There’s a popular trope in media that the lone hero who persists against all odds should be celebrated without limits, and that any amount of endurance and sacrifice is worth it to surpass and succeed, no matter the cost to self or others. Cairn is the rare narrative that says something more nuanced, simultaneously celebrating the triumph against seemingly impossible odds, while also painting the painful picture of obsession and selfishness that are often left unspoken. That would be noteworthy enough on its own, but with its mountain-climbing adventure, The Game Bakers team has also crafted a deeply engaging open world to explore, accompanied by breathtaking visuals and music, and featuring my favorite new control mechanic in years.
As we join pro climber Aava, she’s on the cusp of tackling her greatest challenge: solo climbing the seemingly insurmountable Mount Kami, an imposing beast of a peak. With little preamble or guidance, the player is forced to learn on the job about strong handholds, judicious piton placement, and foraging of resources to survive, even while Aava inexorably pushes her way higher.
The bulk of playtime is spent on the wall, inching Aava up one scrambling grab at a time. Nerve-wracking and tense, you control the specific placement of each foot and hand as you select tiny crevices, hard-to-spot outcroppings, and brief moments of respite to recover stamina, even as wind and rain batter against the cliff face. The freeform and slow-paced traversal is intensely rewarding, and I was still striving to master it a dozen hours into my journey. Cairn manages that rare feat, making me feel truly immersed in an experience I would never dare to attempt, and giving a glimpse into the tiny triumphs a real climber must feel every time they pull themselves up those last desperate inches to a plateau.
Mount Kami is like one massive puzzle to solve, or a single, improbably long boss fight, with many strategies for success. You choose your climbing line. Maybe you inch slowly along a treacherous ledge to reach an inviting angled scramble of loose rock. Or dare that seemingly sheer straight line, trusting to well-chalked hands to manage the shortcut. While there are boundaries to the world, I still found significant freedom in charting my own course. Cairn also offers ample opportunities for emergent moments of beauty – shooting off a handful of found fireworks from camp, seeing the stars reflected in a secluded lake, or witnessing an animal who has never seen a human before – take a different turn, and those moments might never transpire.
In between climbs, frequent stops along the way reveal hidden secrets. Some are forgotten caves, remnants left behind by failed Kami climbers, or caches of food or drugs that might give you the edge to continue. But the more interesting secrets come through intermittent injections of character cinematics and dialogue, both from those Aava meets on the mountain and from audio messages sent from those on the ground. For both Aava and those whose lives she learns about, the narrative explores themes of loss, the hard words we leave unspoken, and the way that people run away from the things they love – sometimes to the literal ends of the Earth. As the plot thickens, it’s easy to question if everything we’re witnessing is still real, or perhaps some existential hallucination accompanying impending death on a lonely defile.
Cairn is not a casual narrative game. The climb is hard, and survival is difficult. Food and water are sometimes scarce. Aava’s fingers bleed, and you must manually wrap them with climber’s tape at the weather-battered bivouac sites you might find along the way. No matter the difficulty (for which there are thankfully many ways to customize), the final hours are a brutal stretch that left me exhausted and excited in equal measure. The return on that investment and challenge makes the climb worth it, up to and including one of the most affecting and vulnerable endings I’ve seen a game pull off.
Like Aava on the wall, Cairn has occasional stumbles that hold it back. Frame glitches and pauses sometimes break the immersion. The usually immaculate climbing mechanic sometimes breaks and creates weird interactions or falls – especially frustrating on greater difficulties. Checkpoints can be too far apart in that frustrating-but-not-fun way. The free-rotating camera can have brief moments that lead to frustration.
Even with some minor missteps, Cairn is a stunning and surprising masterpiece. I’ve rarely encountered a game with such a slow overall pace that nonetheless kept me on the edge of my seat. Gameplay is buoyed by a subtle, emotionally powerful musical score and a uniquely textured art style that enhances both the game’s beauty and one’s ability to read its many pockmarked walls. When all its merits were added together, I was constantly drawn back to the climb to see the next vista. Cairn is challenging as a game and as a story; because, and not despite its many differences from other games you’ll play this year, it deserves your time and attention.
