Climbing The Cassin Ridge

by Kyle Tarry

Cassin Ridge, a soaring buttress of rock, ice, and snow that splits Denali’s massive south face, is what alpine climbing dreams are made of. It is an elegant line that begins at the head of the Northeast Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier and rises directly to the mountain’s summit–8,000 vertical feet of high-quality technical climbing. With its inclusion in the venerated 50 Classic Climbs of North America, the Cassin has become a renowned North American test piece for amateur climbers.

Panorama: View from Kahiltna Glacier Inset, clockwise from the top: Nick Sweeney following the final technical pitch in the Second Rock Band; Nick Sweeney skiing back to the airstrip on the lower Kahiltna Glacier; Bivy on the hanging glacier at 12,000 feet.

Cassin Ridge, continued from previous page.

Above: View from Kahiltna Glacier

I remember reading about this route early in my mountaineering career and marveling at its sheer size; its combination of high altitude, cold, and technical climbing; and the commitment required to embark on a climb of this scale that has limited retreat options. It seemed far-fetched at the time, and I relegated it to that list of “things I’ll never do.” But as the years went by, I started to chip away at the barriers to such a route, and recently it had come into focus as something that might be possible with the right partner and circumstances. In late 2021, my friend Noah Kimmes of Anchorage reached out to me and mentioned that he was putting together a Denali trip with the main goal being to climb the Cassin. I jumped at the opportunity and quickly convinced my long-time climbing partner Nick Sweeney of Spokane to share a rope with me. We teamed up with Noah, Matt Zavortink (Portland), and Erik Richardson (Seattle) for the expedition. Our plan was to travel together low on the mountain and then climb the Cassin as two independent but coordinated teams.

Due to the Cassin’s location and high altitude, we decided to begin our trip on Denali’s West Buttress (the standard route to the mountain’s summit). On May 23 of this year, we flew from Talkeetna to the lower Kahiltna Glacier. There we began the slow process of dragging one month’s worth of supplies and provisions up the mountain, allowing our bodies to acclimate. This also put us in close proximity to the Cassin, where we would be able to quickly take advantage of good weather.

Over the course of about one week, we inched our way up from our 7,000-foothigh starting point through camps at 7,800 feet and 11,000 feet, to our new home at Denali’s popular 14,000 foot camp. “14k camp” is the standard place for Denali climbers to settle in, acclimate, and wait for the right opportunity to make a summit bid. Its location in a large sunny basin on the western flank of the mountain is a convenient location to come and go from various routes on the peak. We dug out a plush camp (with awe-inspiring views of Mt. Foraker) at the west end of the basin and continued our acclimatization process among hundreds of other climbers. Over the course of another week, we began gradually climbing higher, alternating with days of rest and excessive snacking. We scouted the approach to the Cassin via the West Rib Cutoff at 16,000 feet, went to the high camp at 17,000 feet, and hiked to Denali Pass at 18,200 feet. Several of the team members made it to Denali’s 20,310-foot summit as a day trip, while I stopped a few thousand feet short due to mild symptoms of mild acute mountain sickness. On June 3, after a week of acclimatization, and with the historic good weather forecasted to continue, four of our crew felt ready to try the Cassin.

To approach the Cassin Ridge from 14k camp, there are a variety of options. We chose the “Seattle ‘72 Ramp,” colloquially named after the expedition that first used it. The Seattle Ramp is approached from 14k camp by climbing up to 15,700 feet to access the West Rib, and then descending to 12,000 feet at the head of the Northeast Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier. This area of Denali is notorious for complex glacier navigation and exposure to overhead hazard. Conditions this year were quite good and the approach was largely uneventful. We were able to downclimb without protection for most of the way and made one 60-meter rappel near the end to bypass an icefall. The overhead hazard was limited to a large serac at the head of the valley, whose active slide path we jogged

Above: View from Kahiltna Glacier

across. Approximately 6 hours after leaving camp, we were at the base of the Cassin Ridge’s initial section, the Japanese Couloir. We initially tried to climb it that afternoon, but did not make it very far. Demoralized, we realized that this was too big of an undertaking to try to cram into one day. After rappelling to the base using v-threads, we settled in for the night on a small tent platform perched between crevasses below the route.

The next morning, we began up the route again. Nick and I had decided to climb in daily “blocks”: each day one person would do all of the leading while the other followed, creating a comfortable cadence of climbing and resting and allowing each of us to cater to our strengths. The first day, the Japanese Couloir, a 1,000-foot gully comprised primarily of ice climbing, was Nick’s block. The majority of this section was 60 degrees and hard alpine ice, with some occasional snow climbing and the odd mixed move. At the Japanese Couloir’s crux, around the midpoint of the couloir, we had the option of a short section of WI4 or a 5.6 mixed chimney. We elected the latter route mainly to separate ourselves from Noah and Matt’s team. Two pitches of excellent mixed climbing later, we were back in the couloir. A few pitches after that we topped out on the ridgeline near the historic Cassin Ledge, one of the route’s tiny bivy locations. Our itinerary had us stop briefly at this rare flat spot in order to melt snow for drinking and to eat some snacks. We then moved on with the goal of reaching the “large bivy” at 14,000 feet before the day’s end. During this brief pause, the four of us had a frank discussion about how we were feeling, and made a final decision to proceed to the Cowboy Arete, the point at which retreating off the route becomes much less viable. Above Cassin Ledge we climbed easy mixed terrain, which led to the “5.8 rock crux,” allegedly one of the route’s hardest sections. Noah and I both led through here, finding fun and high-quality granite on this short steep pitch. Beyond the rock crux is the infamous “Cowboy Arete”—a knifeedge snow ridge which can sometimes require hundreds of feet of unprotected auchevaling. Lucky for us, the stable weather and previous parties on the route made the conditions on this section as good as you could ask for—well consolidated snow and a boot pack! An ominous cloud had rolled in and reduced visibility to less than a rope length as I led off into the mist, the only reminder of my partner being a slight tension on the rope that disappeared into the cloud behind me. An hour of careful unprotected climbing along the arete brought us to the bivy at 14,000 feet, 12 hours after our day began. This spot on a hanging glacier clinging to Denali’s south face had a flat spot large enough for two bivy tents, plus room to walk around unroped, which was a welcome break from the steep slopes below. A light snow had begun falling, so we brewed up and ate in our tiny tents before drifting off to sleep.

After a full night of sleep, we packed up for what we expected to be the hardest day on the route. Our goal was to climb to another large bivy location around 17,000 feet, beyond the first and second rock

An ominous cloud had rolled in and reduced visibility to less than a rope length as I led off into the mist, the only reminder of my partner being a slight tension on the rope that disappeared into the cloud behind me.

bands, areas that we expected might hold some of the most challenging climbing on the route. To get to the first rock band, however, we first had to cross the hanging glacier’s bergschrund, which had a short but steep section of ice. This ended up being the only pitch on the route where the leader removed and hauled his pack. In this case, I was uncertain if pulling the overhanging top-out on this pitch would be unreasonable with an overnight pack. After bringing the rest of the team up the ice step, we continued on to the first rock band where we found pitch after pitch of highquality mixed climbing. The climbing was generally moderate, punctuated with short steps of steeper sections with a difficulty perhaps reaching M4. A light snow had fallen overnight and the cloudy weather continued, creating a moody atmosphere and obscuring some of the terrain and protection. Seven pitches of climbing got us through the first rock band and we followed an exposed snow arete high above the valley bottom to the base of the second rock band. After five pitches of climbing in the second rock band, it was approaching midnight. Although we were nearly 1,000 feet short of our intended bivy location, we had been on the move for 15 hours and elected to settle in for the night. Here, the “Triangle Roof” bivy, a small icy ledge barely big enough for one tent, would be our only option for a flat spot to stay. Nick and I crammed into our tent, dangling over the left end of the ledge, while Matt and Noah chose not to pitch a tent at all for the cold but windless night. We all slept tied into our ropes and anchored to the wall for fear that a midnight slip would send us tumbling to Kahiltna Glacier far below. Despite this, we slept soundly, likely due to the fatigue from the day’s climbing.

We awoke early the following morning in order to climb the remaining 4,000 feet to Denali’s summit and with the hope that we could descend back to the comfort of our supplies at 14k camp. After 3 nights out, we were getting low on food; spending another night out above 17,000 feet was unappealing. Directly from the bivy ledge were two more pitches of mixed climbing, the latter of which we felt was one of the most challenging of the route. Noah followed a steep gully up an overhanging boulder problem to the left and I went right up a thin technical face, rejoining Noah on the plateau above. Above these pitches, the second rock band relented, and we settled in for a long climb up steep snow gullies and ridges to Denali’s summit. Eight hours later, around 7 p.m., and after many breaks, we topped out on Denali’s summit ridge at 20,100 feet. There we merged onto the well-trod West Buttress trail and began our descent. Going to the true summit of Denali from here requires about a half hour of walking along the summit ridge and 200 more feet of elevation gain. Because we were tired, satisfied at having climbed the Cassin Ridge to the end of the technical difficulties, and ready to dig into our base-camp food cache, we elected to forego the proper summit. Several hours of descending (and one break to melt snow for water) brought us back to 14k camp around 10 p.m. (14 hours after our day began). We feasted on our food cache and then drifted off to sleep, exhausted but satisfied.

The following day, we awoke late and spent our time lounging around, laughing, eating, hydrating, enjoying the security of a well-stocked and comfortable camp, and content that we returned safe from such a huge adventure. We packed up as much as we could that afternoon. The following morning, we headed down the mountain. After about 9 hours of wrangling heavy sleds, slow-motion ski crashes, and numerous blisters, we were back at the glacier airstrip at 7,000 feet, where we put our name on the waiting list to be flown out the next morning. We were too lazy at this point to put up tents and so spent our last night on Denali sleeping under the dim night sky. The following morning, our 18th day on the mountain, we hopped onto a flight back to Talkeetna. The Cassin Ridge had lived up to its reputation and is likely to be a highlight of each of our climbing careers.

Above: Bivy at the base of the Japanese Couloir above the NE Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier.

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