20 Years of Beta, Bickering, and Bold Opinions on Mountain Project

For many climbers, it’s hard to remember a time before Mountain Project. This online hub of route info and conversation didn’t just digitize climbing—it revolutionized how we access and share beta. Now, as Mountain Project celebrates its 20th anniversary, it has done for thousands of climbers what it has done for me: provided a treasure trove of information on routes, destinations, training, and gear. Along the way, it has also evolved into a vibrant—and at times heated—community where climbers gather to debate hot topics, search for answers, and, of course, nerd out about all things climbing.

Mountain Project: A Quick and Dirty History

Mountain Project traces its roots to ClimbingBoulder.com, a site launched in 2000 by the late Myke Komarnitsky to document routes in Eldorado Canyon and the greater Boulder area. As its popularity grew, similar “Climbing[Location].com” sites began to pop up, covering areas like Moab, Red Rocks, and Joshua Tree.

Eventually, recognizing the need for a unified platform, Komarnitsky teamed up with climbers Andy Laakmann and Nick Wilder in 2005 to merge these scattered regional sites into a single, comprehensive resource: Mountain Project. The goal was simple but ambitious: create a centralized, user-driven climbing database that covered the entire country, as well as international destinations.

The platform quickly became a go-to resource for climbers, offering beta, topos, and community-driven discussions. In 2015, REI acquired Mountain Project, revamping its infrastructure and increasing its reach. But in 2020, REI divested, returning the site to its founders before it was ultimately acquired by onX Maps, which provides digital mapping apps for hunting, off-roading, and backcountry exploration. Through it all, Mountain Project has remained true to its mission: providing free, crowd-sourced climbing beta. Supported by user contributions and volunteer administrators, it continues to be one of the most relied-upon climbing resources today.

Over the years, the site has also become a gathering place where climbers debate, commiserate, and occasionally lose their minds over the same recurring topics. From the never-ending bolt wars to discussions about racism in climbing, from legendary trolls to crag-related poop etiquette, Mountain Project has hosted it all. What follows is a look back at some of the most infamous, beloved, and hilarious moments from the past two decades of the site’s community.

Battles Over Bolts: No Matter What You Do, Someone Will Be Mad

Few debates on Mountain Project have raged with more consistency—or futility—than bolting climbs. Traditionalists decry excessive bolting as a threat to climbing ethics, while sport climbers argue for safety and accessibility. Somewhere in the middle lies a boiling pot of internet outrage.

One of the most infamous examples centers on Archangel (5.12c) in Boulder Canyon. The story of Archangel‘s first ascent had been shrouded in a bit of mystery. While it’s now understood that it was originally freed by Thom Byrne in 1988 using what’s now called a headpoint style (rehearsed on toprope, then led), the route went largely unnoticed until 2013, when prolific first ascensionist Chris Weidner added bolts to make it more accessible. Citing safety concerns, loose blocks, and minimal traffic, Weidner defended the retro-bolting but admitted he “should have made more of an effort to get a hold of” Byrne beforehand.

Purists were livid, and the route’s comment section went on to read like a daytime soap opera. One commenter blasted the move as “dumbing down a trad route,” while others celebrated the transformation into a now-classic sport climb. Even John Long weighed in, mourning the loss of first ascent integrity. After weeks of forum warfare, Weidner conceded—removing some bolts, but not all, preserving a controversial middle ground.

Meanwhile, halfway across the globe, a different bolt drama unfolded in Patagonia, Argentina. In 2012, Hayden Kennedy and Jason Kruk made a “fair means” ascent of Cerro Torre’s southeast ridge—avoiding Maestri’s infamous bolt ladders from the Compressor Route, which had been drilled into the face using an actual air compressor. On the way down, they chopped most of the route’s bolts, including those on the iconic headwall. For some, it was a long-overdue act of alpine justice. “Good on those boys for starting the cleanup,” wrote one supporter. Others called it destruction for ego’s sake. “Chopping bolts just because you can do the route with gear is poorer style than putting them in the first place,” argued one critic.

Another climber summed up the frustration from a more personal angle: “It made the route attainable for people like me. I hoped to one day give it a try.”

Mountain Project users were quick to note the irony. As one commenter on Archangel put it with brutal efficiency: “Apparently, chopping bolts (Kennedy/Kruk – Compressor) and adding bolts (Weidner – Archangel) earn the same response.”

And so, the bolt wars continue—damned if you do, damned if you don’t, and always guaranteed to spark another round in the eternal ethics debate.

Climbers Over 50—and Uniting Over Memes

While debates rage on, Mountain Project also serves as a hub for connection and shared passion. The forums cultivate a strong sense of community among climbers, with bonds formed over everything from practical advice to shared experiences.

What started as a simple question in 2018 (“Are there any other climbers over 50 out there?”) has grown into one of the most enduring and positive threads in Mountain Project history. Today, New and Experienced Climbers over 50 has become a one-stop-shop for climbers over the age of 50 to share advice, ask questions, and uplift one another. The forum has spanned hundreds of pages (this is due to the fact that once a post amasses over 50 pages, a new post must be started).

Whether reconnecting with the sport after years away or pushing personal limits well into their later years, climbers here have found camaraderie, wisdom, and inspiration. As one member put it, “This thread is like a warm campfire where we swap stories, encourage each other, and prove that climbing doesn’t have an expiration date.” The ongoing conversation reflects not only the passion for climbing, but the strength of a community that celebrates every ascent, no matter the grade or experience level.

Just as New and Experienced Climbers over 50 has fostered camaraderie, another legendary thread has also brought climbers together in a different—but equally meaningful—way: humor. The Meme Thread, started in 2012, has spanned hundreds of pages, serving as an ongoing creative outlet where climbers connect through wit, satire, and shared absurdities of the sport. From poking fun at the misery of alpinism, the wimpiness of sport climbing, or the ridiculousness of bouldering (let’s be real: this is probably just because it’s hard and it terrifies them), the thread has become a digital gathering place for playful roasting and inside jokes.

As with any long-standing tradition, there is only one unbreakable rule: no text in the meme thread. The quickest way to get “hazed” is to forget this, which inevitably leads to someone posting a meme with the phrase “No text in the meme thread.” It’s a rite of passage for new participants, a running joke for veterans, and a testament to the thread’s unique culture. Like the Climbers Over 50 thread, it remains one of the most continuously positive and interactive spaces in the site’s history, proving that while climbing is often serious, climbers themselves don’t always have to be.

Sven and the “4-Plan”: Troll, Sage, or Both?

In the digital folklore of Mountain Project, the enigmatic figure of Sven Lavransen in the early 2000’s appears as a fleeting, almost mythical entity. He materialized in the Hands of Destiny (5.12d) comments section to bestow upon the community his climbing wisdom. He proclaimed that the route had given him “a great satisfaction for the flash.” Sven’s gospel centered on the “4-plan,” a cryptic training ritual that he explains consists of “4 routes taken 4 times,” designed to unlock a flash.

Like a visiting sage, Sven elaborated: “We train by climbing 4 routes of nearly the same level and on the same type of climbing rocks. These are not tried to flash but only to redpoint. When 4 are done, we try the flash route where the goal is now to flash.” His methods, though meticulously detailed, drew both fascination and ire. “Hey Sven,” an anonymous voice echoed through the digital void, “this isn’t a forum for you to spray about every flash you do. We know you are a great climber, and Boulder standards are low.”

Sven, seemingly unfazed, continued to share his esoteric knowledge, creating a captivating drama that kept the climbing community engaged. Whether a genuine beta-sharer or, more likely, a masterful troll, Sven’s brief but intense presence left an enduring mark, serving as a reminder of the quirky personalities that enrich the climbing world. His other comments, sprinkled across a few more Boulder area routes, maintained the same air of playful obfuscation, and then he was gone. As quickly as he’d arrived, Sven disappeared, the digital winds carrying him back to his “hometown” of Bergen, Norway, where he’d presumably continue his effortless flashes with his mysterious “4-plan.”

While there have been many forum trolls in the history of Mountain Project, Sven was of the highest order: leaving the audience craving an encore that would never come.

Renaming Offensive Route Names

A particularly contentious moment came in June 2020, when Mountain Project began redacting route names deemed offensive, often in response to user-flagged reports. In some cases, names were officially changed—such as Slavery Wall in Ten Sleep, Wyoming (now Downpour Wall)—if the original developer or first ascensionist expressed interest in renaming.

While the original names still appeared in old print guidebooks, Mountain Project moderators would change the names on the website, often with the support—or at least the lack of objection—of the original developer or first ascensionist. At the heart of the debate was the ultra-classic Aaron Huey line, Happiness (5.12b), originally “Happiness in Slavery,” named after the 1992 Nine Inch Nails song. (Huey admitted this needed updating regardless of its origins.)

Still, many offensive route names remain unchanged. When the first ascensionist declined to change the name, couldn’t be contacted, or was no longer living, the name appeared only as “redacted”, with users having the option to further click and see what the original name was. Even before 2020, threads like this one on misogynistic and problematic route names were gaining momentum, pining inclusivity against tradition while widening the gap by asking important questions.

Supporters hailed the move as progress. “This shines a light on the racism and sexism in climbing culture,” wrote one user. Others saw it as overreach. “Route developers name their climbs,” argued another. “MP shouldn’t have the right to change that.”

The thread spanned 16 pages before moderators locked it—though many new threads were created—highlighting deep divisions in the community. The debate over renaming routes underscores the broader challenge of balancing tradition and historical precedent with the evolving pursuit of equity and inclusion in the sport. Whether viewed as necessary progress or an erasure of history, the conversation around inclusivity in climbing is far from over.

The Forever Threads: Dogs, Dumps, and Dream Towns

Over the past 20 years, Mountain Project has proved itself as a gladiatorial arena where climbers wage the same tired battles, over and over, for eternity. Among the most persistent offenders: the eternal war over dogs at the crag, the never-ending search for the perfect climbing town, and the delicate but ever-urgent matter of human waste disposal.

Crag Dogs: Nuisance or No Big Deal?

The debate over dogs at climbing areas constitutes one of Mountain Project’s most reliable dumpster fires. Dog owners believe their precious pup is a well-behaved angel who could never cause a problem. They often say this while their dog is, in fact, causing a problem. Opponents, on the other hand, have a lengthy list of grievances: barking, digging, chasing wildlife, stealing food, knocking over gear, picking fights with other dogs, and, of course, the omnipresent issue of feces.

One exasperated climber noted, “It is not OK for your dog to leave a pile of shit at the bottom of a crag. This is unconscionable and should never happen. It is not the dog’s fault, but the owner’s. CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DOG or don’t bring your dog.”

Yet the problem persists. Discussions on this topic pop up like a game of whack-a-mole, whether it be in route comments or forum posts. One particularly sardonic user summed up the entitled dog owner attitude: “But what am I supposed to do if I still want to climb? My dog is a demon and no one wants to dog sit. Am I supposed to take responsibility for my decisions or something?”

The Search for Eden

Another recurring Mountain Project fever dream is the quest for the perfect climbing town. This mythical paradise boasts affordable housing, plentiful jobs, year-round good weather, and an endless supply of surprisingly uncrowded world-class routes just minutes from your front door. Reality doesn’t offer such a place. That doesn’t stop climbers from crowdsourcing the impossible (or building their own algorithm).

Predictably, users recommend the same cities—Denver, Salt Lake, Vegas. What follows: A chorus of people explaining why those cities are, in fact, unlivable hellscapes.

Meanwhile, a few hopefuls try to pitch some obscure town as “the next big climbing hub,” only for locals to immediately jump in with, “Nope, terrible place, don’t come here” or a “Nothing to see here, move along“ approach, attempting to dissuade potential newcomers with tongue-in-cheek warnings. One user joked, “Don’t move to New Mexico, it’s all terrible here.” Meanwhile, users mock Boulder with the performative disdain of an angsty teen trashing whatever band happens to top the charts—loudly, repeatedly, and with just enough effort to make you wonder if they secretly love it.

The typical plea for advice goes something like this: “I know there have been lots of threads like this, but I am considering relocating and would like some opinions on the following areas. I’m looking for a place with a good variety of climbing within a short drive (after-work cragging), good weather for much of the year, and plenty of other outdoor activities like mountain biking and skiing. Prefer trad and alpine rock, but sport climbing for training would be nice. Cost of living is important, hence the exclusion of places like Boulder. A good, friendly climbing community would be a plus.”

The responses, as always, will be a mix of “just move to Chattanooga” and “nowhere is good, give up.”

Poop Predicaments

And then, there’s the crappiest debate of them all: human waste. Every few months, someone stumbles across an improperly buried deposit at the base of a climb and, horrified, revives the discourse. The general consensus is that people should pack out their waste. But that doesn’t stop the inevitable arguments about how inconvenient, unnecessary, or “not that big of a deal” it is.

The frustration is palpable: “You may think that by walking past the start of the climb 50 feet you were actually being discreet, but believe it or not, there are other climbs over there. I know the wag bag dispenser was empty, but if you had the forethought to bring toilet paper and use it, surely it wouldn’t be too hard to make even a minimal effort to bury your waste. The base of routes in Red Rocks is not your toilet.”

Of course, because climbers are nothing if not resourceful in their pettiness, even this conversation eventually devolves into a mix of sarcasm and gallows humor. “You found my poop? I’ve been looking for that everywhere.” The original poster responded: “I can offer you a six-pack of your choice for its safe return—it has sentimental value.”

But no forum argument about human waste has quite reached the legendary status of the “poopocalypse” on Epinephrine, the famous Red Rock multipitch, which draws gumbies and seasoned veterans from all over the world. One unfortunate climber, caught between necessity and Leave No Trace ethics, found himself in a situation so dire it could only be retold in hushed tones (or, more realistically, in all-caps in a Mountain Project trip report).

“Past the chimneys, we both had to go pretty badly but kept pressing on, not wanting to leave any poop on route. On the final 5.9 pitch, my partner pulled the bulge and realized he couldn’t wait anymore. His instinct was to go right there, but there was absolutely no way to dispose of it. I told him he had to try and go in the almond bag so we could carry it out. Having never used a wag bag, he mostly missed. He got a great deal of it on his hand and down the side of the bag. I told him that bag couldn’t go in my backpack like that, so we used a nearby stick to push it into an empty Nalgene…”

The horror continued when, in a tragic twist of fate, the bottle containing the ill-fated excrement fell off the ledge, adding a fresh coat to sections of the climb.

“We yelled ‘rock!’ as loud as we could, but unfortunately, we could do nothing to stop the ‘poopocalypse’ (as people are now calling it) from becoming literally the worst poop I have ever witnessed. My partner is dreadfully embarrassed, and we’re both sorry this happened on a beloved and classic line.”

While the climbers involved were mortified, the community did what it does best: roast them in the forums with a mix of righteous indignation and dark humor. And so, the cycle continues, with new climbers discovering (both figuratively and literally) the same problems, doomed to hash out the same debates in perpetuity.

The future of Mountain Project

In the summer of 2011, I found myself with a stack of printed route descriptions from Mountain Project, ready for my first big road trip to Yosemite, and Squamish, British Columbia. Since then, Mountain Project has evolved—no more MapQuest-style printouts, thanks to the convenience of their app.

I’ve spent countless hours reading the forums, contributing routes, and adding crags, especially for international destinations where Mountain Project isn’t as widely used. These days, it faces competition from platforms like 27Crags, TheCrag, Kaya, and 8a.nu. Each offers its own take on digital climbing resources.

Despite the shift toward digital, I’ll always love physical guidebooks, and that won’t change. But there’s no denying that online platforms have transformed how we share beta, find new routes, and debate the issues—some important, some just for the sake of argument. Whether it’s a passionate ethics discussion or just another internet squabble, Mountain Project remains a vital part of our community, shaping how we connect, learn, and, ultimately, climb.

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