Abbey Smith

Abbey Smith

Pick up any publication pertaining to the sport of rock climbing, and chances are, you will see a smattering of descriptive chronicles highlighting the travels and adventures of the prolific scribe Abbey Smith. A climber and writer for over 10 years, Abbey travels extensively, financing her jet set lifestyle though her writing, allowing her more opportunities to pursue her love of adventure. Abbey has reported on a myriad of topics. From the exclusive hobby of vintage motor racing, to sassy, healthy-savvy posts on BeThree.com, to being on the editorial staff of the independent green publication elephant journal, a quarterly magazine devoted to living the "mindful life" through conscious consumerism, sustainability, eco-fashion and non new-aged spirituality.

Abbey's energy for writing is ravenous. When she speaks of it, her article ideas roll out of mouth in constant barrage without commas, periods, or other punctuation, but when placed in front of a computer, the word stream subsides into descriptive prose reminiscent of Joanne Harris. Dead Point Magazine is privileged to have her as a contributing blogger.

 

BLOG ENTRIES

I don't even know where to begin. Three weeks ago, I was at the zenith of happiness and success. I was riding the creative wave, writing daily, climbing strong and enjoying the warm summer rays with friends by the pool.
As Jason's custom Chevy Astro van slipped out of gear and rolled to a stop on an isolated dirt road deep in the Henry Mountains in Utah, I was stricken with fear of getting stranded in the desert.
Waiting for the high alpine bouldering areas to open makes me feel like a teenager counting down the days until summer break. The anticipation is agonizing. Nothing is satisfying.
"If you follow the herd, your view never changes," my father said to me as we sat on the sun-drenched porch one Friday afternoon after I returned from a shotgun road trip to Hueco Tanks. With the current state of the world st
A 10-hour drive is the difference between dreamy climbing life and dark, depressing winter. Spending almost two months in Hueco Tanks was an absolute fantasy: a low-key refuge with endless climbing, dear friends and warm wint
As I stood under the start holds of Silent Sir, for the forth time that day, I felt the passionate rage to send surge throughout my veins. I breathed deep into my trembling hands and tried to erase the previous burns from my
"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." That provocative first line from a Stars song sparked a revelation last month as I zipped though downtown Boulder, past familiar faces and favorite spaces
I've now been living the rural, domestic, midwestern life in Southern Illinois (De Soto to be exact) for the last month. My days consist of waking up at 7 am to dark roast french press coffee and working at my laptop until I'
On September 24, at 6 am, I pressed reset as I escaped during the early morning light and headed east on 1-70. The options were (and always are): keep working vigorously to follow my creative pursuits unleashed, or buy a one
In Boulder this season was deemed "surgery summer" as it was hit by a vicious injury wave that sent sport climbers, boulders and traditionalists to the operating room. At any given point, there were multiple climbers hobbling