There are thousands of climber stories. This one is mine. My name is Bruce and (as of 2023) I’m approaching my 63rd birthday too quickly.
I was raised in remote native villages in Alaska, between Navajo and Zuni land, and down on the ranches in New Mexico. Indigenous thinking about the spirit and value of the land made deep impressions that informed my whole life. I was always a junior explorer: in the deep grasses and lakes of the Western Tundra in Alaska - with endless sky - or wandering hidden springs, dry canyons, and high mesas in the mountains of Western New Mexico - with towering monsoon thunderheads. My love of scenic and extreme places began at a young age and continues to my present.
I was raised in remote native villages in Alaska, between Navajo and Zuni land, and down on the ranches in New Mexico. Indigenous thinking about the spirit and value of the land made deep impressions that informed my whole life. I was always a junior explorer: in the deep grasses and lakes of the Western Tundra in Alaska - with endless sky - or wandering hidden springs, dry canyons, and high mesas in the mountains of Western New Mexico - with towering monsoon thunderheads. My love of scenic and extreme places began at a young age and continues to my present.
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In the mid 70’s, I went to high school in Bend, Oregon - a time when there were only 15,000 residents. We were lucky to have a beautiful place like Smith Rock to begin technical climbing.
Every generation thinks they’re special in some way, and mine is no different. We started climbing on goldline (woven/twisted nylon ropes). Those ropes were tough, strong, and consistent - some considered them the “gold standard,” thus the name. Sometimes, though, the rope was so stiff you wouldn’t even need a stick clip (those were off in the future anyway!). This whacky rope could be comically and maddeningly difficult to fight with. A perfect coil job after a route could magically transform into a rat's nest by the next time you drew it from your trunk. The twists and balls of rope around belay and rappel devices were epic. Imagine rappelling a big chimney in the dark, with an angry octopus of nylon in your lap. Of course, we transitioned to kernmantle as quickly as possible, and the softness of handling was transformational. We had some stoppers, hexcentrics, carabiners and slings. In our early days it was that or pitons, and often both. At Smith Rock, before the sport bolting revolution, we stuck to the many cracks in the soft welded tuff, which is hardened volcanic ash. Yes, you read that right, ash. The cracks are plentiful but ragged and sharp. Some took great nut protection, some didn’t. Before the bolting revolution, there weren’t many bolts. Most were quarter inch, and many were loose. We were rightly cautious around them. We harnessed plenty of skills with nuts and every natural feature protection we could get. Scott Davis was my first hardcore partner, and it was clear we were going to make it up some grand routes. Before Scott, some guys were busier trying to get out of climbs than get up them. We tried to balance between the Robbins principle - that everything should go clean - and the Harding principle - that we must stay alive, place another piton! Scott and I did an early ascent of a route called Barad-Dur, on, Wolf Rock - Oregon's largest monolith. The weather was overcast and threatening, which matched the foreboding tower climb. The route was steep, difficult to navigate, and capped by a monster overhang. We finished on a pointed, semi-forested summit straight out of Tolkin’s Lord of The Rings. Hobbits of the dark tower, we were well matched. Being honest with each other about fear and caution, and yet knowing that boldness was required, was an important milestone for us both. We shed our egos around each other; success and survival were the coolest possible outcomes. In a place with so much soft rock, and often not enough protection, the apprenticeship was long. Many routes were basically, “the leader must not fall.” We had no internet, no cellphones, and no safe gyms to hone our physical skills. We only had Mountain Magazine and Off Belay. |
Author Bruce Birchll leading the second ascent of "Soft Shoe Ballet" (A5 5.9) at Smith Rock, Oregon in his heavy mountain boots (1979). Bruce was also part of the first ascent team. (Photo Credit: Scott Davis)
Bruce at Auburn Quarry with a hexentric and bong piton (2023) (Photo Credit: Amber Birchell)
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In my high school library were old books about British or American expeditions to the Himalaya, or stories of the epic battles in the European Alps. We grew immediately into the history of the game, and we had a deep, reverential respect for those pioneers. My imagination swam with the exploits of Paul Preuss and Hans Dulfer, they were the Robbins and Harding of the early 20th century. I could barely imagine the toughness of Hermann Buhl or Andreas Heckmair, or the grace of Gaston Rebuffat. In the more modern era, of course we loved Joe Brown, Dougal Haston, John Harlin, Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler. A few of them were deadly handsome and monks of the world’s great walls!
I found I was leading immediately because of timid partners and did my first successful technical leads in heavy mountain boots. Eventually I bought my first pair of EB’s at the Portland REI in 1977. In Bend we also had an excellent little mountain shop, called Tri-Mountain Sports, with a good variety of gear. It seemed mostly a ski shop, second place went to backpacking and hiking, and third place was a small, precious selection of rock-climbing gear. Picture old aluminum frame packs and heavy leather mountain boots. I think my first French EB’s were around $50 and my friend Scott's first Goldline rope was less than $100.
I was fortunate with my partners. After a few weak starts with guys who liked the idea of climbing, but couldn’t gather much courage, I began to meet the guys who would change my life. What a relief to encounter people who wanted to share the load! Keith Stevens, Rob Lesher, Scott Davis, Doug MacDonald, Bob Williams, Mel Johnston - these were people with the goods. I’m fortunate to still climb with most of these men 45 years later. The people I chose to climb with were more important than what we were climbing. But, without a doubt, we were headed to Yosemite.
I found I was leading immediately because of timid partners and did my first successful technical leads in heavy mountain boots. Eventually I bought my first pair of EB’s at the Portland REI in 1977. In Bend we also had an excellent little mountain shop, called Tri-Mountain Sports, with a good variety of gear. It seemed mostly a ski shop, second place went to backpacking and hiking, and third place was a small, precious selection of rock-climbing gear. Picture old aluminum frame packs and heavy leather mountain boots. I think my first French EB’s were around $50 and my friend Scott's first Goldline rope was less than $100.
I was fortunate with my partners. After a few weak starts with guys who liked the idea of climbing, but couldn’t gather much courage, I began to meet the guys who would change my life. What a relief to encounter people who wanted to share the load! Keith Stevens, Rob Lesher, Scott Davis, Doug MacDonald, Bob Williams, Mel Johnston - these were people with the goods. I’m fortunate to still climb with most of these men 45 years later. The people I chose to climb with were more important than what we were climbing. But, without a doubt, we were headed to Yosemite.
Bruce Birchell free climbing in his EBs above the Lay Lady Ledge on "New Dawn," El Capitan, Yosemite, California (1981). This was our approach to the start of "Tribal Rite" (third ascent.) Rob and I had already done "The Nose," so we wanted to get to the top of El Cap Tower a different way. (Photo Credit: Rob Lesher)
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You always remember your first time. I still can’t believe my parents let me go to Yosemite for the summer when I was still in high school. I went with long haired hippies and $210 in my pocket.
That trip to the Valley was an exhilarating experience, with some of the biggest stone walls on earth surrounding us. We met local guns and climbers from all over the world. Epic things were happening daily, and I felt limitless freedom and inspiration. Adult beverages and high-level partying were hard to afford, but we did our best!
The bulletin board in Camp 4 was crowded with notes from people looking for partners. These enormous walls with terrifying cracks that went on forever didn’t seem the kind of place to climb with strangers to me, and I was grateful that I had a group of dedicated and skilled partners.
That trip to the Valley was an exhilarating experience, with some of the biggest stone walls on earth surrounding us. We met local guns and climbers from all over the world. Epic things were happening daily, and I felt limitless freedom and inspiration. Adult beverages and high-level partying were hard to afford, but we did our best!
The bulletin board in Camp 4 was crowded with notes from people looking for partners. These enormous walls with terrifying cracks that went on forever didn’t seem the kind of place to climb with strangers to me, and I was grateful that I had a group of dedicated and skilled partners.
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At the time, my companions and I would begin each day with a cavernous hangover, or a banging breakfast, and wake to the excitement of a day's planned route. Camp 4 was a ragged place, but exciting too. You’ve heard the term yard sale? There were tents and tarps of every size, shape and color, gear spread on the ground or tables, cooking smells, cannabis smells, and many languages being spoken. It was like the bar scene from Star Wars, truly the world's coolest scruffy campground.
Our first close look at El Capitan at night put a knot in my stomach and I figured we might not have what it took. Fortunately, it turned out that we did. We started training on standard big routes, like the South Face of Washington Column, The Prow, Cathedral Spires and more. After our first climb of The Prow, and descending the frightening North Dome Gully, Rob and I found a $50 bill on the road. We thought we’d died and gone to heaven! |
Bruce with big wall racks on the summit of "Excalibur" on El Capitan, Yosemite, California (1996) (Photo Credit: Keith Stevens)
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For a route put up in 1963, 1978 didn’t seem like an early ascent of Half Dome’s incredible Direct NW Face, but looking back 45 years now, it sort of was. For one thing, the Regular Route was the popular classic, and the Direct had a much rougher reputation. The basic math is that we did it only 15 years after the first ascent, and it’s been 45 years since then, so yes, we were somewhat early on the dance card.
Chris Friel (left) and Bruce Birchell (right) stop El Cap Tower on the 3rd ascent of "Tribal Rite" on El Capitan (1981) (Photo Credit: Rob Lesher)
I insisted the Direct would be my first ascent of Half Dome not the Regular Route. That line! Keith Stevens and I did not have a single camming device, but neither did the first ascent party. I still remember the cathedral-like awe I felt leading in the Crescent Arch. I had never seen a crack like that in my life. Being a mile above Mirror Lake near the Visor was exhilarating and joyous. I met my goal of never touching the Half Dome cables until I was using them to descend!
Our fear of El Capitan was becoming manageable. In 1979 Rob and I climbed the iconic Nose route. By this time we had a single set of Friends (the first cams) bought directly from Ray Jardine’s vehicle (which he wasn’t supposed to be doing). I believe half sizes were still in the future, but regardless, we only got the full 1-4 sizes. They were $25 each, and $100 was a huge amount of money. We felt nearly invincible.
On the Nose we fixed no pitches and took no pins or hammer. In ‘79 this was still a bold move, and it was a very intentional style of choice. We felt we could do it in a push if our lack of equipment ensured we wouldn’t be pounding on anything. Style was very important in those days in the Valley and any little thing we could do to up our game made us feel like we were making progress. It also helped us build respect in the eyes of our peers - who were everywhere. It was like those walls could talk.
Our fear of El Capitan was becoming manageable. In 1979 Rob and I climbed the iconic Nose route. By this time we had a single set of Friends (the first cams) bought directly from Ray Jardine’s vehicle (which he wasn’t supposed to be doing). I believe half sizes were still in the future, but regardless, we only got the full 1-4 sizes. They were $25 each, and $100 was a huge amount of money. We felt nearly invincible.
On the Nose we fixed no pitches and took no pins or hammer. In ‘79 this was still a bold move, and it was a very intentional style of choice. We felt we could do it in a push if our lack of equipment ensured we wouldn’t be pounding on anything. Style was very important in those days in the Valley and any little thing we could do to up our game made us feel like we were making progress. It also helped us build respect in the eyes of our peers - who were everywhere. It was like those walls could talk.
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Bruce cleaning the Groove pitch on "The Shield," El Capitan, Yosemite, California (1984) (Photo Credit: Doug MacDonald)
We completed the Nose in two and a half days, which was respectable. I had just graduated from high school, and now the doors were truly open. In 1980, with Bob Williams and the great New Zealander John Dale, we did the 8th or 9th ascent of the Pacific Ocean Wall on El Cap in four days, which stood as a speed record for a while. It was considered the second most evil aid climb in the world at the time (behind Sea of Dreams). Thank goodness for so much piton aid training on the soft rock of Oregon.
It was a heady time, and we were surrounded by inspiration. Not just the magnificent walls, but the people too. I bouldered with John Long, but mostly we partied hard with the likes of Bridwell, Long, Kauk, Bachar, Yerian, Schmitz and even Warren Harding himself. We sat like disciples, listening to tales of odysseys that blew our minds. Kim Schmitz seemed to burn holes in me with his intense gaze when he’d been drinking. I watched my step. The first time we met Bridwell and Kauk, in El Cap meadow at night, we sat dumbfounded, as they wove legendary tales, and I watched them smoke half of my meager bag of weed in about an hour. How could we stop our heroes? But we had our own odysseys to follow, and we did.
It was a heady time, and we were surrounded by inspiration. Not just the magnificent walls, but the people too. I bouldered with John Long, but mostly we partied hard with the likes of Bridwell, Long, Kauk, Bachar, Yerian, Schmitz and even Warren Harding himself. We sat like disciples, listening to tales of odysseys that blew our minds. Kim Schmitz seemed to burn holes in me with his intense gaze when he’d been drinking. I watched my step. The first time we met Bridwell and Kauk, in El Cap meadow at night, we sat dumbfounded, as they wove legendary tales, and I watched them smoke half of my meager bag of weed in about an hour. How could we stop our heroes? But we had our own odysseys to follow, and we did.
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Keith Stevens and I did some amazing free routes together. In 1977 we did an ascent of Chartes (5.9) on Medlicott Dome. I had never seen a route so big that had not a single fixed piece of gear; not an anchor, not a bolt or fixed pin- zip, nothing! It was so inspirational. We also had a very interesting ascent of the Direct North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock.
We arrived first, with another party racing through the woods. Those guys got extremely pushy and mouthy about their abilities and how we would hold them up. Keith wouldn’t budge and got nose to nose for a moment. Luckily Keith was as hard as Superman’s kneecaps - and looked it. They climbed in our back pocket for the first couple pitches, and then we really pulled away. We did the route in eight hours (Keith says seven). We watched their headlamps in the big chimneys as we drank beers in the meadow. Don’t talk a bigger game than you can back up. |
Bruce arrived in The Valley with some quiet and kind of shy friends. Bruce had ambitions about big wall climbing and was selective about the walls. He wanted to climb humble but had a vision of what he wanted to accomplish - especially, on El Capitan. Bruce was not only a great free climber, at the highest levels of the standards at the time, he was also a kind soul and shared with others when they got to know him. As the years went by, I missed him, and we no longer saw each other for a long time. Later we have caught up and now we’re best friends again. Bruce has a big heart for humanity and still helps humans along their way." |
In 1981 we eventually did the third ascent of Tribal Rite on El Capitan, with my parents watching our summit day through a big spotting scope. The next morning, when we got down, they took us to breakfast in The Mountain Room. Even the world-renowned rascal pot-licker, John Yablonski weaseled his way into my parents' generosity. It was a warm and satisfying feeling to celebrate with my folks, and they saw their little climbing bum do something truly magnificent. They drove all the way from Oregon to find me and had no idea they would see me high on the prow of El Cap.
The 80’s was a very successful climbing decade, especially considering that I spent half of it in the military and half of it in Saudi Arabia. After the disappointment of a Peru expedition falling through, I decided I had to do something with my life, so I joined the Air Force in 82'. Climbers looked at me like I’d suddenly grown another head when I told them what I was doing.
The 80’s was a very successful climbing decade, especially considering that I spent half of it in the military and half of it in Saudi Arabia. After the disappointment of a Peru expedition falling through, I decided I had to do something with my life, so I joined the Air Force in 82'. Climbers looked at me like I’d suddenly grown another head when I told them what I was doing.
Bruce leading "Separate Reality" (5.12) in the Yosemite Valley in 1980. "I did the route with Bjorn Myerlund, who was the first Norwegian to summit Mt. Everest." (Photo Credit: Rob Lesher)
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I got some of the hardest pushbacks of my life from fellow climbers questioning my sanity. But it’s cool because they were trying to look out for me. Obviously, I had no money for, or interest in, college, and my family has a long history of military service, dating back to the American Civil War.
My grandfather was a Marine in France in World War I, my dad was an instructor pilot for numerous aircraft in World War II, and my uncle George survived a torpedo strike and a Kamikaze strike on the USS Lexington, which was called, The Blue Ghost because the Japanese reported sinking her no less than four times! My other uncles served in the Army (my Uncle John suffered frostbite and shrapnel in the Korean War). My brother-in-law served in Vietnam and still suffers from Agent Orange exposure. In addition to myself, two of my older siblings also served. In the Air Force I became a Global Survival Instructor, or SERE Specialist (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape). The training was extensive and included a mock POW (prisoner of war) camp. It's a very small and elite career field and I learned endlessly from some of the most impressive men I’ve had the honor to learn from (including big wall climbers). Talk about a completely different kind of people: One a group of talented athletes - long haired rule breakers - the other short haired, spit and polish, daily discipline. Both groups were rule breakers in their own way though, and both groups were experts in the outdoors, but on different channels. |
I first met Bruce when we were still in high school. Bruce and I hit it off and immediately and began spending all of our afternoons at the river bluffs in Bend, Oregon learning the climbing craft. As we began climbing more, it became very intuitive with Bruce. He had natural free climbing ability that I did not have, making climbing look easy and relaxed, only to realize that when I was on the same moves, how desperate it was. His footwork and balance were, and still is, amazing. |
Bruce Birchell cleaning somewhere around pitch 16 on the Muir Wall, El Capitan, Yosemite, Calfornia (1984) (Photo Credit: Doug MacDonald)
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While in the military, each time I had leave, I always raced to Smith Rock and Yosemite in the spirit of the Road Runner (Beep, Beep!). Keith and I did Lurking Fear, where we ran out of water, and I proved my survival skills by building a three-tiered water filter out of t-shirts with sweet grass, sand, and charcoal, to filter the nastiest smeg filled water you ever saw. We remodeled flattened peach cans into service to boil the water after filtering. It was not wonderful, but it was safe and got us down the descent safely.
It was a whirlwind of psyche those years spent in and out of the Valley. I had a lot of catching up to do and took every opportunity of leave time to climb. Rob and I smashed the Salathe Wall and a one-day ascent of the high imposing South Face of Mt. Conness, within days of each other.
After four years of active duty, I had a chance to go to Saudi Arabia and teach multi-national students as a civilian contractor between 1986-1990. It felt like we were still in the military because it was a military school, with military students, and military aircraft, but this time there was serious money attached. While there, we climbed on some of the most obscure unclimbed stone you can imagine in the Asir Mountains and in the Eastern Province. But the mission was money.
It was a whirlwind of psyche those years spent in and out of the Valley. I had a lot of catching up to do and took every opportunity of leave time to climb. Rob and I smashed the Salathe Wall and a one-day ascent of the high imposing South Face of Mt. Conness, within days of each other.
After four years of active duty, I had a chance to go to Saudi Arabia and teach multi-national students as a civilian contractor between 1986-1990. It felt like we were still in the military because it was a military school, with military students, and military aircraft, but this time there was serious money attached. While there, we climbed on some of the most obscure unclimbed stone you can imagine in the Asir Mountains and in the Eastern Province. But the mission was money.
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When I was done with all my service and permanently returned stateside, you can bet I was back in Yosemite. On Excalibur I finally learned the value of a helmet via a giant cam dropped from 150 feet above. The scar left in the helmet was a thing to behold!
We also completed a one-day ascent of El Cap’s West Face! Scott Burke, Jim Campbell, and I, did this in a day but we bivouacked on the summit next to a pinecone campfire for the night (Scott led the famous Bachar Yerian route five years in a row, one of the few who have led all the pitches multiple times. He also worked long and hard to be the second person to completely free The Nose). I’ve only done ten El Capitan routes, which is nothing compared to so many folks now. But my friends and I have completed dozens of other big walls, mountain peaks, thousands of pitches of hard free climbing, and other kinds of adventures. Like anyone whose life and heart have been captivated by climbing, the experiences shaped me in the most meaningful of ways. I have learned critical lessons and I share some of them here: |
Author Bruce Birchell on the North Ridge of Mt. Conness at approximately 12,500 feet in elevation (2014) (Photo Credit: Chris Friel)
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- Respect the land and the stone. I love the way native peoples think of the mountains and stones as living things. Adopting these perspectives can shape our actions and enrich our experiences.
- Sound partners are the greatest gift one can have. Don’t be afraid to check each other’s knots, anchors and systems. Even after decades together we still do it. We had a high success rate because we didn’t grab just anyone out of the parking lot for big scary routes.
- Keep it simple, the fundamentals are where it’s at.
- You can do difficult things without the perfect piece of gear. I have survived a half century in the mountains with a very small number of knots and hitches.
- When in doubt, back it up. I never made it to legend status, but there are some great people who trusted (and still trust) me with their life, and that’s enough. A life in the mountains is rewarding beyond compare, but gravity is a cruel mistress. I’ve lost good friends. When we were climbing the Salathe Wall, we rescued a young lady and her partner who were shrieking at each other far below us. (Remember about climbing with strangers?) We left a gallon of water for them above El Cap Spire because they were already out of water. She found us back in the Valley, gave us big hugs, and bought us a half case of beer. The very next year she died on Tangerine Trip, after placing her ascenders upside down following an aid traverse. The lower piece pulled and she went off the end of the rope. Everyone knows about John Bachar’s death while free soloing, Todd Skinner’s rappelling accident due to an extremely worn harness, or Dean Potter’s death while base jumping. These were all preventable accidents, and there are many others. Pace yourself, you don’t have to lead 5.13R tomorrow, check your gear, and err on the side of caution.
- Take joy in easy routes. I know guys who won’t climb now because they can’t climb at their peak. The push to be the best, or to solo like the big dawgs, is a real temptation. But stopping climbing because you can't climb as hard as you used to, what a loss.
- Beware of the outdoor smackdown. I watched a supposed 5.12 gym climber get thrashed badly on a sustained 5.10 off-width crack. We might be doing gymnastic things in the gym, but a leaning 5.8 off-width can still be a very challenging and dangerous climb. Climbing is a wonderful lifestyle, however, we tend to get ahead of ourselves to be like our magazine hero before we’re ready. I just want people to love the outdoors and see the amazing views.
- Summits are still more important to me than anchors that end one pitch up in the middle of nowhere, but everyone’s game is valid in my eyes. There is a famous quote that goes, “Keep going until you find the person inside of yourself you can be proud of.” Taking care of good people in extreme environments is where I found that great person inside myself.
Reflecting on all this, I realize I’ve written a story that’s been written a thousand times before, but this one has a couple twists and turns that are uniquely mine and I will carry with me to the end. I will be pleased if one of you has picked up on something you liked or received a dose of entertainment. Once upon a time we were the young bloods, ready to tear up the world and make a mark. The most powerful thing is that my climbing buddies and I have made marks on ourselves, and on each other. All my respect goes to each of you who are out there exploring this beautiful world! I’m proud to be a Common Climber and wish you all many beautiful days and glorious summits with your friends.
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These are the most memorable climbs of Bruce Birchell.
(Editor's Note): Take a look at this list and the dates. There are climbers who have had incredible lives and have gone under the radar. But, it is incumbent upon those of us who follow to recognize it is these early ascents and experiences that drive "the next" in our climbing world.
1) Barad Dûr, Wolf Rock Oregon, 1979, with Scott Davis Grade IV, 5.9+, A-4
2) Half Dome Direct, Yosemite Valley, 1978, with Keith Stevens, Grade VI, 5.10, A-3+
3) Pacific Ocean Wall, El Capitan, Yosemite, 1980, with Bob Williams and John Dale, Grade VI, 5.9 A-4
4) Direct Noth Buttress, Middle Cathedral Rock, Yosemite, 1980, 8 Hours, with Keith Stevens, Grade V, 5.10b
5) Tribal Rite, Third Ascent, El Capitan, 1981, with Rob Lesher and Chris Friel, Grade VI, 5.10+, A-4+
6) South Face, Mt. Conness, 12,500 ft, 1 day ascent, 1984, with Rob Lesher, Grade V, 5.11b
7) Gibraltar Route, Mt. Rainier, Washington State, 1985, 17 hours car to car, with Mark Vojtko and Scott Boutet
8) West Face, El Capitan, 1 day ascent, 1987, with Scott Burke and Jim Campbell, 5.11c
9) South Face, Mt Watkins, Tenaya Canyon, 1992, with Keith Stevens, Mike Seizys and Mel Johnston, Grade VI, 5.10+, A-3
10) Hotline, Elephant Rock, Yosemite, 1992, with Keith Stevens, Grade III, 5.12b
11) Excalibur, El Capitan, 1996, with Keith Stevens, Grade VI, 5.9, A-4
12) Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, 13,000 ft, 2011, 1 day, with my wife and kids!
(Editor's Note): Take a look at this list and the dates. There are climbers who have had incredible lives and have gone under the radar. But, it is incumbent upon those of us who follow to recognize it is these early ascents and experiences that drive "the next" in our climbing world.
1) Barad Dûr, Wolf Rock Oregon, 1979, with Scott Davis Grade IV, 5.9+, A-4
2) Half Dome Direct, Yosemite Valley, 1978, with Keith Stevens, Grade VI, 5.10, A-3+
3) Pacific Ocean Wall, El Capitan, Yosemite, 1980, with Bob Williams and John Dale, Grade VI, 5.9 A-4
4) Direct Noth Buttress, Middle Cathedral Rock, Yosemite, 1980, 8 Hours, with Keith Stevens, Grade V, 5.10b
5) Tribal Rite, Third Ascent, El Capitan, 1981, with Rob Lesher and Chris Friel, Grade VI, 5.10+, A-4+
6) South Face, Mt. Conness, 12,500 ft, 1 day ascent, 1984, with Rob Lesher, Grade V, 5.11b
7) Gibraltar Route, Mt. Rainier, Washington State, 1985, 17 hours car to car, with Mark Vojtko and Scott Boutet
8) West Face, El Capitan, 1 day ascent, 1987, with Scott Burke and Jim Campbell, 5.11c
9) South Face, Mt Watkins, Tenaya Canyon, 1992, with Keith Stevens, Mike Seizys and Mel Johnston, Grade VI, 5.10+, A-3
10) Hotline, Elephant Rock, Yosemite, 1992, with Keith Stevens, Grade III, 5.12b
11) Excalibur, El Capitan, 1996, with Keith Stevens, Grade VI, 5.9, A-4
12) Wheeler Peak, New Mexico, 13,000 ft, 2011, 1 day, with my wife and kids!