Will Stanhope, one of Canada’s most celebrated rock climbers, died on April 23, 2026, ten days after suffering a catastrophic fall on the Stawamus Chief in Squamish, British Columbia. The 39-year-old’s death has sent shockwaves through the climbing community, both in Canada and around the globe, as friends, family, and fans mourn the loss of a man whose daring ascents and generous spirit inspired a generation of climbers.
The fatal incident occurred on April 13, while Stanhope was climbing Rutabaga, a 5.11a intermediate route on the Grand Wall section of the Chief—a 700-meter granite monolith that looms over Squamish and is revered among climbers. According to Squamish Search and Rescue (SAR) and British Columbia Emergency Health Services, a call for help came in at approximately 3 p.m. that day. Stanhope had fallen roughly 20 meters, sustaining a severe head injury. The terrain was so rugged that rescuers had to stabilize him at the scene and then perform a long-line helicopter rescue to a forward operating base, before he was transferred to the hospital in serious but stable condition. Despite these efforts, Stanhope succumbed to his injuries ten days later.
His family confirmed his passing in a heartfelt statement shared on social media on April 24. “It is with shattered hearts that we share the news that our beloved Will passed away yesterday,” they wrote, adding, “Will lived with a passion and courage that most of us only dream of. He had a prodigious memory and great stories. He was a kind and gentle man with a fantastic sense of humour. The rock was his home, and the climbing community was his family.” The family expressed gratitude to the worldwide climbing community for their support, saying, “To all of you who climbed with him, followed his journey, and loved him: thank you for being part of his adventurous life.”
Stanhope’s legacy is built on a lifetime of bold achievements, beginning when he started climbing at the age of nine and quickly transitioning to free soloing by age 14. He became a member of the Association of Canadian Mountain Guides and was soon recognized internationally for his high-stakes free solo ascents and pioneering first ascents in British Columbia, Yosemite, and Patagonia. Among his most notable accomplishments were the first free ascent of The Prow on the Stawamus Chief in 2007, the first free ascent of the Tom Egan Memorial Route in the Bugaboos in 2015, and the first ascent of La Vuelta de los Condores in Patagonia in 2014.
Stanhope’s resume extended well beyond Squamish. In 2011, he and Andrew Boyd climbed the south face of the Turret in B.C., and in 2014, he joined Marc-Andre Leclerc, Paul McSorley, and Matt Van Biene for a trip to the Turbio Valley in Patagonia. He also made the first free ascent of the Tom Egan Memorial Route with Matt Segal and free soloed Separate Reality in Yosemite, as well as repeating The Prophet on El Capitan. These feats, reported by outlets like Gripped and CBC News, cemented his status as one of the most accomplished climbers of his era.
While Stanhope was famous for his free soloing—climbing without ropes or safety gear—officials have not confirmed whether he was climbing solo or roped at the time of his fatal accident. What is clear, according to multiple reports including the Vancouver Sun and Canadian Alpine Journal, is that Stanhope was an athlete who approached risk with a mix of passion and prudence. In a 2014 interview, he explained, “I’m not climbing at my physical limit without a rope. And I don’t go up somewhere I can’t climb down. I have fudged that a little bit but, for the most part, that’s your escape.”
Stanhope’s humility and warmth were remembered by friends and peers. Michael Pang, a fellow climber, said, “Will was one of the kindest and most humble people I know. His passing is a huge loss for the climbing community and the world at large.” Pang recalled that Stanhope always made time to connect with others, regardless of their skill level. “Whenever I ran into him in Squamish or Bishop Creek or Indian Creek he would stop and take the time to catch up. He always invited me to rope up with him, even though we both knew I couldn’t keep up with him as strong as he was.”
Stanhope’s own reflections on climbing reveal a deep love for the sport and the environments it brought him to. In a 2015 video, he described the beauty of free soloing: “For me, it’s the most beautiful way to move over rock unencumbered, and it’s a great feeling.” He continued, “I love everything about climbing, I love being in nature, having huge adventures with my friends, and the simple joy of moving over rock never gets old to me, it’s an awesome feeling.” In another recording, he described the unique perspective from the summit of the Chief: “I’m looking between my legs, seeing a whole bunch of air and Howe Sound, and I’m just thinking — this is the coolest spot to be.”
His technical journals, published in sources like the Canadian Alpine Journal and Gripped, provide vivid accounts of the challenges and joys of his expeditions. Detailing his ascent of The Prow, he wrote, “At 6 a.m. we started from the south gulley and soon arrived at the hard climbing. The first 5.12a pitch was quick and soon I was in the business section of the three stacked 5.12ds. The Elevator Shaft went well: laser-cut corner-work with tricky TCU placements culminating in a desperate boulder problem at the end. The splitter went well also, though both feet blew off at the very top. I shock-loaded my shoulders but managed to hang tough. The last 5.12d corner-switch sport pitch fell after a couple tries and soon we found ourselves on top, basking in the late summer sunlight.”
Stanhope often acknowledged the role of luck and timing in climbing. “So much of climbing is luck. We threaded the needle and had a chance to dance with that secluded beauty: a rare gift,” he wrote about a trip to the Adamants in B.C. In Patagonia, he described celebrating after a rare spell of good weather: “After a few days of hiking and rafting out, we clinked Heinekens on the banks of Lago Puelo. Miraculously, we had been blessed with a two-week spell of perfect weather for our climb. We didn’t have a SAT phone, so we did weather forecasting the old-school way: squinting at the clouds. By the time we drained our first beers, the archetypal Patagonian winds and rain had returned.”
His 2015 ascent of the Tom Egan Memorial Route in the Bugaboos was a multi-year project. He recalled, “As soon as Matt and I arrived in the Bugaboos we quickly matched the previous year’s high point. I managed to free the Blood on the Crack pitch (5.14-), and both of us were consistently one-falling the Drunken Dawn Wall pitch—a big improvement. Hiking across the glacier toward Snowpatch for the umpteenth time, I had Bob Dylan queued up on my iPod: ‘Any day now, any day now, I shall be released.’” The descent was harrowing, as he described: “We rigged the rappels and threw our ropes down the Sunshine Route raps, just as the storm began in earnest. On the descent we got hit with savage hail and terrifying thunder. We arrived back at camp soaked and frazzled, but otherwise safe, thanking the Bugaboo spirits profusely for allowing us safe passage.”
Stanhope’s impact on the sport reached far beyond his technical achievements. He inspired others with his approach to risk, his generosity, and his infectious enthusiasm for adventure. As his family and friends prepare for a celebration of his life to be held in Squamish later this spring, the climbing world continues to reflect on the legacy of a man who truly made the rock his home.