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Outside Magazine July 2002
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The Hard Way
The Stone Mirage (Cont.)

WE LIE SCRUNCHED against the fading fire, staring up at silver bands of Mexican stars, too cold to sleep, too tired to keep talking. It's past midnight. I hear Todd's breathing slow. I'm still awake, trying to puzzle him together.

Todd Skinner, 43, raised in Pinedale, Wyoming. Summited Gannett Peak, the highest in the state at 13,804 feet, when he was 11. Elk-hunting and horsepacking guide for almost two decades, farrier when the horses needed shoeing. Connoisseur of antique saddles and renowned collector of vintage Old West guns. Directed and produced eight climbing films, from Vietnam to Pakistan; husband of Amy; father of Hannah, 3, and one-year-old twins, Jake and Sarah. Owner of Wild Iris, a Lander, Wyoming, outdoor shop.

And—oh, yeah—the most controversial rock climber in America.

Todd went to the University of Wyoming on an alpine-skiing scholarship in 1977 and left five years later with a degree in finance and a reputation as the most contentious climber since the late Warren Harding.

It all started at Vedauwoo, a granite outcrop near Laramie famous for its flesh-ripping off-width cracks, where both Todd and I apprenticed. Vedauwoo disciples like me adhered to a strict set of commandments passed down from the early days of mountaineering.

Never fall. If you do, lower off immediately; you shouldn't have been on the climb in the first place. Don't lead what you can't lead. All climbs are done ground up, no previewing. All bolts are put in on lead. Hanging on gear is a sin worse than coveting thy partner's girlfriend. All climbs must be done in stoic, heroic style—no hangs, no tension.

Then Todd Skinner showed up in the summer of '78. With heretical disregard for the old rules, he and partner Paul Piana began putting up routes so difficult it was impossible to do them without practicing. Bolts were placed on rappel and the climbs "worked" via "hangdogging." You fell all the time, relying on the bolts and other protection ("pro") until you mastered the move. Attempting climbs that were over your head was the point.

As his reputation grew, Todd was excoriated, his ethics decried, his style lampooned. He was the bête noire for every mountaineering traditionalist from Boulder to Banff. As other climbers embraced safe, well-spaced bolts, mortal boldness diminished, but ratings and skill levels leapt by two full grades. Rock gymnastics had come to stay.

Today, nearly 25 years later, many of Todd's early offenses are standard operating procedure in several climbing disciplines. All sport climbs are rap-bolted, to say nothing of the artificial world of gym climbing. World-class sport climbers may practice the same move, just like a gymnast or a figure skater, for years before perfecting it.

Todd Skinner was a radical nonconformist, but in some ways he was just ahead of his time.


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