The Zoo at Red River Gorge Closes Indefinitely

For decades, The Zoo at Red River Gorge was a cornerstone of the Southeast’s iconic climbing. This steep, storied crag offers world-class routes that test strength, inspire the community, and carry thousands of personal triumphs and defeats. But as of January 4, its walls stand empty.

Earlier this week, the Red River Gorge Climbers’ Coalition (RRGCC) announced the indefinite closure of The Zoo, prompting reflection on the impermanence of even the most cherished climbing destinations. The fresh “No Trespassing” signs serve as a sobering reminder of the fragility of our community’s access to climbing on private lands.

In a statement posted to Instagram, the RRGCC explains, “This situation highlights why we work so hard to secure land access for climbing—so that we can ensure the long-term preservation of such special places.” The Coalition urges climbers to respect the landowner’s wishes and comply with the closure.

Why The Zoo Closed

As climbers reflect on their connections to The Zoo, for private landowner Brenda Campbell, the decision was clear-cut.

“My property, my decision,” Campbell wrote in a text exchange with Climbing.

Campbell explains her decision as follows: “I closed it because of erosion around the bottom of the cliff, illegal camping, no upkeep on trails, and continued installation of climbing bolts and screws on fragile sandstone cliffs. I resent the climbers’ sense of entitlement—that they can climb anywhere and do anything to private property without permission and leave it a mess. There are plenty of places to climb in this area.”

The RRGCC, however, has expressed hope for renewed dialogue with local landowners to prevent similar closures in the future. The organization acknowledges the challenges of balancing land stewardship with growing demand for safe climbing access.

“These aren’t just crags, they’re someone’s land, and it’s hard to ignore that,” says Billy Simek, RRGCC Executive Director. “You wouldn’t just go to someone’s house and start putting up paintings—why would you bolt routes on land without understanding the regulations? It’s a difficult balance, but we have to make it work.”

The History and Allure of The Zoo

For climbers like Ingrid Miller, the closure feels personal. Miller has been climbing in “the Red,” as it’s known by locals, since she was 12 years old. “The Zoo was one of those places that felt like a rite of passage,” she says. “I’ll always remember my first 5.12 there—that was a big moment for me. For the full-timers out there, I know this will hit them hardest.”

The Zoo’s history as a climbing destination dates back to the 1980s, when local climbers like Pat and John Bachar, as well as some of the early pioneers of sport climbing in the Southeast, developed the first routes on the cliff.

The crag, which had initially attracted climbers for its remote beauty and potential, began to play a vital role in the Southeast climbing community. Local climbers, driven by a passion for exploration and route-setting, continued developing new lines. The Zoo’s routes span a broad range of grades and styles, from easy top-ropes to more challenging sport climbs demanding precision and strength.

“The Zoo has always been this quintessential Red River Gorge crag,” Simek explains, “It’s got everything from beginner-friendly 5.9s to test-piece 5.14s. It’s rare to find a crag with that kind of grade progression and quality routes all in one spot.”

As the years passed, The Zoo became known for its distinct character: the boldness of its routes, the variety of climbing challenges, and the strong sense of community among those who climbed there. Route developers continued expanding the cliff, establishing harder lines and pushing the limits of sport climbing in the region. This growth—carefully chosen and meticulously set—cemented The Zoo’s reputation as a must-climb destination in the Southeast.

But it wasn’t just about adding bolts to rock; it was about building community. Climbers from all over the region would congregate at The Zoo, sharing tips, stories, and techniques, contributing to a vibrant, supportive climbing culture that went on to define the Red.

Growing Pains at Red River Gorge

At Roadside, the crag just across the street from The Zoo, private landowner April Reefer has seen firsthand the explosion of climbing in the Red, as well as its growing pains.

“It’s a constant struggle,” she says. “We’ve worked hard to create a place where climbers can come and enjoy the sport, but it’s not always easy when people don’t respect the land or the landowners.”

Reefer’s restaurant, HOP’s, located at the base of The Zoo, is named for her late husband, a climber who spent countless hours volunteering on trail crews in the Red.

“My husband and I bought the property to keep it maintained and accessible for climbers,” Reefer explains. “We wanted to protect it for the future.”

Managing Roadside has required significant effort, from creating a permit system to funding trail work and volunteer-led maintenance.

Still, overcrowding and parking challenges persist.

“If you go somewhere and the parking lot is full, find another place to climb,” Reefer advises. “People need to understand they’re on someone else’s land and act respectfully.”

For climbers like Reefer and Miller, The Zoo closure represents more than just the loss of a climbing destination—it’s a stark reminder of the greater responsibility the climbing community has to preserve the very places they love.

Protecting Climbing Access Through Stewardship

In recent years, climbing access has been increasingly threatened across the country. Crags in places like the Pacific Northwest and Sierra Nevada have also seen closures or restrictions due to landowner concerns, environmental impact, and the growing popularity of outdoor recreation.

“Every time you went up to the Zoo, you could see the trail degrading rapidly—at some point, it was bound to require maintenance,” Simek reflects. “It’s a reminder to all of us to think bigger picture about where we’re climbing and who owns the land.”

The Red River Gorge is not alone in facing these challenges, but it serves as a pivotal example of how urgent the need for responsible stewardship has become. As the RRGCC engages with landowners to find solutions, climbers will have to reconcile their love for outdoor adventure with a deeper understanding of the importance of preservation and mutual respect.

“It’s about more than just climbing,” Simek says. “It’s about making sure we have places to climb in the future. If we don’t protect these areas now, they won’t be here further down the line.”

While the loss stings, it’s also igniting important conversations about long-term solutions—most notably, climber-owned land.

Is Climber-Owned Land the Answer?

Daniel Dunn, Southeast Regional Director for the Access Fund, sees climber-owned land as one of the most effective ways to secure access and protect climbing areas.

“Climber-owned preserves are the gold standard for ensuring access,” Dunn explains. “They’re not just about climbing—they’re about conservation and creating spaces where the community can thrive without worrying about sudden closures.”

One of the best examples of this strategy is just down the road from The Zoo. Over the years, the RRGCC has acquired several key climbing areas, including the Pendergrass-Murray Recreational Preserve, the Bald Rock Recreational Preserve, and the Miller Fork Recreational Preserve. These areas, which encompass hundreds of routes and acres of forest, are protected by conservation easements held by the Access Fund.

“The Red’s climber-owned lands aren’t just rock walls—they’re ecosystems,” Dunn says. “By purchasing these tracts, climbers are also preserving wildlife, preventing development, and ensuring that these areas remain intact for generations.”

Dunn emphasizes how climber-owned land offers a level of security that handshake agreements with private landowners often cannot. In the case of The Zoo, “no formal agreement was in place,” he explained.

While climber-owned land offers a promising path forward, Dunn cautions that stewardship remains essential, even in protected areas.

“We have to be good stewards everywhere we climb,” he says. “That means respecting landowners, minimizing our impact, and supporting the organizations working to secure access. These efforts require time, money, and community support.”

For Dunn and others at the Access Fund, the loss of The Zoo underscores the urgency of securing more climber-owned land and educating the community about its benefits.

“Climbing’s popularity is exploding, and with that comes growing pains,” he says. “But it’s also an opportunity to build a stronger foundation for the future. Climber-owned land is how we ensure these places remain open—not just for us, but for everyone who comes after.”

The Zoo may be closed for now, but the lessons learned through its closure will serve as a crucial turning point in the future of climbing access in the Gorge—and beyond.

This is a developing story that will be updated as new information becomes available. 

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