Alex Honnold, the world-renowned free solo climber, has completed what is being described as the highest urban climb in history after scaling Taipei 101 without ropes or safety equipment. Wearing only a T-shirt, tracksuit trousers and climbing shoes, the 40-year-old ascended the 1,677-foot skyscraper live on Netflix, turning one of the world’s most recognisable buildings into a vertical stage for extreme endurance and precision.
Honnold began the climb at 9am local time, reaching the summit after one hour and 35 minutes. Taipei 101, which was the tallest building in the world until Dubai’s Burj Khalifa was completed in 2010, presented a radically different challenge from the granite cliffs that made Honnold famous. Its glass-and-steel façade offered minimal margins for error, with a single slip potentially fatal.
Speaking before the climb, Honnold framed the ascent as the fulfilment of a lifelong instinct. He said he had always been driven by the urge to climb the most striking structures he could find, describing the skyscraper as the “coolest thing” available. His wife, Sanni McCandless, watched from Taiwan and said the feat came down to trust, both in Honnold’s judgment and in the preparation behind the climb.
Taipei 101 has been climbed before, most notably in 2004 by the French urban climber Alain Robert, who used safety ropes and took nearly four hours to reach the top. Honnold’s ascent, by contrast, was completed entirely unaided, setting it apart both in speed and risk.
The route began with sloping steel and glass before transitioning into a series of stacked glass sections punctuated by large metal protrusions at each corner. Higher up, Honnold navigated overhangs, rings and increasingly exposed features, culminating in the narrow spire at the summit, which he later described as the most dangerous section. Upon reaching the top, he paused to take a selfie, suspended above the city.
A professional camera crew filmed the climb from harnesses attached to wires, while thousands of spectators gathered below. Office workers inside the tower waved and took photos as Honnold passed their windows. At one point, he remarked casually over his microphone on the scale of the building and the clear weather, underscoring the calm demeanour that has become his trademark.
The climb had originally been scheduled for Friday but was postponed because of rain, with Honnold noting that wet conditions made the ascent impossible. The delay did little to dampen anticipation, particularly given public debate over the decision to stream the climb live, with concerns about how a potential accident would be handled on air.
Netflix executives confirmed that a broadcast delay was built into the stream and that producers were prepared to cut away immediately in the event of an emergency. The company stressed that no one involved wanted to witness a catastrophe and that safety protocols were in place for the broadcast, even if not for the climber himself.
Honnold rose to global fame after becoming the first person to free-solo El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, a 3,000-foot vertical ascent documented in the Oscar-winning film Free Solo. He has since completed other legendary climbs, including Half Dome and the Moonlight Buttress, each reinforcing his reputation for turning seemingly lethal challenges into controlled performances.
In interviews, Honnold has said the appeal of free soloing lies in reducing the probability of failure to near zero, even when the consequences are extreme. He has described the experience as a return to a childlike sense of wonder, one that resists adult fears about danger and liability.
Now living in Las Vegas with McCandless and their two young daughters, Honnold traces his passion back to early childhood trips to climbing gyms and campgrounds. His mother, Deidre Wolownick, who herself became the oldest woman to climb El Capitan, has spoken of how free soloing makes her son feel most alive, arguing that such fulfilment should not be taken away.
With the successful ascent of Taipei 101, Honnold has once again redefined the boundaries of climbing, transplanting a discipline rooted in wilderness into the heart of a modern city — and proving that even glass towers can become mountains.
