My Top 7 Climbing Destinations

And what each location taught me

My clients ask me all the time, “What’s your favorite place to climb?”

Every time I hear it, I sort of cringe inside– it’s a superficial, loaded question, with no real answer. I can never accurately answer it. I feel way too deeply, much too passionately about certain climbing areas, and climbing in general, to answer in a single sentence while small-talking at the cliff.

It’s like asking a whale, “What’s your favorite ocean?” as it migrates tens of thousands of miles every single year, through seemingly endless oceans. They’re all beautiful, life-giving locations, and impossibly immense for one animal to completely comprehend.

Nonetheless, I lean into the conversation.

Normally, I answer with the first place that comes to mind. It’s rarely my favorite– because there is no favorite– but it’s the destination I’m currently fascinated with. It’s the subject of my daydreams for an upcoming trip. Or the nexus of the wave of nostalgia washing over me as a reminisce about a past rock trip.

So, what better way to provide an impossible answer to the impossible question than to create a cute little listicle? They’re listed not in order of favoritism, but in the order I was exposed to them. Here it goes.

Jackson Falls, Illinois

Steep pocket pulling on fantastic Southern Illinois sandstone. Oh, and luscious long hair– those were the golden days.

If you’ve never suffered through being a rock climber in the Midwest, then you’ve never heard about Jackson Falls. It’s a tiny little zone in the Shawnee National Forest, way south in Illinois. When I first started getting into rock climbing, Jackson was where I ticked my first outdoor sport climbs. I was so obsessed, I used to drive 3 hours, one way, just to climb.

In Jackson, I learned I climb my best on steep, near-vertical walls. Jackson also taught me how to smear on featureless sandstone and how to wrench on pockets (the photo above shows me using a mono-pocket). Jackson Falls is also where I met my wife, Whitney, which has forever entrenched its significance in my life.

Hatun Machay, Peru

Waking up next to, gazing upon, and climbing within this rock forest offered an indescribable array of climbing experiences.

This is still my Gmail profile photo. That tells you how formative my days climbing in Hatun actually were.

Looking back, it’s no wonder I fell so deeply down the rock climbing rabbit hole. Hatun Machay was the second major sport climbing zone I learned to love. Even seasoned climbers can have their minds blown when they visit this place, let alone a fledgling one like me.

Hatun Machay is a volcanic rock forest located 14,000 feet above sea level in the Peruvian Andes. This place taught me that the best rock trips are multi-day, deep in the backcountry, and involve sleeping on the ground in tents.

Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado

This is Longs Peak. Chasm Lake is in the foreground with The Diamond and Chasm View Wall in the background. The ramp descending down the skyline toward your right is the north face.

Whitney on the Cables Route with her new ring. Her fingers were swollen from all the physical activity at the altitude, so it didn’t fit.

Rock Mountain National Park (RMNP) is probably the answer I give the most when I answer the question, “What’s your favorite climbing area?” And for good reason.

I guided for KMAC Guides, based in Estes Park, Colorado, during my first two seasons. While I wasn’t certified to guide the big rocks deep in the National Park, I was recreating and training on them with my friends whenever I didn’t have work.

I ticked multiple ascents up The Diamond, one of North America’s most famed alpine walls, and many other classic features in the Park. Along the way, RMNP taught me how to crack climb. I learned that I thrive in an alpine environment– I hike the fastest under the starlight skies, before sunrise, on the way to the day’s climbing objective. And I climb my best when I’m committed, far off the ground, in the wind, and a little bit scared.

Also, I proposed to Whitney during an ascent of the Cables Route up the North Face of Longs Peak. Before sunrise, somewhere in the Longs Peak boulder field, sensing something was up, she asked me, “Are you going to propose on the summit?”

She was a ball of nervous anxiety. I lied and said, “No, not today, not on the summit.” She relaxed. Later, she was completely surprised when she reached the belay and saw the ring box.

Red Rock National Conservation Area, Nevada

All smiles topping out the technical climbing of Dark Shadows before the summit block leading to the summit of Mescalito. Read my trip report here.

I grew up in Southern California. For fun, my family would load up a camper trailer with dirtbikes and camping gear to spend weekends and holidays in the Mojave Desert. Those were formative years, and the reason why I adore desert landscapes.

Red Rock National Conservation Area is a desert. The rock is sandstone. The mountains are so big that it sort of feels “alpine.” And the climbing is the perfect blend of steep face and crack climbing. It's literally all my favorite things.

Red Rock has been an important training ground for my professional work. I took my intro course there in 2022. And I’ll be taking my final Rock Guide Exam in Red Rock during the Fall of 2026. Nowadays, it’s where I guide my Spring shoulder season. Over my years there, I’ve learned a lot about expedition-style trip planning and custom curriculum development for traveling clientele.

The desert has poked me with its spines and run me completely dry from its arid climate. I’ve learned it’s never over until it’s over, with your ass in a chair and your hands wrapped around a cold one in the campground.

The Gunks, New York

The 5.7 traverse on the second pitch of Bonnie’s Roof. Normally, I’m taking photos of my guests, but on this route, the leader becomes the star of the show.

You were wondering when the Gunks would come into play, weren’t you?

I’ve guided 4 seasons in the Gunks now. I often compare the Gunks to a classroom. What I mean is I cannot think of a better place to guide rock. And for climbers to learn how to rock climb.

As the teacher, the Gunks provides the ideal setting for introducing new skills and teaching climbing movements. For students, it offers a balance of adventurousness that pushes folks outside their comfort zones without completely destroying and traumatizing them.

But don’t let its accessibility lull you into a false understanding of the cliff. Navigating the cliff can be technical, and the climbing is hard. It’s been a wonderful place to fine-tune my professional skills. And to push my limits on hard trad when I’m out recreating with friends.

Columnas de Tangán, Ecuador

Jaw-dropping, I know. Go ahead, pick up your jaw from the floor. And yes, the cabin on the right is where we stayed during the trip.

The epitome of splitter crack climbing on ancient volcanic rock.

Sometimes, when you go to a new climbing area, and you see the terrain appear before you as you come up the road, you’re already thinking, “I’m going to absolutely fucking love this place and never forget it.” You’ve made up your mind even before you can get out of the car.

That’s what happened when I came upon the Columnas de Tangán. Except we weren’t driving. We were sliding down an insanely steep and muddy hill, following a man named Ramiro and a horse named Colega.

Tangán taught me to trust. To trust the random dudes I’ve never met who live thousands of miles away in another country, with whom I was coordinating, that Tangán would be worth it. Turns out, it was.

Tangán taught me that rock climbing is so much more than performance. I learned that it’s about saying yes. Getting committed. And going so deep that the only possible result is coming away with an all-encompassing,  once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Baxter State Park, Maine

Chimney Pond sits at the bottom of Katahdin’s southern basin. High up in the background, you can see all the rock there is for climbing.

You can take me out of the alpine meadows and away from the freshwater lakes high up in the mountain West, but I will find my way back. Life is better in those places. And I found the good life above Chimney Pond in Baxter State Park.

I still remember texting one of the first climbing partners I met out in New York to say I’d like to climb Katahdin, Baxter’s highest peak. Sure enough, since moving to New York, I’ve made a pilgrimage to Baxter every summer.

The first year completely wrecked me. A story I wrote about that trip is forthcoming in the third edition of the Revelry Collection.

The second year went much better.

I’ll be back in the Maine highlands for my third visit this September 27th-30th. I’d love for you to join me!

Katahdin has taught me that even though the mountains are “small” compared to the West, I am smaller.

And that the rock climbing itself doesn’t have to be hard in order for a climbing trip to be productive. Hiking into the Baxter backcountry, living in a lean-to, and climbing easy routes far away from civilization is so goddamn rewarding.

I Am the Product of These Places

There you have it, people. A neat and tidy list describing my favorite places to climb. I must admit, I had fun doing this, looking through old photos, and trying to put into words what these places mean to me. And what they’ve taught me. I easily could have kept going.

How I climb, and how I guide, are products of these places. They’ve made a mark on me and my work.

I feel immense gratitude for the sport, for the places it’s taken me, to my climbing partners, and to my clients.

So, where are we going next?

If this list doesn’t get you psyched, I don’t know what will!