How to Fly with a Crashpad (and Other Travel Advice for Climbers)
Why have climbing and travel so long gone hand in hand? I think it’s because climbing presents us with a uniquely immersive and tactile way to experience the world. Think about it: It’s one thing to see a mountain vista from a roadside pullout, snap a few photos, and then drive along to the next attraction; but it’s quite another thing to park, hike down into that vista, and become part of the landscape, clinging to it with your fingertips.
It’s one of the best feelings—training for, planning, and then taking a big climbing trip, showing up at a new area with dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of routes or problems, so excited you climb till your hands are a bloody pulp. But travel for climbing comes with challenges: For instance, how will you get your gear there? And what’s the best way to climb in style once you arrive?
Use these time-tested hacks to streamline your sending journey.
How to fly with a crashpad
When flying somewhere to boulder, consider whether it’s more cost-effective to (a) fly with your pads, (b) rent or even buy (and then donate or resell) pads at your destination, (c) ship them there, or (d) YOLO it and rely on other climbers to have and share their pads, which might work well in popular spots like Bishop but less so in less-dense zones like Tahoe.
When weighing the above options, factor in trip duration. For a short stay, renting pads might be cheapest. My local bouldering gym, The Spot, rents pads to nonmembers for $15 per day for the first day and $5/day after that. So renting a pad for a three-day weekend in Rocky Mountain National Park only sets you back $25. Extend that to two weeks, however, and you’re looking at $80, and four weeks is $155—at which point that $174.95 Metolius Basic Pad is looking reasonable, since at least you get to keep the pad afterward.
Climbers have reported both having and not having to pay excess-baggage fees for pads, depending on the size of the pad, the policy of the airline, and the mood of the check-in agent. Some airlines will accept pads as “sporting equipment,” which may or may not incur a separate charge (Southwest, for example, charges $75 per bag of sporting equipment) but is generally cheaper than oversize fees. On most airlines, you typically won’t pay ridiculous fees if your pad is within the standard baggage-size limits. The catch? Most pads are bigger. United, for instance, charges oversized-baggage fees for any item larger than 63 linear inches (115 linear inches max), while the same Metolius Basic Pad cited above is 70 linear inches (36” x 26” x 8”) folded—just over the limit. Because the pad is so light, a sympathetic check-in agent may waive the fee, but you’ll not get the same luck with an Organic Big Pad. On most airlines, the Big Pad—at 29″ x 46″ x 10″, or 85 linear inches, is going to cost you about $200 to check unless you can convince the attendant to classify it as sporting equipment, which, after all, it is.
If you’re going to be in an area for a while and want a big, beefy highballer, your cheapest bet may be to buy pads at the local gear shop and either fly with them or ship them home at the trip’s end. Sending a 5-inch Organic Big Pad across the country via UPS costs about $200.
Alternatively, you can try to sell your pads on Craigslist or Mountain Project, or donate them to a gym or local climbing organization.
Six More Travel Tips for Climbers
1. Factor in ground travel and walkability at your destination
On my first trip to Fontainebleau, in the mid-1990s, before easy online beta, my friend Trip and I met at the train station in town, thinking the boulders would all be close together like at Hueco Tanks. Boy, were we clueless study-abroad college kids surprised to learn that les blocs are spread out across a 50,000-acre forest. Some very long nature strolls amidst the trees ensued, until we finally rented bikes.
The key takeaway is to research ground transport/public transport and ease-of-access to the crags. In places like Céüse and Siurana, there are climber hostels/accommodations within walking distance of the rock, and it’s likely you’ll befriend other climbers who can take you into town to grocery-shop on rest days—so you can save money by not renting a car. But spread-out destinations like the Red River Gorge or Rocklands or Tahoe (or Font) are a logistical nightmare without a vehicle and may force you to overly rely on the kindness of strangers for rides.
2. Consider your dietary needs and research local options
Many climbing areas are located in remote food deserts, where there aren’t a lot of healthy options for groceries or restaurants. For instance, the Red River Gorge has a few great climber-run and climber-friendly restaurants, but not much else, and if you’re vegetarian or eat organic, the Kroger in Stanton offers somewhat lean pickings, though it’s way better now than on my first visit, in 2000, when all they seemed to carry was Wonder Bread, bacon, wilted lettuce, and mayo. For that reason, many visiting climbers will drive an hour-plus into Lexington on rest days to stock up at Whole Foods. If you’re food conscious, make sure you budget the time and money for that.
3. Bring the right climbing shoes
Like my kids, who cannot leave the house without their every last book and Lego creation clutched in their hands, I have trouble going to the crag without multiple pairs of rock shoes—you know, “just in case.” But on a trip, space is at a premium.
Every climbing area will be different, but if I’m packing for all exigencies, I’ll bring: one comfy, warmup/mileage shoe; one tightly sized, downturned performance shoe; one technical face/edging/crack shoe with a stiff toebox; and one softer, grabbier shoe for bouldering or bouldery routes. I’m a bit of an extreme case here—but most climbers I know bring at least two pairs. Pick with care.
4. Consider what to carry on and what to check
Most crag packs are within the checked-bag size limit, and with careful packing will stay under the weight limit (typically 50 pounds)—or may even be small enough to bring as carry-ons. A good-sized (~40L) crag pack should be able to hold draws, rope, harness, two or three pairs of shoes, and a small rack. But if you’re heading on an expedition, you’ll have more gear than that.
To avoid issues at security, it’s easiest to put all your hardware and loose chalk in a checked crag pack, but you should definitely bring your harness, chalk bag (inside a grocery bag, to catch spillage), one pair of shoes, and helmet in your carry-on in case your checked bag is lost. (Note: Always carry your helmet on, as it can get damaged during handling in a checked bag.)
Meanwhile, there are several travel-friendly stick clips that will fit inside a pack, including the Metolius Roll Up Stick Clip, the “Climb” size Trango Beta Stick Evo (only 17.75” collapsed), and the Kailas Clip-up.
6. Be (locally) skin aware
Bring a skin-care kit, with nail clippers, sanding boards, Neosporin, tape, and your preferred ointment/salve/lotion. Your hands are going to get torn up—that’s just the nature of climbing— but a wound, flapper, or bad skin can torpedo your trip. Remember to consider local conditions. In an arid zone like Red Rock, Indian Creek, St. George, or Bishop, you’ll need moisturizing repair products, whereas a trip to humid or seaside places like the Red River Gorge, the New River Gorge, Rumney, or Squamish may have you reaching for drying agents like Antihydral.
6. Decide what you want out of your trip
To each their own, but assuming your vacation is finite, consider whether you’re going all-in on big goals—that one route, which you’ve specifically trained for—or whether you want to climb mileage. I’ve found that being flexible works best: if a project is going well and conditions are in your favor, give it hell. But if it’s not, don’t hang on to that singular goal at the expense of other climbs. After all, you’re there to have an experience, of which sending is only one part.
On my last trip to the Red, I wanted to do Transworld Depravity, a mega-pumpy 5.14a in the Motherlode, but conditions were hot and sweaty, and I kept oozing off. My compromise was to give it a burn or two every morning when it was “cooler,” but then save some energy so me and my buddy Pasquale could climb elsewhere in the afternoon. Keeping an eye on the forecast, I saw that the last climbing day of my two-week trip was going to be cool and dry, so I teed things up so I’d be fresh for Transworld. It worked—but if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been bummed. I’d gotten to check out tons of great new crags and would have had a great vacation regardless.
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