Beyond and Back: Father Time

Link to article Jeff Johnson's write-up with pictures: Beyond and Back Father Time

by Jeff Johnson

Middle Cathedral: the ugly stepbrother of El Capitan that sits just across the valley, shoulders slumped, hiding his dark north-facing flanks that almost never see sun. The monolith hosts many seldom-climbed classics: Stoner’s Highway, the Direct North Buttress or DMB (more commonly known as the “do not bother”), Quicksilver and Mother Earth, to name a few.

In the fall of 2010, Mikey Schaefer asked if I’d like to check out the Smith-Crawford way over on the right side. “Sure”, I said, thinking, I can always follow. Making our way up the first few pitches I was surprised by the quality of rock and how good the climbing was. At each belay I noticed Mikey scrutinizing the rock to climber’s left. I should have guessed he was up to something. The next thing I know we’re back up there with a bolt kit, hooks, and an assortment of pitons, hand drilling from small stances and marginal gear placements. Note to self: always think twice before accepting an invitation to climb with Mikey Schaefer.

The slabby, run-out face routes put up in the ‘70s and ‘80s have always fascinated me. Repeating these climbs, you can’t help but wonder what a cool head it must have taken to launch into the unknown, with thin committing moves, gunning it toward tiny stances and hand drilling for 20 minutes at a time. This was entirely new for me. I had never drilled a bolt before and I’ve never been part of a first ascent in Yosemite. And to do this with a master like Mikey was an honor.

In a time when you think everything has been climbed, especially in Yosemite, there are still routes to be done. “Not too many people want to deal with it,” says Mikey. “Routes like this require a ton of hard work and commitment.” Look at his track record and you’ll see he has a penchant for this sort of thing:


• Night Shift, Fairview Dome, Tuolumne Meadows: IV 5.12 (unrepeated)
• Retrospective, Fairview Dome, Tuolumne Meadows: IV 5.11+ R (repeated once)
• Rise and Fall of the Albatross, Daff Dome, Tuolumne Meadows: II 5.13 (repeated once)
• Dividing Line, Schultz’s Ridge, Yosemite Valley: I 5.13 (unrepeated)
• Border Country, Middle Cathedral, Yosemite Valley: V 5.12 (unrepeated)

The lack of repeats on his routes has nothing to do with scary run-outs, typical of Yosemite face climbs. For the most part, Mikey’s routes are well protected and relatively safe. It’s the sheer difficulty and fancy old-school footwork that has a tendency to shut people down. Couple this with the endurance required for grade V climbing and the list of possible suitors quickly thins out.

Our work ethic on Middle Cathedral was casual. Wake up late, eat a long breakfast, and spend the afternoon taking turns on lead. With the help of Josh Huckaby we established three pitches during the first couple days. Mikey and I peppered in a few days here and there and got it up to six pitches. The climbing had been moderate, in the 5.10 to 5.11 range, but once the wall got steeper it was easy to assume the climbing would get harder. With temperatures dropping, we called it off ‘til spring.

It was a long wet winter. Anxious to get back up there, I returned in late April and everything was wet. Rain and snowstorms hammered the valley. Waiting for Mikey, I repeatedly hiked the Gunsight with my binos, trying to scope the line above our high point. What a beautiful time of year: snow stacked on the ledges and in the trees, puffy storm clouds rolling in like clockwork, and the Valley devoid of its summertime traffic. I was excited to be a part of this. I wanted so badly to get back on the route.

One afternoon a friend and I went to climb something on Glacier Point Apron. Before tying in at the base, I slipped and fell down the snow bank and arrested myself on a small step. I was in denial at first; shaking it off, telling my partner I was fine. He took one look at my pale face and told me I wasn’t. Then the pain set in. My shoulder had dislocated. I would be out for a long time.

I drove home and Mikey arrived in the Valley a few days later. He immediately went back up to work on the route. A month or so later a friend emailed me a picture of rock fall on Middle Cathedral. It looked like it had ripped through the entire route. “I hope you’re not up there”, he wrote. Worried, I called Mikey and he said he’d been up there a lot, around 20 days total. The rock fall just happened to occur on his day off, and the course it took was to the left of the route, although some shrapnel had chopped a few of the fixed lines.

Last month, with my shoulder healed up and back to normal, I met up with Mikey in the Valley. It had been almost two years since we first started the route. Unbeknownst to me, Mikey had been working on it, diligently, mostly by himself. Somewhat surprised, because he originally thought the route would end before the headwall, he said, “It will for sure go to the top. The bottom 12 or so pitches are in the 5.12+ range, and the climbing just gets better and much harder on the headwall.”

Almost the entire wall was fixed. Mikey and I jugged to his highpoint, around 1,800 feet up, nearly to the top. On the second pitch of the overhanging headwall I watched as Mikey lowered himself out into space. I could only imagine what it’s been like up here, all alone for many days, hand drilling anchors, fixing hundreds of feet of rope, trying to figure out 5.13 moves, wondering if his route will go free. All the while, El Capitan stands proudly across the valley, resplendent in the all-day sun, while his forgotten stepbrother lurks in shadow.

Only one pitch to go. I could see the excitement in Mikey’s eyes as he lead around an easy arête and disappeared. “Ha!” he yelled, “We’ll be up there in five minutes!” After 40 discontinuous days of hard and often lonely work, Mikey stood on top of his beloved Middle Cathedral, calling his new route Father Time.

Now comes the hard part: freeing the route. A day off and Mikey was right back up there working the crux moves on the headwall. It’s a massive undertaking, but the man is persistent. He’s doing two days on, one day off until he gets it. I’ll be up there this week, tagging along and checking in on the progress, however daunting.

Mikey Schaefer Makes First Free Ascent of Father Time (5.13b) on Yosemite's Middle Cathedral

Mikey Schaefer makes first free ascent of father time on Yosemite's Middle-cathedral

by James Lucas, with Mikey Schaefer

The granite burned my forehead. I slumped my body further onto the wall, hoping it would support me. I cried. For the past two hours I seared my finger tips on the hot rock of the Boulder Problem, a twenty-foot section of unforgiving crimps that guarded my path to free climbing El Capitan’s Freerider. I’d spent 16 days over the past year toiling, working, and wanting to send the route. It was destroying me. I stared across Yosemite Valley at Middle Cathedral, El Capitan’s dark brother. How do people complete these enormous routes?

The Dark Brother

For over two years, Mikey Schaefer worked on his mega project. From the Boulder Problem I watched Mikey toil on the cold rock of Middle Cathedral, pushing a line through immaculate slabs and onto the steep headwall of the northwest face. On his fortieth day of climbing, after hand-drilling 113 bolts from marginal stances, after questing on the wall searching for a free passage, after doing the majority of this work alone, Mikey summited. This was the beginning. The route needed to go free.
On Tuesday, October 9th, Mikey packed water, food, and supplies for a five-day free effort up his route, Father Time. At five foot four inches tall and a solid traditional climber, Mikey Schaefer is the type of short man that people look up to. My stoic friend needed a belayer, someone to hold the rope and help keep the energy high as he fought up the wall. I volunteered to follow him.

Mikey stepped on one foot, shifted his hips and stood up. From early morning until twilight, he performed this maneuver. The golden rock yielded to free passage with a series of mantels, delicate footsteps, and far too many one legged squats.

“Who established this route?” Mikey yelled. Fifteen feet below the bivy ledge, he danced on a series of small holds. A year ago, when he first climbed the pitch, he’d told himself the climbing was easy. Now the protection was far away and his feet were tired from a thousand feet of climbing. It suddenly felt impossible, and scary.

“You got it!” I held the rope carefully.

Mikey scraped his way to camp, a long three-foot wide sloping ledge below the headwall. Out of the haul bag came a bag of Cabernet, a six-pack of beer, an iPod full of This American Life and lots of chocolate. Mikey would stay on the wall until he freed the entire route. He was dedicated.

Instead of being cramped on a double ledge with Mikey for the wall, I rappelled down a thousand feet of fixed lines to the ground. I spent the night in his Mercedes Sprinter consuming all the Cabernet, beer, and chocolate he’d left behind.

The Boulder Problem

The second morning started cold and windy. The pitches off the ledge went smoothly, though we were dressed for the rough weather. After a steep roof section, Mikey belayed me to the base of the desperate climbing. The first crux pitch involved a series of heinous pinches, wrinkles for feet and 30 feet of hard moves. “It’s the Mikey Schaefer Pitch,” I said at the belay. “It’s short and hard as f***.”

Mikey tried the boulder problem six times. He grabbed the holds and froze off them from the cold weather. Then he tried again. After hours of work, his skin and muscles failed. He returned to camp, overwhelmed and unsure if he could climb the route at all.

That night, a storm passed through Yosemite. For two days, Mikey festered inside of the portaledge. He pulled the rain fly down and pretended he was in a different world. He listened to This American Life. He drank Cabernet. He hunkered down, waiting out the storm and preparing himself for the upcoming difficulties. I went down to the ground. Mikey stayed alone on the wall.

He grabbed the pinch, kept his body tight, hit the crimp, readjusted his feet and stabbed for the ear. In the second between holds, his body sagged. Two days of sitting in a portaledge, staring out a wet window weighed him down. He failed.

Mikey’s head froze against the cold rock. For the past two hours he had tried the Boulder Problem, grabbing the subtle pinch, snatching the crimp, and trying to stick the elusive ear hold. His fingers numbed and he fell. This twenty-foot section guarded his path to a free first ascent of the Northwest face of Middle Cathedral.

The way his body sagged when he hit the ear hold, how his fingers opened snatching the crimp, the sheer difficulty of the Mikey Schaefer Pitch suggested that Mikey might not be able to do it. I looked across the Valley to El Cap. We were about the same height as the Boulder Problem on Freerider.

“You can do it,” I said with a conviction I did not believe. Encouraged, Mikey tried again and again. With each attempt, he got closer.

On the eighth day, Mikey moved his feet a little differently. He grabbed a hold a few inches to the right. The move to the ear became easier. Suddenly, he stood on top of the Boulder Problem. Success.

The Athletic 12c

Mikey fired into the next pitch, a forearm-sapping layback flake. We called the pitch The Athletic 12c, an ironic note on how strong climbers call 5.13 pitches “athletic 12c.” At the end of the difficulties, he torqued his knee behind a flake, resting before the final hard moves to the anchors. He hiked the pitch and returned to camp successful. The line would go free.

In the morning, I raced up the fixed lines to Mikey’s camp for the fifth and final time. The slabs to the portaledge passed quickly below my feet as I pushed my ascenders up the fixed lines. I stepped up to his camp and hit the stopwatch.

“29 minutes 45 seconds,” sweat poured down my face.

Mikey barely looked up, “I think my knee is jacked.”

Mikey pulled himself off the portaledge. Torqueing his knee on The Athletic 12c pitch, nine days sleeping on the wall, rationing five days of supplies into nine, and the endless effort of Father Time were taking their toll. Bright red stubble covered his face. His hair, salted with more white than I remembered, stood on end. Insanity crept into his eyes.

“You might need to lead some pitches.”

“Sure,” I said. I heard more than a request for a top rope in his voice. On the Index Corner, the last bit of the headwall, he had grabbed two wrinkles and nearly pulled the mountain apart to hike his foot half an inch. He had finished the Mikey Schaefer Pitch, The Athletic 12c. He needed to complete the route, to finish the mega project. There was just a little more but even the tiny bits were crushing him.

When we reached the highpoint, Mikey tied in. “I’ll try and lead this pitch.” He slowly climbed up a perfect corner. He winced as his knee turned in the crack. He kept going.

Mikey fought through the pain. He punched through another boulder problem and then held on through a final steep section of rock. We reached a large ledge two pitches from the top of Middle Cathedral. Two hundred feet of death blocks guarded the summit. The climbing wore through the last of Mikey’s mental reserves.

We clambered to the summit of Middle Cathedral. Mikey gave a tired smile, a reward that would last. Our headlamps lit the wall as we rappelled down to camp.

“I’m too tired to go down. I don’t think I can make the hike anyway.” Mikey hunkered into his portaledge. Tomorrow, he’d come down – worn, tired, and complete. As I descended, I stared across at El Capitan. The headlamp on Father Time shone across the Valley. The light hit the Boulder Problem. I’d try again. I’d stay committed. I’d put in the time. I’d climb like Mikey. I left the base of Middle Cathedral and walked towards El Capitan.

Postscript

On October 21, 2012, Alex Honnold, supported by Stacey Pearson, made a one-day free ascent of Father Time and the second ascent. “It's 5.13b, straight up,” reported Honnold. The route was attempted by Tommy Caldwell and Jonathan Siegrist on October 19, a day after Mikey finished. The pair climbed free up to the Index Corner, which Caldwell redpointed but Siegrist did not. They descended from that pitch.

Ground Up
An Old-School Effort in Yosemite Valley

Feature Article in AAC

Author: Mikey Schaefer

Day 0. Fall 2010

Most climbers who flip through the Yosemite guidebook give Mother Earth (VI 5.12a A4) only a cursory glance. It’s a route that could define the word obscure in Yosemite Valley, yet anyone who has spent days on El Cap has gazed at Mother Earth for hours upon hours. It takes a proud line up the 2,200-foot western margin of the north face apron of Middle Cathedral Rock. An even prouder group of seminal Yosemite climbers (Chapman, Kauk, Long) established the route the year before I was born in 1978. I thought it might make a great free climb, or just a fine repeat, and with little effort I convinced Jeff Johnson to take a look at the lower pitches.

We ventured up discontinuous cracks and face features. The climbing was stout and brilliant. As we moved upward, Middle Cathedral continued to reveal itself. At each belay I scrutinized the massive flanks of granite to my left and right, looking for other signs of passage. Off to the right I could barely make out the unlikely line of the Smith-Crawford, another route that has always piqued my curiosity. But even more captivating was the uncharted sea of golden rock to my left.

I was introduced to establishing new routes by Jim Yoder, one of the most active first ascensionists in Washington state. Before I was even old enough to drive, Jim taught me the basics of route selection and bolt placement. I tagged along as he and a small crew inspected, cleaned, and equipped routes for others to enjoy. They would often spend all weekend doing this—barely climbing for themselves. At the time it was hard for me to understand this kind of motivation and dedication. To me it seemed like an odd and thankless act. But without a doubt it made a lasting impression.

Day 47. Mid-September 2012

Thankfully, for once, there is no one here. No one to witness my explosion of frustration. No one to see me kick and scream at the wall. No one to see me completely defeated. The walls of Middle and Lower Cathedral are the only ones to bear witness, and they stand as silent as statues of iron and gold. They are indifferent and offer no sympathy (which I have never expected from them). I’m alone in a war of attrition that I rarely feel I’m winning. The war is internal and I can only defeat myself.

I’ve never been one to set goals. My biggest projects most often start accidentally and innocently, but then seem to grow out of control. An idea evolves into a goal, becomes an obsession, and finishes as an affliction. This route, this war, this affliction is no different. This tendency is possibly one of the greatest traits I have as a climber, as well as one of my biggest downfalls as a person.

Day 14. June 2011

This isn’t what I signed up for. The plan wasn’t to solo this thing. My feet ache and my calves scream as I slowly raise the hammer above my head. Tap. Tap. Tap. The bit bounces off the granite. My heart bounces in my chest, but it’s more like thump. Thump. THUMP! Then I’m soaring through the air, hand drill in my left hand and hammer in my right. Thirty feet later the rope comes taut, and the Gri-Gri attached to my harness catches me. This really wasn’t the plan.

Before Jeff and I had even finished rappelling from our exploratory mission up Mother Earth back in 2010, we had hatched a plan to come back the next day and venture into the unmapped sea of granite to the left of Mother Earth and the Smith-Crawford. Calling it a plan was a stretch—most plans involve research, a desired outcome, and execution. We decided to just start at the bottom of a 2,000-foot cliff and go climbing. Pretty simple, really. After 14 days of effort spread out over two seasons, I managed to establish eight pitches. Unfortunately, Jeff injured his shoulder at the beginning of the second season, which left me to my own devices.

Mt. Neveragain: Oups, I Did It Again! (left) and I’m Comin’ Again (right), two routes established on the French expedition.I shoulder my pack, slide shut the door of my van, and head up the gentle 20-minute approach to the base. But I only make it a short distance before stopping. I’m struggling to find the motivation to work on the route today. Something is telling me not to go. Internal frustration sets in, but I don’t fight it. Back in the van, I head toward Tuolumne and a much-needed break and some socializing. I give myself a three-day vacation.


Day 24. Early July 2011

Renewed after my short break, I charge up the trail. Head down, music turned up. I hardly notice my surroundings. I’m determined to finish another pitch today, and my jumars efficiently slide up the rope as the ground slowly drops away. I look up for the first time and notice something weird: One of my fixed ropes dangles oddly from the anchor above. The rope has been chopped in half. Thoughts race: Did someone sabotage my ropes? Was it rockfall? With no way to continue, I retreat down my nylon highway, trying to piece together what happened. At the base I find a small, fresh-looking block and then another, larger block.

Curiosity leads me east along the base of the wall. Fifty feet from the start of my ropes, I stand on a small rise and see the rest of the north face apron, completely devastated. Dump- truck loads of fresh rockfall are strewn across the base. The sight makes me sick to my stomach. I could have been climbing when this happened. I have nearly 1,500 feet of rope and a whole rack of gear on the wall, but as I head down the trail I wonder if I’ll ever come back.

Day 25. May 2012

Nearly a year after the rockfall, I’m ready to return. Ready might not even be the word—it’s more of a need. I clear my schedule as much as possible, turning down jobs that would advance my career, fatten my wallet, and take me to Mt. Everest, Morocco, and other faraway places. I need to be in Yosemite and finish what I started. At the base of Middle Cathedral, I attach a Mini Traxion to my old rope and start up again, tagging 800 feet of new line to replace the damaged cords.

Day 30. May 2012

I’ve learned to break everything into manageable sections and routines. I find that timing myself helps with the motivation. Forty-five minutes for the first 1,000 feet of jumaring. Then a 15-minute break. Then one hour for the remaining 800 feet of steeper jugging. The whole process becomes automated, and I try to focus on the immediate task, not letting myself become overwhelmed or lonely. Today is a workday, no real climbing. I’ve hand-drilled close to 100 bolts for this route. Most of them start out as 1/4” by 1 1/4” bolts, and they all need to be upgraded to 3/8” bolts for free-climbing. At a minimum of 30 minutes a bolt, I’m looking at 50 hours of drilling on this line. I’m hoping to replace 10 bolts today.

Day 35. June 2012

Progress continues glacially. Ground-up, self-belayed climbing is anything but fast. It’s easy to look over my shoulder at El Cap and question my choices. With its simple access, trail to the top, tick marks, pre-stashed camps, move-by-move beta, and daily Internet reports, El Cap has turned into the ultimate granite playground. There’s little glory to be found on the other side of the Valley, but I crave the unknown, the untrodden, and the possibility of failure. Middle Cathedral offers heavy doses of all three.

When I return to the Valley and people ask how the route is going, I can tell they wonder what I’m doing up there. Some joke that I must be installing the longest bolt ladder in Yosemite. Others ask why I’d bother with such chossy rock. It’s easier to agree with them than to explain. Occasionally people ask why I even bother climbing ground-up. I respond that I honestly never considered an alternative. One of the fundamental joys and challenges I find in climbing is to start at the bottom of a wall and try to get to the top. If I had opted to carry 2,200 feet of rope to the top of Middle Cathedral and start rappelling, I would have cheated myself out of a great opportunity to fail. And without a great opportunity to fail, I would have no chance at a great success.

Day 40. Fall 2012

One hundred feet of moderate climbing leads to manzanita bushes, sandy slopes, and the top. Along with Jeff, who is healthy again and back on the team, I scramble to the summit. There were so many days that I deeply doubted this would happen, and now the top is more a relief than it is a cause for celebration. Regardless what happens next, the route is at one stage of completion. But the project is still far from finished. Numerous pitches required aid, and the ultimate goal is to free-climb them all, some of which might be beyond my ability. I’m not sure if I’m actually getting any closer.

Day 50. Late Fall 2012

There was a time when I loathed project climbing, mostly because I didn’t understand it. The process initially appears to be one of simplification and narrow-mindedness, with the sole goal of chasing higher grades. Without a doubt this mentality exists, but it is far from the only aspect of redpointing. During every hike up the trail, every trip up my fixed ropes, and every attempt to lead the crux pitches, my experience grows and becomes more acute. I’ve learned to take joy in knowing the route so intimately. Simple things such as knowing which rock will roll under my foot on the approach, or telling the time from the shadow that Middle Cathedral casts across El Cap Meadow. Or knowing that if my hips shift slightly to the left and my right heel turns in too much I can’t hold the right-hand pinch long enough to move my left hand. These things can’t be understood without an investment of time and commitment. And the more I invest the more I gain.

Day 55. Late Fall 2012

It’s the fifth day of my free attempt, and time is running out. I have a flight out of Fresno and weeklong job starting in two days, and then a month’s work in the Middle East right after that. It’s hard to remain positive. I haven’t managed to free any of the three crux pitches, and no amount of effort or desire may change that. Two of the cruxes, “The Index 11d” and “The Athletic 12c” are within reason, but “The Boulder Problem” still seems far out of reach. I’ve given it well over 50 attempts in the last two months, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes 50 more for me to do it.

My friend James Lucas has been my regular belayer on my free attempt, and he does his best to keep me from going crazy with bad jokes and abundant stoke. As I repeatedly fall off the Boulder Problem, he urges, “Come on, Mikey, come on!” He has a belief in me that I no longer have in myself. Another try. Then another. I inch closer but come up short again. We head up to the last crux pitch, the Index 11d, a sequence of insecure smears, subtle backsteps, and thin liebacks. I do much better on this pitch and almost manage a clean ascent. My second go is even better. The thought of actually sending helps with morale.

Back in the portaledge I weigh my options. I should be rappelling tomorrow and calling it quits, but I’m concerned that if I don’t finish the route this season it may never happen. The climb has already stressed my relationship to the breaking point, and disregard for my photography career isn’t wise. The choice is obvious, though. I call my client and cancel the next shoot. Thankfully the producer is a climber and understands my desires. I’ve just bought myself another week.

Day 57

Success in climbing is a complex web of many variables: the properties of the rock, atmospheric conditions, equipment, preparation, knowledge, strength, motivation, and belief. Now, 1,600 feet off the Valley floor and seven days into my planned five-day ascent, I have little ability to control anything except my motivation and belief, and hardly a fragment of these remains. But until nothing is left I have to keep trying. Trying to get my foot to stick, believing I can reach the next hold. Burn after burn I explode out of the corner of the Index 11d. Again I match feet, backstep, slide my shoulder up the corner, match feet again, push harder—and this time I reach farther. My tips take purchase, as does my belief.

Day 58

One single hard move remains. One shitty gaston I can’t hold. I’ve fallen off this move more than a 100 times already. In what is surely a final move of desperation, I slightly change my sequence. A nominal shift of my hand unlocks the move, and again I reach farther. Joy and satisfaction completely overwhelm me. The Boulder Problem is laid to rest. Things fall into place, and I make quick work of the Athletic 12c. Tomorrow, all I need to do is struggle up the last few pitches, which I know I will.

Day 59

There is a weird emotional vacuum after reaching the summit. For the last two years Middle Cathedral has been my muse and my foe. It provided challenge and commitment that I struggle to find in other parts of my life. I learned to thrive off the pressure and the possibility of failure. And now, as I lay here for one final evening in my portaledge, it’s hard not to wish the experience would continue.

Just before going to sleep I get a text from Tommy Caldwell, saying congratulations and asking about the route. He’s interested in checking it out with Jonathan Siegrest. I don’t even know how to respond.

When I get down to the Valley, I swing by their campsite to give them the details, and I’m genuinely shocked when they say they want to go up right away. The only problem is that I still haven’t cleaned up the route. Most of my fixed ropes and directionals are still in place, so I set my alarm and made a plan to jug ahead of them, cleaning the ropes as they climb. I go to bed worrying about what those guys will think. Will they fly right up the route? Or does it warrant the fight I had to give it?

Day 61

From my perch up on the fixed lines, I have a bird’s eye view of Tommy tick-tacking up the small, perfectly sculpted holds on the first hard pitch of the lower slab. When he reaches me at the belay, he has a grin from ear to ear. He and Jonathan make quick work of the next pitches, and then slow as the wall kicks up into the crux leads at two-thirds height. Jonathan fights for the onsight on the Boulder Problem but falls after committing to the wrong sequence. As I finish rappelling, I look up and see Tommy and Jonathan’s headlamps click on. They are battling it out on the final crux, giving it everything they’ve got. It makes me happy to see that my muse and foe may live on.

Summary

First ascent of Father Time (VI 5.13b) on Middle Cathedral Rock, Yosemite Valley, California, by Mikey Schaefer. After a ground-up ascent that spanned 60 days of effort over three years, Schaefer finished redpointing all 20 pitches on October 18, 2012.

About the Author
Raised in Washington state but now living in central Oregon, Mikey Schaefer is a professional photographer and widely traveled climber. In 2013 he completed another longstanding goal: new routes on each of the seven major summits of the Fitz Roy massif skyline in Patagonia. During 2009 he put up another new route on Middle Cathedral, Border Country (IV 5.12), with Jeremy Collins and Dana Drummond.

In the early 1970s, climbers were adjusting to the clean-climbing, natural protection ethic. However, when applied to climbing on Middle, this ethic had to be modified. The older routes, following crack and corner systems, could be climbed relatively easily without pitons; but the newer routes were on nearly featureless walls which required both pitons and bolts for protection and belays. The clean ethic has therefore come to include the concept of fixing pins and placing bolts where adequate 'natural' protection cannot be found. Inevitably, the style of first ascents has also changed. Climbing 'blank' walls free and having to place bolts and fixed pins, calls for more planning than is the case on routes following obvious lines. Often, a whole day is spent on one pitch, with first one climber then another, pushing the route higher, trying to discover the best line and placing protection where it will do the most good. Ropes have been fixed to high-points, sometimes hundreds of feet off the ground. It is easy to cry "foul" on the grounds of older ethical standards but these tactics have evolved from a combination of the free ethic and the nature of the rock, rather than because of any inability on the part of the climbers.

This new style has drawn a very clear distinction between first and subsequent ascents. The first ascent requires a creative attitude and the time and energy to fit the route to the features of the rock in a logical manner. If the efforts of the first ascent party are successful and 'transparent' subsequent parties can do the route quicker and, it is hoped, simply enjoy the climbing.

There is another feature to this kind of climbing: in fixing belays and protection, the first-ascent climbers make a lasting statement of their ideas and abilities, which can be judged by later generations of climbers. The desire to place few bolts and fixed-pins, for ethical and egotistical reasons, and the inability to stop on hard sections, has led to the very long run-outs that are typical of the newer routes on Middle.

There is another route, as yet unfinished, to the right of the North Face Slab. George Meyers began it in 1971, by climbing a pillar at the base of the wall. He has returned at least eight times, gone through as many partners, and is seven pitches up. Though slow, this sort of climbing project, which, as Steve Roper comments, "sounds like a job!", lacks none of the spirit and adventure of most first ascents. Climbing a 1Oft 'blank' section free can be as absorbing, time-consuming and serious as an entire pitch.

George often feels oppressed by his 'Big One', as it has come to be known, and would like to get it finished. He is not trying to do impossible feats on the route: he is doing what climbers know to be possible, but he is trying it on a big, almost blank wall. His route in some ways epitomizes the newer routes on Middle, and perhaps points the direction for other new routes. Those who are repulsed by the elements of drudgery in his ascent should rest assured that someday the route will be a pleasant romp for some young climber.

There are many climbing projects left on Middle: there are new lines on the North Face, which would require only a slight extension of the current efforts for new routes; there are possible lines on either side of the East Buttress; there is a girdle traverse, which on Middle makes more sense than on some other Yosemite rocks; and there is still aid to be excised from a few routes. Of course, the rules could be changed to make it harder to get up the existing routes, thereby creating different sorts of first ascents. The newer routes could be climbed without chalk, or one could record which protection bolts one didn't clip into. Even if climbers exhaust all the possible new routes and do every­ thing all-free, or change the rules and compile massive lists of 'firsts' for every route, climbing on Middle will always be challenging and fun.

You should do something useful instead.

For retrobolting:

• SC will never be a test piece, with the third pitch having a humble 5.7 rating, and the climb a 5.9 rating overall.
• The 5.7 run out is out of character with the rest of the climb which is well protected. Like having an unprotected pitch in the middle of West Crack on Daff Dome.
• The examples of two 5.7 classics, Snake Dike and West Country. Would it really have been better in retrospect to have left these climbs in their original run out state decades ago and vastly reduced their current popularity?
• Several gurus of Tuolumne, have retro bolted their routes for similar reasons, including Kamps and Steve. (Another guru is conspicuous by his silence here. Long Ago?)
• Reduction of the principle of maintaining the sanctity of the first ascent to the absurd. Werner soloed the route on sight (!!). What if he had soloed it before Jim and I had climbed it? Would we really insist today that only on sight free soloists may repeat the route because there would be no bolts at all?
• The “North American Retrobolting Ethic” permits first ascencionists to alter their original bolting design and it is appropriate to do it here.

Against retrobolting:

• It would not be in keeping with the great tradition of Tuolumne climbing, which values maintaining scary routes in their original condition. (reminds me of my favorite Winston Churchill quote. When Churchill was trying to cut the budget of the British navy, an admiral objected that there would not be enough money to “maintain the great traditions of the British Navy.” Churchill replied, “And what are those traditions? Rum, sodomy and the lash!”)
• Preserve the opportunity for those (apparently very few) wishing to experience the climb in its original state.
• The slippery slope: If we add bolts on SC, it’s only a matter of time before the Bachar Yerian is a boring clip-up.
• Embrace the danger: Don’t make it safer; rather have climbers aspire to be confident enough to lead it as is.
• The history lesson: Runout routes are valuable to demonstrate the way things were in the distant past, before sport climbing.
• Preserve the risk “game” for future generations by following the traditional rules, like the Brits have successfully done on their tiny Gritstone cliffs and the Germans have done in their sandstone areas.