Welcome to Video Games Weekly on Engadget. Expect a new story every Monday or Tuesday, broken into two parts. The first is a space for short essays and ramblings about video game trends and related topics from me, Jess Conditt, a reporter who's covered the industry for more than 13 years. The second contains the video game stories from the past week that you need to know about, including some headlines from outside of Engadget.
Please enjoy — and I'll see you next week.
The climbing genre is not a monolith — that is to say, there’s plenty of variation in the realm of mountaineering games, from mechanically driven cliff-scaling sims to silly multiplayer survival experiences, but they tend to share the same premise: Reach the peak. You’re miles from civilization, with no vehicles and a limited backpack of equipment, and directly in front of you, there’s a mountain. Ascend.
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All you have is your body and mental fortitude against an overwhelming physical challenge, and your step-by-step journey is the story. There’s an obvious symbolism to these games, offering a cliff face as the physical manifestation of impossibility, hopelessness, oppression or fear, alongside a surface-level message about never giving up, trying again and generally hanging in there. Cat poster vibes, but an ever-relevant and poignant lesson nonetheless.
Today, though — particularly after spending time playing the Cairn and Baby Steps demos, and watching PEAK streams — I want to focus on the other half of the climbing-game equation. The part where you fall, over and over and over again. Your grip slips, your leg doesn’t bend that way, your energy depletes, and your body tumbles down the mountain, bouncing off boulders and crashing into trees, leaving you bloody and broken and right back where you started. Or, at the very least, staining your onesie with mud.
I’m learning to appreciate these moments. In mountaineering games, falling tends to generate the most powerful reaction in players, whether that’s immediate laughter (PEAK) or grim frustration (Cairn), and this is an admirable quality. It’s easy to argue that the fall is more important than the climb, because without the lush bed of emotion generated by the constant threat of slipping and tumbling and restarting, reaching the peak wouldn’t feel that special at all. There’s context in the fall, and with that, there comes a sliver of peace.
When you spend all your time climbing, it’s easy to forget that falling is actually the most natural thing you can do. Next time you’re on your way down, try to make peace with the fall.
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