Juliane Wurm was already a veteran before most climbers figure out who they are. For a decade she lived inside the plastic fever dream, World Cups, isolation zones, the clock ticking loud as a heartbeat. She started climbing at thirteen, surged fast, and by 2007 she was winning on the European World Cup circuit, a German machine built on precision and calm. She made it look quiet. Controlled. Like she always knew where the next hold was before it existed.

Then, in 2016, she stepped away. Not because she was done climbing—but because she wanted climbing to feel real again. Less lights, fewer whistles. More time with family. More time studying medicine. More time listening to her own breathing instead of a countdown clock. She traded the roar of crowds for the sound of wind moving through the desert, chalk dust settling on sun-baked stone.

Hueco Tanks fits her like that. Ancient rock. Short, powerful lines that demand patience and trust. Here, Juliane moves without urgency, strong, deliberate, unflashy. Every pull is earned. Every pause intentional. This is the kind of climbing that doesn’t care who’s watching. The kind that reminds you why you started in the first place.

“In a perfect world,” she once said, “competition climbing would get super big, with huge crowds, big sponsors, tons of prize money, while rock climbing would stay as it is.” Out here, that world almost exists. No scoreboard. No podium. Just movement, skin on stone, and the slow burn of doing something for its own sake.

Juliane Wurm didn’t leave climbing.
She just followed it back to where it began.

Juliane Wurm Back in 2017