Cathedral Peak is the second of three “easy” alpine peaks in Tuolumne that constitute the Triple Crown. John Muir wrote that it had more individual character than any mountain he’d seen except Half Dome. In My First Summer in the Sierra, Muir wrote:
No feature, however, of all the noble landscape as seen from here seems more wonderful than the Cathedral itself, a temple displaying Nature’s best masonry and sermons in stones. How often I have gazed at it from the tops of hills and ridges, and through openings in the forests on my many short excursions, devoutly wondering, admiring, longing! This I may say is the first time I have been at church in California, led here at last, every door graciously opened for the poor lonely worshiper. In our best times everything turns into religion, all the world seems a church and the mountains altars.
Today, after two rest days in Tuolumne, we plan to follow in John Muir’s footsteps. Today we aim to climb Cathedral Peak.
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I am still smarting from turning back from Tenaya Peak, the easier climb. I know we could have done it, but it didn’t feel wise. We were tired, Hannah was a newer climber, and I had never led anything of that scale.
Cathedral Peak is a little harder, but there is a big difference today: my friend Knight Campbell, an experienced mountain guide and the CEO of Cairn Leadership, reached out about doing a climb together. He offered to lead. This is exactly what I need: an experienced partner. He brings the experience and judgment I lack, can teach me a few tricks as we go, and can guide me through my first technical mountain climb before I lead my own. Hannah and I are also eager for the simple pleasure of climbing socially with a friend.
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The approach trail is easier than Tenaya. The length and grade feel comparable, but the trail is well-groomed and the mosquitos are marginally better. Still, it’s a workout. We stop to refill water where the trail approaches the river, then make the last strenuous hike up to the base of the peak. We’re huffing and puffing by the time we arrive. Climbing, ironically, will feel easier.
Cathedral Peak is stunning, a sharp fin of granite tapering to a fine point 700 feet above. Ample cracks and features offer myriad pathways up the rock. We see a couple parties ahead of us, and meet another group descending a trail that winds around the peak.
Knight wastes no time. The moment we arrive, he begins flaking his rope. We follow suit. Knight is on a schedule today. After our climb, he will hike into a backcountry campground to join his family for a backpacking trip. Guidebooks suggest the climb can be done in 5 to 7 hours, but I have warned Knight that Hannah and I will likely be slow. He assures us we can take as much time as we need, but we still feel obligated to help him stay on schedule.
We climb caterpillar-style, which means we use two ropes to chain the three of us together. Knight leads, I follow, and Hannah trails behind. After quick safety checks, Knight starts the first pitch. He moves swiftly and deftly upwards. I’m shocked by how little protection he places. He makes long runouts between cam placements, which would make a fall a significant event. This is a product of his experience, and has the benefit of allowing him to climb fast and make long pitches without running out of gear.
After he completes the pitch and sets up a belay, I follow his route. I climb without trouble, and don’t fall once during the day, but I’m still glad he’s leading. I could lead this, but I would place far more gear and would likely need to make additional pitches.
The climbing itself feels amazing. The route is interesting and varied, offering a wide range of climbing styles, from finger-cracks to face moves to off-width chimneys. The views are breathtaking. This is exactly what I wanted my last day of this trip to be: an epic adventure, bigger than anything I’ve climbed before, taking me into new territory.
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We reach a bottleneck at the off-width crack. We arrive at the belay station just behind another couple, so have to wait for them to clear out. While we wait, two fast simul-climbers reach the belay ledge and ask if they can pass us. We agree, which further delays us. It’s probably for the best; with three climbers, we’re the slowest group up here. Knight hoped to complete each pitch in roughly 30 minutes, but by the time we get to the uppermost pitches, we’re running more like an hour.
The fifth pitch is supposed to be the last, but from the belay ledge, I can’t see up over the next feature. I try to read Knight’s motions by the movement of the rope, which communicates a surprising amount of information. Towards the end of the pitch, the rope does funny things. I feed him a ton of slack, then take a ton of rope in, then feed him more slack. I have no idea what he’s doing up there.
I understand once I finally climb up to join him. The climb doesn’t taper up to a point; instead, we have to navigate around big, heaped blocks of stone to clamber our way to the summit. They looked like stacked children’s blocks. Our route requires belly-crawling over a stone ledge, descending down a ways, then climbing other blocks to the summit. The summit itself is the size of a dining room table. I find Knight sitting happily at the top, legs dangling over the edge, three cams wedged in a crack behind him. I clamber up next to him, clip in, and soak in the views while Hannah climbs up behind me.
This is the most visually stunning hike or climb I’ve ever done. Hannah, breathless, plops down next to me. I wish she could stay longer to savor the views, but another party is queued up behind us. We give her a few minutes, then rig our ropes to descend back down.
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Descents intimidate me more than anything about big multi-pitch climbs. Climbers have access to clear maps, photos, and textual descriptions of ascents, but getting down again always seems like a poorly-documented afterthought. Prior to this climb, I spent hours trying to mine nuggets of information out of climber reports. I gathered that the descent from Cathedral Peak could be sketchy.
The uppermost moves are definitely intimidating, as they involve downclimbing through exposed terrain. Fortunately, Knight belays us, which removes all the risk for us. Next, we have to circle around the summit and descend down steep slabs towards a feature called the Eichhorn Pinnacle. This unexpectedly proves to be the most terrifying section of the day’s adventure. The slabs are highly exposed, with scary fall potential. Many moves feel precarious. The trail isn’t clear, so we repeatedly have to make calculations about the safest way through sketchy terrain. Knight sets up a short rope system, which means we are tied together but not anchored to the rock; if one of us falls, the others should be able to arrest their fall. In practice, it feels like there’s a risk that one of us could pull the other two off a slab and send us tumbling down.
Our descent is painfully slow. Knight moves through the terrain like a mountain goat, but Hannah and I are less sure of our footing. We are both acutely aware of the passing time. The more time we take here, the longer before Knight can catch up with his family on the backpacking trail. The sun is also getting low on the horizon. Still, there is no rushing.
I’m very glad I didn’t try leading this climb on my own. The climbing would have been okay, but this descent would have left me at a loss. A party behind us sets us up a rappel. I probably would have done something similar.
Eventually we make it down to the trail at the Eichhorn Pinnacle, where we have to clamber uphill again over a ridge and then descend the other side of the mountain. This part of the trail, though not treacherous, is cumbersome. Then, at last, we find ourselves on a well-marked trail that descends stone staircases alongside the face we just climbed. At last we reach the ground and commence the two-mile hike back to civilization.
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By the time we reach the van, what we hoped would be a 5 to 7-hour climb has turned into an 11-hour saga. Everything has gone smoothly; we are just slow. I feel bad, but this is what it is. Knight seems eager to get back but is also unperturbed. We’re having fun out here, it’s a gorgeous day, and this climb was spectacular.
My lingering frustration about not climbing Tenaya Peak finally dissipates once and for all. I wanted to end my Sierra Nevada trip with a climb that stretched my abilities. This was exactly what I needed: safe, fun exposure to a new kind of climbing, in the company of a friend and experienced guide. This day feels like a breakthrough. We’re tired, sore, and exhilarated in the best possible way. That is exactly how I wanted to feel before my trip concluded.
We’ve done what we came to do. Now we can think about going home.