I’d been looking at this boulder on a map for some time now. It’s in the forest park near where I live. Not planning anything serious, just noticing it was there, checking its location the way you do when something sits quietly at the back of your head. Today felt like the right day for free solo bouldering. Packed water and a couple of snacks, loaded up and rode out. No rope in the bag. Free solo bouldering: just shoes, chalk, and whatever decisions you make on the wall.
Finding it took some exploring. I knew the rough area from the map but not the exact spot. I’d never been to that part of the forest. Adjusted my direction a couple of times, kept moving, and then I came from the top. It’s next to a public road and looking down from the edge, 15m of rock. Seeing how high it was from the top was pretty nerve-racking. There was a path around it to climb down so I went through a little downhill section with my bike where a big walnut tree stood, and right behind it, the boulder.
The Rock
The boulder grades are rated from 4a up to 7a+. I don’t really climb in numbers, and I wasn’t thinking about grades while I was on the rock, I saw the grades when I got interested after half a day how tall is the longest route. There’s something specific about climbing on natural stone that you don’t get indoors, a feeling familiar to anyone who’s spent time climbing things that weren’t designed to be climbed.
The taller section was around 15 meters. I lapped it several times. After almost a year away from climbing, I half-expected to feel uncertain, to need time for the body to find its way back. It didn’t take long. The movement came back quickly, felt familiar. Not easy, just comfortable in the right way.
Every time I finished a route I climbed back down the easiest line instead of walking around through the forest to get back to the base. The reason was I didn’t wanted to walk around, and any distance in climbing shoes on a rough trail is its own kind of punishment. Also, downclimbing is still climbing.
I left the hardest route alone. Too much overhang, no rope. I looked at it from the base, read what I could, and decided it wasn’t a reasonable attempt without a way to fall safely. Some routes are for another day.
Ten Minutes in the Overhang
The route that gave me real trouble was shorter and it is right next to the hardest route that I did not climb. Around 6 meters, nearly all overhang from early on. I got into it without much difficulty at first, moved through the lower section, and reached a spot that looked like it might offer some rest.
It didn’t. The overhang was still pulling at me, arms building pump, nothing above solid enough to hang from properly. I moved left and found a crack. Jammed my leg into it, shifted weight off my arms, and got a few seconds of actual relief. First real rest since leaving the ground.
The holds above were cracked, some of them shifting when I tested them. I couldn’t trust them, not from that position, not with the drop below making every decision feel heavier than it would lower on the wall. The other problem was the geometry: I couldn’t lean back far enough to see the wall above me properly. The overhang wouldn’t allow it. So I started feeling the rock instead, hands going up past my sightline, reading by touch. Most of what I found was two fingers wide, maybe. Small edges filled with dirt. Not pockets. Nothing that felt like an answer.
I went back to the crack three or four times. Each time my hands fatigued, I returned to the leg jam, let the arms recover, and reached up again. Jumping wasn’t an option, high enough that a bad landing was granted, and I was alone out there. That’s when it got genuinely scary. Not panic, but a sharp and specific awareness that I’d committed to this and had no clean exit.
Then I felt a hold that was different. Better shape, more solid under my fingers. Tested it once and went. The next four or five moves were also uncomfortable, nothing eased off, but I kept moving and topped out. Sat up there for a couple of minutes. Needed them.
Why Outside
The gym version of this session would have looked completely different. Holds fixed in place, routes set so the problem is repeatable, mattresses below, no weather to factor in. You can go three times a week and the same problem is there waiting. That consistency is genuinely useful, and I’ve spent enough time in climbing gyms to appreciate it.
Outdoor is just a different kind of problem. In the gym the setter already knows the answer, and the route is their sequence for you to find. Outside, there’s no setter, no sequence. The leg jam in the crack, the blind reach above the overhang, going back to rest four times before committing, none of that was a route. I was making it up as I went, which is the part I actually like. I’d rather try everything than specialize in one thing, and climbing outside fits that exactly. The problem isn’t handed to you.
Going alone wasn’t the smartest call, and I knew that before I left. Solo is a different calculation but I went anyway, the rock was there, and it was Sunday. Waiting for perfect conditions when you want to try everything is usually just waiting.
Was this smart? Probably not entirely, and I knew that going in. Going back? For sure. Next time I might bring a hammock, because the shade at the bottom under the walnut tree is exactly the right place to be in August after an hour on the rock. Time alone in the forest works out, even when the route tries to throw you off it.
Filip Petreski is the founder of AFIELD and a multi-sport outdoor athlete. A two-time national cross-country MTB champion, snowboard instructor, and former dirt bike rider, he writes about the people, gear, and culture worth paying attention to in the outdoor world.