Baan Mung, The Rise Of A New Mega Crag
- Snook
- Nov 7, 2024
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 2, 2025
The day after Christmas, just before noon, I arrived in Baan Mung. As soon as I saw the Red Wall, a wave of excitement hit me—the same kind of rush I used to get on my earliest climbing trips when everything was still new. It’s pretty incredible that after nearly ten years and hundreds of climbing days, a new crag can still feel this thrilling.
I hastily threw everything into my pack, as if I were about to miss a flight—I just couldn’t wait another minute to see what all my friends were up to. The fear of missing out was real.
After nearly five hours of nonstop driving, I was beyond thirsty. I hadn’t even stopped for water—I just wanted to get there as soon as I could. I stomped through the fields behind Imm Sook Hotel and made my way to the cliff. The approach was straightforward, just a bit of bushwhacking.
“Pai, pai!” I heard a familiar voice—probably my friend Boat—cheering someone on who was working something hard. My heart was pounding. I was psyched.
It’s funny how clearly I could picture the scene even before I saw it. I imagined a few friends lying on the ground, someone hangdogging and barely making any progress, while everyone else silently transmitted send energy to the climber. And just as I’d imagined, I turned the corner after a big rock and saw exactly that—just a little sweatier.
“Yo yo yo, Warut!” Tao shouted. We gave each other the bird—our normal friendly exchange. That’s how I know we’re still good.
Even though it was still mid-morning, everyone already looked wrecked. Maybe it’s because they’d all been here for a few days and the soreness had already started to creep in.
“Get on this one now—you can warm up on it, it’s a 6b,” Boat offered, grinning. I knew these sandbaggers. It was definitely hard, and I was prepared to be crushed. I couldn’t get my harness on fast enough—I just wanted to climb and touch the rock.
Baan Mung, Phitsanulok, is a new climbing area discovered a few years ago by Kraisak Boonthip. He’d managed to bolt a few solid lines and navigate the local bureaucracy to get official approval for climbing development. That’s why we were all here.
Honestly, I hesitated at first. Baan Mung is a long way from Bangkok—it was never going to be just a weekend trip. But in Thailand, a legitimate, sanctioned climbing area is rare. So we decided to go all in.
Twenty routes was the goal. I knew it was a bit ambitious, especially with the limited resources and manpower we had. But we were optimistic. We managed to recruit quite a few folks to come up and help clean, bolt, and test the new routes.
The leader of our bolting team was Gee Srisuwan—by far the most experienced climbing guide among us. With nearly two decades of experience and a long list of certifications, Gee had already spent time in Baan Mung a few weeks earlier, setting fixed lines and bolting routes solo.
My first day was fantastically humbling. I fell at every bolt and hung my way up this supposedly 6b. Didn’t matter—it was awesome. I broke a lot of rock, which is entirely normal for a new climb. In the end, that was my main job here. Being one of the least experienced bolters, my role was to test routes and clean holds so that the climbs would be ready by the time we started inviting the broader community.
One of the joys of developing a new crag is naming and grading the routes. I love it when a crag has a theme. Only the first ascensionist gets to name the climb—that’s the rule—so there was some friendly competition. Everyone took turns jumping on new lines, hoping to send them clean and claim the naming rights.
In the first few days, most routes remained unsent. Turns out they were a lot harder than we initially thought. Gee would often say, “Probably 6a or 6b,” while we hung on fixed lines, searching for the best place to drill. Everything was “probably 6a or 6b” until Boat or Tao—who usually cruise through 7s—got shut down on the first bolt.
It became a running joke throughout our time in Baan Mung: this was the Margalef of Thailand. Margalef is a climbing destination in Spain known for its sandbagged routes—often harder than the guidebook claims, and always a little stiff to clip.Still, the wall was stunning. So much variety. Every route had its own character and movement. No two were alike. After just a few days, it became clear—this was one of the best choices we’d made all year. There was no doubt in my mind that Baan Mung would become a climbing destination. With this much rock and this kind of quality, it would be a huge missed opportunity not to develop it for others to experience. But the real magic wasn’t just in the climbing—it was in the life we lived there.
Maybe it was the perfect December weather, but I hadn’t felt that grounded in a long time. Waking up to bird calls and cool mountain air, watching the first light spill across the cliff—it felt peaceful.
Every morning, we boiled water and shared coffee beans we’d brought from different cafés, tasting each other’s brews. Around 7 a.m., a local woman would roll in on her bicycle with bunches of bananas and sweet potatoes—our breakfast. She’d set up a small coal grill and start roasting. You could smell the bananas from the tents.
Gift would usually begin her day with a mellow yoga routine. And by mellow, I mean mellow for her—if I tried the same moves, I’d probably pull a hamstring. I’d try to read a few pages of a book before North and his son Liam crawled out of their tent. North always said something totally unexpected and funny—just enough to throw me off my reading.
That was our rhythm: the slow climbing life. We’d wake up early, ease into the day, wait for the sun to move behind the wall, then head up to bolt or clean. Afterward, we’d gather at one of the local restaurants and devour a mountain of food. Back at camp, we’d hang out, play games, and stare at the stars.It was an awesome way to wrap up the year. All of us live in Bangkok, where every day is filled with chaos and busyness—and this trip was a complete escape. My head felt clearer than it had in months. I felt like I could finally breathe again. As cheesy as it sounds, that’s genuinely how I felt. Every day back home had become a blur of rushing—wake up, go to work, and even rush to the climbing gym just to squeeze in a session. But here, I finally had the time to just be. And I was even more grateful to share that time with some of my closest friends.
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