The sailors of style

Style—a word with many meanings, depending on your angle of attack. No matter how you perceive it, style is something inherently woven into the core of routesetting and climbing. Whether it’s the visual appearance of a climb, the movement it demands, or the feeling it evokes, style is something every setter chases, again and again—like Sisyphus pushing his rock up the hill.

A distinct style can be praised, or frowned upon. Everyone can appreciate it, but lean too far into one direction and you risk alienating the irrelevant—but ever-so-important—people who judge your work. You’re expected to master a wide spectrum of styles, or you’re not good enough. Yet, paradoxically, if you become a master of just one, you might be celebrated for it. Sometimes you’re asked to bring a certain style to the wall. But even then, if the climb isn’t balanced, or varied enough, it won’t feel complete.

In routesetting, style can take many forms. Somehow, it always feels like walking on a plank about to be pushed into an ocean—a teeter-totter of decisions, emotions, and instincts.

Style is an island floating in a vast ocean of movement, aesthetics, and intention. As setters, we’re the sailors. Our job is to navigate that ocean—gliding from one island to another, guiding climbers through a journey.

Like most, my personal style—and the style of our team on board the Asetus ship—has been ever evolving. We’ve lowered our anchor at many islands. Some for longer, others just for a moment. At times, we’ve felt lost. Even now, with our bearing seemingly set and wind blowing in our sails, we still don’t know where we’re truly headed.

That uncertainty—adrift without a clear destination—can be scary. For me, it’s also what keeps me searching, learning, and evolving. It’s what drives me to improve. I keep hoping I’ll find an island I can call home.

Once, I thought I had. Over a year ago, we landed on the shores of visual boulders. We explored that island—its mountains, its valleys. We never quite tamed it. We tried to learn from those who had. As a passionate photographer and someone inspired by aesthetics, I believed I could stay there forever.

But I couldn’t.

It was beautiful. Calm. And it fulfilled some part of me. But something was missing.

Movement—arguably the beating heart of climbing. Can you even call it that if you don't have and experiment with movement and flow to the full potential? We tried to grow it, but it didn't flourish in the barren lands and confinements we had.

So we set sail again—toward the unknown, hoping to find our place.

After a long journey at sea, we’ve landed somewhere new. This place has movement. Emotion. Joy and terror. Even aesthetics in moderation. Still, I can’t imagine staying here forever. I don’t feel content. Once again, I’m mistaken about the style I’m searching for.

Maybe I’ll never find the island my mind so desperately demands. Maybe I’m even sailing the wrong ocean. Or maybe the feeling I’m chasing isn’t an island at all.

It could be a current.

A current that carries me—effortlessly, quietly, in peace—from one place to another. Not toward a destination, but through a journey — a never-ending quest. That might just be the style I’ve been searching for all along.

—Jaakko Risku, Reflections on routesetting.