DENYSHI, Ukraine — Atop a steep granite cliff overlooking a river roughly two hours west of Kyiv, hundreds of people pitched tents across a festival camping ground. By day, they scaled the rock face, swam in a nearby reservoir, or tried stand-up paddleboarding. As evening fell, live bands and DJs took the stage while rock and electronic music drifted through the forest.
The Stoned Climbers festival, held last week in the Zhytomyr region, is Ukraine’s largest outdoor event combining climbing with live music. Like many public gatherings in wartime Ukraine, the festival blended ordinary leisure with reminders that the war is never far away.
Visitors received multiple air-raid alerts on their phones throughout the weekend. Soldiers on leave blended quietly into the crowd, while organizers directed all profits toward a fundraising initiative supporting Ukraine’s Azov Brigade. Unlike the previous year, however, no Russian drones or missiles crossed the sky above the campsite en route to Kyiv.
The volunteer-run festival launched in 2023, founded by about 15 friends who had spent more than a year climbing together after becoming captivated by Yosemite’s climbing culture. The U.S. national park has long been regarded as a birthplace of modern rock climbing, where a counterculture formed around sleeping in tents, living out of vans, and spending months on the valley’s granite walls.
“We realized climbing could be much more than just a sport,” said festival co-founder Dmytro Isaienko, 39. “It’s about a specific way of life — in nature, camping, on the rocks.”
Isaienko and his friends wanted to challenge the perception that climbing was reserved for elite athletes. Their first festival attracted about 150 visitors; this summer, attendance grew to more than 500, most of them beginners or amateur climbers.
Organizing the festival during wartime has given it broader purpose, Isaienko said. He believes creating spaces where people can gather, learn new skills, and spend time together has become a way of sustaining well-being through a prolonged conflict.
“You need to get away from the war for a while,” he said. “Leave Kyiv and come spend some time here together, a little longer than usual.”
On the rocks below, instructors helped complete beginners fasten harnesses, chalk their hands, and search for the next hold on the granite wall. Whenever someone reached the top of the 25-meter (82-foot) cliff — often for the first time — spectators, instructors, and fellow climbers broke into applause.
Among the newcomers was 21-year-old Liliia Karpach, who traveled from Ukraine’s western Lviv region for her first Stoned Climbers festival.
“I decided to come because it had been a very long time since I’d climbed on real rocks,” she said. “I also wanted to meet the community in person and get to know new people.”
She described climbing as both mental and physical exercise, and hoped others would give it a try.
“If you’re really nervous about coming on your own, invite some friends,” she said. “Even if neither of you knows how to climb, you’ll have a good time together.”
Helping first-time climbers gain that confidence is among the most rewarding parts of the festival for instructor Andrii Lamei, 24. While belaying a young woman during her first climb, he calmly guided her through the most difficult section. As she climbed higher, her movements grew more assured. After she reached the top, Lamei encouraged her to pause before descending.
“Look around,” he shouted. “Enjoy the moment. You made it.”
“Climbing helps you work with stress,” Lamei said. “It helps you manage stressful situations in everyday life.”
He dreams of climbing outside Ukraine one day but, like most Ukrainian men, cannot leave the country while wartime travel restrictions remain in place.
“I want to go across the border to visit Yosemite, to visit Norway’s mountains, but I can’t,” he said. “But maybe this is how I’m forced to enjoy what I have here.”
For Isaienko, that is precisely why festivals like Stoned Climbers matter. While many Ukrainians have put parts of their lives on hold during the war, he hopes the community taking shape around the cliffs shows that new traditions can still emerge.
“This is a festival for everyone,” he said. “Including people who have never tried climbing before.”
And each time another first-time climber reaches the top, the applause rising from the rocks below suggests that, little by little, that community is growing.