Last week I read about the closing of Ascent Outdoors, a mom-and-pop gear store in Seattle that had been in business for over 20 years and had just opened a third location. I’d been there once, years ago while in town scoping the University of Washington on a grad school visit. Stopped in (it may have been called “Second Ascent” back then) poked around the gear, bought a lightweight rain shell—yeah, went to Seattle without one—and enjoyed the experience. Staff was friendly, a good vibe among the people in the store. I liked it immediately.
Reading about the closure of Ascent Outdoors bummed me out, even though I don’t live anywhere near Seattle. It reminded me of my favorite hometown gear shop, one that, like Ascent Outdoors, fell victim to changing buying habits of the outdoor community and closed its doors forever.
I miss feeling at home in a dark and mysterious gear shop, turning when the bells clanged at the door to see who was coming in, maybe a familiar face, maybe a crusty old-timer about to spin up a yarn about where they’d just been.
It was on a busy thoroughfare in San Luis Obispo, California, occupying a squat, rectangular building with a brick facade in the front, yellow plaster walls, and a green awning with gold lettering that read: Granite Stairway. The sort of building that looked like it had once been a ho-hum insurance office. Bland. Forgettable. Except for the illustration of a hiker on the side, striding confidently up a mountain somewhere. Plus, the name Granite Stairway is a poetic kind of call-to-action. Long before I ever shopped there I’d drive past that building and look at the stenciled hiker with a bit of longing; the store beckoned, despite the dark windows you couldn’t see through. What was going on in there, I’d wonder.
Finally, one summer while in college, I got a seasonal job working for the National Park Service in Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park. I knew I needed some serious advice about real-deal boots and gear that would keep me comfortable and safe over months in the backcountry. Plus, I had a small gear stipend. So, after years of being vaguely intimidated, I walked to the storefront, grabbed the door handle and pulled.
Bells charmingly clacked and rung against the glass.
A man who was the spitting image of the late Steve Irwin looked up from behind a glass counter filled with pocketknives and multitools. He put down the copy of the local small-town newspaper he was reading (back when that was just a normal part of life and not a charming relic) and smiled. Behind him were cubbyholes stuffed with rolled-up topo maps. Twisted braids of colorful climbing ropes decorated the walls and ceiling. Instantly, I felt at home.
This is after a refresh, in the mid-00s.
Steve (not his real name) and I chatted about where I was going that summer, what I expected to encounter, and what I wanted to see and do. He walked me through the strengths and weaknesses of the boots, packs, and sleeping bags on offer, bypassing the most expensive pieces that, frankly, I would have purchased had he told me to, so enthralled was I by his expertise and his obvious love of good gear, or, rather, the experiences good gear would help facilitate.
Eventually, I left with a pair of Asolo FSN GTX boots (they lasted me almost 15 years; good job, Steve!), a Sierra Designs synthetic sleeping bag (presumably still in the desert in Mexico somewhere, a long story), and a Lowe Alpine backpack (this served me well for well over a decade, backpacking the Sierra, and trips through Europe, until I sold it on Craigslist to a young man about to take his first backpacking trip a couple years ago).
Steve tossed in a pair of wool socks for free, showed me how to stuff my bag in the pack without a stuff sack to save space, and sent me on my way, returning to his newspaper. He seemed every bit the knowledgable craftsman a good car mechanic is. Proud of his work.
Once the summer ended, I returned often to the shop, to peruse new gear I couldn’t afford, and eavesdrop on old timers telling stories about Sierra and Trinity Alps backpacking missions, as well as climbers gearing up to take on the nearby crags that were growing increasingly popular. I’d buy a Nalgene bottle sometimes, a baselayer occasionally, topo maps, and lots of freeze-dried meals. It felt like my local surf shop. A place to hang, even when I wasn’t in the mood or the financial place (I was in college) to buy a whole lot.
I moved to San Francisco after undergrad and tried to find my Granite Stairway here. Eventually, I settled on a behemoth store called The Sports Basement that has a similar scruffy vibe, but it’s too big to feel intimate. These days, when I’m headed out to the backcountry, SB, as I call it, is a must-stop for fuel, food, last-minute bug repellant, paper topo maps. But I don’t know anybody who works there, and, frankly, it’s clear most people on the floor don’t have the knowledge and professionalism of Steve.
On a trip back home to SLO a few years after I had moved, I was dismayed to see that Granite Stairway had closed. SLO still to this day has a small gear store, The Mountain Air, long may it live (amazing that a town of 40,000 people 4 hours from the mountains supported two small outdoor gear shops) But it wasn’t MY store the way Granite Stairway was.
Nostalgia? Oh hell yes. I could be remembering most of this wrong. The past is murky, especially tinged with the golden fog of pleasant memories. But when I read about the closure of Ascent Outdoors, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Granite Stairway and Steve wash over me. I too, buy many things online, outdoor gear included. I’m a proud member of REI. I’ve eaten lustily from the tree of discount forbidden fruit. And I know enough about outdoor gear now to not really need the expertise of a Steve anymore. Heck I might even be somebody’s online Steve.
But, man, I really miss that store. I miss that third place of mine. I miss feeling at home in a dark and mysterious gear shop, turning when the bells clanged at the door to see who was coming in, maybe a familiar face, maybe a crusty old-timer about to spin up a yarn about where they’d just been. Haven’t found that yet anywhere else.
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Nomad Ventures in Idyllwild. That was the place with the kind of feel you are talking about when I was growing up.
Good read, these special places are pillars of the community and we need to support them now more then ever. Not only are they great places to find cool gear, learn new tricks but amazing places to just BE.
As a member of the design team that brought Neptune Mountaineering back to life in Boulder, CO… I can say we have a thriving community that wants to support independent retail… but you HAVE to give the people a retail experience that matches the endeavor/journey/activity they’re about to embark on.
We’d love to have you check it out if you’re ever in town.
https://www.snewsnet.com/people/triumphant-return-neptune-mountaineering
Ascent Outdoors was a cool store, but I’m not sure how much to chalk up its closure to changing customer behavior. Local reporting has included everything from the expense of opening a second location to overhead costs in Seattle. Lots of changes in customer behavior, sure, but there are plenty of stores that are adapting to that and succeeding in the same market.
For sure. Ascent Outdoors was a cool spot the closure of which prompted my thoughts about how much I miss my old gear shop. Looks like Seattle is doing a good job supporting small, indie gear shops.
If you’re still in the Bay Area, try Young’s Backpacking on Telegraph Av. in Berkley for the same kind of feel. Close, anyway. I have a different experience with the Berkley SB, where the staff are static, and knowledgeable, especially in the bike shop.
I am – never heard of Young’s – I will absolutely check it out. Don’t get me wrong, I really love SB, and go there a couple times per week, it seems, but it’s just too big to feel intimate and unique. It’s close, but not quite the same.
Yah, too bad about those sort of shops passing away into the dark. My start outdoors and retailing/guiding was at Vail Mountaineering which too, is long gone now just a clothing outlet for Patigonia. Gone too is Sangre de Cristo Mountain Works in Santa Fe. Oh well, products still there on the web, just not the advice and expertise.
Thanks Justin. I’m a Ballard local and have been a regular customer at Ascent Outdoors for years. While the small seaside village of Norwegian heritage has become a magnet for high-end restaurants and boutique shops, Second Ascent (recently renamed Ascent Outdoors, but locals never quite adjusted) has been one of a small list of hold-outs from an earlier era. It was a beacon for the outdoorsy locals, who shared the sidewalks with a growing army of hipsters, and a home away from home for me. I became friendly – and then friends – with many of the shopkeep, and gathered quite a bit of on-the-fly beta for upcoming weekend adventures on semi-weekly drop-ins. They sold more specialized gear and brands than REI, had a staff that was always knowledgable and welcoming, held regular community events, and helped to define this unique neighborhood – a town that could be both upscale and dirtbag at the same time. With its closure, I am saddened to know that the dedicated staff is unexpectedly without a paycheck. And I fear the local dirtbags who have held onto coveted hard-to-find affordable mother-in-laws will disband, leaving Ballard, and a growing swath of Seattle, without an outdoor soul.
1986 on Main St in Driggs, ID there was a similar store. Boxes stuffed with blemished Patagonia and North Face products, factory 2nds I guess.
A kind hippy couple ran the place. I have no idea when it closed but what a great store it was.
That was “Fred’s Mountaineering.” It dubbed itself the “cultural hub of the Rockies.” Cardboard box merchandising at its best.
You should check out Bighorn in Great Falls,MT if you ever come through on your way to Glacier National Park
I miss Sangre de Cristo Mountain Works in Santa Fe. F#*% REÍ.
I don’t mean to make this comment thread an advert for gear shops but the one I’m working at this summer makes for debate, at least in my mind, between long-standing hard feelings toward the Grand Staircase National Monument supplanting former ranching and mining jobs and the idea of the outdoor industry providing jobs. I see the inflow of money spent on hiking/camping/canyoneering gear and guided trips so that tourists, travelers, and more experienced outdoor enthusiasts can respectfully enjoy our public lands. The shop owners have put in their own sweat equity over 11 years in obtaining knowledge of the land; I listen in awe to their detailed descriptions of the almost countless washes, slot canyons, and technical rapps. Utah Canyon Outdoors is a welcome source of big box store retail prices and intel in middle of nowhere, small-town Utah.
A couple years ago while I was doing laundry at the local laundromat, I got a chance to talk with an old-timer who was still working short cattle drives on BLM land. I asked him if his job supported him and he said no, but that he did it because he still loved it and always would. Yes, the mining industry and ranching did provide local jobs pre-Monument but I figure they still had to be augmented by another job within the family. I admire the work ethic found in both industries’ workers but jobs have been lost or changed throughout our country’s history. I see the outdoor industry being more sustainable and able to provide jobs, too, with a changing economy as long as there is respect for our outdoors. The gear shops are more than retail outlets for gearheads and tourists alike…they are also gathering spots for sharing info and experiences over a cup of espresso.
Yep, sad to see more and more independents with charm close in Australia too. Slowly starting to see a small swing back to local and hope people continue to take a bit more time and investment to support local communities…
I’m an alumni of Marmot Mtn Works in Berkeley. Classic location in old Russian Orthedox church. We loved our customers as much as they appreciated us. Too many amazing memories… One that sticks out was when the manager of the store brought in the just released Led Zeppelin box set. Four discs of Zep that we turned to 11! for most of the day. We would move the customer away from the speakers rather than turn down the volume. Not a single complaint all day. RIP MMW!
i seriously wept in my car during MMW’s closing sale.
Well, SLO is about to lose the Mountain Air, too, with REI moving to town…
l love gear shops too… but i fear buying online is what is closing many brick and mortar stores nationwide. it’s a sad day when another small store closes in the community.
I travel a lot for work and make it a point to visit local gear shops everywhere I go. So sad to hear about 2nd Ascent, which was one of the best, but no story on this subject should leave out Outdoor Gear Exchange in Burlington VT or The Mountaineer in Keene Valley NY.
There’s still a good, strong cadre of specialty outdoor shops in the U.S. You can see most of them in one place at http://www.grassrootsoutdoors.com ; but missing from there are great shops like Nomad Ventures, Adventure 16, and some others who keep a true local vibe alive despite the obvious challenges of scaling e-commerce, lack of marketing $ and savvy, DTC competition from the very brands they are supporting, and in many places in the west, ballooning costs of living. It was a big sacrifice to work in a specialty shop when I started in 1985. It’s many times moreso now, despite the swell in outdoor interested folk.