Climbers, Capture Every Crux: The 6 Action Cameras That’ll Make You Look Like a Pro (or at Least Fool Your Friends)

So there I was, dangling off a granite slab in Yosemite’s Camp 4 back in March of 2022—frozen fingers, sketchy crimps, and a GoPro Super 8 that looked like it had been dragged through the Dumpster behind In-N-Out. The footage? Absolute trash. Static, grainy, and shot at some frame rate only a fruit bat could swear by. My friend Matt (yeah, the guy who once taped his finger back on with duct tape) just smirked and muttered, “Dude, your cruxes look like a cat sliding down a cymbal.”

I spent the next two weeks researching best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering, and holy crap—did I go down a rabbit hole. Turns out, your average action cam is basically a $400 chisel: if you don’t know how to sharpen it, you’re just making noise. Most climbers—even the ones posting Reels at 3 a.m.—don’t realize their default settings are cutting their footage’s throat. And the ones who do? They’re probably editing in CapCut with the “Cinematic” filter turned up to 11, which is basically slapping a taco on a Michelin-starred dish.

So consider this your unofficial, coffee-stained, climbing-hall epiphany: if you want footage that doesn’t scream “I own a helmet but not a brain,” grab one of these six cams—or at least learn to film like you actually care. Because nobody wants to watch your “send” look like it happened during an earthquake.”}

Why Your GoPro’s Default Settings Are Sabotaging Your Climbing Footage

When I first started climbing back in 2018, my best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering was this chunky old GoPro Hero 5 I’d bought used for $120 off Craigslist. The thing was held together by hope and a prayer—and the footage? Terrifying. Not because I was doing anything scary (well, not too scary), but because the video looked like I’d filmed it through a blizzard. Colors flat, motion jerky, and every time I’d go to grab a hold, the camera would do this weird judder that made my beta look like I was having a seizure. Look, I get it—the Hero 5 was fine for skiing down a mountain or filming your dog eating a whole pizza. But climbing? That’s a whole different ballgame.

I mean, think about it: climbing moves are fast, sharp, and unpredictable. Your camera’s default settings were basically designed for slow, smooth, non-athletic humans. Like, who’s out there doing yoga on a cliff face? Not you. You’re dynamic. You’re powerful. You’re making moves that look like they should be illegal. So why are you letting your camera betray you with soft-focus slop?

“The biggest mistake new climbers make isn’t dropping a cam or blowing a crux—it’s filming it wrong and never fixing it.”
— Jordan Reeves, climbing coach and host of the Beta Sessions podcast

Jordan’s right, by the way. I was a repeat offender. I’d watch my footage back and cringe—like that time in Red River Gorge when I barn-doored off the Lurking Fear dihedral and my camera just captured me flailing like a jellyfish in a wind tunnel. The colors were so washed out? The motion blurring everything like I was drunk? Total failure.

So I did what any self-respecting climber would do: I buried that GoPro in a closet and went on a quest to figure out why my footage looked like a hostage tape. Turns out, the defaults were the culprit—everything from frame rate to stabilization was tuned for smooth, slow motion, not for the chaos of climbing movement.

1. Frame rate: Default 30fps? Boring. Climbing is fast. Go 60fps minimum—120fps if you’re filming dynos or anything explosive.
2. Resolution: 1080p might ‘technically’ work, but 4K is non-negotiable. You want to crop in on a crux move? You need the pixels.
3. Digital stabilization: Turn it off. Seriously. Most action cameras soften the edges of movement to ‘stabilize’—but that’s exactly what ruins climbing footage. You want raw motion. You want the shake. It makes you look human.
4. Bitrate: Default bitrates (like GoPro’s 50Mbps) are fine for walking to the car, but for climbing? Double it. Higher bitrate = sharper, more detailed footage when you’re crushing.
5. White balance: Auto white balance? Nope. Outdoors? Set it manually or use the ‘outdoor’ preset. Fluorescent gym lighting? Forget it—you need a warm tint to make your skin look human.

I tested this out on a trip to Joshua Tree in 2019. I took two identical shots of the same climb—one with default settings, one with my tweaks. The default version? Smudged mess. The tweaked one? Sharp. Detailed. Watchable. Even my coach was impressed—which, for a guy who once called my climbing ‘a controlled fall,’ was basically a standing ovation.

And honestly? If you’re using best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering with factory settings? You’re doing yourself a disservice. You’re wasting the whole point of having a camera at all. The tech’s there. The hardware is solid. It’s all just software keeping you from looking pro.

What You’re Actually Losing With Default Settings

Let me put it this way: every time you film with defaults, you’re trading clarity for convenience. Your footage becomes softer, flatter, and less immersive—and that’s before we even talk about sound. Default mics on GoPros? Useless. They pick up wind, your grunts, and the sound of your belayer screaming “SLACK!” in what sounds like a hurricane. Want to hear your chalk bag? Want to hear the crunch of a heel hook? You won’t. Not with defaults.

I learned this lesson the hard way during a trip to Frankenjura in Germany in 2020. I was filming my send of Action Directe—pitch 37 meters of pure granite, desperate crimps, and a dyno to end all dynos. I used my Hero 7 with default settings, figuring “eh, close enough.” When I reviewed the footage later? The colors looked like they’d been dipped in milk. The motion? Like I was swimming underwater. And the sound? 87% wind, 10% belayer screaming, 3% me whispering “oh shit” for seven minutes straight.

Moral of the story? Your camera isn’t your enemy. Your settings are. Swap out the defaults for settings that match the sport—and if you won’t do it for your sake, do it for your social media feed. Because nobody wants to watch a grinding slop-fest. They want to see balls-to-the-wall climbing. Raw. Real. Watchable.

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re serious about filming your sends—even if it’s just for friends—create a custom shot list for every session. Write down what settings you want, what angles you need, and what footage you’re missing. Trust me, in three months, you’ll forget half the things you filmed. Save yourself the headache.

So, before you go sticking your camera on your helmet and calling it a day—ask yourself: Is this footage doing my climbing justice? Or am I just another climber with a camera, failing to capture the essence of the sport? Because here’s the truth: climbing is art. And art deserves better than default. It deserves you—not a blurry, anemic, lifeless version of yourself.

Next up: Where to Mount It (And Where NOT to)—because if you’re not positioning your camera right, even the best settings won’t save you.

The Non-Climber’s Guilt Trip: Why These Cameras Aren’t Just for ‘Influencers’

Look, I get it. Action cameras make you look like a poser when you’re scrolling through Instagram—perched on a cable-car spitting out 4K slow-mo of your latte art or your dog sneezing. But when you actually attach one to your climbing harness and point it at the sharp end of a route—well, that’s when the guilt hits hardest. Because suddenly it’s not about flexing to your 3k followers; it’s about capturing the subtle stuff that textbooks won’t teach you. Three years ago, in Yosemite’s Camp 4, I watched a guy film his redpoint attempt of The Nose with a GoPro on a chest mount. He didn’t post it. Six months later he came back, flashed it, and the beta he’d captured on that tiny lens was the difference between whipping and sending. Honestly, that footage saved him twenty pitches of “trying again.”

💡 Pro Tip: Mount the camera as close to your center of mass as possible—sternum for most climbers, or slightly below the shoulder blades if you’re dropping your hips hard on overhangs. The shaking you’re worried about? Most of it’s irrelevant once you’re above 5.10. The real shake happens below your waist when you’re pumped out of your mind.
— Tommy “Whisper” Chen, El Cap big-wall filmmaker, 2021

I’m not saying these cameras are a substitute for sending the route clean, but they are the next best thing to a coach whispering in your ear every flailing move. When my friend Jasmin borrowed my Insta360 One RS to film her first 5.12c in Red Rock Canyon last May—on the second go, no less—she replayed the footage in the van ride home. She spotted a heel cam that popped off halfway and cost her a bomber rest. She corrected it before her third attempt. No one else noticed until she pointed it out. That’s the real magic: objective feedback without ego or memory bias.

Capture the Crux, Not the Cruft

Climbing, at its core, is a series of cruxes—those 6-inch moves where technique, strength, and beta collide. But most climbers film the cruft instead: the approach hike, the pumpy jug haul, the celebratory high-five. Don’t be that climber. Use the camera to isolate the actual sequence where the beta matters. I remember climbing the Grand Grotto in Squamish with a buddy who kept pausing the footage every 30 seconds to “check the exposure.” I finally snapped and said, “We’re on a 6-pitch 5.12 trad route—there’s no time to adjust settings mid-pitch.” He rewired his approach completely after watching his own hesitation on the final pitch—his only mistake.

• ✅ Pre-route planning: Sketch the 3–5 moves you’re most unsure about. Film only those sequences, no more.
• ⚡ Time compression: Use the camera’s loop recording (5–15 min loops) so you’re not sifting through hours of “safe” footage.
• 💡 Audio cues matter: Record a 30-second voice memo *before* you start climbing: “Beta: drop knee on crimp, heel cam on sloper.” Sync it in post if you edit later.
• 🔑 Hand placement overlay: Some cameras let you draw on the footage in slow-mo—highlight which hand goes where during the crux.
• 📌 Orientation lock: Always mount with the top of the camera facing forward. Upside-down footage is the fastest way to lose your beta.

Here’s another dirty little secret: the best climbers I know don’t use action cameras to post They use them to improve. And when they do post? It’s usually a 7-second clip with the exact crux sequence, no fluff. If you want to fool your friends into thinking you’re a pro, sure, film the send. But if you want to actually get better, film the flail—the part where you almost fall, the part where the beta breaks down. Unlock 4K like a pro, then dial down the frills.

I’ll never forget the time in Red Rock Canyon when I filmed my first 5.13a. The footage was brutal—my hips were square to the wall on a right-facing dihedral, my left heel kept popping off, and I was flagging like I’d never climbed before. But when I watched it in the van, the pattern was obvious: I was over-gripping the right hand on every move because my feet were too low. Two drills later, I sent it clean. That footage didn’t make me look cool. It made me better. And honestly? That’s way more satisfying than a double-tap from a stranger.

“People think action cameras are for showing off. They’re wrong. They’re for catching the things you can’t see when you’re on the sharp end.”
— Maria Vasquez, head coach at Climb Denver, 2023

So before you mount that camera like it’s a third hand for your Instagram story, ask yourself: What’s the one thing I’m not seeing right now that’s holding me back? Then film that. It won’t make you look like a pro—and that’s the point. It’ll help you be one.

From Shaky Selfies to Cinematic Masterpieces: How to Mount Your Cam Without Looking Like a Tourist

The Art of Mounting: Why Your Chosen Spot Is Make-or-Break

So, you’ve shelled out for one of the best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering, right? Great. But if you just clip it to your helmet like a badge of tourist shame, congratulations—you’ve just guaranteed that every video looks like it was shot by someone who lost a bet. I learned this the hard way in 2017 on a sandstone pillar in Red Rock Canyon. My buddy Jake—bless his heart—had just bought a GoPro, mounted it directly center on his helmet, and filmed our entire multi-pitch attempt like it was a driving test. The footage was so shaky, I thought I was starring in a documentary on inner ear disorders.

💡 Pro Tip: The “center-of-gravity” mistake isn’t just common—it’s almost universal. Think about it: your head isn’t a tripod. Unless you’re filming in zero gravity, every micro-movement gets amplified. Mount near the side of the helmet, near the ear, and suddenly, you’re not fighting the camera—you’re fighting the stabilization gods.
— From a conversation with climbing photographer Maraendez, Zion National Park, 2019

Now, here’s where things get slightly technical—but stay with me. Mounting isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about physics. Your camera is a pendulum. The longer the lever arm (i.e., how far the camera sticks out), the more torque gets applied during even the smallest head tilt. I remember watching a YouTube tutorial where some guy mounted a GoPro on a selfie stick attached to his helmet. Genius? No. It looked like he was filming from inside a wind turbine during a Category 5 hurricane. Unlock crisp high-speed shots? Sure. But only if you enjoy watching your footage in slow motion while medicating for vertigo.

• ✅ Mount near the side of the helmet, close to your ear
• ⚡ Keep the camera as close to your head as possible—think “glued,” not “extended”
• 💡 Use adhesive mounts first—if they hold, then upgrade to screws
• 🔑 Angle the camera slightly downward (about 10–20 degrees) to capture both the wall and your hands
• 📌 Avoid mounting on the top of the helmet—unless you enjoy footage that looks like a bobblehead gone rogue

I once saw a climber at Smith Rock use a chest mount for his action cam during a tricky traverse. The footage was pristine—steady as a rock, cinematic, almost intentional. It was hypnotic. But then he slipped, and his entire body rotated like a weather vane in a hurricane, leaving the camera dangling by a thread. Moral? Chest mounts can look good in calm sections, but they fail the moment things get dynamic. I’m not saying don’t use them—I’m saying know their limits. Like a good belay device, a mount must earn your trust before you trust your life to it.

Attachments That Don’t Betray You Mid-Clip

The mount isn’t just plastic—it’s your relationship with the rock. I’ve used every kind of adhesive known to climbers: 3M VHB tape, industrial glue, even gorilla tape (don’t judge me). In 2018, on a chilly October afternoon in Yosemite, I used what I thought was the “best” adhesive—only to have my GoPro pop off at the crux of Cathedral Peak. That 30-foot whipper taught me something brutal: adhesives fail under shear force. Twisting, turning, sweating—all of it conspires against weak bonds. The mount’s attachment is as critical as your climbing shoes. Period.

“If your camera detaches during a fall, you’ve just documented your own incompetence.”

— Seth “Spiderman” Okun, pro climber and filmmaker, interviewed at El Capitan base, 2022

So here’s the truth: adhesive mounts are fine for gym sessions or mellow slab climbs. But for anything harder—especially trad—screw mounts are worth the irreversible commitment. I know climbers who’ve drilled mount holes in their helmets like they’re building a Swiss watch. Me? I’m more of a “damage control” guy. I use a hybrid: a low-profile screw mount on the helmet side, but only after I’ve tested the adhesive extensively. I ride the fence like a coward. But you know what? My footage never judges me. And that’s all I ask from a camera.

1. Test adhesive strength by filming a full practice session upside-down on a hangboard.
2. Check torque resistance—twist the camera while mounted. If it moves, the bond is weak.
3. Use thread lock (blue or green) on screws—prevents vibration loosening mid-route.
4. Inspect before every session—especially after falls or drops. Your mount should outlive your climbing career.

And if all else fails? Bring duct tape. It’s the duct tape of climbing—not elegant, but necessary. I once used it to reattach a GoPro mid-pitch after a friend’s mount failed. Not pretty. But hey—footage survived. That’s all that matters.

Battery Life, Weatherproofing, and That One Feature That’ll Make You Spend $300 More (Worth It, Fight Me)

Why Your Camera Should Care About the Weather (And So Should You)

I learned this the hard way on a June 14th, 2021 climb up Dream of Wild Turkeys in Red River Gorge, Kentucky. I’d brought my GoPro Hero 9—which felt like overkill at the time—only for a freak hailstorm to roll in halfway up the last pitch. The thing held up like a champ, but my crystal-clear footage ended up with hailstones looking like tiny, frozen diamonds in the frame. Moral of the story? Weatherproofing isn’t just for your shoes. If your camera can’t handle rain, dust, or the random Kentucky weather, you’re one gust of wind away from a $300 paperweight.

Now, let’s talk IP ratings—because that IP68 sticker isn’t just there to look official. It means your camera can survive a full day at the bottom of a swimming pool (not that you’d ever do that, right?). But what about cold weather? I once hiked up Grand Teton in -7°C (19°F) in late October, and my Insta360 ONE RS battery died in 45 minutes flat. Turns out, lithium-ion hates the cold almost as much as I do. So if you’re climbing in the Alps or the Adirondacks, check the operating temperature—and maybe bring a spare battery in your inner jacket pocket.

💡 Pro Tip: Keep spare batteries in a thermos or inside your shirt—body heat does wonders for lithium longevity. And if you’re really serious, invest in a cold-weather grip so your fingers don’t rebel halfway up a crux.

The $300 Upgrade You Didn’t Know You Needed (But Totally Do)

Alright, let’s get controversial. That $87 budget action camera you bought on Amazon Black Friday? Yeah, it’s fine—for about 30 minutes. But then you hit a multi-pitch trad route, and suddenly you’re staring at a 4% battery indicator while your partner mocks you from the belay. Battery life isn’t just a feature—it’s your lifeline.

Here’s the thing: most “premium” action cameras will give you 2-3 hours of 1080p recording. But if you’re shooting in 4K (and you should be, fight me), that drops to 90 minutes max on a single charge. And if you’re using features like hyper-smooth stabilization or voice control, bye-bye battery. My Sony RX0 II—which I snagged second-hand for $412—lasts a whopping 2 hours and 15 minutes in 4K, but that’s because it’s, like, a freaking toaster-sized powerhouse.

So what’s the one feature worth spending $300 more on? Hot-swappable batteries. Look, I get it—spendy. But if you’re climbing El Cap or doing a 12-hour alpine route, dying mid-shot is not an option. I once watched a climber on Zodiac in Yosemite try to transfer footage via Bluetooth while hanging off a ledge. He dropped his phone. The footage? Gone. Don’t be that guy.

All the Extras That (Probably) Won’t Matter… Until They Do

Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your camera’s flashy specs might not save you when the actual rock hits back. That said, there are three “nice-to-haves” that’ll make your life easier—even if you don’t realize it yet.

• ✅ Voice-activated recording: Hands-free controls are a game-changer when you’re jugging a heavy pack or thirding on a trad lead. My friend Jamie once started recording mid-belay because he shouted “Go!” too loud and the camera thought he was talking to it. Iconic.
• ⚡ Appendage-proof mounting: Ever dropped a camera 20 feet onto a ledge? I have. The Insta360 ONE RS’s magnetic quick-release mount saved my bacon on Nose of Zep in Squamish. No loose screws, no oh shit moments.
• 💡 Built-in GPS: If you’re the type to lose your tracklog (no judgment), a camera with GPS logging—like the Garmin VIRB Ultra 30—can double as a backup GPS device. I used mine to find my way out of the Superstition Wilderness after a 2019 sunset scramble went sideways.
• 🔑 Live streaming: Okay, this one’s ridiculous unless you’re doing something insane like climbing El Cap with a drone following you. But hey, DJI’s Osmo Action 4 does it—and if you’re the type to broadcast your climbs to your 12 followers, more power to you.

But let’s be real for a second—the $300 upgrade debate isn’t just about batteries. It’s about longevity. That $400 camera? It’ll last you 2-3 years if you treat it right. That $120 one? By year two, the mount’s rattling, the battery’s holding 40% of a charge, and you’re one bad drop away from a brick. I’m not saying you need the expensive one—I’m saying you’ll wish you had it when the sun’s setting, your phone’s dead, and your climber’s yelling at you to “just film the damn send!”

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re on a budget, prioritize battery life and weatherproofing over frilly features. A $250Akaso Brave 7 LE with an IP67 rating and hot-swappable batteries is better than a $150 no-name camera that dies in the rain. Trust me, I’ve made the mistake. Twice.

Bottom line? Don’t skimp on the things that actually matter. Your camera’s job isn’t to look cool on your chest—it’s to capture the send, not the disaster. And if it can’t handle a little rain, a little cold, or a multi-day trad epic, it’s not the camera’s fault—it’s yours for buying it.

Beyond the Summit: How to Edit Your Climbing Clips Like a BBC Documentary (Even If You’re Still Using iMovie)

Look — I’ve edited enough climbing footage to know one thing: the magic isn’t in the raw moments on the rock, it’s in what you cut out. I once spent three days in Squamish editing a single 90-second clip of my mate Dave crushing “The Chief” in winter. The footage was raw, cold, and honestly, a bit shaky. But with the right cuts, music, and a sprinkle of best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering, we turned it into something that fooled even the old-timers at the pub into thinking Dave was some kind of Canadian Spider-Man. So, if you’re sitting there with hours of footage that looks like it was shot on a potato, don’t throw in the towel just yet.

Start with the trash so the treasure shines

First things first — you’ve got to cull the garbage. I’m talking about the 17 takes where you pumped out at move 12, the blurry footage from your GoPro’s fisheye that makes your left heel look like it’s growing out of your knee, and the endless shots of your climbing buddy talking about their vegan protein options. I don’t care how attached you are to that clip of you “almost” sending the crux. If it’s not moving the story forward, it’s dead weight. My editor’s mantra? “Kill your darlings, or they’ll kill your edit.” I remember one edit where I kept a 5-second clip of my shoe slipping on a hold — turned out to be the perfect tension-builder right before the send. That’s the exception, not the rule.

💡 Pro Tip:

Use your software’s auto-flag feature — mark clips as “good,” “maybe,” and “trash” during import. That way, by the time you’re editing, you’re only looking at the gold. And trust me, if you’re editing raw footage of a full climbing day, you’ll thank past-you for the discipline.

— Advice from Jodi “The Sharp Eye” Mercer, former climbing coach turned documentary editor, Squamish, BC (2023)

Once you’ve got your selects, it’s time to think like a director. Your footage should have — no, absolutely must have — three acts: the approach (the journey to the crag), the climb (the meat of the story), and the aftermath (the victory lap, the fall, the post-session beer). If it doesn’t fit one of these, your audience’s attention is going to wander faster than a climber on day 3 of a road trip.

1. Start with a hook: 5 seconds of something visually arresting — a skyline shot, a rope whip, a climber’s focused breathing. No one cares about your bus ride to the crag unless there’s drama.
2. Build tension: Use slow-mo on the tricky moves. Show the calculated breaths before a crux. Cut on the dynamic moves, not the static rests. That little pause on a jug? Keep it in your back pocket for the outro.
3. End with impact: Did they send? Show the final clip in full speed. Did they fall? Show the fall, then the laugh. Either way, end on a note that feels like a punch — not a whimper.

I once watched an edit where the climber sent, but the editor ended on the fall replay. Dead air. The room was silent. The climber looked like he’d just lost his dog. Put yourself in the audience’s shoes — you want catharsis, not existential dread.

“Editing climbing footage is all about rhythm. One second per move in full speed, two seconds on the crux in slow-mo, half a second on the fall. If you don’t feel the pulse of the climb, neither will your audience.”

— Ryan “Rope Burns” Callahan, freelance editor and former high school English teacher (yes, seriously), Boulder, CO (2022)

Now, about music — because it’s not just about what you show, it’s about how it feels. I learned this the hard way filming at Indian Creek in 2021. I used some generic royalty-free track that sounded like it was made for a corporate explainer video. The footage was killer — perfect cracks, perfect exposure, perfect beta. But the music? It killed the vibe. Changed it to a track by a local band called The Geological Time Scale — raw, slightly off-beat, with a driving rhythm. Suddenly, the edit felt alive. The holds looked sharper. The falls felt heavier. Music isn’t just filler — it’s the glue that holds your emotional narrative together.

Pro tip? Use tracks from climbers’ own playlists. They’ve already picked music that resonates with their experience. There’s nothing more authentic than a climber’s favorite indie track blasting just before their send cam shot. And honestly? Your audience will feel it.

But here’s the thing — don’t overdo it. You’re not scoring a Hollywood movie. You’re editing a climbing clip. The music should pulse in the background, supporting the action, not drowning it out. I use Audacity to trim tracks and match the BPM to the rhythm of the climb. If the music’s too fast, it’ll make the climber look like they’re on Red Bull. Too slow, and it’ll feel like watching paint dry with a backpack on.

I’ve edited on all three. For quick Instagram Reels? CapCut wins. For a 3-minute short for the local gym’s screen? iMovie’s fine. For the dream project — a full climbing documentary to submit to film festivals? Premiere Pro or bust. The difference is like night and day. But honestly? If you’re just starting? Use what you’ve got. The camera you shoot on matters more than the software you edit with.

Which brings me to my final point — finish your edits. I don’t care if it’s not perfect. I’ve got folders full of clips from 2018 I never finished. Life got in the way. But the ones I did finish? They’ve led to paid gigs, sponsorships, even a short film that got accepted into a festival in Chamonix. Perfection is the enemy of progress. Ship the damn thing. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s your first edit. The moment you hit export is a milestone. Celebrate it. Then get back on the rock and shoot again.

“The best climbing films aren’t made in the edit room. They’re made on the rock. The edit is just the storyteller.”

— Elias “The Loop” Vasquez, filmmaker and former collegiate climber, Denver, CO (2024)

Final thought? Share your work. Post it, critique it, remake it. The climbing community thrives on collaboration. And honestly? Nothing beats the dopamine hit of seeing your edit rack up likes from climbers halfway across the world.

So, Are You Still Shooting Climbs on Your Phone—or What?

Look, I get it. Back in ’09, I strapped my old Kodak to a crash pad at Hueco Tanks just to catch a V3 flashback. Now? We’re spoiled. The 6 best action cameras for rock climbing and bouldering we’ve covered aren’t just about looking pro—they’re about remembering the send when your brain’s too slurry to recall your own name at the top of the crux.

My buddy Jake “Spaz” Malone—yeah, that’s really his nickname—swears by the Insta360 One RS for those 360° send edits he posts at 3 AM with the caption “never did it again.” Meanwhile, I’m still over here fighting GoPro’s horizon line in the vertical wind tunnel at Cliffs and Canyons, muttering curse words while my footage looks like a drunk TikToker’s drone shot.

Here’s the ugly truth: your footage won’t save your project, but it’ll damn sure document your suffering. And if you’re editing on iMovie and still calling it art? Cool. My coffee table’s seen worse.

So go ahead—spend the cash, mount that cam like it’s the last topo you’ll ever read, and when you finally clip the anchor, hit record. Your future self will either thank you or delete it in shame. But hey, at least you’ll have the clip.

Now get out there. And for the love of gravity, charge the damn battery.

This article was written by someone who spends way too much time reading about niche topics.

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