Folks,

This was yesterday 2009-05-17, the day after Grack/Marginal.

What is the deal with the dark North Apron on Middle Cathedral? That stuff looks so inviting, but it's a whole 'nother thing to be up on it. I tried to do the easiest thing we could find there... "Quicksilver".

The topo shows a 3rd class approach, with a 5.8 pitch that looks pretty mild from the ground, and then some run-out 5.9 face climbing up above.

We started from the top of the little pedestal. I was a little sketched placing my first (and unfortunately only) piece of gear in the 3rd class approach. And then the mild 5.8 shaved a few years off my life.... I had paired down my rack in anticipation of a mostly bolted run-out face climb. There were good spots for bigger pro that I didn't have, but overall there were some long sections where you just can't put anything. Climbing involved friction, face-climbing on polished non-positive edges, hand-jams, arm-bars & chicken-wings, and fingertip liebacks.

At one point, I had pulled through the mini-chimney/offwidth that had a few helper footholds, teetered up onto the outside of the pillar onto a face with good features but no positive edges, and my belayer yells up "10 feet of rope" when I'm about 40 feet from the anchor and 15 feet above my last pro. We had 60m ropes. I hung out there for about 5 minutes in a relatively good spot, hoping my belayer didn't fall while scampering up the "3rd class" section to give me more rope.

As I continued up the pillar, the holds thinned out and I swung back into the corner on a lower-angled foot friction spot. The corner was pinched shut, maybe could take a knifeblade, and a little grass grew up the length of it. All along the route, dirt-residue from the preceding winter made things interesting.

I remembered from the book/movie "Dune" this little chant that Paul used to ward off fear.

Fear is the mind killer...
Fear is the mind killer...
Fear is the mind killer...

I had some small nuts and one small cam and a double length sling left, a blank seam, and belay was still about 20 feet away. A fall was not acceptable at this point, and the options were looking grim.

I was relieved to discover a few feet up a little finger pocket in the seam... I delicately stemmed up to it and got in my last cam while sharing part of it for my finger. From there I launched to another pocket about 4 feet up, was about to place some pro, then remembered I had nothing left that would stick. My survival instincts kicked in and I launched into the widely spaced fingertip lieback holds to the top, breathed a little relief when I grabbed the finishing jugs, and slowly decompressed as I clipped into the bomber anchors.

5.8 my azz. Maybe old-school 5.9, or supertopo 5.9/5.10a R.

I looked 30 feet up and right to the first bolt (with a bail carabiner on it) on the otherwise unprotected face of the next pitch. Not a chance.

So what the heck did you old dudes eat for breakfast to become so hardcore? Wheaties can't make that happen. Folks just starting out can't appreciate really how good you had to be, and how big your balls/ovaries had to be. Damn. I continue to be humbled and amazed.