Postcards from the Ledge

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Third Time Lucky On Middle Cathedral

Some climbs just play hard-to-get. It took David Lim 3 tries to finish the classic Middle Cathedral route in Yosemite.

You know when you need to get off from a climb. The rock is unfamiliar, steep and you’re lost. When the scrap from the paper bag you've used to draw the topo  description begins to disintegrate in your sweaty palms, it’s really time to bail.  

One hot August afternoon forever ago, I bailed from what I thought was the second pitch Middle Cathedral’s East Buttress. Two climbers who’d just done it had given us some imprecise directions. In retrospect, Scott and I were Yosemite greenhorns and paid the price of doing our homework on the back of some candy wrapper. Strung out on sketchy pro with a vanishing crack above, I tensioned-off and found a belay spot. We rapped off a small tree - or a large twig - depending on how you see things. I never got back to the East "Butt" that season and returned to Singapore with some great memories of some climbs in Yosemite but not of Middle Cathedral.

17,000 miles and nine months later, I returned to the States to climb the Harding Route on Keeler Needle. The route is a terrific High Sierra 19-pitch climb. As luck would have it, a mega snow-dump a week before I arrive clogs all the cracks with ice and snow. Humping 60 pounds of big-wall and alpine gear up the Whitney trail, Jim and I stop and discuss the real prospects of being stuck half-way up this 2000-foot pinnacle.

"It’s going to be a real grunt", he says. "The ice in the cracks and dihedrals near the Whitney trailhead are still there. Imagine what it’ll be like at four thousand metres." We were also both thinking of the 5.10c (5b, E2) offwidth crux -  iced-up. We both decide we’d like to continue living. But 9000 miles is a long way to come to get disappointed by a twitchy spell of Sierra weather. We head for Yosemite National Park instead.

En route, we spend one cold night on Sonora Pass. "Remember," says Jim, "If you see a bear, don’t yell. I’m too tired to wake up just to see a bear." I make a mental note that the kind of bears we usually find in urbanised Singapore is the A&W bear. Hell, if I wake up and see one drooling over me like if I was some Coney Dog, I’d really yell. Next morning and a few hundred miles later, we trundle into Yosemite. Jim’s nagging chest infection gets worse.

The glacier-carved central valley of Yosemite is probably one of the most photographed in the world. Soaring blocks of granite and huge faces make this the big-wall climber’s dream. However, long free routes are also possible on some of the monolithic granite cliffs.

We try for Middle Cathedral’s East Buttress the next day. Middle Cathedral rises dramatically from the forest floor with a vertical relief of over 400 metres. Unfortunately, the weather throughout the Sierras has been unstable. Even in the Valley, the weather is hardly brilliant. Afternoon thunderstorms strike earlier and earlier each day; forcing a hasty retreats from climbs. Jim’s cough begins to sound like a bad starter motor.

A strange sense of deja vu  pervades our venture. I scramble over half-familiar boulders to the Pedestal and begin the climb. The flat, living room sized platform is the landmark which marks the start of the climb. Apart from a fifth-class exposed scramble which is the first pitch, the second pitch starts off with an awkward 5.8 (VS) move. Jim, who usually climbs double-digit grades can’t do it. Weakened by the virus and demoralised, Jim decides to go home to ‘Frisco. I remain in the pit that Camp 4 usually is and want to put a cold towel over my head. The climbing holiday can hardly get worse. And I can’t believe I’ve been spanked by the East Buttress twice.

After a few days of shorter climbs with a couple of climbers, I team up with Chris. Compared to Jim, Chris is about as laid-backed about climbing as blueberry pancakes on a Sunday morning. I carefully bounce the East Butt idea off him. Like a lobbing a tennis ball onto a plate glass window, I’m half-afraid he’ll suggest some other venture; blasting my proposal to bits. But his response is positive:

“Cool ! Let’s do it on Thursday."

We tank up on carbs on Wednesday and hump a small daysack with Power Bars and stuff for the climb. The approach is smooth and quick. I look at the four litres of water we have and shake my head. Thirsty climbers, yes; camels, no. I leave two bottles behind.

We solo the first pitch. I'm on the sharp end of the rope next and enjoy some excellent crack and flake climbing; sinking in just a few nuts and TCU’s (technical camming units). Although we have a relatively early start, there are already three parties ahead of us. Below us, Tim and John from Modesto take their time, knowing it’s going to be a long day at the bottlenecks. American climbers are often too polite and refuse to climb over other climbers.

I catch up with Kirsten and Penn from Colorado. Like us, they are trying to overtake a party of three helmeted climbers moving at a slow pace. Penn leads an intestinal-fortifying 5.10 variation of the route. Chris and I decide to tackle the bolt-ladder instead. It’s his lead and he chooses to free the pitch. The holds on the steep face are marginal. He takes a swinger and logs some air-time before chalking up for another go.

Chris begins to talk himself through the section : "Left foot up, right hand here; c’mon GO!"

I mention something about people who talk to themselves before tackling the same pitch. With the daysack, I thrutch my way up, making a mixture of free and aid moves. I quickly warm to the excellent granite. A tough overhang leads to a dodgy belay station. Chris is anchored in by just one small nut and a manky TCU placement. The Helmeted Ones are still ahead and dead slow. Looking down Tenaya canyon and Half-Dome, I see ominous cumulus clouds. I groan. Then I mutter. Please, please, please... I don’t want to bail-out a third time!

Chris realises the urgency of the situation and takes a variation of the route. This would bypass the bottlenecks ahead of us. The route book describes it as not very clean and has a 5.8 flared chimney. It’s spot-on about the dirt but the chimney’s description is somewhat of an understatement. It  turns out to be a real sand-bag. Extremely strenuous and awkward, it provides us with a full body work-out. Halfway up on the lead, Chris swears about the lack of protection. Jammed in the inner section of the chimney, he struggles to get a placement.

"Don’t worry," I yell, "Take a deep breath and you’ll be the pro.”

I sort out the sacks with the Modesto boys who’ve caught up with us and begin the chimney. I find I have to to do everything just to stay inside the flare. With my left shoulder frictioning off one side, I have to twist my lower torso sideways to get some purchase with my feet. Like some crippled crab, I inch my way up. Only, crabs don’t babble in panic. The first section is a pig as I have to turn to face inwards, then outwards before oozing up.

After I get up, Chris and I haul the sacks from a difficult hanging belay and leave  Tim’s slung to a shrub. We overtake the Helmets  and reach a good stance where I lead the penultimate pitch. The rain-clouds have dissipated and the views of the kilometre-high El Capitan across El Cap meadows is magnificent. I’m thrilled that this time, I might just make it.

Nine, ten  or eleven? I lose count of the pitches. I only know that Power bars or no, my forearms feel like they have cucumbers stuffed inside them.  Tired, I start to stitch up one of the last sections, a simple dihedral. I use up valuable runners and have to run-out the last bit. I’m constantly reminded that many routes and grades in the Valley are “traditional”; another word for full-length, sustained  pitches.

The last belay is super; a broad shelf with a smooth reclining back-wall. It’s almost like a rock sofa. I get comfy and belay Chris. He picks his way up slowly. We prepare for the descent by scoffing apples and Power bars. Chris leads the short section to the finish of the route. Ten minutes later, I’m up and s-o-o-o grateful that I’ve actually done the thing at last. Across El Capitan Meadows, El Cap takes on a golden hue in the sunset.

The descent begins with a traverse known as the Kat Walk and leads to a steep gully between Middle and Upper Cathedral. In between the scrambling, there are three short abseils which would be awful to do in the dark. The abseils rings are choked with nylon tape, all in reasonably good nick. We tick-off the abseils and concentrate on getting off before seven. A steady stream of chilly water runing through the gully is our only irritation. I have hardly time to admire the sunset and soak in the sense of achievement.

I feel easy once we are back at the Pedestal to retrieve our stuff. A quick dash through the bay trees to Chris’s pick-up and the day’s climb is over. At a distance, El Capitan’s huge bulk turns a deeper gold and then fades into the twilight blue. The Helmets are still up on the Buttress.

Later, over an enormous meal of burritos and Top-Ramen in Camp 4, I have a chat with some Arizona climbers. Two were near the base of Keeler Needle the week before; attempting a route on Whitney’s East Face.

"How cold was it?", I ask, not having even got that close to the Needle. Eric, one of the two, says"You were lucky not to make the trip. We had a thermometer in a dark rucksack and it read 30 below freezing."

Keeler Needle? Another time, perhaps. But for that moment, the glow of having fixed the Middle Cathedral jinx was enough for me.

This adventure was  in May 94 . NB: Middle Cathedral’s East Buttress Route is rated at 5.10c, A1 and consists of 11 pitches over about 400 metres; almost all free.

-David Lim