Tucked away in the quiet hills outside Saint Andrews, Greenlaw stands as one of New Brunswick’s lesser-visited basalt crags—a destination that feels as much like a journey as a climbing site. For those restless to escape the familiar faces and crowded cliffs of Welsford, Greenlaw presents an entirely different adventure: raw, practical, and fiercely rewarding for those who seek solitude on the sharp end.

Approaching Greenlaw begins on Route 127, where the forest merges with rural homesteads and you’ll feel the shift from traveled roads to quiet, patient terrain. Park by house #3709 and set out on foot—striding up the driveway of #3703, you’ll pass through a wooden gate that quietly signals the start of your adventure. Remember to leave the gate as you find it. This sense of moving discreetly through someone else’s land is your first reminder: Greenlaw requires respect, both for the privacy of the landowners and the delicate natural setting.

Once past the gate, a dirt service road threads into the woods, eventually intersecting with a powerline cut. Here, you’ll have two ways to reach the wall—either blaze a faint forest trail at pole #55, arriving at the cliff’s far right, or continue along the powerlines, then slip up an ATV track near Salted Jesus (5.8). Both approaches offer a reminder that getting to the base is part of the day’s effort; navigating brushy paths and uneven ground, you’ll understand why Greenlaw sees so little traffic despite its quality routes.

Arriving at the crag, you’re greeted by a wall defined by its basalt—vertical, fractured, and speckled with verdant moss and lichen in places the sun rarely dries. The cliff stands roughly 50–60 feet tall, hosting single-pitch climbs from easy traditional crack lines (starting at 5.3) all the way through steep, athletic testpieces in the 5.12 range. Most climbs sit squarely in the moderate-to-hard sport spectrum, with a reputation for solid, closely spaced bolts on the sport lines. Yet, the lack of crowds means some routes—especially those on the margins—are in less than pristine condition and may require a bit of extra cleaning or caution, especially after a rain.

Though the wall is less curated than much of New Brunswick’s better-known climbing, it offers a handful of true classics for those keen to chase quality. Standout climbs like Psychedelic Ferns (5.9) and Mercy Buckets (5.10a) offer engaging movement and solid stone, while those craving more athletic challenges can sample Social Distancing (5.11a), Space Invaders (5.11b), and the sculpted lines of Blood Boil and Top Gun (both 5.11d). At the upper end, the sharp and technical Scurvy (5.12a), crowd-pleasing Lemonade and Limeade (5.12a and b, renowned for their four-star quality), and Danger Zone (5.12a) stand as a testament to Greenlaw’s full spectrum of difficulty and style.

Despite being off the beaten path, the cliff’s moderate grade spread and reliable fixed hardware make it ideal for sport-minded climbers—though a few trad lines do tempt those with a more old-school rack and a taste for adventure. The real draw remains the sense of isolation; you’ll likely have the entire cliff to yourself, with forested quiet broken only by wind, powerline hum, and bird calls from distant canopies.

While the climbing itself pulls you in with sharp edges and basalt pockets, Greenlaw’s appeal is just as much about the experience: walking in under the crackling lines, glancing up at the ever-present fog from the coast, and finishing a day of climbing with no crowding at belay ledges. Bring all you need—there’s no water at the site, and no amenities beyond what the forest itself provides. And above all, give something back: pack out all your trash, respect the landowners’ privacy, and keep this hidden crag quiet and clean for the next crew of explorers.

Greenlaw isn’t for everyone. It’s got a rugged edge, a DIY ethic, and it rewards those who come prepared. But for those willing to put in a bit of extra work—navigating mellow trails, brushing the odd hold, and treating the access seriously—it’s a crag that pays you back with uncrowded pitches, proud lines, and that rare sense of true escape.