Like a lot of New Englanders, I headed West after college to experience the climbing areas I’d grown up reading about: the Tetons, Yosemite, Red Rocks, and Joshua Tree. But while camping and climbing there, I found myself regularly defending my home turf in New Hampshire’s White Mountains to those who scoffed at the notion that good climbing could exist anywhere east of the Rockies. Of course, none of these critics had ever actually climbed back East.

Their loss. Move for move, the Northeast’s best routes are as good as anything out West. They’re also rich in history. Prominent Boston climbers and AMC members Charles Fay and Frank Mason laid the foundation for the sport in the United States. Their routes, and those of their followers, set the national standard for climb-ing from the 1880s to the 1920s. In the 1930s Boston Chapter member Robert Underhill was widely regarded as the best climber in the country. Tough as it is for western U.S. climbers to swallow, Underhill taught their predecessors how to do it. Up until the 1950s, most major advances in the sport were made in the East, not the West.

Webster’s Dictionary defines classic as "serving as a standard of excellence; of recognized value; traditional, enduring, historically memorable." With that in mind, here are eight of the most classic rock climbs in the Northeast, ranging in difficulty from a moderate 5.5 to a challenging 5.11a. Some of you will have experienced these routes firsthand; a select few may have even picked off all of them—a feat I’m still gunning for myself. But I truly envy those who have yet to climb these routes. There’s nothing like the first time, when each and every hold is a mystery, and nothing is guaranteed except a grand and worthy adventure.

The Shawangunks' high exposure. Photo by Matt Calardo

The Shawangunks: High Exposure (5.6)
New York

German immigrant Fritz Wiessner first stumbled upon the Shawangunk Range when he gazed across the Catskills from the top of Breakneck Ridge. Inspired, he and his fellow AMC members came back the next weekend to explore the cliffs. To their delight they discovered the magnificent Mohonk Mountain House sitting smack dab in the middle of it all—a grand, 19th century resort surrounded by miles of pristine, horizontally banded quartzite.

At the time, Wiessner was one of the best climbers in the world. Along with his prolific routing in the Northeast, he made a significant attempt on 26,600-foot Nanga Parbat—the world’s ninth highest mountain—in 1932. And in 1939 he nearly succeeded in making the first ascent of K2; it would be another 25 years before it was finally climbed. The Dresden-born climber imported a strict code of ethics to the United States. He refused to use aid of any kind and would only climb on lead, or the "sharp end." Sky Top, which rises directly from the shores of Mohonk Lake, was his favorite cliff in the world. The Mohonk Mountain House, which sits within view, became a regular haunt of Wiessner and his New York friends.

Wiessner dominated the Gunks' climbing scene up until about 1940, when Austrian Hans Kraus appeared on the scene. A respected doctor who later served as John F. Kennedy’s personal physician, Kraus climbed with uncommon skill and nerve and is considered one of the fathers of modern rock climbing. His partnership with Wiessner produced a host of world-class first ascents across the Shawangunks, but none is more classic or more regularly climbed today than High Exposure.

High E is located on the Trapps, the Gunks’ biggest wall. From the parking area, follow the carriage path past the Uberfall area for 10 minutes. The High E buttress will come into view on your left. The first two pitches are short and easy, following a 5.5 corner system, which eventually drops onto a spacious ledge beneath the route’s signature roof. The crux of the climb involves squirm-ing your way across an awkward horizontal chimney, then cork-screwing your body to get your hands on some thankfully big jugs just above the lip. Even the most seasoned climbers can get spooked at the lip of the roof. If this happens, steel yourself and imagine what it must have felt like for Kraus on his first ascent in 1941. When Kraus reached up to those same holds, he had no idea what was coming next, or if the next 40 feet were even possible.

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