The Weird, Very Real Danger of Approaching Climbs With Poles

Anyone who hates hiking knows poles are your best friend. They can support part of your bodyweight to reduce the strain on your tired glutes and quads, they can stop you from keeling over when your pack feels like it’s equal to your bodyweight, and they can provide stability when teetering over loose rock. But poles can also break your bones. No, not from a fall—I broke my hand without ever hitting the ground.

How the injury happened

Washington Pass is a spectacular climbing area: it’s technically roadside, it’s not too crowded, and there are mountain goats everywhere. Unfortunately, depending on what climb you’re aiming for, you might be hiking anywhere from two to five hours a day to reach and return from your climb. The approaches range from decent single-track trails to steep, sandy talus.

On a particularly steamy summer’s day, my partner and I decided to climb Free Mojo (5.11; 800ft) on the South Early Winter Spire. It took us about an hour and a half to get to the base, and another hour and a half to hike back to the parking lot. I was using Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ poles—my favorite due to their light weight and three-part packability.

But that evening, when I got back to the car, I couldn’t move my left pinky finger. Maybe a weird cramp? A mild sprain? Was I just tired? By the next morning, the pain had surged throughout my hand, radiating into multiple fingers. Something was definitely wrong.

I rested my hand for a few weeks but saw no improvement. A physiotherapist assessed the damage, needled my hand (to promote relaxation and increase blood flow), and then sent me off with tape and more rest. Six weeks in, the pain hadn’t let up, so I called in reinforcements: Dr. Andrew Reed, a sports medicine physician at Banff Sports Medicine. He is also one of the more impressive endurance athletes in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, and a coach with Evoke Endurance. A quick Google search revealed he is also the lead team physician for the Canadian National Biathlon and ParaNordic ski teams. Surely he would know what was wrong with me.

Dr. Reed X-rayed my hand, assessed my wrist’s movement and associated pain patterns, and delivered his verdict: a possible hamate fracture and a sprained carpal ligament—likely the result of gripping and weighting my pole for multiple hours in Washington Pass, day after day.

Turns out, I wasn’t alone. Swapping injury stories with Brette Harrington, I learned that Marc-André Leclerc was sidelined for weeks due to a similar mechanism of injury, his forearm wrecked from constant pole use in Patagonia’s Torre Valley. Another friend of mine, who is a ski guide with the Association of Canadian Mountain Guides, had a wrist stress fracture after a winter’s worth of deep trail breaking in British Columbia’s Selkirk mountains. The more I asked around, the more learned about pole-induced injuries.

How climbers can reduce trekking pole injuries

So if trekking poles can prevent us from climbing at all, what are backcountry climbers supposed to do—ditch poles entirely? My quads would stage a mutiny before I even left the parking lot. I started to pay attention to what poles endurance athletes were using on social media. Leki poles were particularly interesting: their “Trigger System” uses a breathable mesh that wraps around the meat of your hand, like a triangular fingerless glove, and ensures the impact of your poles, and your weight, is distributed evenly, reducing the risk of injury. The repeated, forceful pressure we put on our poles could perhaps be avoided with this technology.

Watch Emilie test the Leki CrossTrail FX One Superlite pole in Idaho’s Sawtooth mountains

Leki suggested I try out the CrossTrail FX One Superlite. Clocking in at under 6 oz per pole, it features a grip that is a “cross between a trail running grip and a more ergonomic hiking grip.” At first I was a bit hesitant to be clipped so securely to this pole, but within a few tries I mastered the release system. You can easily release the mesh glove from the frame by just pressing your thumb down.

There are only a few downsides to this pole. First, the fixed length. Unlike my OG Black Diamond poles, which offer roughly six inches of adjustability, the Leki Crosstrail locks you into a set size. Choose wisely. Second, durability. One tester took a pair to Patagonia, and while hiking in the Torre Valley, he slipped while carrying an overloaded pack and the Leki pole snapped with little protest. Given that the pole is made out of ultralight carbon, it’s not exactly shocking—but it’s a reminder that weight savings come with trade-offs.

I can’t promise that the Crosstrail’s glove system will keep me injury free (nor can Leki or Dr. Reed). But after weeks of testing in British Columbia and Idaho, my hand pain hasn’t returned.  If Leki poles offer me a better shot at avoiding six-week spirals of medical appointments and x-rays, I’ll put all my chips on the table. And if that saves me from another existential crisis, I’ll call it a win.

Buy the Leki Crosstrail for $199

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