Northern California is known for giant redwoods, dank buds, and Bigfoot, but is also home to unique rock climbing. From blue-gold limestone walls, to beach bouldering, to overhanging jug hauls above the ocean waves, there is something for everyone in this quiet part of California. The 5 to 7 hour drive from population centers may be less-than-convenient, but you will be rewarded with a refreshing lack of crowds and great rock.

In the annals of rock climbing history, there are areas and crags that we as climbers recognize instantly: Yosemite. The Gunks. Eldorado Canyon … Sitting oddly in that group is an area that has a wealth of history and for a time held its own for the standards of the day, but is now relatively unknown outside of its local climbers, despite having historical luminaries like the Stettner brothers and John Gill leaving their mark. That area is Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin.

In December 2020, the New River Gorge was designated the United States’ 63rd national park. It was always a great place to visit, especially for rock climbers, rafters, and hunters, but now it’s a destination. While it’s best to spend a few days at the New, it’s still a great place to visit even if you only have a few hours.

Wolverine has been attentively listening to the national conversation about racial and gender inclusivity in climbing, and to the problem of offensive route names. If you’ve been following, and noticed that we’ve been silent, it’s because there has been a lot to absorb and learn.

A “first-ascent climber” does almost nothing but. First ascents, that is. For an FAC, repeating climbs seems vaguely pointless, or at best a secondary activity, like climbing in the gym. If a first-ascent climber isn’t working on a first ascent, he (or she) is likely not climbing established routes, but is probably making money for buying bolts for a planned first ascent, or building trail to a new crag that is home to potential first ascents, or maybe, on a “rest day,” repeating some of his or her own first ascents. Plain old climbing on other people’s routes feels somehow hollow. You would like to enjoy it, but you can’t.