“There Are a Lot of People at Bleau, and a Lot of Egos”: After the Fontainebleau Wildfires, Climbers Try to Work Together
This summer’s wildfires reopened old divisions among Fontainebleau climbers over forest access, climbing etiquette, and overcrowding. Two and a half months later, disagreements remain, but a shared desire to protect the forest and make climbing more sustainable appears to be winning out. A report from the heart of Bleau.
This article was produced in partnership with Reporterre.
Before anyone has poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, Christophe, Ludo, and François are already back at it, debating a question they've argued over countless times: What does the future hold for climbing in Fontainebleau Forest? The three are Bleausards, as Fontainebleau climbers are known, and it's a question they've been asking themselves ever since they watched helplessly as part of their forest went up in flames.
The Fire and Its Fallout
On July 12, a fire broke out at a construction site along the A6 highway, near the Trois-Pignons state forest. Vegetation dried out by record-breaking heat waves caught fire fast. Far too fast. Over the following days, more than 2,000 hectares (nearly 5,000 acres), roughly 10 percent of the forest, went up in smoke. Eighteen climbing areas were affected, including the 25 Bosses circuit, one of the area's most popular routes. The wildfire was historic in scale, the first to reach such intensity in this part of France. Faced with the danger, authorities closed the entire forest to the public. The decision reignited longstanding disagreements within Fontainebleau's diverse climbing community.
"As far as climate change goes, I think the future means closing the forest to everyone at certain times of year."
Ludo, a climber at Bleau
On this Saturday morning in October, crash pads are scattered across the ground at Bas-Cuvier, one of Fontainebleau's most iconic bouldering areas. Early arrivals are already working the famous sunlit sandstone boulders. Christophe, a climbing instructor, keeps an eye on his students. He folds his arms. After this summer, he worries that seasonal closures could become a regular occurrence. Worse, he fears climbers might eventually have to pay to enter the forest. He sees both possibilities as infringements on personal freedom. "You have to adapt to the times," Ludo shoots back.
Now in his 50s, Ludo has watched the climate change since the late 1980s. "As far as climate change goes, I think the future means closing the forest to everyone at certain times of year," he says. "I'm not saying that's good or bad. I'm just saying we might need to prepare for it."
Christophe looks up. Ludo continues: "The ski season only lasts three or four months. Nobody expects to ski when there's no snow, and nobody thinks that's strange. We don't climb when it rains, either. So why should we climb when there's a wildfire risk?"
Beside him, François nods and adds: "There are more and more visitors, so naturally climbers are having an impact on the rock. Some footholds have become really polished from use."
"There's absolutely no problem with climbing in Fontainebleau," Christophe counters.
Two and a half months after the fires, with 90 percent of the forest reopened—the burned 10 percent remains off-limits under an official order in effect until September 1, 2027—the exchange feels all too familiar. Tensions surfaced shortly after the fires began, pitting "hardline defenders of unrestricted access on one side against people who want to seal off the forest on the other," explains Pierre Délas, president and editor in chief of the nonprofit climbing media outlet Fanatic Climbing. He describes his own position as "somewhere in the middle."
Op-Eds and Blowups
That evening, a public meeting was held in a small room at the town hall. The agenda: figuring out how the various groups could work together going forward. Respect Bleau, the organization behind the meeting, had invited the departmental fire and rescue service (SDIS), France's National Forest Office (ONF), and several conservation organizations. Expecting around 30 attendees, the organizers were caught off guard when more than 100 people showed up. "At first, because of insurance requirements, we had to turn away people who hadn't registered," recalls Aubin Salmon, president of Respect Bleau. "That created some really intense tensions, but we eventually let them in."
"Disagreements force us to examine our positions more closely and think about why we hold them."
Aubin Salmon, president of Respect Bleau.
More importantly, some attendees saw the event as an attempt by Respect Bleau to position itself as the voice of Fontainebleau climbers. But what gave it that authority? Several people interviewed by Vertige Media and Reporterre raised precisely that question. "I think there was a misunderstanding about the purpose of the public meeting," responds Salmon, whose organization has around 50 members. "We used our contacts to bring in people with expertise on the subject so everyone could get informed, not to take charge. We understand that not everyone agrees with our organization, and that's perfectly fine." According to ONF figures, climbers account for roughly 4 million of the 15 million visits Fontainebleau Forest receives each year. With numbers like those, it's hardly surprising that they don't all see eye to eye. "Disagreements force us to examine our positions more closely and think about why we hold them," Salmon acknowledges.
Climbing Grows 30 Percent in a Decade
That was the spirit in which the organizations reconvened in the fall for a second round of discussions about climbing's future. This time, there were no arguments to derail the September 26 forum organized by Fanatic Climbing. "The atmosphere was much calmer because people weren't as emotional anymore, and the forest had reopened," Délas recalls. "It may have been the first time we actually started talking to one another calmly, despite our fundamental differences." The more constructive discussions helped identify four major issues for further consideration. Among them was overcrowding, a subject on which there is still little agreement. Over the past decade, the number of people climbing on Fontainebleau's 35,000 sandstone boulders has increased by more than 30 percent, according to a 2023 study by the ONF. Gone are the days when bouldering here was a niche pursuit reserved for a small circle of enthusiasts. The boom in dedicated climbing gyms, combined with the sport's Olympic debut at the Tokyo Games in 2021, has brought a wave of newcomers to areas such as Apremont, Isatis, and La Roche aux Sabots.
Easily accessible and popularized through social media, these particular areas can quickly become overwhelmed. All it takes is a sunny day during a vacation period for parking lots to fill up. Some visitors even end up parking along the road. "Just because one area attracts huge numbers of visitors doesn't mean we should let people encroach on natural spaces at the expense of the forest and its biodiversity," argues Sophie David, who oversees environmental issues and public access for the ONF. "Not every climbing area is overcrowded. There's enough space for people to spread out."
Respect Bleau, founded in 2017 to promote good outdoor climbing practices among newcomers accustomed to indoor gyms, is among those advocating this approach. The organization is considering, for example, restoring neglected bouldering circuits—marked sequences of problems that climbers follow from one boulder to the next—to relieve pressure on the most popular areas. "Focusing on the busiest climbing areas would make it easier to manage climbers' impact and coordinate our efforts to raise awareness," counters Lucas Becker, president of the Fontainebleau Climbing Association. Still awaiting official approval of its bylaws, the organization emerged in the aftermath of the August 18 meeting, with the aim of bringing together climbers who had previously been underrepresented or had no representation at all. Specifically, Becker explains, those who want to "keep the forest open while finding a way to coexist with nature and other forest users."
Finding Common Ground
Despite their differences, the organizations—which collectively represent just 5 percent of Fontainebleau climbers—now want to work together. On October 10, the Fontainebleau Climbing Association, Respect Bleau, and Fanatic Climbing all joined Cosiroc, the Committee for the Defense of Climbing Areas and Boulders. The organization has lost much of its influence over the years, but it was once a major force in the climbing world, particularly during the 1990s. Founded in 1967, this coalition of organizations cataloged climbing areas throughout France before gradually declining and narrowing its activities to the southern part of the Île-de-France region, around Paris. Two decades on, a new generation of organizations hopes to revive it. Cosiroc has one particularly valuable asset: an existing agreement with the ONF to protect 200 hectares (about 500 acres) of officially designated climbing areas. "That's going to be great when we need more influence," Becker says enthusiastically. Délas agrees. "We all have different perspectives, but Cosiroc should help us find common positions on certain issues."
"A lot of newcomers don't know the etiquette. They make too much noise, don't dry their shoes before getting on the rock, use too much chalk..."
Dorine, a climber at Bleau.
Maintaining climbing circuits, educating the wider public, promoting good practices, restoring fire-damaged areas when conditions allow it—the list of work ahead is long. And out on the boulders, climbers are eager to see something happen. Back at Bas-Cuvier, Guillaume and Dorine, a brother and sister aged 40 and 45 respectively, are warming up when they both turn their heads. A tall figure is walking past, carrying a fan at arm's length. The device is controversial because some climbers use it to artificially dry the rock. "We never saw anything like that when we were kids," Dorine says regretfully. "A lot of newcomers don't know the etiquette. They make too much noise, don't dry their shoes before getting on the rock, use too much chalk..." On the boulder behind her, white chalk marks trace the climbing line. Earlier climbers probably left them there without brushing the rock clean. "It's just common sense," the older sibling says with a sigh. But not everyone shares that understanding of common sense. Which is precisely why there's an urgent need for a shared code of good climbing practices. Perhaps Cosiroc has found its first assignment. Is this conversation helpful so far?
