beneath the Fitz Roy massif. Days that once started slowly on warm trails leading to stunning crags and secluded river hangs have turned into those shaped by wind and weather windows. I miss Cipó, just like I know I’ll miss El Chaltén when I leave in a couple months—each one makes the other feel special, though, and I’m grateful to have experienced both so far on this trip.

With these images being taken over a month and a half ago, I’m reminded to take a breath and enjoy what’s in the here and now. I have a bit more than 3 months left in South America, and I know it’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only images and memories to look back on. Here’s to making every moment count.

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!

After a day and a half of waiting out the wind and rain, Chris and I crawled out of the portaledge atop pitch nine eager to get out and climb. In the late afternoon of day 4 on the wall, Chris and I jugged to the bottom of the “Mystery Pitch” pitch 14– one of a few pitches previously never freed. My hope was to support Chris in his first few goes at the pitch when over the radio, @ben.sotero hollered from a few pitches back that he and @andrerjunior were starting to get hit with rain.

As Chris and I turned our focus away from pitch 14 looming above, we were greeted with a wall of rain as far as the eye can see heading straight for us(Slide 2). After a short debate, rappel back to camp or wait it out at the anchor stood atop a cactus just a couple feet wide, we opted for the latter. Knowing the wall dried quick, we hopped if we kept the shoes dry, Chris would still have a shot at the pitch once the rain had passed.

The wind picked up and in what seemed like forever but was truly no time at all, the rain was on top of us. The times when things start going wrong are the moments that can make or break partnerships in the mountains, but Chris and I, armed with smiles and a poor rendition of Otis Redding’s Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay, managed to sing our way through the rain and wind.

In the end, it was far from the worst I’ve ever epiced, alas we were at a bolted anchor just 4 pitches from camp, hardly an epic at all. However, it’s moments like that which can make or break a trip, especially on a big wall and once the rain cleared, we laughed and kept singing, greeted by one of the largest rainbows I’ve ever seen.

@chris_deuto lives for climbing and is one hell of a rope gun. It also just so happens to be his birthday today and a perfect excuse to share some more photos from our recent trip to Brazil. Happy birthday amigo, psyched for the adventures ahead!