I still recall the feeling of cool, smooth, Boulder Canyon granite early that morning in late June 2001 as I scaled the East Slab of The Dome: my very first Front Range climb. Fresh, pine-scented air and the soothing rush of Boulder Creek accompanied my ascent, and by the time I was on top I felt energized, elated, liberated.

Having just come to Boulder from Seattle to begin a summer-long guiding job, Boulder Canyon was my first stop on a three-day crash course of local routes I’d be guiding the following week. I didn’t know how to get to Eldorado Canyon from Mapleton Avenue where I was based (living in my van), but Canyon Boulevard was just a few blocks away.

Back in the northwest, the nearest dry rock was sometimes a six-hour drive away. In Boulder it seemed I’d never be farther than 2

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