Hayley Ashburn has worked in the outdoor industry for over 15 years, at the intersection of climbing, slacklining, and education. In 2023, she broke the women's doubles speed record on the North America Wall, on El Cap. She is also a founder of GGBY, the largest highlining, BASE, and space-net festival in the world. Ashburn, one of the main characters in "Game of Fear," Corey Buhay's feature on aid climbing in Summit Journal 322, has made First Female Ascents of some of the most difficult and long aid climbs in the American West.
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The passage of time in Yosemite Valley, the center of the universe, is measured not in years, but in seasons. Instead of counting down the days to the weekend, climbers here tally the days (or hours) it takes to ascend a route. The dwindling waterfalls signal the impending closure of climbing season. This fall, while many of us were still struggling to remember the day of the week but attuned to the waning waters, the date October 1 was indelibly etched into our memories.
A single day delivered a devastating, generational blow to the Yosemite climbing community, closing the book on an older era while abruptly silencing one barely begun. First, the Valley mourned the passing of Dale Bard, a pioneer during the Stonemasters heyday, who lost his battle to cancer at age 71.
Hours later, the community was stunned by the death of 23-year-old rising star Balin Miller, whose rope-solo attempt on El Capitan ended in a fatal fall — an incident tragically live-streamed to 500 followers. The mechanics of the accident were brutally simple, a detail that made it all the more devastating: he slipped off the end of a rope without a stopper knot.
The route that claimed Miller's life? The monumental Sea of Dreams, which Bard had established with Jim Bridwell and Dave Diegelman almost five decades earlier.
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I have always looked to climbers of the past for inspiration and direction. When I first began attempting big solo climbs on desert spires like The Titan and Moses Tower, I idolized the Stonemasters and their spiritual successors, the Stone Monkeys. I intentionally followed the path laid out by Steph Davis in her book High Infatuation: I worked at bars and restaurants in tourist hotspots like Joshua Tree, Moab, and Boulder. This left me with more cash than sponsorship offers, and more freedom than a traditional vocation.
Social media existed, but not in the all-encompassing way it does today. Instead of sliding into my heroes' DMs, I sought them out in person, peppered them with questions, and tried my best to emulate them. One summer, I scored a job as the only daytime bartender at the Spitfire in Moab, Utah — a locals’ bar with a long history in the climbing community. Though much had changed since the ’80s (when it was known as Club Rio) by the time I started working there, its consistent location meant daily visits from Dale Bard, who worked as a landscaper for the City of Moab Parks Department.
He would sit at my bartop with a red beer (half tomato juice and half Bud Light) and tell tales.
He spoke of being dropped off in the Valley without a car or money, living in “Sunnyside,” an old name for the expanded camping area behind Camp 4. This was before the 1970 Stoneman Meadow Riots, which he witnessed firsthand, when hippies unseated rangers from their horses to resist eviction. It was a time before camping time limits. Even his non-climbing tales hinted at his stature, but he never boasted about his accomplishments, true to the Yosemite spirit. Finally, I asked: 'Who are you, anyway?'"
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A key climbing figure in the 1970s, Dale Bard helped shift Yosemite’s focus toward free climbing, and established routes that pushed the boundaries of what was thought possible. In 1970, Dale had dropped out of college and hitchhiked to the Valley. Over the next decade, he lived in an old bread truck or tent, climbed with the most minimal equipment, and processed almost two tons of “airplane marijuana” in the Camp 4 boulders, the proceeds of which he lived off for five years in his estimation.
But, of course, Dale wasn’t just a dirtbag.
He was a talented rock climber in every discipline from bouldering to hard aid. Some of Dale’s most notable first ascents were Oz (600’, 5 pitches, 5.10d) on Drug Dome, with Bob Locke in 1975; Bushido (VI 5.10 A4) on Half Dome, with Jim Bridwell in 1977; and Sunkist (VI 5.8 A3) on El Capitan, with Bill Price in 1978. In 1978, Dale also established three other routes on El Cap: Iron Hawk (VI 5.9 A4), with Ron Kauk; New Jersey Turnpike (VI 5.8 A5) with Hugh Burton, Bruce Hawkins, and Kauk; and, of course, Sea of Dreams. Talk about an impressive year… All the routes are masterpieces: aesthetically beautiful and extremely technically difficult. Dale also made crucial early efforts to free the Nose. Finally, he was an innovator of speed climbing, partnering with John Long for the second one-day ascent of El Capitan via the West Face in a remarkable five hours.
Dale and Hayley at Spitfire BBQ Moab. Photo: Hayley Ashburn
In our chats in the Spitfire, Dale encouraged me to practice on the horizontal crack my friends had established beneath our deck at a house we called the Monkey Den. He told me that I needed to train hard and then move to Yosemite, where I would find not only the routes I dreamed of but the partners he felt I needed to become the best version of myself. I remember his words; he looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and said,“Climbing is great, but climbing with friends is what makes life worth living.” Funny enough, Ammon McNeely, the legendary El Cap pirate, gave me almost the exact same advice that year. Ammon has passed now, too, but both men changed — and maybe even saved — my life with their wisdom.
I did move to the Valley. And while I continued soloing, I also met a climbing family there that has been part of every one of my ascents since. When I climbed Lost in America, Nick Sullens came out with a SAR megaphone to make sure I knew bad weather was coming. He probably saved me from dying of exposure as I topped out in a snowstorm. Ryan Sheridan and Priscilla Mewborne hiked up in the snow and ice to help me bring my gear down. More recently, I’ve met new friends that are helping me try to NIAD (Nose-In-A-Day). We hike gear for each other, keep an eye out for one another on the wall, and share experiences, making each other faster, better, stronger, safer, and more motivated.
From stories I’ve heard others tell since he died, it seems like my experience was a common one for those who encountered Dale. He talked to people like they were on his level, me included, and he shared wisdom unlearnable from YouTube or TikTok. John Ricco wrote, "He told me those times when he left the Valley he felt lost, yet when he returned his flame burned bright and he saw clearly."
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While I didn’t know Balin Miller personally, by the sound of it, he was an exceptional friend, son, and brother. And, of course, a phenomenal climber. There was a time, not so long ago, when big-wall soloists were scarce; we maintained a loose awareness of one another through forums like SuperTopo and chance encounters in far-flung trailhead parking lots. I was surprised I hadn’t heard of Balin. Only after his passing, through online forums and articles, did I grasp the full extent of his visionary talent. At just 22, he had already proven to be an incredibly gifted alpinist, notching audacious feats such as the first solo of the Slovak Direct on Denali and the first solo (and second overall) ascent of The Reality Bath in the Canadian Rockies—a notoriously dangerous and difficult climb from 1988.
"At just 22, [Miller] had already proven to be an incredibly gifted alpinist, notching audacious feats such as the first solo of the Slovak Direct on Denali and the first solo (and second overall) ascent of The Reality Bath in the Canadian Rockies."
The intertwined narratives of Balin Miller and Dale Bard, brought into sharp focus by the legendary Sea of Dreams, invite us to consider the many ways we connect with the vertical world and with each other. Balin's extraordinary talent for soloing highlighted a fierce independence, while Dale's life was a testament to the bonds forged through shared pitches and brotherhood. In the end, the mountains remain, and with them, the opportunity for each climber to discover their own profound connections — to the rock, to the challenge, and to the people who make the journey meaningful.
In Honor of Dale Bard and Balin Miller
To honor the lifelong love of climbing with friends that Dale Bard championed, and to remember the vibrant spirit of Balin Miller, here is a list of objectives I encourage you to pursue (WITH FRIENDS):
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Bivvy Like a Local: Ditch your van or campsite and bivvy in the boulders behind Camp 4, where Dale once lived (the government is closed, nobody is looking!).
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Embrace the Ritual: Start the morning with Dale’s favorite: A mug of hot cocoa with whipped cream.
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Toast a Legend: Have a red beer (Bud Light and tomato juice).
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Test Yourself: Try to repeat some of Dale and Ron Kauk’s boulder problems in Curry Village and Camp 4
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Climb one of Dale’s Routes: Get on Sea of Dreams, Iron Hawk (FA with Ron Kauk, 1975), JJ Turnpike, Sunkist, Bushido, or even Tribal Rite (FA by his brother, Allen Bard).
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Mentor and Connect: Find a climbing partner, or if you don’t have one, give back to our community by mentoring someone
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Mindset Check: Refer to law enforcement officers as “Pine Pigs.” As Dale said, “They don’t know how to enjoy the park!”
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Laugh in the Face of Danger: When you get to a sketchy belay set by your partner, remember Dale’s face on the famous photo by David Diegelman of the 5-RURP belay, and laugh. Remember, ending the adventure as friends is the most important thing.
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For Balin Miller: Wear glitter on your next big adventure.
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