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Quiet Walls : Bohuslän Granite Cracks

A quite place in Sweden ideal for trad climbing using Totem Cams

Bohuslän remains one of Europe’s quiet climbing corners — under the radar and unhurried. Unlike the crowded granite hotspots of the Alps, here the days unfold gently, with no pressure, no agenda, just easy decisions, solid rock, and a pace of life that invites you to slow down and enjoy it. The local community is genuinely welcoming of climbers, adding to the sense that this is a place where you’re not just passing through, but part of something quietly special.

trad climbing Bohuslän’s
Trampoline route in Häller area

On Sweden’s west coast, it may not offer towering walls or alpine exposure, but what it lacks in height it more than makes up for in sheer granite quality. Scattered across lush green hills, sandy beaches, and quiet farmland, the crags offer some of the finest single-pitch trad climbing in the world — holding their own alongside iconic destinations like Pembroke, Wadi Rum, Indian Creek, Cadarese and Tafraoute. 

The granite is a beautiful, rosy pink, smooth yet grippy, with cracks that are both technical and rewarding. While most of the climbing is traditional, it’s not the terrifying kind: gear is generally solid, and many hard routes offer excellent protection, letting you push your limits with confidence. There are more than just pure splitter cracks though. Some routes have flared and intermittent cracks and can demand more thoughtful gear placements and creative climbing — this intricacy gives the climbing extra character and lasting appeal.

trad climbing Bohuslän’s
Fay Manners in Djungelvrål route in Tuntorp spot

Approaches are short and often scenic, with crags emerging from forests or right off the beach. They were so brief, in fact, that I had to go trail running after climbing just to avoid losing mountain fitness. But the upside is clear: with such easy access, you can bring plenty of comforts to the crag — or even stroll back to the van for a hot cup of tea or a cooked lunch. During our visit, the weather was mixed, with rain threatening every other day, so being close to the car gave us the freedom to take chances and climb even when the forecast wasn’t ideal.

The area has a reputation for being bold and serious, but that mostly applies to the top-end grades. For climbers operating at HVS or above, Bohuslän offers the rare opportunity to climb clean, grippy granite in a peaceful, idyllic setting. Part of the adventure is that not every route has bolted anchors — you might end up abseiling from a tree or walking off, and each crag presents something a little different. The guidebooks don’t spoon-feed you every detail, so you need to bring a bit of climbing sense, adapt on the fly, and think for yourself. That’s what makes it feel more like mountaineering than an indoor wall — it’s not commercialized or over-developed. You need the right skills to be safe and self-reliant, and for me, as a British climber, that ethos is all part of the appeal.

I visited in May, and on the days it was dry enough to climb, the temperatures were perfect. But the weather was mixed — a combination of rain and sunshine that made conditions quite variable. I had to think carefully about the aspect of each cliff, how quickly it would dry after rain, how exposed it was to wind, and how the surrounding forest might slow the drying process. I only swam once, as the water hovered around 12 degrees most days — and with the wind, it felt far too cold to enjoy more than a quick dip!

trad climbing Bohuslän’s
Fay climbing Masken route in Galgeberget spot

Aside from the climbing, watch out for ticks — I was pulling off about three a day. Many approaches go through long grass, and in Sweden, ticks can carry both Lyme disease and tick-borne encephalitis, so getting vaccinated beforehand is a good idea.

I recommend doing a bit of research before you arrive. Buying the guidebook or downloading the app in advance will help you identify the best trad climbing routes — there’s plenty of choice, but also a handful of classics you won’t want to miss. Aim for a mix: flash a few routes, but also pick one or two that really inspire you and take the time to work out the moves. Granite can be technical, and if you’re not used to the style, it’s often more rewarding to invest time in a route and climb it well before you leave.

Bohuslän is a perfect training ground for bigger, more committing alpine routes — a place to sharpen your trad skills in a low-stress setting. With its calm, holiday vibe and distinct granite style, it offers a refreshing alternative to bolt-clipping trips in Spain.

trad climbing Bohuslän’s
Overall view of Bohuslän

A new OAC guidebook, ‘Bohuslan: Selected Rock Climbs’ by Steve Broadbent, is due for publication later this year and will be available from www.oxfordalpineclub.uk so if you are interested in visiting Bohuslanow and know it best trad climbing routes get in touch with Steve to buy a copy of this! 

Text by Fay Manners

Pictures by Daniel Coquoz

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Crown Royale, 9a trad. Second ascent by Jernej Kruder

The hardest traditional crack climbing in the world has been climbed with Totem Cams

Getting better and better at crack climbing, and after sending Greenspit last year, I was searching for a new crack project in Europe.

Jernek Kruder in Crown Royale photo by Michael Hutton

Since Greenspit felt relatively easy—or at least like a quick send—I needed to find something more challenging. Many people recommended to go to Scandinavia, either to Bohuslän or Jøssingfjord. I’m still convinced I’d find good challenges in Sweden, but somehow Jøssingfjord in Norway sounded more appealing. I also talked to Pete Whittaker, who reassured me that Crown Royale wasn’t too technical in terms of jamming and that the cruxes were short and more like face climbing.

Still, the idea of actually sending it hadn’t really taken root in my mind. I just wanted to go there, try it out, and see if it was worth coming back to at some point. Apparently, May is the best month in terms of conditions, so I planned a two-week trip to Stavanger at the end of May.

They were right! As someone who’s very sensitive to conditions, I was finally overwhelmed—in a good way—by the weather in Norway. In two weeks, I barely saw a single raindrop. The temperatures were quite high, but there was a constant sea breeze that only died down twice during the entire trip.

13th of May. I arrived at Profile Wall with my Slovenian friend Filip. We were both amazed by the wall: over 60 meters of overhang with a slabbish top-out. It’s quite a blank wall interrupted by several crack systems. We didn’t want to waste any time, so we opened the trip with an on-sight of a 7b and a 7c.

With some help from Klaas, who was working on the first part of Crown Royale (Lille Krone) at the time, I quickly checked the moves and had no trouble doing them. The only issue was a fist jam that wasn’t possible for me with gloves on. That’s when I decided to climb the first part with only my left glove and tape on my right hand.

The next day brought two unsuccessful attempts, partly because of a small runout in the first crux. After falling there once, I realized it wasn’t a big deal and switched into sending mode. A rest day definitely helped, because on my fourth try, I topped out—not the entire wall, of course, but 30 meters off the ground, where there’s a no-hands rest and the first anchor.

Next up was the upper part.

This section had pre-placed gear from Nico Favresse. Another 80 moves to the edge of the overhang, and they turned out to be surprisingly doable—not easy, but manageable. The hardest part was finding good rests. The next four days followed a routine: climb the first part (often skipping 5 moves in the first crux by grabbing gear), then try hard on the upper section. There was even a day when I reached almost the top with pre-placed gear, after sitting in the harness before starting the upper section. That gave me the confidence that maybe—someday—I could actually top it out.

Before giving it proper redpoint attempts, I had to sort out logistics: where to place cams, which ones to skip, how to clean the wall after a failed attempt, etc. I decided to use more cams (10) in the lower part (since falls there could be dangerous) and cut down to 6 (+1 backup) in the upper section (since it’s steeper and the gear is bomber). This helped me focus more on climbing and reduced rope drag on the top-out.

Then came the final three days of my trip.

Before heading home, I wanted at least one solid redpoint attempt. On the second-to-last day, I was again forced to deal with the first 8b+ crux. I fell on it during my first try. On the second go, the wind stopped and it got super hot. I finally made it past the first crux.

In the upper part, there’s another crux right after a good rest near the first “anchor.” Since it’s more like a sport climb on tiny holds, I didn’t get too far due to poor conditions. The route is tiring, but I didn’t want to waste time. I gave everything on my third try and ended the day happy, knowing I climbed it with only two falls.

On the last day, I woke up extremely sore and it started to rain lightly. By midday, the rain stopped, and a nice breeze gave me motivation to try again. Thanks to the cloud cover, I could start earlier than usual. The warm-up felt rough. I didn’t feel particularly Olympic, but I was eager.

The prep was long as usual: taping my fingers and right hand, setting up the left kneepad, putting on the left glove, clipping the right one to my harness, sorting the gear, tying in, putting shoes on—then action.

Hand jams felt okay, and even the fist jam into the crux worked. The crux felt hard, and my body and mind almost gave up before the next good jam—but I didn’t fall. Even the easier hand-jam section felt tougher than usual.

I finally reached the dihedral rest. While stemming, I got rid of the tape on my right hand and switched to a glove. I felt terrible but gave myself plenty of time to recover. The first upper crux went surprisingly smoothly. I reached my previous high point and found a better rest in the hand jam. The runout was huge, but I stayed focused on my jamming, which felt dialed in.

After that, I reached the bat-hang and repeated it twice to get my forearms as fresh as possible. The higher I climbed, the more focused I became. The remaining cruxes flowed. I began to believe this could really be it. I didn’t rush. I stayed present. Breathing and visualizing the next moves kept me in the zone.

I reached the last protection and decided to skip it—better focus and less rope drag at the top-out. I reached the slab where the rope drag got too heavy, so I untied and continued my free solo trip to the top of the wall. My mouth was craving water, but inside, I was happy, surprised, and—mostly—proud of myself for not letting go until the end.

Just as I cleaned the route and began hiking back to the car, it started raining. And it didn’t stop for the next three days after I left.

Text by Jernej Kruder

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“Sense Retorn” (No retorno)

Recientemente estrenada en el Mendifilm (festival internacional de montaña), “Sense Retorn” cuenta la historia del atleta de Totem MT, Siebe Vanhee y su proyecto de apertura y liberación de una nueva ruta en la “Paret de Catalunya” (Montrebei).

La historia cuenta como el equipo compuesto por nuestro compañero Siebe y sus amigos Roger Molina y Jorge Solorzano, se embarcaron en la aventura de abrir una ruta en un lugar dónde predomina el respeto por la #escaladatradicional y dónde los Totem Cam juegan un papel fundamental debido a las peculiaridades de esta increible pared.

Todo esto apoyados sobre los valores de trabajo en equipo y el respeto al medio, valores que rigen también nuestra actividad.

Trailer

Los momentos

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