The Red: The First Time Touching Rock

My first experience Climbing at Red River Gorge: a journey of self-discovery, where fear and courage meet on towering sandstone walls. It’s about learning to trust yourself, your partner, and the process, all while soaking in the beauty of nature and the community.

Red River Gorge, often called “The Red” by climbers, is a National Forest in Kentucky renowned for its crags, small cliffs ideal for climbing, and stunning natural sandstone arches. Just two hours south of the University of Cincinnati, The Red boasts some of the world’s best sport climbing crags, with over 4,000 routes etched into its sandstone cliffs. Exploring all the routes at The Red could easily take a lifetime, leaving countless wonders still undiscovered.  

I began bouldering three months before I ever climbed outside—an experience Noah, a seasoned climber, would refer to as “touching rock.” My first taste of bouldering was a 15-foot ascent, where I felt in full control of my body and surroundings, a thrilling sensation that sparked a passion for climbing. 

A week before my outdoor debut, I had been climbing higher heights indoors at The Crux Sanctuary, a free climbing gym transformed from an old church. My first experience on The Crux’s 36-foot wall was on an on a vertical wall graded a 5.a. While the route itself was not physically demanding, the belay system is scary. The wall featured an auto-belay was powered by an eddy current, a delayed braking system that does not lower the climber at a safe speed until a couple seconds after free-falling, that freaked me out. Though I was never afraid of heights, the fear of falling was very real. 

My first time touching rock was at The Red came in June of 2024, when I joined a group of regular climbers who often revisited old projects to send routes without taking breaks. I, on the other hand, was just there for the vibes and the experience. 

The Infirmary was alive with the buzz of climbers calling out commands, the clink of gear, and the occasional cheer for a successful ascent. The sandstone wall stretched high above, its surface weathered with pockets and ridges that invited exploration. My first send, the Free Clinic, was graded 5.7 and felt deceptively approachable at the base. As I climbed higher, the ground seemed to slip away, leaving me suspended in the air, surrounded by the dense forest that blanketed Red River Gorge. 

About 30 feet above the ground, a mix of sweat and nerves began to take over. The physical demands of the route were minimal, with generous jugs and sturdy footholds offering plenty of support. Yet, the mental battle was relentless—each move upwards wanted to step further into the unknown. My fingers trembled as they searched for the next hold, and my legs began to shake, betraying the confidence I wanted to project. 

“Take!” I called out, my voice breaking the quiet concentration of the climb. Noah, my belayer, immediately tightened the rope, relieving the strain on my arms and giving me a moment to catch my breath. Dangling there, halfway up the cliff, I took in the view: sunlight filtering through the trees, the distant murmur of the nearby creek, and the sheer immensity of the sandstone wall above and below me. It was a moment of fear, yes, but also awe. 

After a deep breath and some words of encouragement from Noah, I pressed on, slowly and deliberately, until my hands grasped the top anchor chains. The relief and exhilaration of topping out were unlike anything I had felt before—a perfect blend of accomplishment and respect for the challenge. The Free Clinic had tested me, not through its physical difficulty, but by forcing me to confront my fear of falling and trust in both my partner and me. t ways. Previously trialed by the challenges of backpacking and also tasked with leading a group through the same adverse trials. Witnessing the park’s transformation mirrored my own, a testament to how time and effort can bring about incredible change.