The relationship between climbers and climbing is complex. For some, there’s the physicality and adrenaline and, yes, ego. For others, it’s about community, wild places, or challenging yourself to see what’s possible and to see who you are.
But none of this happens, on outdoor rock at least, without access. And access is no accident. As a climber, I feel I must acknowledge this journey the climbing community is experiencing: On the one hand, there are instances where climbers, whether by their sheer numbers or sometimes by the reckless actions of a mere few, are impacting the natural environment. On the other, there are climbing communities moving to care for and restore cliff environments, weaving a brighter future.
Let me address the former first. Climbing numbers in Australia have exploded, coinciding with climbing’s inclusion at the Tokyo 2020 Olympics. There are now reportedly over 300,000 Australians climbing at indoor gyms. In Queensland alone, climbing gyms grew from four in 2014 to twenty-two at last count in 2023.
As these numbers soared, so too have the environmental impacts. As a Queenslander, in the last fifteen years, I’ve witnessed what’s happened to places such as the Glasshouse Mountains (Ngungun, Beerwah and Tibrogargan) and Mt Maroon (Wahlmoorum). Trees and ferns have simply disappeared at some crags, many access tracks have doubled in width (from hikers, scramblers and climbers) and housing estates have popped up everywhere after the local farmers sold up. The mountains are being loved to death.
Compounding the problem of sheer numbers, many climbers heading
