An unprecedented protest movement is shaking World Climbing. Led by Portugal and Latvia, national federations have filed formal complaints with the international governing body after a July 23 vote on suspending the Russian, Belarusian, and Israeli federations was canceled. Marco Scolaris with Vice President Naomi Cleary in Turin in December 2025 © Giorgio Perottino/IFSC Political controversy continues to dominate the summer at World Climbing, the sport’s international governing body. In late July 2026, the Latvian and Portuguese climbing federations filed formal protests challenging how the organization handled its July 23 Extraordinary General Assembly. That day, the planned votes on suspending the Belarusian, Russian, and Israeli federations did not take place as expected. Three new motions, submitted in the final days before the meeting by Cyprus, the United States, and Australia, had been combined into a single text and circulated to member federations less than 24 hours before the assembly. Once that unified motion passed, the three suspension votes effectively disappeared from the agenda. A First In the world of sports governance, filing a formal complaint against the international organization that controls your funding and regulates your activities is unusual. For Normunds Reinbergs, president of the Latvian federation, Latvijas Alpīnistu savienība, it was a first. “I’ve been president of the federation since February 2024,” he said by phone. “This is the first time I’ve made an official complaint.” Latvia’s protest focuses on the procedural mechanics of the July 23 meeting. At the center of its complaint is what Reinbergs calls the “Voting Flow,” a kind of decision tree sent to the federations less than 24 hours before the assembly. It imposed a specific order: first, a vote on the unified motion; only if necessary would the assembly move on to the three suspension votes. Once the unified motion passed, those votes were dropped. As the group Climbers for Palestine argued in an op-ed, the motion did not function as a competing proposal. It functioned as a procedural roadblock. The Latvian federation president appears to agree. “The worst thing for us is that it blocked the three votes, which was the main reason we came together,” he said. “The General Assembly in April voted that we needed to vote on these motions. And we didn’t get the chance.” Latvia’s protest also raises questions about where the unified motion came from. According to Reinbergs, the motions submitted on July 8 by the American and Australian federations were identical, word for word. Together, those two countries hold four of the 12 seats on World Climbing’s Executive Board: Anne-Worley Moelter, a vice president, and athlete representative Kyra Condie for the United States; and Naomi Cleary, vice president for finance, and Campbell Harrison for Australia. The Latvian complaint suggests there may have been coordination between those member federations and the Executive Board, though it offers no formal proof. “The U.S. and Australian motions are copy-and-paste motions,” Reinbergs said. “If they were different, it would make sense to submit both. But if they’re the same, why was there a need to submit the same thing twice?” For Latvia, the issue also has immediate practical consequences. Latvian law prohibits public funds from being used for competitions that include Russian or Belarusian athletes. World Climbing’s February 2026 decision to reinstate those federations has therefore put the Latvian federation in an impossible position. “Athletes will have to pay for themselves, because we don’t have any sponsors,” Reinbergs said. “The only solution is for the athletes to pay their own way.” Latvia’s protest is therefore also driven by its own direct interests. Whatever the motivation, the official letter was co-signed by seven other World Climbing members: Poland, Lebanon, Palestine, Ukraine, Portugal, Lithuania, and Jordan. Friends in High Places Alberto Cruz, president of the Portuguese competition climbing federation, the Federação Portuguesa de Escalada de Competição, takes a broader view. The day after the July 23 meeting, he also decided to formally register his disagreement. But his complaint goes beyond the assembly itself. It also challenges how a legal opinion commissioned by World Climbing on June 22, 2026, was used to justify the procedure. “Our complaint is about politics and a lack of transparency and democracy” Alberto Cruz, president of the Portuguese Climbing Federation. The opinion was intended to answer four questions about the division of power between World Climbing’s General Assembly and its Executive Board: the exact authority of the General Assembly, the legality of lifting the Russian and Belarusian suspensions, the Executive Board’s power to reject motions, and the limits of holding meetings virtually. Its author was Sarah Umbricht, a Swiss attorney and legal adviser to the Swiss Alpine Club. At the same time she was preparing the opinion, she was also chairing World Climbing’s Governance Commission, an advisory body that works directly with the Executive Board. At the July 23 assembly, the opinion was presented to the federations as a legal matter that had already been definitively settled. Speaking with Vertige Media, Cruz returned to what he sees as the core issue. “It’s about governance,” he said. “The process that the IFSC and World Climbing followed was not correct. The statutes were not followed.” At the center of the Portuguese federation’s argument is the division of authority between the General Assembly and the Executive Board. In March 2022, the General Assembly voted to suspend Russia and Belarus and gave the Executive Board a specific, conditional mandate: the suspensions could be lifted only once “the grounds that had justified them had ceased to exist.” In February 2026, the Executive Board lifted those suspensions. According to Cruz, no one verified that the conditions set by the General Assembly had actually been met. “The Executive Board has no power to go against a decision of the General Assembly,” he said. Cruz also notes that the legal opinion was based on documents selected by the Executive Board itself. The minutes from the 2022 General Assembly were not provided to the attorney, even though they contained the conditional mandate underlying one of the four legal questions she had been asked to address. At the July 23 Extraordinary General Assembly, only five federations were allowed to speak. Each was limited to three minutes, with no debate and no right of reply. “So we voted on something that was not on the original agenda,” Cruz said. His conclusion was equally blunt: “Our complaint is about politics and a lack of transparency and democracy.” Looking Like FIFA What explains the World Climbing Executive Board’s conduct? Neither federation president claims to speak for the organization, but both have their own theories. For Reinbergs, the answer lies in Olympic money. Since the Tokyo Games in 2021, World Climbing has become increasingly financially dependent on the International Olympic Committee: broadcast revenue, Olympic sponsors, and the sport’s place on the Brisbane 2032 program. World Climbing President Marco Scolaris acknowledged as much in an interview with Vertige Media in early July. “We went through a difficult period, with the risk of being downgraded to an additional sport,” he said. “That changes the financial picture considerably.” “World Climbing will do anything to escape these votes” Normunds Reinbergs, president of the Latvian Climbing Federation. “World Climbing will do anything to escape these votes,” Reinbergs said. “For money, for being on that stage, [it will] sacrifice ethical and other values and start using lawyers.” He continued: “This has never happened before. For an extraordinary assembly or an assembly, World Climbing invites lawyers to support its opinion, and then interprets that opinion in favor of its actions.” As someone put it in a WhatsApp discussion, Reinbergs added, “we are more like FIFA now.” A legal opinion commissioned from an attorney who was simultaneously chairing World Climbing’s Governance Commission, less than a month before a crucial vote. A change to the voting procedure announced less than 24 hours before the July 23 assembly. And, just minutes before the vote, an appearance by the International Olympic Committee’s new sports director to remind members of the Olympic Charter’s new neutrality principles. That is a lot for a federation that had promised a fully transparent vote. Cruz said he did not want to speculate about the Executive Board’s intentions, but added: “They want to make a decision against a lot of federations, but they are not following the proper process. They are trying to hide something.” The Latvian and Portuguese federations, along with the other signatories, are calling for an investigation into the July 23 process and the release of all relevant documents. The Portuguese federation is also demanding another Extraordinary General Assembly so that members can vote on the three suspensions originally scheduled for July 23. It gave World Climbing seven calendar days to respond. At a time when sports federations and their leaders are facing intense scrutiny, as the cases currently involving FIFA demonstrate, Scolaris has insisted that his organization would be different. Now World Climbing will have to prove it.

At Stanage, the busiest bouldering area in the United Kingdom, years of heavy traffic have slowly worn away the ground beneath the boulders. In June 2026, 40 volunteers set out to repair the damage—with eight tons of gravel and plenty of questions about what comes next. Volunteers for the operation © Rab Rob Greenwood opens Strava and selects “Trail run in Derbyshire.” He hits start. He’s ready. But what follows looks nothing like a trail run. Instead of trekking poles, Rob is carrying a 55-pound bag of gravel. On this June morning in 2026, the UK Climbing brand manager is standing below Stanage Edge in the Peak District, in north-central England. Around him, roughly 40 volunteers are finishing their coffee. Their goal for the day is simple, at least on paper: haul 300 bags containing nearly eight tons of crushed sandstone up to the boulders at Stanage Plantation, the country’s most popular bouldering area. They have come to repair damage caused by years of heavy climbing traffic. As soon as his watch starts recording, Rob sets off with his wheelbarrow up a trail with an 8 percent grade. “Zone two! Let’s go!” He is only half joking. Above him, the problem is real—and it has been building for years. Beneath Stanage Plantation’s most iconic boulders, repeated foot traffic first compressed the vegetation, then destroyed the roots holding the soil in place. Once those roots disappeared, rain began washing away the topsoil and then the layers beneath it. Gradually, it carved out scars that can be hard to notice unless you know what to look for. In some places, the ground has lost as much as two feet of depth over 30 years, or roughly three-quarters of an inch annually. For boulderers, the landings—the areas where climbers fall—have become worse. But the larger problem is environmental: every inch of lost soil represents years of natural development that cannot be restored in a single season. That day, three organizations came together at Stanage: British outdoor brand Rab, the British Mountaineering Council, or BMC, the national body for climbing and mountaineering, and the Peak District National Park Foundation. Together, they had organized the largest restoration project ever attempted at Stanage Plantation. They had one day to move 300 55-pound bags, containing nearly eight tons of gravel in all. Loved to Death Jade Harrison, Rab’s communications coordinator, spent the first five months of the year putting the project together. For the past five years, Rab—whose roots are in nearby Sheffield—has quietly supported the Peak District National Park Foundation. The company typically contributes £5,000 a year to general restoration projects. This year was different. Rab doubled its contribution to £10,000, and its employees did more than follow the project through Excel spreadsheets. They put on gloves and joined the work. “I remember we had the first meeting here at our head office, probably around January, where all three organizations came together and we sort of divvied up the jobs of who needed to do what,” Harrison says from Sheffield. “Ours was very much from a funding and communications perspective. The Peak District National Park Foundation organized it from a logistical perspective, and the British Mountaineering Council was heavily involved from a conservation point of view.” “I would say that we have definitely added to the erosion of Stanage Plantation over the years, that is for sure, so it’s pretty nice just to try and give something back” Tim Fish, Product Manager at Rab The preparation took five months, in part because the organizers needed approval from Natural England, the government agency responsible for protecting the country’s natural environment. The agency imposed a strict limit: no more than 40 participants, all drawn from the three partner organizations, to avoid putting even more pressure on the site. Tim Fish, Rab’s product director, has climbed at Stanage for more than 30 years. That morning, he was among the first to pick up a bag. “I would say that we have definitely added to the erosion of Stanage Plantation over the years, that is for sure,” he tells Vertige Media. “So it’s pretty nice just to try and give something back.” Jon Fullwood was there too. The BMC’s access and conservation officer has been climbing at Stanage for 35 years. A few days after the project, during a video call with Vertige Media, he holds an old guidebook photo from the 1990s up to his computer screen. Beneath one of the Plantation’s best-known boulders, the ground is covered in vegetation. It almost looks like a meadow. “When you’re there all the time, the process is so incremental that you don’t see it on a day-to-day level,” he says. “But when you look back at old videos or look back in a book that you bought a while ago, you can really see the difference.” Today, the same spot has lost nearly a foot of soil. The meadow is gone. Stanage has suffered so much because it is, quite simply, one of the most popular climbing areas in the country. Stanage Edge is a three-mile stretch of sculpted sandstone in the Peak District, between Sheffield, Manchester, and Leeds. It has more than 2,400 climbs, some of which have been logged nearly 12,000 times by the climbing community. Roughly half a million people visit every year. They come for the distinctive rock, the evening light, and the sandstone cracks that helped shape British climbing. Stanage’s climbing history began in the 1890s, when the first climbers started venturing onto the rock—often in secret, and sometimes by bribing gamekeepers. The land was privately owned and reserved for hunting by the local aristocracy. For decades, access was a constant battle. In 1932, the Mass Trespass of Kinder Scout, a protest for public access held about nine miles away at the highest point in the Peak District, became a defining moment in England’s campaign for the right to enter the countryside. Today, Stanage is freely accessible. Anyone can walk or climb there. That is a political victory. It is also part of the reason the area is now under so much pressure. The “Green Traverse” at Stanage, before and after © Jon Fullwood Collection “I think Stanage is the most popular crag in the country,” Fullwood says. “That means it gets the most people, the most use, and the most erosion. Over the years, these fantastic bouldering locations have just become victims of their own success. It’s a real target. People come from far and wide.” And 2,389 Calories Later The day began with coffee. Roisin Joyce, director of the Peak District National Park Foundation, gave a welcome speech, followed by Tim Fish and BMC CEO Paul Ratcliffe. Then it was time to get to work. The group looked at the 300 bags of crushed Peak District sandstone—the same material that erosion had carried away. The goal was to make the repairs blend into the landscape. “This material is sourced in the Peak District, so it’s essentially exactly the same as the material that eroded away,” Fullwood says. “It’s sand, small rocks, and grit dust. We’re filling in some of the lost ground with crushed grit—basically replacing it with what’s been lost.” A week earlier, Fullwood and Tom, a national park ranger, had prepared the site by digging a few discreet drainage channels. These would allow water to flow beneath the new fill rather than washing it away again. On the day itself, all the volunteers had to do was carry and compact the gravel. Adam remembers that “all.” Rab’s content coordinator also remembers the laughter that broke out during the lunch break. “By lunchtime, everyone stopped for coffee and cake,” he says. “It was like, ‘How much more?’ To be fair, we’d only done about a pallet and a half by then. And I think there were 22 delivered in total.” One optimistic volunteer had planned to go for a bike ride afterward. Another had planned a hike. By the end of the day, everyone went straight home, exhausted. Rob Greenwood checked his watch. When he stopped recording, the numbers came in: 6.1 miles, 2,457 feet of elevation gain, and 2,389 calories burned. “I do see a lot of people—especially among the younger generation—who are very conscientious and mindful of the environment in a way that I’m not entirely sure my generation was, I think the main difference is there are just a hell of a lot more of them.” Jon Fullwood, Access and Preservation Officer at the BMC A Fresh Start From his office, Fullwood points out that this was not the first restoration project at Stanage. A similar effort was organized about 20 years ago through local climbing forums. “It was certainly, in terms of scale and publicity, the biggest we’d done,” he says. “But it was also part of a sort of continuum, if you like. Some similar work was done about 20 years ago. It was as much as anything to test how it would work, whether it would work, what the results would look like, and how it would stand up to the weather.” Other projects are already being discussed, including some in Wales. The bigger question—the one Fullwood has been asking for years—is how climbers behave. Don’t drag crash pads across vegetation. Don’t trample the fragile boundary between bare soil and plant life, where erosion continues to spread. Climb on less crowded boulders. Stay off wet rock, when sandstone holds are more likely to break. “I do see a lot of people—especially among the younger generation—who are very conscientious and mindful of the environment in a way that I’m not entirely sure my generation was,” Fullwood says. “I think the main difference is there are just a hell of a lot more of them.” © Rab Climbing has drawn in entire generations, fueled by the growth of gyms, the Olympic Games, and social media. Most of these new climbers never learned outdoor practices through the informal, person-to-person traditions of the crag. Passing that knowledge along is also the community’s responsibility. Ten years from now, Fullwood hopes to return to the boulders at Stanage Plantation and see that the soil is holding. He hopes the grass will be growing back. “Well, I genuinely think—I hope, and I think—that they will look a lot better than they did in January this year,” he says. “Had we not done anything, they would look ten years worse as well. It would be ten years more erosion. So I think we genuinely set the clock back.”

Movement Gyms employees and their supporters are set to rally outside 10 The North Face stores across the United States on Monday, July 13. Their goal is to pressure the brand to suspend its partnership with the nation’s largest climbing-gym chain, which the union accuses of anti-union practices and stalling contract negotiations. © Courtesy of Climbing Workers United The labor dispute between Movement Gyms and some of its employees is expanding once again. After holding pickets outside Movement gyms and asking members to prepare to pause their memberships, Climbing Workers United is now taking its campaign to one of the company’s biggest business partners: The North Face. At noon local time, Movement employees, Workers United members, and customers are expected to gather outside 10 The North Face stores in Chicago, New York City, Brooklyn, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and California. Organizers plan to ask passersby to sign letters addressed to store managers and send messages to the brand’s leadership. “A partnership with a corporation that violates the rights of its workers contradicts the values of The North Face and VF Corp.—and it must end,” Workers United said in a statement. More specifically, the union is calling on The North Face to suspend the partnership until Movement stops what the union describes as union-busting and begins bargaining in good faith with unionized employees. The demonstrations come five days before Global Climbing Day, which The North Face and Movement are hosting together on July 18. All Movement gyms will offer free climbing that day, including complimentary gear rentals and classes. The North Face also sponsors other events and competitions held at Movement facilities. By targeting the brand directly, the unions hope to highlight what they see as a conflict between the partnership and the public commitments of The North Face’s parent company, VF Corporation. VF, which also owns Vans, Timberland, and Smartwool, says it supports “workers’ right to freely choose union representation and to exercise that right without retaliation from their employer.” “If The North Face and VF believe in workers’ rights and human rights, they need to end this partnership with Movement Gyms until Movement stops union-busting and begins bargaining in good faith with its unionized employees,” Workers United said. Workers United President Lynne Fox wrote to the CEO of VF Corporation and the Global Brand President of The North Face to request a meeting. According to the union, corporate leadership had taken no action by the day before the rallies, and no meeting had been scheduled. This latest action is part of a labor dispute that has been building for several years. In November 2021, employees at Movement Crystal City in Virginia became the first workers at a privately operated U.S. climbing gym to vote to unionize. Since late 2024, employees at 10 additional Movement locations have joined Climbing Workers United. As of late June, however, none of those locations had secured a collective bargaining agreement. Unfair labor practice charges have also been filed with the National Labor Relations Board, the federal agency responsible for enforcing U.S. labor law. The allegations include unilateral changes to working conditions and bad-faith bargaining. Climbing Workers United says more than 500 Movement employees are now union members. Across the broader climbing-gym industry, the organization says it represents more than 1,300 workers at 32 gyms nationwide. The July 13 action is not a strike. But it marks another shift in the union’s strategy: After putting pressure on Movement’s leadership and asking customers to get involved, organizers are now calling on the company’s business partners to take a position.

On Thursday, July 23, national climbing federations were supposed to vote on whether Israel, Russia, and Belarus should be suspended from World Climbing. But according to information obtained by Vertige Media, World Climbing first presented member federations with the substance of three motions submitted between July 2 and July 8 by Cyprus, the United States, and Australia. It then combined them into a single unified motion, which was put to the General Assembly and adopted. As a result, the country-by-country vote that had been planned for months never took place in its original form. © Climbers for Palestine For months, World Climbing had been preparing for an unprecedented vote. On July 23, its member federations were scheduled to cast anonymous, nonbinding votes on three separate recommendations: one to suspend the Belarusian federation, one to suspend the Russian federation, and one to suspend the Israeli federation. The vote had been pushed in particular by Ukraine and by the group Climbers for Palestine, following a months-long campaign that we have covered in detail. But in the days leading up to the meeting, three new motions upended that plan. Three Motions Become One On July 2, 2026, World Climbing received a motion from the Cyprus Mountaineering, Climbing and Orienteering Federation, or CMCOF, signed by its president, Pavlos Georgiades. The motion explicitly called on the July 23 Extraordinary General Assembly to “refrain from proceeding with the proposed recommendations concerning the suspension of National Federations.” It also asked the Assembly to endorse as World Climbing’s official position the Executive Board’s February decision lifting the suspensions of Russia and Belarus. The motion cited recent amendments to the Olympic Charter that strengthened the principle of political neutrality. Six days later, on July 8—the deadline World Climbing had set for motions to be considered admissible—two nearly identical motions arrived. One was submitted by USA Climbing, the sport’s national governing body in the United States, and signed by its president, Marc Norman. The other came from the Australian federation. Their procedural request went further: remove the three country-specific motions from the agenda and replace them with a single general motion that named no countries. The new motion would recommend that the Executive Board adopt a “principles-based framework” for future decisions concerning the institutional participation of national federations. That framework would not require the board to take any particular action. It stated that the Executive Board “may” suspend a federation if it finds that the organization has violated World Climbing’s statutes, but it would not obligate the board to impose a suspension—or to refrain from doing so. Vertige Media reviewed both documents. Each relied on the same argument: World Climbing’s governance should be brought into line with the recently amended Olympic Charter, which emphasizes the political neutrality of sport. The motions also sought to prevent the General Assembly from becoming, in the words of the Cypriot motion, “a forum for geopolitical disputes rather than a body dedicated to the development of climbing.” According to our information, World Climbing did not put the Cypriot motion and the joint U.S.-Australian proposal to separate votes. Instead, it first presented the substance of each proposal to its member federations, then merged them into a single unified motion. That motion was subsequently put to the Assembly and adopted. In practical terms, the planned vote on the suspension of Belarus, Russia, and Israel did not take place in the form World Climbing had announced for months. Member federations were not asked to consider each country separately and issue a suspension recommendation to the Executive Board. Instead, they approved a text recognizing the reinstatement of Russia and Belarus as World Climbing’s current position while establishing a general, country-neutral governance framework for future cases. Under that framework, the Executive Board alone has the authority—but not the obligation—to suspend a federation. According to our information, World Climbing also announced that, regardless of the vote’s outcome, the Executive Board could refer allegations that the Russian, Belarusian, and Israeli federations had violated World Climbing’s statutes to a disciplinary commission. It did not specify which commission would handle the matter. That announcement opens another route for addressing the allegations documented in particular by Climbers for Palestine—one that could prove slower and less public. “Yes. I can say it right here, right now. It is absolutely certain. [...] So if it is 50.5 percent, we will follow it” Marco Scolaris, president of World Climbing, about the vote The Last-Minute Twist On July 10, two days after World Climbing received the American and Australian motions, World Climbing president Marco Scolaris sat down with us for an interview in Chamonix. Asked whether the upcoming vote could be trusted, he answered unequivocally: “Yes. I can say it right here, right now. It is absolutely certain. [...] So if it is 50.5 percent, we will follow it.” At no point during that portion of the interview did Scolaris mention the Cypriot motion, which had been received eight days earlier, or the American and Australian motions, which had arrived two days earlier and were addressed directly to members of the Executive Board, including Scolaris. Two weeks later, those same motions—combined into one—made his commitment irrelevant. Without a country-specific vote, there is no longer any question of whether the Executive Board would follow a suspension recommendation supported by 50.5 percent of the federations. On Thursday, July 23, shortly before the Extraordinary General Assembly began, Vertige Media sent World Climbing a series of questions. Had Marco Scolaris personally reviewed the motions submitted by the United States on July 8, Australia on July 8, and Cyprus on July 2 before our July 10 interview? Did he know about them when he assured us that the Executive Board would follow any suspension recommendation receiving 50.5 percent of the vote? If so, why did he not mention them? In the evening of July 24, World Climbing responded to us. In its first reply, the institution’s communications department said it did not understand “the scope of the question.” It added: “Marco Scolaris answered all your questions very clearly and amicably. The motions were received by the office, and not personally by the president, and were to be examined by the Executive Board in order to decide whether they were admissible and how best to present them to the General Assembly, which was held on July 21 and 22.” For World Climbing, “the country-by-country vote was not removed from the agenda. The motion changed the framework, and the General Assembly, within the democratic process, decided not to move forward with the other two votes.” Asked why President Marco Scolaris did not think it necessary to mention the motions during the interview, the federation replied: “On July 10, the agenda did not include the motions received on July 8, as they were to be examined by the Executive Board.” World Climbing's official statement, published late in the evening of July 23, confirms Vertige Media's information. On the disciplinary commission, the federation's text nonetheless specifies that the referral only concerns the ILCA (Israel) and the Russian federation, with Belarus not covered by this referral. This transmission does not presume any established violation and does not entail any immediate consequence. A presence from the IOC that raises questions What raises questions lies in another point revealed by the statement. The International Olympic Committee's (IOC) Sports Director, Pierre Ducrey, was present at the Extraordinary General Assembly. According to the statement, he personally spoke during the meeting to present the IOC's current position, "including recent changes to the Olympic Charter concerning political neutrality and access to international sport," in the exact words of the statement. "The IOC's role is to apply neutrality at all times, free from governmental, cultural, societal or economic pressure" Point of the IOC's new Olympic Charter recalled by Sports Director Pierre Ducrey during World Climbing's Extraordinary General Assembly on July 23 Pierre Ducrey's intervention is not insignificant. Appointed IOC Sports Director on July 1, 2025, succeeding Kit McConnell, he presented amendments to the Olympic Charter adopted barely a month earlier, on June 24, 2026, at the IOC's 146th Session in Lausanne, as part of the process known as Fit for the Future. These amendments include the addition of a new paragraph to Rule 2 of the Charter, stating that the IOC's role is "to apply neutrality at all times, free from governmental, cultural, societal or economic pressure." Pierre Ducrey's arrival in a key position for climbing's Olympic future has rattled World Climbing. This is precisely what Marco Scolaris referred to in the interview he gave us on July 10: "We had a difficult moment, with the risk of being downgraded to an additional sport. Which considerably changes the financial situation for us." It is hard, in this context, not to question the weight that the presence of the IOC's Sports Director may have carried, coming to reaffirm the requirement of political neutrality to an Assembly called upon, minutes later, to vote on the suspension of three federations. All this, while climbing's own Olympic future depends directly on the IOC's goodwill for Brisbane 2032. Nothing indicates explicit pressure or coordination between the IOC and World Climbing on the precise outcome of the vote, but the structural incentive is hard to ignore. What Comes Next? For Ukraine and Climbers for Palestine, whose campaign led to the Extraordinary General Assembly being called, Thursday’s outcome represents a procedural setback. The group had argued that the Israeli federation should be suspended based on documented violations of its obligations under World Climbing’s statutes. Instead, it is left with a general framework that names neither Israel, Russia, nor Belarus, along with the possibility of a referral to a disciplinary commission whose scope, membership, and timeline remain unknown. We will continue reporting on the matter as soon as World Climbing provides more complete answers or releases its promised statement. This article was edited on 07/24/2026 at 12:27 PM, following the publication of World Climbing's official press release, issued in the evening of 07/23/2026.

Ariel-Britany Ward, a member of the U.S. collective The Dihedral, reflects in an opinion piece on the commercialization of climbing. She looks at how the rise of climbing gyms and the market has gradually turned a culture of sharing into an industry — and what climbers can still do to help change that. (cc) Jorch Alon / Unsplash Climbing gyms and, more broadly, the climbing industry are changing climbing culture as we know it. That doesn’t mean every gym is the problem. There are still gyms, guides, and communities intentionally working to preserve the values that made climbing special. Unfortunately, those places seem to be becoming the exception rather than the rule. Modern climbing evolved from mountaineering, exploration, scientific research, adventure, and a deep reverence for wild places. It was a sport built on curiosity more than competition. Success wasn’t measured by sponsorships or social media followers. It was measured by the experiences you had, the risks you managed, the relationships you built, and the respect you earned. At its core, climbing valued nature and people over profit. It was a culture rich with mentorship. If you didn’t know how to build an anchor, clean a route, place protection, or move efficiently on rock, someone showed you. Not because they were being paid. Not because it helped grow a personal brand. They taught you because someone had once done the same for them. Knowledge was something you passed on, not something you monetized. For nearly sixty years, climbing remained relatively niche. It slowly grew into what most people would recognize today throughout the ’80s, ’90s, and early 2000s. Growth happened organically, one climber introducing another. Then everything changed. Between COVID and climbing’s Olympic debut, the sport exploded into the mainstream. Millions of people discovered climbing almost overnight. Along with those new climbers came investors, corporations, influencers, content creators, venture capital, and businesses that recognized something climbers had largely ignored for decades… Climbing could be incredibly profitable. Suddenly, there was money in gyms, apparel, coaching, online courses, YouTube channels, social media, nutrition, supplements, climbing trips, recovery products, training apps, and endless amounts of gear marketed as the missing piece between you and your next grade. The problem begins when profit stops supporting climbing and starts shaping what climbing become Growth itself isn’t the enemy. Commercialization isn’t inherently bad either. Climbing gyms have introduced millions of people to a sport they would never have experienced otherwise. Without climbing gyms, many of us, including myself, might never have found this sport. Better equipment has made climbing safer. Professional route setters, coaches, and athletes deserve to make a living doing what they love. None of those things are bad. The problem begins when profit stops supporting climbing and starts shaping what climbing becomes. The barrier to entry has always been high, but today it feels increasingly inaccessible for anyone without significant disposable income. Shoes. Chalk. Harness. Rope. Quickdraws. Crash pads. Helmets. Guidebooks. Camping gear. Gas to get outside. Technical apparel. It adds up quickly. Indoor climbing has become no different. When I first started climbing, my gym membership was around $50 a month. That included everything from yoga classes, climbing classes, fitness equipment, and access to a community that wanted to help you improve. Today it’s common to see memberships starting around $85 just to enter the gym. Want access to fitness classes? More. Yoga? More. Specialized coaching? More. Add-ons continue stacking until a membership reaches $150–200 per month. And honestly… I understand why. Insurance is expensive. Commercial leases are expensive. Route setters deserve to be paid well. Employees deserve living wages. Walls need maintenance. Holds wear out. None of that is free. Money isn’t what’s complicating the situation. People are. We have a choice in how we build this community. Somewhere along the way, climbing slowly shifted from a culture centered around mentorship to one increasingly centered around transactions. Lessons became products. Training became subscriptions. Advice became premium content. Mentorship became coaching packages. Community became something you paid monthly to access. Even outdoor climbing has started to reflect this shift. Secret crags become exclusive content. First ascents become personal brands. Every climbing session becomes something to film instead of something to experience. Instead of asking, “Who can I help today?” We increasingly ask, “What can I post today?” Again, none of these things are inherently wrong. The issue is what happens when they become the norm. When every interaction becomes an opportunity to monetize, people slowly stop seeing each other as partners in a shared community and start seeing each other as customers, competitors, or audiences. Climbing deserves to remain a community first and a business second That changes culture. One of the things I love most about climbing is that grades have never been the greatest measure of who belongs. Some of the strongest climbers I’ve ever met weren’t the people climbing the hardest. They were the people lending crash pads to strangers. The people staying after their own session to belay someone trying their first lead route. The people quietly replacing worn anchor hardware. The people picking up trash that wasn’t theirs. The people spending an hour teaching someone to tie in instead of squeezing in one more burn on their project. None of those things make good content. None of those things generate revenue. Yet those are the very things that built climbing culture. The irony is that climbing has always marketed itself as being about community. And yet, community cannot be purchased. It can’t be built through branding alone. It can’t be manufactured by adding a lounge area or hosting a social night once a month. Community is built through generosity. It’s built through mentorship. It’s built when experienced climbers remember what it felt like to be beginners. It’s built when someone shares beta without worrying who gets credit. It’s built when knowledge is given freely because climbing has always been bigger than individual success. Capitalism didn’t destroy climbing culture overnight. It simply changed the incentives. It rewarded growth over stewardship. Consumption over conservation. Personal brands over quiet mentorship. Scale over relationships. And culture slowly followed. The encouraging part is that culture has never belonged to companies. It belongs to climbers. Every time you invite someone into your session, lend gear, mentor a beginner, share knowledge without expecting something in return, support local climbing organizations, volunteer for trail days, or remind someone to Leave No Trace, you’re helping preserve the best parts of climbing. Businesses will continue to grow. The sport will continue to evolve. Neither of those things are inherently bad. But growth without culture is just another industry. Climbing deserves to remain a community first and a business second. Because what made climbing special was never the gyms, the brands, the competitions, or the money. It was the people. And that part is still ours to protect. This article was originally published on The Dihedral.

Nearly 70 years after Georges Tairraz took his famous photograph of Gaston Rébuffat, Noa Barrau and Jean Rouaux tracked down the exact location in the Mont Blanc massif. But as they tried to recreate the original framing, they discovered that several of their reference points had disappeared. Jean Rouaux at the Pic du Roc © Noa Barrau Eyes fixed on his phone, Noa Barrau compares the landscape with the original photograph. He thinks he has found the spot where Georges Tairraz stood to capture Gaston Rébuffat on top of a rocky pinnacle. But the frame does not line up. Several of the landmarks the young photographer had chosen—sections of glacier and hanging seracs, unstable towers of glacial ice—are no longer visible. To reconstruct the image, he has to imagine where the ice would have been nearly 70 years ago. Finding the Pinnacle In the original photograph, Gaston Rébuffat stands atop a slender rock spire, four coils of rope in his right hand, with the glaciers and peaks of the Mont Blanc massif behind him. Taken by Georges Tairraz, the image was selected by NASA in 1977 as part of a collection intended to show life on Earth to a potential extraterrestrial civilization. Noa Barrau, a 23-year-old photographer and filmmaker, had been thinking about recreating the image for more than a year. He brought in Jean Rouaux, a 24-year-old alpinist who also grew up in the Chamonix Valley. Barrau was initially drawn to the photograph’s composition, framing, and period technique. Rouaux was more interested in the man at its center. “It was the person in the photograph who always inspired me,” Rouaux told us. “He made me want to go up there myself and take the idea all the way—to actually step into the photograph.” « Les gens peuvent penser qu’on s’est arrêtés sur une course classique, qu’on a rapidement fait la photo et que c’était terminé. En réalité, on n’était même pas sûrs que le gendarme existe encore » Noa Barrau In May, while lingering snow still made the climb impossible, the two began preparing. They put together a project file, studied the approaches, and searched for the clothing and equipment they would need for the recreation. Their first challenge was locating the scene precisely. The photograph is often associated with the Aiguille de Roc, but it was actually taken on a lower subsidiary summit known as the Pic du Roc. The location is poorly documented, and the two Chamonix locals did not even know whether the pinnacle had survived the rockfall that regularly reshapes the massif. The original photograph of Gaston Rébuffat by Georges Tairraz © Noa Barrau They flew over the area twice by paraglider to identify the formation. Two additional flights allowed them to land at the base of the route, carry some of their gear to the Tour Rouge bivouac, and establish caches. Their final approach began on foot from Montenvers, carrying 45- to 50-liter packs. For Barrau, that logistical work is the least visible part of the project. “People might think we stopped during a standard alpine climb, quickly took the picture, and that was it,” he said. “In reality, we weren’t even sure the pinnacle still existed.” From the bivouac, they took about four hours to reach the spire. Their speed came from years of experience. Rouaux has climbed since childhood and operates in the 5.13 range, while Barrau spends much of his time in the mountains and is highly skilled in both paragliding and high-altitude photography. But their efficiency on the route says little about the preparation required. They postponed the project several times because of moisture, clouds, or uncertain weather windows. They could only recreate the photograph under skies clear enough to match the lines and colors of the original. On the day they chose, the sky was blue, but winds of roughly 20 miles per hour swept across the ridge. To get into the right position, Rouaux had to repeat the final section six or seven times. The top was narrow, and he could not remain standing on the pinnacle for long. Between attempts, he lay back down on the rock and waited for the wind to ease. Barrau, meanwhile, had to hold his camera by hand because he had not brought a tripod. He needed to wait until “the framing was completely steady, Jean had all four coils of rope in his hand, he was looking in the right direction, and there wasn’t a gust.” Jean Rouaux in period costume © Noa Barrau They assembled the clothing with help from Jean-Franck Charlet, a Chamonix mountain guide and crystal hunter. The pants, socks, and boots were all vintage. The sweater was a recent reissue of a model similar to the one Rébuffat wore. The boots even surprised Rouaux, who had expected them to feel mostly heavy and stiff. “I didn’t expect them to grip so well,” he said. “You put your foot on a tiny edge and it holds. When I switched back to my modern mountaineering boots, I was almost a little disappointed.” « Les points de repère que je m’étais fixés étaient des zones de glacier et des séracs suspendus. Certains avaient disparu » Noa Barrau Historical accuracy ended where safety required it to. To reach the ridge, the two used a modern climbing rope, passive protection, and quickdraws. Rouaux also hid a harness beneath his pants and remained tied into it. A second knot around his waist recreated the rope system visible in the original photograph. Using a hemp rope, he said, would have been “not very smart,” especially for the rappels, or controlled rope descents. Their goal was instead to “respect the look of the period while combining it with modern safety standards.” Protection on the final section was still limited. Rouaux worked out the moves on his first attempt, then repeated them until he knew the sequence precisely. Once they had the photograph, the two still had to descend unbolted terrain with no established rappel stations or fixed anchors. The descent took nearly as long as the climb. What the Image Reveals To recreate Tairraz’s framing, Barrau divided the original photograph into four sections. In each corner, he looked for a landmark: a ridge, a summit, a section of glacier, or a hanging serac. He found the photographer’s position fairly quickly. He also identified the focal length: a 35-millimeter lens, common at the time and one Barrau regularly carries in the mountains. On the left is the original photo by Georges Tairraz; on the right is the one by Noa Barrau n theory, all he had to do was move a few inches forward or backward. But for about 30 minutes, he could not make the two images line up. “The reference points I had chosen were sections of glacier and hanging seracs,” he explained. “Some of them had disappeared. I had to find new ones and imagine that a certain rock matched a spot that would have been under the ice 70 years ago.” As he reconstructed the frame, he realized “how much had disappeared.” « Nous avons un devoir de protéger cette montagne que nous aimons tant » Jean Rouaux Any comparison between the two photographs has limits. The exact date of the original image, the amount of snow on the ground, the light, the weather, and the color processing all affect how the landscape appears. The photographs alone cannot provide a scientific measurement of the retreat of each visible glacier. Still, some changes are clear. In the newer photograph, the glacial surface appears less continuous, and several seracs visible in the older image are gone. For Rouaux, the difference is unmistakable. In the photograph of Rébuffat, he said, “the glacier almost forms a continuous blanket of snow across the entire landscape.” In the photograph taken in June, the scene looks “much grayer, with more moraine, a more fragmented glacier, and several masses of ice that have disappeared.” During his research, Rouaux also learned about Gaston Rébuffat’s concern for protecting the mountains and the natural world. He believes the alpinist would have been glad to see one of his photographs become “a witness to glacier retreat,” rather than serving only as a historical tribute. It is also a reminder, Rouaux added, “that we have a duty to protect this mountain we love so much.”

Forty years after the first international climbing competition in Bardonecchia, Marco Scolaris is serving his final term as president of World Climbing. Days before a vote on whether to suspend the Russian, Belarusian, and Israeli federations, he reflects on four decades spent building the sport—and on its uneasy relationship with politics. An extended interview from Chamonix. Marco Scolaris in Chamonix on July 12, 2026 © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media Vertige Media : In 1985, you were in Bardonecchia for the first international climbing competition. At the time, the climbing community was far from convinced. Marco Scolaris : People said climbing was supposed to be free. Wearing a competition bib was shocking. But in Turin, where I lived, most of us were saying: Be careful. If someone from outside the climbing world comes in and starts putting on successful events, climbers will be pushed aside. So we got involved. And little by little, we watched it grow. Vertige Media : That growth eventually created friction with traditional mountaineering, represented by the UIAA, the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation. Marco Scolaris : Constantly. The mountaineers wanted to control climbing. They thought the growth of climbing would put mountaineering at risk. There was a lot of drama and endless debate. Eventually, they asked us to leave. That was in 2006. We left, and in 2007 we founded the IFSC, the International Federation of Sport Climbing. “In 2007, I was a mountain photographer. International sports politics was a completely different world. When I found myself standing in front of IOC members in suits, well…” Vertige Media : At the very first founding general assembly, you raised the question of the Olympic Games. Did you really believe it could happen? Marco Scolaris : I asked everyone, “Do you want us to formally express our interest in the Olympics?” The vote was unanimous: yes. Then I asked another question: “Do you know what that means?” Again, everyone said yes. But the truth was, nobody knew. I certainly didn’t. In 2007, I was a mountain photographer. International sports politics was a completely different world. When I found myself standing in front of IOC members in suits, well… But we went for it. Later, someone asked me how long it would take. I said, given the circumstances, 20 years. And if you look at what happened, that’s basically how long it took. Vertige Media : So how does a sport get into the Olympics? Marco Scolaris : You have to build the sport, the competition circuit, media attention, and participation. If you want to enter the Olympics with a sport practiced in only 10 countries, that isn’t credible. You need a minimum number of national federations and a minimum level of participation, and you have to show that the sport is growing. By the end of the 2010s, all those pieces were in place for climbing. Vertige Media : How did IOC officials react to your proposal? Marco Scolaris : They came to watch competitions, and they were amazed. “The French climber is giving the Italian climber advice?” Yes. “And tomorrow the Italian will give the French climber advice?” Yes. They all told me, “Once you have a lot of money and television rights, that will change.” I don’t think it has. So we worked together to bring climbing into the Olympics while preserving the spirit of the sport and trying to offer a different model. You can’t change soccer today. But if you show that another model exists and can succeed, then little by little, you can have an influence. “At a time when private sponsorship money is becoming harder to find, things are tight. We’re trying to survive” Vertige Media : You still had to make compromises. In Tokyo, climbing’s Olympic debut used a combined format: speed, bouldering, and lead, the roped discipline. Did that feel like a sacrifice? Marco Scolaris : It was a bargaining chip. We can say that now. When the door opened for Tokyo, the IOC told us: You get 40 athletes, 20 women and 20 men, and one medal event. They suggested the combined format. It was a compromise. On our side, we thought it was either that or nothing. At least putting all three disciplines on display would introduce them to the entire world and give us a chance to secure more medals later. Paris would have two medal events. Los Angeles would have three. That was already the long-term plan. But at the time, we did a poor job explaining it to the athletes. The burden on them was too high. Vertige Media : What do you mean? Marco Scolaris : Speed climbing… Our climbing community didn’t understand it right away. It was new, and it came on a little suddenly. But the IOC especially liked speed because they could explain it to anyone in two minutes: “It’s the 100-meter dash, only vertical. They do it in five seconds.” Marco Scolaris, returning from a short jog. © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media Vertige Media : Is climbing’s place in the Olympics secure today? Marco Scolaris : No. Nothing is settled for Brisbane in 2032. The IOC presidency changed last year when Kirsty Coventry took over. More importantly, there is a new sports director, Pierre Ducrey of Switzerland. When he arrived, he didn’t have the historical background. We went through a difficult period when there was a risk that climbing could be downgraded to an additional sport. That would have major financial consequences for us. Things are better now. But we’re watching the situation very closely. Vertige Media : Speaking of finances, where does the federation stand today? Marco Scolaris : We started from very little. In 2007, our annual budget was €170,000. We peaked at €6 million around the Paris Olympics, and today we operate on €4 million to €5 million a year. That isn’t enough to do everything we want to do. At a time when private sponsorship money is becoming harder to find, things are tight. We’re trying to survive. Vertige Media : How? Marco Scolaris : We have to hold on until Los Angeles, when we’ll receive Olympic television-rights revenue. After that, things should improve. We have potential sources of revenue, including ticket sales, but we have to be transparent so people understand where their money goes. Sports governing bodies are constantly under attack today—look at Infantino and FIFA. The situations aren’t comparable. The money has never gone into my pocket. But the public image of sports leaders has been badly damaged. Vertige Media : This is your fifth and final term. The exemption from term limits drew criticism. How did that happen? Marco Scolaris : From the beginning, I said I would stop at 70. I’m 68. I also said it would take 20 years to reach the Olympics, and after that, my work would be done. So yes, there is this broader issue of term limits in international sports governance. Some federations introduced them retroactively, which meant every member of the board would suddenly have to leave at the same time. I was asked to stay. The part of the story I have never told is that I went to the IOC president at the time, Thomas Bach, and asked him directly. He told me, “Marco, I think you should stay through Los Angeles because the organization needs to be consolidated.” For the sake of transparency, we put the question to the general assembly in Singapore two years before the election. More than two-thirds of the member federations voted yes. Then, in the 2025 election, I ran again. I had an opponent. I won. Vertige Media : So this will definitely be your last term? Marco Scolaris : Absolutely. I’m a pioneer, not a settler. My role was to open the way. Once the organization is stable, you need someone who can build programs and present climbing in a different way. I’m also a little tired. [He smiles softly.] I can feel that my journey is nearing its end. Marco Scolaris, in Chamonix © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media Vertige Media : Earlier today—this interview was conducted on Friday, July 10—a pro-Palestinian demonstration took place here in Chamonix before the competition, a first for the city. What did you make of it? Marco Scolaris [smiling]: I read your article on the bus this morning, about the July 23 vote on suspending the Russian, Belarusian, and Israeli federations. In substance, I think 70 to 80 percent of it is correct. But there are two or three important inaccuracies. The first concerns the nature of the upcoming vote. The vote must remain a recommendation. Under World Climbing’s statutes, the authority to suspend a federation belongs to the executive board. If the general assembly makes a decision it has no authority to make, the suspended federation will sue, and it will win. Then it’s over. “Because sport should not take sides in political conflicts. If the sports world decides that one country is the aggressor and that its athletes must be removed, then we have to assess every conflict in the world. It is a moral and philosophical question, but also a tragically practical one” Vertige Media : What do you mean? Marco Scolaris : This is an invitation to everyone—the press, activists—to do things correctly. If the goal is to reach a suspension decision, you have to take the right path and follow the proper procedure. Vertige Media : The real question is this: If more than 50 percent of the federations recommend suspension, will the World Climbing board follow that recommendation? Marco Scolaris : Yes. I can say that here and now. Absolutely. There are 12 of us on the board, so I can’t promise it with 100 percent certainty. But we asked the question because we intend to listen to the federations. So if the result is 50.5 percent, we will follow it. Vertige Media : Why did it take so long to respond to allegations that cliffs and climbing areas had been seized by Israelis from Palestinians? Marco Scolaris : We have to be honest and transparent. Our official counterparts are the national federations, not individuals or associations. And we did respond. Maybe they didn’t like the answer, but we responded. The original document we received did not give us a legal basis to act. It discussed the actions of the Israeli government, not the Israeli climbing federation, the ICLA. It is not the role of an international federation to determine whether a cliff was seized by a government. Our legal adviser is very clear about that. But yesterday—July 9, 2026—we received new documents from the Palestinian federation that describe the actions of the Israeli federation itself in greater detail. The earlier documents did not provide a legal basis for action under our statutes. These new documents might. Vertige Media : On Russia and Belarus, you said suspending them was “a stupid decision.” Why? Marco Scolaris : Because sport should not take sides in political conflicts. If the sports world decides that one country is the aggressor and that its athletes must be removed, then we have to assess every conflict in the world. It is a moral and philosophical question, but also a tragically practical one. And we are grouping together situations that are completely different. Russia and Israel do not involve the same issues. Vertige Media : Have you discussed this with the IOC? Marco Scolaris : I told President Coventry it was a mistake. She wasn’t the one who made the decision at the time. Thomas Bach was president. But it was a mistake, and we entered a vicious cycle. Emotions were running high. It was two weeks after the invasion of Ukraine. The IOC recommended exclusion, and we followed that recommendation. But something that takes five minutes to decide can take five years to undo. And we still haven’t undone it. “I’m saying there is unequal treatment. This year, there were strikes against Iran. What happened? Nothing. There was no response from the Olympic movement. When Russia began its invasion of Ukraine, it became a global crisis for sports. That double standard is real” Vertige Media : But is it really possible for sport to remain neutral? Isn’t that naïve? Marco Scolaris : It’s extremely naïve. I know that. There is political pressure from governments, but there is also the moral question. We all see the photographs and the videos on television. Not only from Israel—from Ukraine, Congo… You want to respond. But once you take a position, everything becomes a mess. You no longer know where you’re going. And you end up powerless—and not especially consistent, either, because you eventually ignore some people while protecting others. I was at the general assembly of the International Paralympic Committee, sitting next to the president of the South Sudan Paralympic Committee. He told me, “We are forgotten. Nobody sees us.” Maybe because they don’t have oil? It’s complicated. Vertige Media : Are you criticizing a double standard? Marco Scolaris : I’m saying there is unequal treatment. This year, there were strikes against Iran. What happened? Nothing. There was no response from the Olympic movement. When Russia began its invasion of Ukraine, it became a global crisis for sports. That double standard is real. And we try to follow governments—but which governments? The 40 European countries sometimes think they represent the entire world. More than 100 other countries see things differently. "Sanctioning someone is a form of war. Not with weapons, not with a rifle—but it is still war" Vertige Media : So what can the “Olympic movement” actually do? Marco Scolaris : It can try to remain a place where the countries of the world can come together peacefully. Athletes are the next generation of leaders. If we prevent them from meeting, talking, and competing against one another… This year, as far as I know, the Russian and Ukrainian climbers never crossed paths in competition, and the other athletes welcomed them without any problems. That matters. That’s why I say: Be careful with sanctions. Sanctioning someone is a form of war. Not with weapons, not with a rifle—but it is still war. You end up repeating the same pattern. That was the fundamental mistake we made in 2022. Vertige Media : As you approach the end of your final term, how do you see the state of the world? Marco Scolaris : I am a little disappointed, yes. The problems between Israel and Palestine have existed for 78 years. Israel cannot be the only one blamed. It is a collective responsibility. Some of the images are shocking. How can you remain indifferent when you see children watching a World Cup soccer game from the ruins of their home in Gaza? I have lost some of my faith. But still… [He pauses.] As a climber, you never lose faith. When we presented climbing to the IOC board in St. Petersburg and I realized we had missed our chance, a journalist asked me, “What will you do if you are selected?” I said, “We’ll climb.” “And if you aren’t selected?” We’ll climb. That is climbing. It is our sport, but it is also our way of life.

In the wake of Fontainebleau’s massive wildfire, climbers are grieving. But for those who have built their lives around climbing here, the sport itself now comes second. A report from inside a forest where time seems to have stopped. Climbers in Bleau at the edge of the forest © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media He takes a deep breath, then steps forward. As if bracing himself for what he is about to see, he grips the camera hanging from his shoulder. He steps over cracks in the earth and charred roots. The ground beneath his feet is still warm. The devastation is everywhere: blackened trunks, scorched boulders, and bare branches stretching into the distance. But what strikes Simon most is the silence. The trees that remain are still standing, yet there is not a sound. No birds. No glint of sunlight. Not even the feeling of wind. It is as though everything has stopped. Bleau on Fire Standing between two boulders, Simon listens closely to the French National Forests Office official accompanying him. Sophie David explains that when a tree trunk is burned more than two meters, or about six and a half feet, above the ground, the tree can be considered dead. Each one will have to be assessed individually. But David needs only to turn in a circle to estimate that two-thirds of the trees here will eventually come down. This is Trois Pignons, on the southwestern edge of the Fontainebleau forest, one of the areas hit hardest by the most destructive fires in the massif’s modern history. More than 2,000 hectares—12 percent of the largest state-owned forest in the Paris region—have burned. Nothing like this has happened here before. And it is not over. David places the back of her hand against a layer of peat that is still warm. The fire has been contained, she explains, but it is not yet out. Just a few yards away lies the famous 25 Bosses loop, along with a collection of boulders that have played an iconic role in climbing history. Simon stops in front of one of them. “This is Le Diplodocus, the boulder that gave the area its name,” he says. Then he points out its features. “When you tilt your head and look closely, it really does look like a dinosaur.” “The forest isn’t the backdrop to our sport. It’s the other way around: The forest is the reason our sport exists here” Simon Senet, climber and creator of the Instagram page Fontainebleau Boulder At 31, Simon Senet already knows the forest by heart. He describes his first visit, 10 years ago, as “love at first sight.” Coming from a commercial climbing gym in the Paris area, he immediately saw Fontainebleau as a completely different way to climb. While many of his friends treated the forest as an extension of their “playground,” Simon became interested in its natural heritage. As “a reaction against the obsession with performance,” he created an Instagram account called Fontainebleau Boulder, where he documents the countless stories behind the forest’s boulders. After standing silently in front of Le Diplodocus for several minutes, he finally speaks. “I’ve never come to Fontainebleau just to climb,” he says. “The forest isn’t the backdrop to our sport. It’s the other way around: The forest is the reason our sport exists here.” Bleau in Their Blood Every climber who spoke with Vertige Media made the same point. About 10 days after what they all describe as “a tragedy,” talking about climbing almost feels indecent. For them, the forest has always come first. Christophe Laumône started climbing in Fontainebleau long before climbing gyms existed. When the fire began on Sunday, July 11, firefighters stopped it about a hundred yards from his home. “I thought my life was going up in smoke,” he says over the phone. He means it both literally and figuratively. Climbing among the maritime and Corsican pines has defined his entire life on the rock. Now an instructor, he describes climbing less as performing on a boulder than as “sitting between attempts and looking at nature.” After the fear came what he now calls “a profound sadness.” In the areas where he put up hundreds of problems, the boulders are now charred. For someone who has climbed in the forest for more than 40 years, entire landscapes have burned away—and the memories tied to them. “The idea of climbing at Trois Pignons again is just unthinkable,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t make sense anymore.” “To me, it’s like when a family member suddenly becomes disabled. Everything is different” Gaëtane Potard, climber and secretary of the Respect Bleau association With thousands of boulder problems, Trois Pignons is one of the busiest areas in the massif. It may account for more than a quarter of all climbing traffic in the forest. Will these scorched boulders, formed from Fontainebleau’s ancient sands, ever be safe to climb again? “No one knows,” says Gaëtane Potard, secretary of Respect Bleau, one of the climbing organizations most active in protecting the forest. Some holds may have broken. The fire burned through the massif within about four inches of the ground’s surface, destroying roots that helped hold certain boulders in place and potentially making them unstable. “Either way, trees are going to fall onto the boulders,” Potard says. “There will be too much disruption for Trois Pignons to reopen anytime soon.” Sophie David of the National Forests Office stops short of confirming that assessment, but the agency may formally impose a one-year closure in the coming days. On the left, Simon Senet, and on the right, Tiphaine, at the edge of the Fontainebleau Forest © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media and Reporterre “We’re entering a waiting period that will change how we live,” Potard says. “To me, it’s like when a family member suddenly becomes disabled. Everything is different.” For the Bleausards—the local climbers who see the forest as essential as breathing—it means finding a new way to live. Many residents have already shifted into the role of caretakers. Climbers are helping public agencies educate visitors. Raphaël and Tiphaine are even patrolling with the National Forests Office, making rounds to ensure that no one ignores the ban on entering the forest. At times, they are also watching for anyone who might try to set it ablaze again. “That was my first instinct,” Raphaël says. Twenty-four hours after the fire began, the man in his 40s says he raced around the parking areas, checking for “other malicious acts.” Tiphaine, who was born here, says her greatest fear is that one person could start the fire again. She knows that 90 percent of forest fires are caused by human activity, with a significant number believed to involve deliberate or criminal acts. Between Fires Access points around the forest’s 25,000 hectares have been blocked with barriers and caution tape installed by police, forestry workers, and climbers. For Tiphaine, that collective effort shows “how deeply people care about the forest.” Raphaël also sees a practical benefit. “The National Forests Office knows the trails inside and out,” he says, “but I think they need climbers to keep an eye on the bouldering areas.” That is exactly what has happened. Fontainebleau averages around 30 fire starts each year, and climbers have often stepped in—sometimes putting out fires themselves with sand, sometimes reporting early warning signs, and often educating other visitors. “To me, something has changed. I’m seeing more and more new climbers who are obsessed with performance and don’t care about the environment around them” Aurélie Blaise, climber and president of the Bloc'age association Aurélie Blaise knows the problem well. She is the president of the climbing organization Bloc’age and runs a guesthouse in Noisy-sur-École. Along with cancellations, she has had to manage visitors’ frustration over being unable to climb. “I understand,” she says. “When you’ve planned your vacation around climbing, that can be hard to hear.” But beyond the fires, Blaise has also noticed what she calls “a troubling consumer mentality.” “People act as though they’re entitled to everything,” she says. “As if they assume someone else will clean up after them.” Wearing a fluorescent yellow tank top, Aurélie folds her arms before making her next point. “To me, something has changed,” she says. “I’m seeing more and more new climbers who are obsessed with performance and don’t care about the environment around them.” Aurélie Blaise © Louis Lepron for Vertige Media and Reporterre For Fontainebleau’s climbing community, the fire has forced a deeper reckoning. Millions of people now visit the forest, and some of their behavior is becoming a serious problem. “Climbers still smoke at the base of the boulders,” Tiphaine says. “Plenty of people bring a camp stove to make coffee,” Simon adds. “There’s a huge wave of solidarity right now,” Raphaël says. “But I know the difficult conversations may start tomorrow.” In fact, those questions are already being debated in WhatsApp groups and on social media. Should climbers have to pay for access? Should the forest be closed entirely whenever the fire risk becomes too high? Simon Senet is convinced that no matter how often climbing organizations repeat their warnings, the message is not getting through. “Only 1 percent of the people who visit this forest ever hear these messages,” he says. “We need to change how we communicate them.” Simon insisted on visiting Roche aux Sabots, where millions of climbers, including him, first learned to climb outdoors. The moment he arrives, he feels a deep sense of relief. Located close to nearby homes, the area was spared by the flames thanks to firefighters’ relentless efforts. Suddenly, the forest feels like itself again. The colors return. So do the smells and the feeling of wind. Simon seems restored by it. This, he says, is when his project feels most important. “To share the richness of the forest,” he says, “and with it, the entire heritage of climbing in Bleau.” That evening, he will head back to his keyboard and write the story of another boulder. For now, Sophie David jokes that the chalk marks are still here. And, miraculously, Simon smiles.

A few days after World Climbing’s extraordinary general assembly blocked a vote on suspending the Israeli, Russian, and Belarusian federations, Climbers for Palestine and Grimpe Solidaire Internationale (GSI) publish an op-ed in our pages. The groups condemn a last-minute decision to combine several motions, a voting procedure changed without meaningful debate, and possible collusion within the executive board of climbing’s international governing body. The Palestinian flag was hung on the peaks of Chamonix during the Climbing World Cup © a group of anonymous mountaineers On July 23, 2026, World Climbing, the international governing body for competitive climbing, failed a historic test for the sport. Instead, it became mired in a bureaucratic mess that fooled no one. By quietly combining motions and restructuring the voting process, World Climbing denied its members the opportunity to hold a legitimate democratic vote on suspending the Israeli, Russian, and Belarusian federations—even though those suspensions had received broad support at the previous general assembly on April 23. Backroom Maneuvering In early July, three national federations submitted motions intended to prevent that vote from taking place. The Cyprus Mountaineering Climbing Federation first filed a motion calling for the vote to be canceled and, among other things, for the Russian and Belarusian federations to be reinstated. Then, on the filing deadline set by World Climbing, USA Climbing and Sport Climbing Australia submitted identical, word-for-word motions. Their proposal would replace separate votes on each federation’s suspension with a framework based on “objective criteria, political neutrality, proportionality, nondiscrimination, and transparency”—the same principles already written into World Climbing’s governing documents. Representatives of both federations hold vice presidencies on World Climbing’s executive board, the 12-member body that makes the organization’s key decisions. Were they genuinely trying to clarify how the rules should be interpreted, or were they simply trying to stop the vote? World Climbing’s executive board then decided, in its own words, to combine the spirit of those “three” motions and change the voting process accordingly. The federations were informed of these major changes only 24 hours before the extraordinary general assembly began. The federations we have spoken with say the late notice gave them almost no time to assess the consequences or challenge the new procedure. The motion drafted by the executive board also changed how the vote would work. Instead of holding a standard yes-no-abstain vote on each of the three federations, World Climbing created a decision tree in which the unified motion would be voted on first. Then there was the unusual appearance of Pierre Ducrey, the International Olympic Committee’s new sports director, at the extraordinary general assembly. Ducrey spoke about the new Paragraph 5 of the Fundamental Principles of Olympism, which states: “The IOC’s role is to remain neutral at all times and resist all governmental, cultural, societal, and economic pressure.” He addressed the assembly immediately before the vote. Climbing also still faces the possibility of being downgraded to an additional sport at the 2032 Brisbane Olympics. World Climbing President Marco Scolaris acknowledged that risk in a July 12 interview with Vertige Media: “We’re watching the situation closely.” Was Ducrey’s appearance simply a coincidence of scheduling, or was it a message delivered before a decisive vote? “The vote looked fair on the surface, but the outcome had already been locked in. How much will our sport sacrifice to protect its Olympic status if the price is stripping away its core values?” Sleight of Hand and Hypocrisy In light of these events, we have every right to ask: Did some members of the executive board collude to influence what should have been an independent and impartial vote? A vote did take place—but we must be clear about what members were actually allowed to decide. By imposing a new motion and a decision tree instead of holding a straightforward, federation-by-federation vote, World Climbing prevented any individual review of the Israeli Climbing Association’s case. The evidence, the facts, and the question of responsibility were never debated on their merits. The adopted motion preserves the status quo. Israeli athletes continue to represent their country, while Russian and Belarusian athletes compete as Individual Neutral Athletes. By a narrow majority of its member federations, World Climbing has chosen to continue applying suspensions selectively and inconsistently through a conveniently structured motion. The vote looked fair on the surface, but the outcome had already been locked in. How much will our sport sacrifice to protect its Olympic status if the price is stripping away its core values? These procedural games are not merely internal governance disputes. While World Climbing became bogged down in its own process, Palestinian climbers continued to be assaulted, harassed, and imprisoned. The human cost is immediate and documented. We are deeply concerned that the Israeli Climbing Association continues to be allowed to engage in conduct that contributes to serious violations of international law and World Climbing’s own rules. This includes the annexation of climbing areas in the occupied West Bank and the maintenance of a system that denies Palestinians equal access to their own land. We are also outraged that a legitimate democratic vote was blocked through procedural maneuvering that creates no path forward beyond the one that already existed—and that it took enormous pressure for World Climbing to take even minimal action. “In a sport that claims to value courage, a connection to nature, and the pursuit of freedom, we must look to Palestinian climbers to understand what those values truly mean.” After this charade, World Climbing congratulated itself for adopting a “framework based on objective governance criteria, proportionality, and nondiscrimination.” In reality, by refusing to hold the Israeli Climbing Association accountable, World Climbing is disregarding both its own governing documents and the Olympic Charter. The charter also clearly requires sports organizations such as World Climbing to remain politically neutral. Yet this outcome provides no new way to address Israel’s violations of laws and rules. Instead, it prevents athletes from receiving timely and equal protection, suggesting that the assembly’s actions primarily reflect the political positions of its members or their governments. World Climbing’s announcement that the allegations against the Israeli Climbing Association will be referred to a “disciplinary commission” is nothing more than a meaningless delaying tactic. The organization has provided no transparency about who will sit on the commission and no timeline for its work—more than 10 months after Climbers for Palestine submitted its complaint. The complaint was emailed on September 30, 2025, by Climbers for Palestine Spain to the organization, then known as the IFSC, under the subject line “Information regarding the Israeli Climbing Association.” World Climbing did not even confirm that the allegations would be referred to the disciplinary commission until after the July 23 extraordinary general assembly. Why should the community believe that this commission will act quickly or honestly when World Climbing has delayed action against the Israeli Climbing Association for nearly a year? This Concerns All of Us We demand a public and transparent investigation into these allegations. Blocking the vote has once again created an unnecessary delay in World Climbing’s procedures. This was a deliberate decision by many of the organization’s leaders, and it will have real consequences for Palestinian climbers: physical assaults and harassment by illegal settlers, as well as arbitrary imprisonment. Abdallah Motan, a Palestinian climber, has been held without trial since January 13, 2025. These harms are documented and ongoing. Ending them will require the continued attention and mobilization of the global climbing community. This year, climbers around the world came together to prevent competitive climbing from being used to sportswash violence and land theft against Palestinians. Thousands wrote to their national federations and World Climbing’s leadership to condemn the actions of the Israeli federation and demand that the organization do what is right. Although a narrow majority of federation leaders rejected our appeal, we are proud of and grateful to the many climbers—professional and recreational alike—who did not. This story has always belonged to the climbers of Palestine. In a sport that claims to value courage, a connection to nature, and the pursuit of freedom, we must look to Palestinian climbers to understand what those values truly mean. Despite this outcome, Climbers for Palestine will continue to follow their example. We will try to face these new challenges with the resolve and dignity shown by our Palestinian brothers and sisters. As they fight for freedom, we will continue to hold accountable those who seek to take it from them. These climbers are showing us what real courage looks like. We hope the entire global climbing community will soon follow their lead. Climbers for Palestine and Grimpe Solidaire Internationale (GSI) are independent organizations that advocate, among other causes, for recognition of the rights of climbers in Palestine.

A recent scientific review confirms that finger-strength testing is getting more reliable. But between the famous 20 mm edge, portable sensors, and the very real chaos of chalk, putting a climber’s finger strength into numbers is still a serious challenge. (CC) Brook Anderson / Unsplash On a hangboard—a training board with small holds—the feeling usually comes before the number. One edge feels sharp. Another bites into the skin. A full crimp loads the fingers a little too hard. Your skin is too thin, the gym is too humid, your fingers are too cold, or the method still hasn’t clicked. One day, the same move feels obvious. Three days later, it makes no sense at all. And yet, over the past few years, a new language has made its way into training logs: kilos, newtons, ratios, asymmetry curves. In fall 2025, researchers reviewed the available scientific literature in a systematic review published in Frontiers in Sports and Active Living, a scientific journal focused on sport, physical activity, and health. A systematic review is a specific kind of research paper: it examines existing studies according to a method defined in advance. Their question was simple: are the methods used to measure finger-flexor strength in climbers actually reliable? The Problem The goal of the science here is not to decide whether one number can sum up a climber’s ability. The goal is consistency: if the same person repeats the same test under similar conditions, are the results comparable? On that point, the answer is fairly reassuring. Fourteen of the 15 studies analyzed reported high reliability for at least one measurement. For maximum isometric strength tests—pulling as hard as possible without moving—12 studies showed very stable results from one attempt to the next. The authors described the reliability as “good to excellent.” In the 2025 review, fixed 20 to 23 mm edges appeared in eight of the 15 studies analyzed That finding backs up a broader trend. In 2023, an earlier systematic review on physical testing in climbing had already shown just how central fingers are to climbing research: upper-body and finger-strength tests appeared in 120 of the 156 studies analyzed. But that same review also pointed to a methodological mess. For finger strength alone, researchers counted “almost 230 different ways” to run the tests, depending on the type of hold, its depth, arm and body position, hand spacing, force thresholds, and rest times. In other words, climbing is swimming in data. But not everyone is measuring the same thing yet. A hang from an edge, an isometric pull on a specific hold, a one-arm test, a two-arm test, a half-crimp protocol—the half crimp is the common bent-finger position between open-hand and full crimp—or an open-hand test can all produce numbers. The question is which numbers can actually be compared. 20 Millimeters, the Gold Standard In this scattered landscape, one number keeps coming back: 20 millimeters. Along with its slightly larger cousin, 23 mm, that edge depth has become a common reference point in the scientific literature. In the 2025 review, fixed 20 to 23 mm edges appeared in eight of the 15 studies analyzed. The authors found that these depths consistently showed strong reliability and should be prioritized for standardized monitoring. The 20 mm edge has become a practical measuring unit, linking labs, training apps, portable sensors, and home testing setups. It turns a feeling—“my fingers feel weak right now”—into data that can be compared over time. Several recent studies have tracked that shift. In 2022, a study published in Frontiers in Sports and Active Living evaluated the Tindeq Progressor, a commercial sensor used to measure force. Twenty-five experienced climbers, 16 men and nine women, were tested in specific positions, including a one-arm pull on a 20 mm edge. Compared with a laboratory force plate, the device scored between 0.90 and 0.99 out of 1 for reliability in the two tested positions. In plain English: its measurements lined up almost perfectly with the reference device. It was also highly stable when tests were repeated on the same day or several days apart. The authors concluded that the Tindeq can be considered a “valid and reliable” tool for detecting training-related changes in strength outside the lab. There is also a clear representation problem. The review does not provide a consolidated women-men breakdown across the 747 participants. A year earlier, a study published in PLOS ONE, a broad open-access scientific journal, showed why these measurements matter so much for training. Fifty-seven male climbers—17 intermediate, 25 advanced, and 15 elite—performed isometric pulls on a 23 mm hold in a half crimp, with the elbow bent at 90 degrees. The result: elite climbers produced greater maximum force than the other two groups. They also stood out for their rate of force development, meaning their ability to generate a lot of force quickly. For the authors, maximum strength and rate of force development can help distinguish elite climbers from advanced and intermediate climbers. So the number does not replace climbing. But it is starting to matter in how climbing is trained, tracked, and compared. It is no longer just about whether you can “hold small.” It is about how much force you produce, how you produce it, on which hold, how fast, with which hand, and sometimes how big the gap is between sides. Still a Guess? The 2025 review still comes with real limitations. Protocols remain highly inconsistent: one-hand tests or two-hand tests, simultaneous measurements or not, maximum strength, endurance, critical force, rate of force development, hold depths ranging from 6 to 60 mm. The spread was so wide that the researchers did not run one overall meta-analysis. Combining the results would have created a sense of certainty that the protocols themselves could not really support. For climbers, an even more obvious issue stands out: the lack of control over real climbing conditions. In a sport where a hold that is too cold, too sweaty, or loaded with chalk can ruin an attempt, only four of the 15 studies monitored temperature and humidity across tests. Only one explicitly mentioned chalk use during measurements. The authors noted that cold can reduce finger-flexor performance, especially endurance, and that chalk, which is supposed to dry the fingers, can under some conditions reduce the coefficient of friction. There is also a clear representation problem. The review does not provide a consolidated women-men breakdown across the 747 participants. That absence is itself meaningful. In the summary table, two studies were male-only, with 93 and 31 men, respectively. One study included men and women without detailing the breakdown there. Another included 31 climbers and non-climbers without specifying participants’ sex. The others included both men and women, but the review does not always make clear whether results were analyzed separately. That is not a minor statistical detail. The authors wrote that gaps in participant characterization matter because sex and sport experience can influence results. They called for better-balanced protocols, especially for analysis by sex and ability level. The same issue appears in the 2021 PLOS ONE study often cited on strength and rate of force development. It included 57 climbers, but no women, and its authors acknowledged that the results may not necessarily apply to female climbers at the same level. Finger strength, then, is becoming easier to measure well. But the number still has limits. It isolates one physical ability in a strict setting, on a specific hold, with a specific protocol, under conditions that may or may not be controlled. It does not see route reading, footwork, stress management, skin fatigue, movement efficiency, or the simple feel for a move. That makes it an excellent diagnostic tool. But we are still a long way from an algorithm for climbing.

Several members of the French Alpine Club of Casablanca have reported sexist comments, unwanted touching, late-night messages, and being pushed out after setting boundaries. Their accounts follow an internal petition challenging the absence of women from a route-development course, and raise broader questions about power within the club’s climbing section. (cc) Brook Anderson / Unsplash Since 2020, several women connected to the climbing section of the French Alpine Club of Casablanca say they have experienced or witnessed troubling behavior. Some still belong to the club; others have left. Not all of them know one another. Their accounts come in addition to an internal petition challenging the absence of women from a route-development course in Merzouga, a village in southeastern Morocco. The French Alpine Club of Casablanca, known as CAF Casablanca, is an association governed by Moroccan law and affiliated with the French Federation of Alpine and Mountain Clubs, or FFCAM. In Casablanca, its climbing section is the city’s only organized climbing facility. Members go there to climb, learn technical skills, take outdoor trips, gain access to club outings, and improve within a community setting. For this investigation, Vertige Media spoke with roughly 10 people connected to the climbing section, including seven women, and reviewed documents, screenshots, and internal communications. Access, Power, and Silence Aminah*, a former member, says she left CAF Casablanca in August 2024 after four years of climbing there regularly. The atmosphere had become unbearable, she says. “I tried not to think about it too much and to focus on climbing, but it was very hard to stay in an environment like that, with so much toxicity and so much harassment.” According to her account, the behavior began during her first year at the club. “It started with comments about my body, about my butt.” She says that when she mentioned her Moroccan roots, Hamid Lemasra, an instructor and contractor for the club, told her she could not be from that region “because women from there don’t have a figure like [hers].” Another member who was at the club that evening confirmed hearing the comment. “I would go to the gym, no one would agree to belay me, and I would end up packing my things and going home” Aminah*, a former member of CAF Casablanca Among the women around her, Aminah says, late-night messages became a recurring subject. “When it was two in the morning, we would text each other and ask, ‘Did he message you too?’” Other women also described receiving private messages, sometimes within their first few weeks at the club. Aya*, who joined CAF Casablanca in February 2020, says she received messages from Lemasra. “It was hard to figure out what was happening. Was he hitting on me? How was I supposed to react? Should I be nice and pretend he was just being friendly, or should I be firm and risk not being welcomed at the club?” She says she eventually stopped responding, turned off read receipts, and avoided contact with him. Inès*, a current member, says she set boundaries after physical contact she considered overly familiar and repeated late-night messages. She also says she received messages she found intrusive. Vertige Media reviewed several screenshots of WhatsApp conversations. One message reads: “So you fantasize too?? [sic]” After Inès avoided answering directly, another followed: “A fantasy is a different kind of dream.” Other screenshots from 2022 show late-night or ambiguous messages, including “Hey, beautiful” and “No, it’s just that I like you a lot.” In a conversation about an outing, another message reads: “Whenever you want, I’ll take you wherever you want [sic].”Inès says she reported the messages to club president Chantal Aounil but, in her view, no concrete action followed. Another account involves unwanted physical contact. Fatima Zahra, a CAF Casablanca member who agreed to be identified, says the incident took place in 2021. While she was belaying a climber—managing the rope to protect them in a fall—she says Lemasra kissed the back of her neck. “I screamed. Of course, I had to hold myself back because I was belaying. It was so disgusting.” Several women described what they saw as the same consequence after setting boundaries: they were gradually shut out. Aminah* says she lost access to training opportunities despite being a dedicated member. “It was like we had been banned from the group.” Eventually, she says, she could no longer find anyone willing to belay her. “I would go to the gym, no one would agree to belay me, and I would end up packing my things and going home.” Inès describes a similar pattern. “He stopped talking to me for months. And of course, he wasn’t the only one who stopped talking to me.” “It wasn’t sexual harassment. It was more a matter of perception” Chantal Aounil, President of CAF Casablanca Isabelle*, another former member, says her experience at the club changed after she turned down unwanted attention. She arrived “full of enthusiasm” and was initially “welcomed very warmly.” But she says the situation shifted after she separated from her partner at the time. “The messages became more explicit, and I made it clear I wasn’t interested. That’s when things became difficult for me. It happened when I said no.” She later describes a confrontation with Lemasra. “He literally screamed at me in front of a group of people.” According to Isabelle*, the incident prompted “no reaction of any kind” and marked the beginning of her exclusion from the group. She also says other women confided in her. She describes a “code of silence.” “These women wanted me to become their spokesperson, but above all, they didn’t want to have to speak themselves.” Today, Aminah* says she is waiting for CAF Casablanca to be restructured—or for another climbing gym to open in the city. “I’ve spoken with a lot of women who told me they quit climbing because they didn’t feel safe there.” She sums it up this way: “As soon as you speak up about something that’s wrong, you become the enemy.” Contacted by Vertige Media, Lemasra disputed these accounts. Asked about messages sent late at night or considered intrusive, he said he was “genuinely shocked.” He denied making comments about members’ bodies. “That’s completely absurd. It is absolutely not true.” More broadly, he said his dry or ironic sense of humor may have been received poorly. “I’ve always had a kind of second-degree humor at the club that some people may not like. I completely understand that.” Asked about the physical contact described by members, he said ordinary greetings had been taken out of context. “Culturally, saying hello and hugging someone—you can’t do that anymore. People used to.” Aounil says she met with some members after the first concerns were raised. “It wasn’t sexual harassment. It was more a matter of perception.” The club president says she is “very sensitive” to these issues, particularly because of her background in human resources, and says she offered to hold discussions with the women involved. More recently, comments describing this kind of behavior appeared beneath a FFCAM LinkedIn post about women’s place in the mountains. The post was later deleted, but Vertige Media reviewed screenshots. In one comment, Moroccan outdoor influencer Meryem Belkihel said she had “evidence, screenshots, and conversations” documenting troubling behavior involving “more than a dozen female members” of CAF Casablanca. She called for the matter to be handled by an appropriate authority. Niels Martin, FFCAM’s director of communications and regional development, told Vertige Media that the post was likely deleted because of a procedural mistake. “I think she [the person managing the page] confused deleting the comment with deleting the post.” Martin also said the federation had received no official report concerning CAF Casablanca and that its unit dedicated to abuse and violence had “not been activated.” He stressed, however, that “the club is autonomous” and that its president remains “the first person responsible for what happens within the club.” Martin added that in 2025, CAF Casablanca sent 11 instructors and club leaders to a training session on gender-based and sexual violence. He described that level of participation as significant compared with the average among affiliated clubs. Aounil confirmed the figure and said she had attended the training herself. Asked whether Lemasra participated, she said she did not “have the list [of attendees] in mind.” Women Left Out Members have also challenged the way technical skills and training opportunities are distributed. From February 15 to 22, 2025, CAF Casablanca held an outdoor route-development course in Merzouga, near the edge of the Sahara in southeastern Morocco. The course covered equipping outdoor climbs, including installing bolts and anchors. In its 17th newsletter, the club described the course as being organized jointly with FFCAM’s climbing commission. No women appeared on the list of selected participants. The explanation given internally angered some club members. “I’m not saying I didn’t make those comments. I should have phrased it differently” Chantal Aounil, President of CAF Casablanca Amir*, a club member, says he learned about the course from an FFCAM instructor, not through an official club announcement. He requested a meeting, which took place on December 18, 2024, with Aounil and others present. “Members had received no information, so we wanted to discuss the selection process with the club’s leadership and ask how the course had been communicated to members,” he says. According to Amir*, the lack of transparency was not unusual. “CAF never shares information about training courses before they happen, and there are no selection criteria. It’s pure favoritism.” In a transcript of the meeting posted in the club’s WhatsApp group and shared with Vertige Media, Amir named several women who were active in the climbing section. The president responded: “No girls will take part in this course.” She then added: “Girls don’t have the physical ability to carry the gear. It would be too hard for them.” Elmehdi, a longtime member who attended the meeting, confirmed that the comments were made but said the reasoning was unfounded. “Those two women were in better physical condition than most of the men. They were also more qualified because they climbed outdoors more often, were more involved, and climbed at a higher level.” On February 21, 2025, members circulated a petition in the club’s WhatsApp group criticizing the lack of a public announcement, the absence of objective criteria, and the risk of favoritism in access to training. Aounil denied that anyone had been excluded because of gender, though she acknowledged that her wording had been problematic. “I’m not saying I didn’t make those comments. I should have phrased it differently.” She cited the required fitness level, the demands of the trip, the need to rotate training opportunities among different members, and the expectation that participants would later use those skills to support the club. A Closed System Beyond the specific incidents described, the accounts raise broader questions about how the climbing section operates: Who makes decisions? Who gets access to training? Who is allowed to teach or supervise others? And who can challenge the system without being pushed aside? Some members do not want the club to be defined solely by its failures. Elmehdi, who has been active in the section for several years, says he received “a warm and supportive welcome” and “excellent technical training” there. The club gave him “an opportunity to grow and develop new skills,” he says, even though he now strongly disagrees with the way the climbing section is governed. Amir* describes a section controlled by a small group of longtime figures. He focuses in particular on Lemasra, whom he describes as the person who “takes over every decision related to climbing.” According to Amir*, anyone who tries to change the way the section operates eventually runs into the same obstacle. “Whenever passionate people come in and want to help climbing develop here, they always end up facing Hamid.” Lemasra acknowledges that he has held a longstanding and central role at the club. A member since 1998, he says he has managed the climbing program since 2006, working as a mountain guide, contractor, volunteer, and “technical adviser to the club.” But he denies having personal decision-making power. “I don’t make any decisions on the board.” He says he works as an instructor during training courses but does not choose the participants. Aounil also rejects the idea that Lemasra holds informal power. “Hamid does not make the decisions. People need to stop saying he has power. That’s a myth.” Sofia*, a former member, nevertheless describes an atmosphere in which challenging the status quo is difficult. She says she witnessed sexist comments directed at women climbers and aggressive reactions when she set boundaries. “Everyone who goes there initially thinks they’re going to find some kind of safe space built around sports and the mountains,” she says. In her view, the problem is an organization that protects certain longtime figures. “I don’t understand why he is so protected. I don’t understand why people are so afraid of him—afraid to confront him or remove him.” She describes it as a system in which people conform because they believe doing so is the only way to belong. “It’s a system where everyone around it, whether they agree or disagree, follows the same patterns because they think that’s how they’ll be accepted and included.” Lemasra and Aounil, for their part, say the criticism stems from frustration over access to training. Lemasra says “the Merzouga course was the last straw” and claims the allegations emerged after the internal petition failed. *Names marked with an asterisk have been changed.

During the heat wave, Arkose’s non-air-conditioned climbing gyms around Paris turned into ovens. Company leadership kept them open anyway. Employees describe workdays that felt like a test of endurance. © Piet An investigation published in partnership with Reporterre. Extreme heat can make things look unreal. But on Thursday, June 25, the scene was not a mirage. In the middle of Parc de la Villette, in Paris’s 19th arrondissement, the new climbing gym run by the French climbing federation, the FFME, was packed. Families sat at tables drinking syrup and water. Remote workers tapped away on laptops. Climbers were on the walls everywhere. Drawn in like magnets, they had come for the brand-new air conditioning. Less than two miles away, the picture flipped. At Arkose Pantin, a non-air-conditioned gym just outside Paris in Seine-Saint-Denis, the place was almost empty. A fan pushed hot air around. In the back of the gym, two drenched climbers wondered whether they had another burn in them—a climber’s word for another attempt on a route. The air felt so thick you could see chalk dust hanging in it. “We all knew we were going to get cooked” Issa, an employee at Arkose In a matter of days, the unprecedented heat wave that hit France split the commercial indoor-climbing world into two camps. On one side were air-conditioned gyms, suddenly transformed into cool refuges. On the other were gyms without AC, turned into furnaces that only a few stubborn climbers chose to brave. The climbers, at least, had a choice. The roughly 100 Arkose employees in the Paris region did not. They had to work—at the front desk, in the kitchen, on the climbing floor—in temperatures that sometimes climbed above 104°F. Several of them contacted Vertige Media to describe deteriorating working conditions. All asked to remain anonymous. Heat Traps and Ice Pops At the start of the heat wave, when Issa* began his shift, he already knew the day would be rough. “We work in energy sieves,” he said, using the French term for badly insulated buildings. “In the winter, it’s freezing. We all knew we were going to get cooked.” Issa works at one of the 13 Arkose gyms in the Île-de-France region around Paris. Unlike other large chains such as Climb Up and Climbing District, Arkose’s biggest gyms—Massy, Pantin, Nation, and Montreuil among them—do not have air conditioning. The French company, which now operates 30 gyms across Europe, built many of its climbing walls inside poorly insulated former industrial buildings. “On Tuesday, June 23, when I got to work early in the morning, it was already over 86°F inside the gym,” said Marine*, another Arkose employee in the Paris region. Marine described a company that was unprepared for a heat wave that, according to Santé publique France, the country’s public health agency, was associated with a 30 percent rise in mortality for the week of June 23 to 28. “At the start of the day, my manager told me to take 20 euros from the register and go buy Mister Freeze ice pops,” Marine said. At that point, no Arkose employee had received any official message from company leadership. According to our reporting, however, a meeting between management and employee representatives had taken place on Monday, June 22. The next day, employees saw portable air conditioners, fans, misting devices, and bottles of water arrive. Gym managers adjusted schedules. Often, those same local managers were the ones buying the equipment needed to create “cool-down areas.” Employees said they appreciated the efforts of their direct supervisors. But every one of them wondered why company headquarters had refused to close. According to information gathered by Vertige Media, several competing chains nearby shut down their non-air-conditioned gyms, at least for part of the afternoon. An Arkose franchise in Angers—independent from headquarters—made the same call, announcing before the heat wave that it would close at 3 p.m. Monday through Thursday. “if we close every time temperatures go above 95°F, our operations are dead” Samy Carmarzana, CEO of Arkose On the phone, Marine sighed. She could not understand why management had asked her to come to work in temperatures above 95°F. And yet she knew the reason very well. Like most of her colleagues, she had read the same phrase sent to employees in writing: “the need to maintain operations.” “The thing is, that reason doesn’t hold up,” she said. “I was paid to do nothing, so I think they lost more money than they would have by closing.” Everyone told us the same thing: under normal conditions, at Pantin, Massy, Nation, or Montreuil, a good day brings roughly 600 customer visits. At the peak of the heat wave, that number sometimes fell to 70. “The climbers weren’t buying anything except water,” Issa said. “They’d climb for 20 minutes, leave with an embarrassed smile, and all say the same thing: good luck.” Whatever the Cost Contacted by Vertige Media, Arkose CEO and co-founder Samy Camarzana stood by the decision. “At some point, the gyms have to keep running at least a little,” he said by phone. “We can’t just close like that. Or if we do, then find me a generous donor who’s going to make up the difference.” For Camarzana, the issue is existential. In an increasingly gloomy economic climate for the industry, he said, “if we close every time temperatures go above 95°F, our operations are dead.” Despite that economic pressure, Camarzana eventually had to accept that some gyms would close. First came the bouldering area at Pantin, in Seine-Saint-Denis, which reached 100°F. The local manager decided on his own to shut it down. Then came Massy, where the temperature topped 104°F several times. The climbing area was closed after an order signed by the prefect of Essonne on Friday, June 26, “prohibiting sports practice in non-air-conditioned gyms during the red heat-wave alert.” Laurent* knows Arkose is known for its “365 days a year” opening policy. That did not keep him from getting furious. He works in the kitchen—“where we suffer out of sight”—and knows what it feels like to open an oven when it is already over 104°F outside. So when he learned that Arkose had closed the climbing area in Massy under the prefect’s order but kept the kitchen open, he snapped. “It’s complete nonsense,” he said, angry. That focus on revenue and productivity is what exasperated every employee we contacted. “Why open a gym when there are fewer than 10 customer visits in five hours?” Laurent asked. “Why am I standing around in the kitchen when we’re not serving anyone?” He added: “Management’s priorities are clear: the capitalist obsession comes before the health of their teams.” Camarzana, for his part, said that “overall, we made sure to protect the most vulnerable people.” As proof, he pointed to long discussions with employee representatives and elected CGT union representatives, with whom he said measures were developed jointly. The first step, he said, was “an email asking employees in non-air-conditioned gyms to contact HR if they had experienced symptoms. If so, we said we would contact them to put in place a partial or total adjustment to their working hours.” Temperatures in Arkose facilities in the Île-de-France region, as recorded by employees. Employees did receive that email on Wednesday, June 24, at the height of the heat wave. Issa responded, describing headaches, nausea, and dizziness. That same day, he received a reply from his manager thanking him and confirming that his request had been received. Then nothing. “No one ever followed up with me or offered me anything,” he said. The next day, he went back to work in crushing heat. One employee decided on her own not to come to work at Pantin on Thursday, June 25. The night before, two employees had exercised their right to withdraw from work they considered dangerous. On the phone, Issa paused for a long moment before continuing. “That’s what happens when you put an individual responsibility on employees,” he said. “We’re all friends in our gyms. Management knows that. So if it’s on us to declare that we’re stopping work, they also know we’ll be the ones who have to deal with leaving our coworkers in a mess.” AC, and a Chill Down the Spine Camarzana acknowledged that “not everything was perfect.” Still, he said he does not believe in “magic solutions.” “The solution is adaptation,” he said. Fans, portable AC units, adjusted schedules, breaks, stools at the front desk—under normal conditions, Arkose front-desk staff are not allowed to sit. “This heat wave was unprecedented. It was an empirical crash test,” he said. “We did what we could, and each manager adapted in their own way. At Massy, they were constantly spraying water on the glass wall to create some coolness. In other gyms, teams took their breaks in the air-conditioned beer-keg room.” Camarzana does not want that kind of improvisation to last beyond one summer. Arkose’s goal, he said, is to air-condition its entire gym network by next summer. He puts the cost at several hundred thousand euros, an investment he considers necessary if he does not want his staff suffocating again. “Putting productivity ahead of employee health is not the image I had of climbing” Marine, an employee at Arkose Until then, employees may have to endure one, two, or even three more heat waves this summer. For Marine, Laurent, Issa, and others, the strain is already physical, but it is also mental. Marine described feeling “a mix of anger and disappointment.” “Putting productivity ahead of employee health is not the image I had of climbing,” she said. “Now, when I’m asked to embody the values of the ‘Arkose Family,’ it really gets under my skin.” She pointed to what she called “the nerve of headquarters,” which, “instead of sending us messages of support, sends reminders telling us not to wear tank tops while working.” Issa is feeling something else. “Honestly, I’m scared,” he said. “For my physical safety, but most of all because I’m afraid that, once again, my company won’t listen to me or support me.” He described himself as part of a generation “extremely anxious about climate change.” “The people who work here are very young, and they’re all scared when they think about the future,” he said. “That lack of consideration adds to our feeling of insecurity.” Then he added: “For most of us, this is still just a job that pays the bills. We’re not going to wreck our health for it.” *Names have been changed.