Why Were Climbing Crash Pads Strapped to an Isar Aerospace Rocket Launch Tower?

A strange image has been making the rounds in both climbing and space circles: Ocún crash pads, the thick foam mats used for bouldering—climbing without ropes on shorter problems—strapped to the launch tower of an Isar Aerospace Spectrum rocket. So what exactly happened?

© Isar Aerospace

Climbers noticed the detail right away, especially because the Czech brand itself seemed to discover the scene at almost the same time as the rest of the internet.

The image has an almost perfect absurdity to it. In a setting full of cables, steel, and cryogenic procedures, you can clearly make out Ocún crash pads fixed to the launch structure. This is the kind of gear you expect to see underneath a tall boulder, not next to an orbital launch vehicle. The shot was spotted and discussed in particular on Reddit, where several users tried to figure out what the pads were doing there based on where they were attached to the tower.

Ocún, for its part, leaned into the surprise. On social media, the brand said its Dominator crash pad had ended up on Isar Aerospace’s “Onward and Upward” mission, using wording that suggested this was not part of any planned collaboration on its side: “We definitely didn’t see this coming... but we’re in.”

Without a detailed official explanation, the most plausible theory is still the one put forward by several online observers: the pads may have been used as protection in spots where parts of the infrastructure—especially components involved in quick connection or disconnection during launch—could strike the structure or need to absorb impact. That remains a theory, not an established fact.

The image spread so widely in part because it arrived during an already messy stretch for Isar Aerospace. The first test flight of its Spectrum rocket, on March 30, 2025, got off the ground from Andøya, Norway, before the flight was terminated about 30 seconds later. The launcher then fell into the sea in a controlled descent. Even so, the company described the test as useful, saying it confirmed the rocket could lift off and provided valuable data for what comes next.

The second mission, called “Onward and Upward,” matters more. This time, the goal is not just to test the rocket. Isar also wants to validate a key stage of its program and send a small payload into space, with five mini-satellites and one experiment onboard.

But again, nothing has gone according to plan. A first attempt, in January, was canceled because of a technical issue. Another, on March 25, had to be scrubbed first because a boat entered the safety zone, then because of a fuel temperature problem. Then, on April 9, the company called off yet another attempt so it could check a leak in a pressurized tank. As of this writing, the mission still has not launched.

That may also explain why this crash-pad story took on such a life of its own in both climbing and space communities. It brings together two worlds that seem to have nothing in common, suddenly linked by the same piece of protective gear. In one case, it cushions human mistakes. In the other, it may be there to soften purely mechanical force. And there is something about that collision between bouldering culture and the launch industry that feels almost too good to be just a logistical detail.