Rob Mahedy, a 59-year-old cancer survivor from Crested Butte, Colorado, arrived in Alaska this spring with a purpose: to summit Mt. Hayes via the Washburn route. No stranger to high-altitude climbs—he’s soloed Mt. Earnslaw in New Zealand, Island Peak in Nepal, and Denali (Mt. McKinley)—Mahedy encountered a different kind of challenge this time. In Fairbanks, he heard reports of a milder winter and below-average snowpack, signs of a shifting climate he could not ignore. He adjusted course, choosing not to summit this year but to climb as far as the famed knife ridge, saving the final push for another expedition. As with his own survival, the lesson was clear: adaptation is not a sign of weakness—it’s wisdom.
“I didn’t get to the top,” Mahedy said in an interview shortly after his eight days on Mt. Hayes, “but I do consider it a successful reconnaissance climb.”
First climbed in 1941 with low-tech gear and legendary grit, the Washburn route to the Mt. Hayes summit is still considered one of Alaska’s great mountaineering achievements. Known formally as the North Ridge, the route’s reputation rests not only on its technical difficulty, but on the boldness of those who first dared to climb it. Towering 13,832 feet and rising more than 8,000 feet from the valley floor in just over two miles, Hayes is the tallest peak in the eastern Alaska Range—and one of the steepest in the country. So formidable is its Northeast Face that it wasn’t summited again until 1975, when climbers Charles R. Wilson and Steve Hackett led a four-person team across the ridge. In the American Alpine Journal that year, Wilson recalled sections so narrow and soft that “you could not put your feet side by side”—a place where progress toggled between precision and peril.
Mahedy remembers a previous climb that took him to the top of Denali—the classic West Buttress, a route that was also pioneered by Bradford Washburn. Climbing with a small group at first, he broke off and made his way up during a 21-day adventure. “I stood atop the summit alone,” he recalled. “I had a clear summit day and could see down the Susitna River to Cook Inlet and west to the Bering Sea.” He descended for six days on skis. With Hayes, he was searching for a similar moment of stillness.
To begin his Mt. Hayes climb along the Washburn route, Mahedy flew to Anchorage and then boarded the Alaska Railroad for the 12-hour trip to Fairbanks, where his local fact-finding began. A number of questions ran through Mahedy’s mind as he met up with experienced climbers in Fairbanks. “What am I up for, what am I getting myself into?” he wondered. “These people have local knowledge, so what went through my mind was, ‘What can I learn?’ ”
Mahedy was confident about withstanding the bitter cold temperatures, which can drop below −4°F with windchill factors below −22°F. Even with his experience in Alaska and Nepal, he knew to be wary of the glacier travel and potential crevasse navigation ahead of him. Weighing heavier on Mahedy was how cancer would affect his strength and stamina.
Mahedy, a muscular six-foot-four alpinist, left New Jersey for Crested Butte as a young man and quickly took to the mountains like a local. He hiked, skied, cycled, and climbed with the quiet intensity of someone who doesn’t just visit wild places but needs them and absorbs the solitude. A carpenter by trade, he’s helped restore many of the historical commercial buildings in Crested Butte’s bucolic downtown, shaping the town with the same hands that have gripped ice tools on Himalayan ridges.
But his passion lies beyond the summits—deep in the hidden recesses of the backcountry. “I seek out remote mountain ranges that are not heavily visited,” he said. “I follow bighorn, mountain goats, elk, caribou—sometimes bear and wolverine—looking for freshwater springs, and often I’ll stumble on evidence of the people who were here before us.” For Mahedy, wilderness exploration isn’t just about elevation—it’s about connection, and the quiet stories the land can tell. Whether it’s a summit or a century ride, Mahedy tends to meet the landscape on its own terms—and rarely turns back.
But his battle with aggressive bladder cancer and lung cancer since the middle of 2024 has taken its toll on his health and fitness. Last November, a tumor was removed from his abdomen along with his bladder. Doctors fashioned a replacement neobladder using material from his small intestine. Then his cancer—urothelial cell carcinoma—was found to have metastasized in his lungs, requiring weeks of chemotherapy.
