Cathedral Peak, Southeast Buttress

By: Gary Clark | Climbers: Gary & Lynn Clark |Trip Dates: September 16, 2002

Photo: Gary Clark

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Back in the Sierras. Maybe it's because I learned to climb here, but coming back always seems like coming home. The feeling of nostalgia is particularly acute in the Tuolumne Meadows area, where I've spent more good days hiking and climbing than any other alpine area on the planet. The combination of white granite domes and sharp peaks with crystal lakes and green meadows creates an indelible impression on all who visit here; climber, backpacker, and casual tourist alike. We had decided to devote our "Road Trip 2002" to the Sierras, and had already had a great trip, but I wanted to bag one more objective. The motivations were many; first, the peak had been such a favorite that I had lost count of how many times I had climbed it during the 70s - maybe 10, maybe a dozen. As a college student, I had been inspired by John Muir's writings about the "Range of Light", and decided that Cathedral Peak would be one of my first objectives. I liked the regular route so much that I came back again and again to share the experience with friends. As soon as I had adequate technical skills, I graduated to the Southeast Ridge route, and never did the regular route again, except to descend. I met my future wife, and as soon as she was ready, brought her to climb it. Then in the mid-80s we moved on - new jobs, a new state, and new climbing objectives, and the Sierras became a fond but distant memory.

A good part of the fun of the North American Classics project has been receiving e-mails from other climbers nominating their favorite routes for inclusion. Very soon the project's inception, I began getting nominations for the SE buttress. "I've done it, it's one of my favorites, but it doesn't quite measure up" was my typical response. It seemed too easy and too short at about 700ft to compare with the other routes in the collection. I still felt that way when we arrived in the Sierras on this trip. Then I picked up Peter Croft's new book in Eastside Sports in Bishop. Called The Good, the Great, and the Awesome, it redefines the classic alpine routes in California, at least in the opinion of the employee who sold it to me. As I thumbed through, I found Cathedral's SE Buttress, as I expected, but I was surprised by his 5-star designation, and by his description of it as "The most popular alpine climb in California." Maybe we'd better go have another look, with the perspective of having chased classic climbs all over the continent for another 20 years.

A description that includes "the most popular anything in California" should tip off just about anyone that this is not likely to be a solitary wilderness experience. We had no expectations of being first on the route, even if we embarked with an obscenely early start, so we were amazed to find nobody else in the area when we arrived after a relatively leisurely 5:30am start from the trailhead in Tuolumne Meadows. I knew that many variations existed on the buttress, but wanted to make sure we were on the accepted classic route if we were going to document it with a route diagram and in photos. Although it is easy to find good starting lines, it isn't that easy to locate a specific one, even with a good description. It took a while for me to be sure we were following Croft's description. The sun was now well up, and still nobody had arrived.

I set off up the first pitch, a relatively easy but totally unprotected slab to a good dihedral, ran the rope out to a full 60 meters, and set a belay. Still nobody. We did another pitch climbing the crack in the dihedral until forced out right onto the face by a roof, and set the next belay. Nobody. Finally, as I began the 3rd pitch, Lynn noted a party coming up the long talus slope to the base of the climb. Closely behind them was another party. Then another. "It's good to know that an early start still works some of the time." I commented. I figured with a two pitch head start, we'd be able to savor the route without being pressured, but I was wrong. Within about 15 minutes, a soloist zipped up the route to the left of me, so quickly that I didn't even notice him. By the time we finished the third pitch people were on our heels. Apparently they had soloed the first pitch and were simul-climbing the rest. We offered to let them pass, but they weren't at all interested, apparently happy to slow down now and enjoy the rest of the route at our pace (base to summit in 3 hours).

The climbing was all I expected, and more. I had to admit that, at this grade, I had rarely had so much fun. The rock is heavily featured with knobs of more resistant rock (usually feldspar crystals) that stand out from the white granite matrix. Choosing a route is more a question of linking together cracks to provide protection than in choosing the easiest climbing line, since climbing is possible almost anywhere. We tried hard to stay exactly on route, but toward the top I couldn't resist a pitch that I knew was a diversion. Traversing to the left, I found a perfect crack in the back of the dihedral that soars toward the summit from the left side of the buttress. The best move of the climb came in getting around the corner into the crack - a dramatically exposed layback. Then it was perfect crack climbing at 5.6 to 5.7 for the next 100 feet or so. Traversing back to the right to arrive at a belay below the final headwall, I knew I had found one of the best pitches on the buttress. We were now only a pitch below the summit. I looked up and couldn't believe that the cracks above me splitting a dead vertical wall went at 5.6. I looked for alternatives, but when the time came to lead, just went up to "have a look." The rock is continuously surprising, and sure enough, key holds appeared to keep the difficulty low. I pulled around a big block, and recognized the summit block just above. It had been at least 20 years since I had pulled onto that summit, and I'm sure I never enjoyed it more.

As I brought Lynn up, I witnessed a familiar scenario. Off to my right, a hiker watched from the notch below the summit block. I asked if he were coming up, but he shook his head emphatically, saying "Oh, no, this is high enough for me!" I had brought many beginners up the regular route in years past, and several had had the same reaction. He was still there when we scrambled down after spending a few minutes on the summit, and I offered to tie him into the rope and climb back up so he could complete the ascent. He peeked around the corner at the exposed traverse on the south side again, and quickly declined. I knew that he would regret this decision later, so I waited until we were packed and ready to descend, and offered again. "It's not as hard as it looks, really, and you'd have a top rope." Even that wasn't enough to persuade him, so I tackled him, tied the rope around his waist and began dragging him to the edge . . . no, not really . . .

We began the descent, looking up occasionally to observe his painfully slow progress down the slabs on the north side. These require careful route finding, or they can get hard in a hurry. It was clear he had no route-finding skills, so I kept out ahead, assuming he'd follow my lead. Not so. I had to look away a few times as he chose instead to lower himself from spindly pine branches down steep slabs, the seat of his pants the only contact with the rock. We watched from below until he reached easy ledges, then with a sigh of relief headed over the shoulder to the loose talus on the east side. I'm certain he had a much bigger adventure that day than we. As we reached the base and the approach trail, we looked back up to see a continuous line of climbers on the route and its variations. This was a weekend day, and my conservative estimate is that a dozen parties climbed it. Croft's estimation of "the most popular alpine climb in California" seems hard to dispute. The proximity to the road has a lot to do with this, but the main reasons are these: striking appearance, history, and quality of climbing. In short, it's a classic. We'll be back.