When the lights go out in Kyiv, people continue climbing – by the light of their mobile phone flashlights – until the generator starts up. For this report, photojournalist and climber Wilson Vieira traveled to Kyiv and accompanied veterans, organizers and gym staff. In the second part, the focus shifts to the SPACE climbing center itself: a place that remains open despite power outages, air raid alarms and freezing cold.
The winter of 2026 marks the fifth year since the start of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Daily airstrikes on energy infrastructure and civilian facilities make life unpredictable and dangerous. Adding to this constant threat is the harshest winter in a decade, with temperatures often plummeting below -22°C. Despite these trials—or perhaps because of them—the climbing community in Kyiv has risen above the darkness and the ice to create a space for self-expression, support, self-determination, and resistance in a country at war. This is the story of how Ukraine's climbing culture, like a candle, helps keep the darkest night at bay.
This three-part report is the result of numerous conversations and interviews with members of the climbing community in Kyiv (professional and amateur climbers, war veterans, and climbing gym staff). Despite the war and the challenges they face daily, they treated me with kindness, patience, and a willingness to share their stories and their climbing spots. I am deeply grateful to them.
When life is stronger than war
I'm chatting with Alina Bieliakova (33), a route setter and climbing instructor at the SPACE climbing center, in front of a large window. She tells me about the challenges she and the community face during the current war and how important climbing centers are for people: "We keep the center open because people need an escape from their worries. Sometimes they come tired from the day and still want to climb because it's important to them." Suddenly, the lights go out. The gasoline generator doesn't start immediately, and the climbing hall is swallowed by darkness. She looks around briefly, surprised, but notices the same thing I do: everyone is still climbing and talking. Everyone is still working, using their cell phone flashlights when they need light for a specific task. She turns to me with a smile: "It's okay, the lights will come back on soon." Moments like these are part of everyday life for people in Kyiv and throughout Ukraine. Russia's attacks on the energy infrastructure have destabilized the power supply or made it unable to meet the population's needs.
We keep the center open because people need an escape from their worries. Sometimes they come tired from the day, but still want to climb because it's important to them.
Alina Bieliakova, route setter and climbing instructor at the SPACE climbing center
These daily power outages mean that many buildings have no access to electricity, heating, and often water, leading to catastrophic living conditions, especially in winter. The government, as well as citizens throughout the city, took matters into their own hands to ensure that life could somehow continue as normal and prove stronger than the war. Camping stoves, generators, and makeshift shelters are some of the lights shining in the Ukrainian night. Among these lights is the local climbing community, which has become an unexpected beacon of hope in times of war.
From volunteer organizations that partner with climbing gyms to offer adapted climbing courses for war veterans, to civilians seeking a moment of refuge on the climbing wall, climbing gyms in Kyiv are now places that provide for the physical and mental well-being of their visitors during times of war. But a climbing gym is more than just a physical space. It consists of route setters, instructors, athletes, front-of-house staff, technicians, and above all, climbers, who form the cornerstones of the community and provide safety and hope.
Climbing gyms in Kyiv are nowadays places that provide for the physical and mental health of their visitors during times of war.
The fantastic world of "colored plastic handles"
One of these climbers is Adrian Danylenko (20). He's a student at the Kyiv Polytechnic Institute, training to be an acoustic and electronic systems engineer. Like many people I've met in Ukraine, he's a man of many talents, dividing his time between teaching climbing at the "Climbing SPACE" gyms and co-organizing events ranging from film screenings to tactical medicine workshops at his university. "Climbing heals and gives me new strength. For one thing, there's this incredible community where I feel at home. For another, the physical activity of this sport helps me maintain my mental health. Sometimes you just want to escape reality and immerse yourself in a world of colorful plastic holds," he muses. "Then, in July 2024, I realized I could use my passion to make other people's lives a little better, so I joined our wonderful team. I coach everyone: children as young as four, adults, veterans, and people with autism."
One evening, I watch him train the daughter of a war veteran who is himself in a training session with another instructor. Adrian is friendly and cheerful with his student, a girl who is perhaps seven years old and who enjoys swinging on the safety rope as much as climbing itself. By now, this no longer surprises me, but I am still filled with admiration for the strength of the local community. Like Adrian, they live in neighborhoods that are constantly targeted by air raids. Their lives are severely impacted by the war, he tells me.
“I’ve learned to sleep through explosions, read during drone strikes, and study for exams while rockets are dropping not far from the university,” he confides in me, but his laughter and ease of movement belie this reality as he works in the gym. This is likely due to a deep sense of calling and gratitude he expresses when discussing his work with war veterans: “It’s an honor to work with people who risk their lives to protect mine. I support them wholeheartedly, and together we make progress in sport. Soldiers often develop a kind of ‘adrenaline addiction,’ and normal life can seem dull to them. We try to bring some color back into their lives.” But while some of the activities of the gym members are visible to the naked eye, others take place behind the scenes and are just as vital to making climbing possible in the first place.
It is an honor for me to work with people who risk their lives to protect mine.
Adrian Danylenko
When holds mimic rock…
One day at the climbing gym, I entered through a back door, which revealed another facet of Kyiv's climbers' dedication. It led into a white, bustling room filled with tools, machines, and paint. I caught the pungent smell of polyurethane in the air as I followed Mykyta Myronenko, 23, through the room. He stopped beside a table and handed me a large climbing hold, but it looked different from what I was used to. "This one is supposed to be granite," he explained, "and these two are limestone and sandstone."
Top images: Various handles Mykyta Myronenko is working on; bottom: Mykyta Myronenko casting his handles | Photo: Wilson Vieira
This hidden space is the factory of "5Fingers," a Ukrainian brand founded by climbers from the SPACE climbing gyms in Kyiv. They are dedicated to the independent production of typical climbing holds, as well as these special, lifelike holds that mimic real rock. Mykyta is an extremely strong climber. Someone we mere mortals with dreams of climbing greatness would call a professional. He made his debut in International Federation of Sport Climbing (IFSC, now World Climbing) competitions at the 2021 Youth Climbing World Championships, where he finished 10th. Despite the large-scale invasion that began the following year, he managed to qualify for and participate in numerous competitions, including the World Championships in Innsbruck and the European Cup in Toulouse-Tournefeuille, both in 2025.
“It has become difficult to train hard these days, and as a man, leaving the country for competitions is a huge challenge.” Because of his status as an athlete, Mykyta is not drafted into the military, but the bureaucratic hurdles, even if only temporary, represent an additional burden for anyone living through war. Nevertheless, his love and dedication to the sport extend far beyond the climbing wall.
…And climbing is like life.
Countless boxes are stacked around us, filled with climbing holds of all shapes and colors. Some were 3D printed, others cast from hot polyurethane. Mykyta prepares some molds on the table and guides me through the process. I watch him make the preparations (mixing the polyurethane, attaching the screws that will secure the holds to the wall, pouring the sticky mixture into the molds) – like a Zen master, each movement a meditation on mindfulness and care.
It is also an invitation to consider that this is the first step in a chain of events that will lead to someone, somewhere, eventually having the chance to climb it. Most likely someone from Kyiv, who, after a sleepless night under the air raid sirens, has come to the climbing gym. Who, after checking in, discovered that their friends were also safe and climbing that same day. Who, while making a figure eight in their harness, sees Adrian teaching a war veteran, Mykyta training hard during breaks between making climbing holds, and Alina building a new route on another wall. Someone there in that climbing gym will touch the same granite-imitating hold I held, will search for their route, and will be grateful, as I was, for the people who shine a light in the darkest of times.
About the author: Wilson Vieira
Wilson Vieira is a freelance photojournalist, author, and mountaineer based in Leipzig, Germany. His work focuses on long-term documentary reporting at the intersection of climate change, indigenous ways of life, and the relationship between humans and the environment. His current long-term projects span the Congo Basin, Ukraine, and mountain regions in Africa and Europe.
His works can be found at: wilson-vieira.com | @wilsonvieiraphoto
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Credits cover photo: Wilson Vieira