From El Cap free climbs to highlines stretched across the Valley, photographer Justin Olsen’s images carry the same grit that made Denny the voice of Yosemite’s Golden Age
Some photographers arrive in Yosemite with climbing resumés, sponsorships, and a plan. Justin Olsen showed up with none of that. He came in 2016 for what was supposed to be a three-month winter job shoveling snow in Curry Village. He had never ascended a rope, never shot from a hanging belay, never envisioned himself in the middle of Yosemite’s climbing scene.
Four years later, Olsen had photographed some of the most accomplished climbers of his generation — Kevin Jorgeson on a new El Capitan-scale free route on Higher Cathedral Spire, Sasha DiGiulian on an unrepeated El Cap free climb, Molly Mitchell dancing across a delicate granite face — and had carved out a reputation for capturing the Valley’s vertical life from the inside.
It’s a path that recalls another photographer’s unlikely rise: Glen Denny, the Golden Age documentarian whose black-and-white images of Royal Robbins, Yvon Chouinard, and Chuck Pratt remain definitive. Like Denny, Olsen took humble concession jobs in the park, met climbers through chance conversations, and learned rope craft and exposure on the job — without any prior climbing background. The parallel isn’t about style or era; it’s about starting at the bottom rung and climbing, camera in hand, into the heart of Yosemite’s culture. 
A Chance Encounter in Curry Village
Olsen’s shift from seasonal worker to climbing photographer began in the most ordinary way. One hot summer afternoon, in the old community hall behind the Curry Ice Rink, he noticed a young man hunched over a piece of paper, sketching a route topo.
That man was Ryan Sheridan — Yosemite local, master rigger, and a climber with deep connections in the Valley. Sheridan, without revealing that the project was for Kevin Jorgeson, told Olsen it was a personal goal. When Olsen mentioned his interest in photography, Sheridan asked a simple question: “Can you jumar (ascend a rope)?”
Olsen didn’t know the word, but he said yes anyway. He figured he could learn on the fly. Days later, he was trudging up Spires Gully, hauling gear toward Higher Cathedral Spire. Static ropes hung from the wall. Sheridan pulled out his jumars and gave Olsen a crash course in ascending fixed lines. Minutes later, Olsen was inching up hundreds of feet of rope into open air — his first time ever suspended on a wall — camera dangling from his neck.
The climb was Blue Collar, a 1,200-foot 5.13d first free climbed by Jorgeson. Olsen split his time between late-night bar shifts and predawn photography missions, learning to manage batteries in varying conditions, keep his lens free of condensation, dust and chalk, and work unobtrusively while climbers fought for tiny edges and invisible holds.
Finding a Voice
When the images from Blue Collar reached adidas TERREX, they took notice. Olsen’s work stood out — not just for technical clarity but for its feel. He favored natural light, wide compositions that placed the climber in the sweep of the landscape, and moments that hinted at the work and risk behind the send.
That same eye drew other climbers in. Sheridan introduced him to Sasha DiGiulian, and soon Olsen was traveling north for her Canadian Big Wall Trilogy: The Shining Uncut on Mount Louis, Blue Jeans Direct on Yamnuska, and War Hammer on Castle Mountain. The conditions were harsh: steep, loose limestone approaches, freezing winds, cramped bivouacs.
“He captured the essence of the climb without interfering,” DiGiulian says. “He worked in tough alpine conditions without complaint — like on The Shining Uncut, when we endured a heinous bivy on Mount Louis. When it’s time to send, he just turns it on.”
Life in the Valley
Olsen’s photographs have an authenticity that comes from living the same rhythms as his subjects. Like some concession workers, he split his time between physically demanding jobs and the adventures those jobs made possible. In winter, he shoveled snow in Curry Village. In summer, he hauled rafts for Merced River trips. The work was exhausting, but it kept him close to the walls and the people on them.
When he wasn’t shooting or working, he was often at his cabin with friends — sharing meals under pine trees, listening to the Merced in spring flood, or wandering meadows at golden hour, watching the shadows climb El Capitan. Quickly, the climbing world stopped seeing him as “the guy with the camera” and started seeing him as part of the team.
That acceptance didn’t come without cost. Years of heavy labor and long days carrying camera gear up approaches wore down his body. He blew out his shoulder from slinging rafts and spent years unable to climb but he continued to shoot on the walls. As of August 2025, he says it’s finally healing, and he’s back on rock — favoring long, remote alpine routes in the Sierra Nevada.
Beyond Yosemite
Eventually, Olsen left year-round park life, much as Denny did decades before. Today, he’s based in Cottonwood, California, where he and his brothers run the OK Corral bar. It’s a far cry from the granite walls of Yosemite, but the saloon has its own community energy. They’ve hosted live music, supported local causes, and recently held a fundraiser for a close friend and former collaborator facing serious health challenges.
Even from outside the park, Olsen’s work remains steeped in the places and people of Yosemite. He returns regularly to shoot — not only climbing, but also highlines over alpine lakes, rodeo arenas in rural towns, motocross tracks, and Castle Crags’ jagged granite spires. His subjects may change, but his approach is constant: immerse first, then photograph.
A Quiet Parallel
The Glen Denny comparison is best understood not as a direct line but as a quiet echo. Denny’s path in the Golden Age — taking a wine steward and bartender job at the Ahwahnee Hotel, learning rope techniques from climbers, and embedding himself in their lives — has elements that mirror Olsen’s journey. Both of them came to Yosemite without climbing backgrounds. Both entered the scene through humble work, not sponsorship or resume. Both learned the craft of vertical photography alongside the climbers themselves.
But Olsen’s story is very much his own. His Yosemite years unfolded in a different era, one where climbers balanced social media and sponsorships with the same hunger for bold lines. His images reflect that blend of modernity and timelessness — sunlit granite, chalked hands, the quiet moments before a big move.
The Work in Front of Him
Olsen insists he’ll never “master” photography. He says that’s part of the draw — there’s always a new way to see, a new challenge to solve. This humility shapes how he works: he shows up ready to learn, whether it’s rigging on an unfamiliar formation, adapting to bad weather, or figuring out how to shoot highliners over a remote lake.
“During my time in Yosemite, I was constantly surrounded by people who were world-class at what they did,” he says. “That forces you to keep improving, because everyone else is pushing themselves. You don’t want to be the one holding anyone back.”
The result is a body of work that, like Denny’s before him, is inseparable from the life lived to create it. The trust of the climbers, the long hours in the field, the willingness to step into something unfamiliar and figure it out — these are the real through lines between them.
Justin Olsen may not have come to Yosemite as a climber, but he left as something more than a photographer. He became part of a lineage of people who embedded themselves in the Valley’s climbing life, who learned the culture from the inside, and who used the camera not just to witness, but to belong.
Ed Note: To view some of Glen Denny’s classic Yosemite photos check out the Yosemite climbing museum in Mariposa. Denny and other seminal Yosemite photographers are featured alongside climbing artifacts from the late 1800s to present. Check out Yosemite Climbing Association’s website at yosemiteclimbing.org for info on museum visiting hours and location.
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Read other stories by Chris Van Leuven.
