DIRECT NORTH BUTTRESS: DIS AIN'T NO SPORT ROUTE!

The DNB, or Direct North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock, is not for the sport climber. It is 19 pitches long. You can count the fixed pro on one hand and some of the belays are marginal. Every pitch is runout, some grossly. Route finding is difficult on a number of pitches and especially the start of the descent. There are offwidths or squeeze chimneys on seven of the pitches. The descent is long and arduous. Hence, it doesn't see a whole lot of lycra each year...

The DNB has long been an objective of mine ever since I first heard about it while climbing in the Valley. The DNB was featured in an article in Climbing magazine about "Forgotten Classics" and anyone who knows me, knows I am drawn to the classic climbs. A year or two later I read an article by John Long (a true adventurer and humorous writer) of his ascent of the DNB (see below) while he was trying to become a Valley hardman. This was a climb that I had to have...

Climbing the DNB wasn't for bragging rights. Who knows of this climb outside of the climbing community? No one. It isn't like Half Dome, or McKinley, or the Matterhorn. Heck, even the two climbers we met in the predawn darkness before hiking into the climb didn't know it:

"What are you guys climbing?" I ask.

"East Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock," one answers.

"What about you two," the other asks.

"DNB."

"What?"

"DNB."

"What's that?"

"Direct North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock."

"It must be long one if you are taking that bag with you."

"Yeah, it's long."

I have climbed a lot on Middle Cathedral Rock, which is located right across the Valley from El Capitan. I have done the East Buttress twice, the North Buttress, the Central Pillar of Frenzy, and earlier this year the Kor-Beck route. This climb is of a distinctly different nature. It is very long at 19 pitches and quite continuous with five of the first seven pitches being 5.9 and one a 5.10b sandbag mantle move, and the first half of the climb is the easiest.

We decided to haul on this route because we weren't confident we were fast enough to climb it and get down in one day (boy were we ever right on this account!) We would either sleep at the Reed-Powell ledges at the top of pitch ten or, if we got there early, finish the route and sleep on top (we were way too confident!)

My partner on this route was, as usual, the Loobster. Both of us had previously attempted the route and both of us had failed: Lou on the fifth pitch and myself on the seventh pitch. On my first attempt last November this is what happened:

Jim arrived into San Jose on time (7:05) and we headed out to the Valley. We camped at the "secret spot", as usual, and Jim was a little disappointed with the location. He had expected an idyllic scene complete with babbling waterfall and a lush lawn to sleep on. The dirt mound next to the highway did not live up to his expectations...

We arose the next morning to find my book covered with ice. It was seriously cold that night. Once again I found myself setting off on a massive climb up a North Face late in the season. This time it was the Direct North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock and the weather was considerably colder than my last adventure. Due to the short days (less than 11 hours of daylight) and difficulty of the route (5.10b) we decided to haul a bag and sleep on the Reed-Powell ledges near the top of the 10th pitch. Of course the drawback to this plan was freezing your butt off sitting on a ledge all night. A friend of mine says that climbers have a deficiency of survival cells. I am beginning to see his point.

We woke at 4:45 a.m. and packed the haul bag with sleeping bags, some extra clothes (wearing most of them), food, water, and, needless to say, Bill's book (the notebook computer was sadly jettisoned because of weight considerations...) We had no trouble locating the climb and I started up it by 6:45. I wore gloves, hat, pile jacket, and sweatpants over my synchilla pants. It was still a bit chilly...

The first pitch is supposedly 5.7. Bullshit! Lou has done the start of this climb and thought it was a 5.9 pitch. Who am I to argue with The Loobster. I struggled with the pitch for quite awhile. It is a squeeze chimney and, as with all squeeze chimneys, it is key to choose the correct way to face. So I promptly chose the wrong way. Not a big deal, I can switch. Great. Scamper up the chimney a bit further. Hmmm, some pro would be nice. Arrgghhh! I can't reach the pro because it is buried in the crack. I should have switched the rack when I rotated. I finally had to slide back down the chimney to get some pro.  What a bitch.

The haul went smoothly because I could haul the bag up the face and not up the chimney. Jim followed without much trouble but confirmed it was no 5.7. The pitch went smoothly except that my watch, hung from my harness, was ripped off and plummeted to the ground. I didn't realized this until starting the next pitch. Damn! Schmakers gave me that watch. It was a gift from my sweetie. Jim thought he heard something going whizzing by his head. He did.

The bag got stuck on the second pitch under a small roof. Jim had to rappel down and free it and then reclimb half the pitch. This problem could have been avoided by lowering the bag out with the excess haul line. We used this technique further up. Of course, it doesn't work when there isn't any excess haul line. This was the first climb I had hauled on since my attempt at Half Dome with Tom in which we only did two pitches. The last time before that was on Washington Column with Fred Yenny in 1986. Jim, on the other hand, had never hauled before, never done a multi-day climb, never a climb longer than six pitches, and didn't expect to lead any pitch over 5.6. So what was I doing with him on a 5.10 grade V North Face in November? Was it the great stories he tells? No. It was just foolishness...

We were now on a big flat ledge and contemplating the crux pitch. It is quite challenging up to the mantle (is it a mantle? I couldn't see how to do it. I don't think it is 5.10b. Maybe after practicing it ten or twenty times.). I stepped in a sling and completed the pitch. Jim followed and we continued.

The next pitch is a devious pitch starting with an unprotected 5.9 traverse left, then up a 5.9 lieback and then a downward traverse back right (also unprotected). You end up about 70 feet above where you started. I nervously and tentatively led up the pitch and hauled the bag. Since the pitch was so short, Jim was able to protect his lower traverse with the excess haul line. Then we went up the crack and was peering across the blank face towards me. I knew what he was thinking. He didn't like the fall he would take if he slipped at the start of traverse. Once again the haul line came to the rescue. He could belay himself from a fixed sling on the other side of the traverse. So he hauls up the line and promptly drops it. Oops. Now what? Must he climb it like a man? NO! Bill can haul up the line and toss it over to him! Which he does and then Bill belays Jim with both ropes from both sides of the traverse. As it turns out it was a good idea because he fell early on the traverse.

The fifth pitch is very long. It starts out with a traverse right into some discontinuous cracks. The climbing gets quite steep here and the protection is, yet again, sparse. I didn't realize how runout this climb was when I planned the ascent. The stress of dealing with runout pitch after runout pitch without a break was taking its toll. Eventually the pitch reaches a steep dihedral with a 5.9 crack. This leads up to a massive roof and you must traverse, delicately using undercling holds and some handy tension, to the belay. The belay anchors consist of an old pin and a fixed stopper. I managed to get a TCU in the same crack, but I didn't like the belay at all. I told Jim the situation and it didn't seem to bother him at all. I had him keep me on belay while I hauled the bag in case the anchors pulled under the strain. Fortunately everything held and Jim followed. He used his haul rope protection method once again to protect the traverse at the top of the pitch.

The next pitch starts up a very difficult 5.9 seam with sparse and small (#1 and #2 Rocks) protection. Eventually a jam crack is reached and followed to easier climbing. At the top of the pitch the obligatory, unprotected traverse, this time left, was present. Fortunately it was only at the 5.7 level. We had problems hauling the bag near the top of the pitch, but I was able to descend and free it.

At this point I was starting to have doubts about the climb. We weren't moving fast and I wondered whether we would make the ledge before nightfall. Since I lost my watch, we had no idea what time it was. It was hard to predict how much daylight we had ahead of us. We had four, maybe five pitches to go and we had been averaging about an hour a pitch. I was worried about the next unprotected pitch and about the freezing night ahead. Basically, I was wimping out. We talked about it for awhile and decided to try this next pitch and see how it went.  These thoughts filled my head as I started up the 7th pitch.

First I had to descend a bit and then make an unprotected traverse left, then up to a pin. From here the climbing gets steeper, harder, and more unprotected. In fact, it didn't look doable -- there was a bulge you had to get over and none of the handholds and footholds looked high enough to get the job done. I tried to go up on the left first with no luck and then tried the right. Through a series of one legged knee raises with no handholds I was able to reach over the bulge to a good hold. I was about 15 feet above my pro and could see another 30- 40 feet with no hope of protection. It did look easier above the bulge, but was it easy enough to risk a 100 foot fall? I wrestled with the decision as I stood one foot on a small ledge and both hands grasping the ledge above. I knew I could mantle onto the ledge even though it was well above my head, but I didn't think I could reverse the move. It was quite an internal struggle and, with Jim's support, I finally elected to retreat.

With Jim I just wasn't mentally tough enough to lead every pitch due to the runouts. I tried, but it wore me down at the forty foot runout on the seventh pitch. I convinced myself it would be too cold to sleep up there and that I should descend. I have a long way to go to being a true alpinist.

This time I was a month earlier in the year with a stronger partner to share the scary leads. From the look of the topo I had completed most of the hard leads before. My two concerns were the runout seventh pitch and hauling up the chimneys and corners in the upper part of the route. Did I ever underestimate this route!

We left town on Friday night as usual and slept outside the valley. We prepared everything the night before to help us with an early start and we hiking into the base before 6 a.m. on Saturday. We decided on leading in short blocks. I wanted the seventh pitch so I would lead the first three, the next three going to the Loobster and then back to me.

Some people say that Yosemite is too crowded and wonder how I can go there so often. These people don't understand how I get away from the crowds. In our two days in Yosemite Valley we only saw four other people close enough to recognize. Two at the road and two later at the base of the climb. What crowds?

I struggled up the familiar first pitch via headlamp as it was still dark and hauled the bag. After some confusion about whether to jumar or free climb, Lou joined me at the belay and I led off to the nice ledge at the top of the second pitch. Now the first problem of the day hit us. While trying to swing the haul line out onto the face for easier hauling, Lou's headlamp got knocked off, fell all the way to the ground, and, remarkably, turned on. Lou yells the situation up to me and I respond with,"What do you want to do?" Irrationally I hoped that he would want to continue on, but of course his response was "I want to go down and get it."

I dropped the haul line for Lou to use to rappel back to the ground. I should have hauled the bag first. Oops. Lou then rappelled down 30 feet before remembering he didn't have the jumars with him. He batmanned up the rope, but he had gone down further it would have been difficult getting back up. When he returned to the top of the pitch he had to jumar up to me to give me the haul line so I could haul the bag. Jeesh! Not a good start

The next went smoothly except for the 15 foot fall I took at the crux. I was closer this time, but still had to stand in a sling to get by. Lou followed and now it was his turn to lead. The fourth pitch also went smooth and I didn't think the pitch was nearly as hard or runout this time - familiarity and following sure helps.

Our second problem occurred on the very difficult fifth pitch. This pitch has a rope-eating flake on it that kept grabbing Lou's rope. He eventually had to return to the flake and place protection near it to prevent the rope from snagging. On a new topo this pitch is rated 5.10a.

Now it was the Loobster's turn to take a leader fall. He was leading out from the top of the poor fifth belay, laybacking off a thin seam with no protection as yet. Suddenly one hand pulled off and he pivoted out facing towards me. The moment was frozen as he said, "Got me?" quite calmly. So calmly in fact that I expected him to add "I will be heading down now to check out the condition of the bottom of the haul bag" before screaming by me and out of site behind the bag. I answered, "Yeah, I got you, you Loobster!"

He hauled himself back up and I talked him through the pitch. Sometimes the Loobster climbs too fast and gets himself into trouble that he cannot climb out of. Being a slow methodical climber certainly has some advantages.

The bag snagged on the haul, but after cleaning the pitch I was lowered down to release it. It was now 11 a.m. and we took a short water break. Pitch seven, the one that turned me back last time, was next.

I completed the dicey traverse left and up to the first and only piece of protection (a fixed pin) in the fifty feet of the pitch. I didn't have much trouble getting from there up to the mantle ledge and hardly paused climbing onto it. Now I was twenty feet above my last piece with no protection around. The easiest way appeared to be left, but I saw a crack straight up that would take protection and I headed toward it. A couple of dicey moves later I had pro! A dicey traverse left led to easier ledges and some confusion. There was suppose to be a bolt at the belay, but I couldn't see any. There was no sign of any protection. This is sort of a general rule on this route. Ledges, but no cracks for pro. Eventually, way to the left and down a bit I spotted a three bolt belay. This belay is very poorly placed and must be part of another route.

But before I went over there I realized that I did not have the haul line clipped to me! Damn! This same problem happened to us on El Cap. I thought I had solved the problem by clipping the haul line to the lead rack, but the Loobster removed it and clipped it to his harness. It was still clipped to his harness. I climbed as far to my right as I could in an attempt to get above the Loobster and lower a rope to him. I dropped a loop but it was apparent that we didn't have enough rope for that. I would have to untie.

Without any protection and perched on a couple of four inch footholds 700 feet off the deck, this prospect did not thrill me, but I had no choice. I put myself on belay so that if I fell I might be able to catch my own fall. The rope was still twenty feet left of Lou so I hauled up the roped, clipped on a few carabiners and heaved it across the face. The Loobster caught it on the first toss and the problem was quickly rectified, but the mistakes were starting to get scary.

The second had been free climbing the pitches so each time he had to wait for the leader to haul before climbing. This slowed us down a bit, but many of these pitches had radical, unprotected traverses that made strict jumaring a scary proposition. Further up on the route we would abandon this tacit when the climbing was more direct.

The next pitch appeared very indistinct. I honestly could not see any hopes for a protectable route anywhere. With doubts, I worked right and upwards on small holds and ledges trying to follow the topo description. About fifty feet out on moderate ground I was able to get a Friend placed. Now I had to descend and work across a dicey traverse before laybacking upwards. The topo description is accurate (no matter how improbable it may look), and the pitch ends on a fairly good ledge but once again no good anchors. I looped a sling over a horn and that was about it.

Lou takes over the lead on the 9th pitch and we find this pitch to be one of the easiest on the route. There was one 5.8 undercling section and the rest went easily. As I cleaned this pitch Lou was vigorously yanking in the slack. He occasionally does this and the rope smacks you in the face each time he pulls in the rope. I've complained about this in the past, but I didn't want to bug him over a small issue. Anyway, just as I reached a piece Lou does another one of his monster rope yanks and mashes the carabiner attached to the piece into my tooth, chipping it. I cuss up at him in anger. What else can go wrong? Fortunately we were almost at the bivy ledge, for we had now given up any hope of climbing further that day.

We took another break at the top of the ninth pitch for we were no longer in a hurry. The next pitch was a horrendous looking "5.8 offwidth flare." Anyone who thinks they can lead 5.8 is welcome to try this pitch. I'd rate it 5.10a. We had one Big Bro with us and this was the first time either of us had used one. I thrashed up the steep slot and didn't feel secure at all. The walls were steep and smooth and I couldn't get in the slot or jam it. After twenty feet of effort, I was wasted and had to hang from a #4 Camalot. Now I placed the Big Bro and fiddled with it for quite awhile and agonized on whether to run the rope inside the Big Bro or outside it. Eventually I moved on and finished the offwidth portion of the pitch.

A little further up you have to move off the route and climb a loose, overgrown dihedral to a the start of the Powell-Reed ledges -- another typical DNB ledge except that it is really loose. There is a single rusty old bolt for an anchor and it is poorly placed to the side of the ledge. Eventually I found a placement for a Camalot about ten feet higher and placed it underneath a flake that appeared okay but sounded horrendous. I didn't like it at all because both pieces where slightly right of the ledge. Nevertheless, things went okay and Lou soon joined me.

We couldn't possible stay here on this loose, narrow ledge. We would have trouble just sitting down. So Lou moved left along the ledge another 100 feet and found a couple of bivy spots. One was pretty flat and the other had a fairly steep slant to it, but would suffice. It was 4 p.m. and we had plenty of time to enjoy our position. We strung a hundred feet of rope further along the ledge and clipped in with tethers so that we could move around a bit. We made the furthest extreme the bathroom.

The weather had been threatening a bit, but the clouds weren't that dark so we thought we would survive. Sure enough the rain hit us, but didn't last long and wasn't much more than a drizzle. We pulled out our thin, half pads (packing material) and our 40 degree overbags. This turned out to be a bit light as we were both cold for most of the night. We ate our sandwiches and drank heartily from out ten quart supply of water -- we didn't drink much during the day.

The next morning we got a late start and weren't climbing until 7:30. We definitely thought the second day would be easier. There were fewer hard pitches (bullshit) and fewer pitches in general so we were too lackadaisical. We would pay for this mistake later in the day.

To start with we needed to get all our gear packed and back to the end of the ledge. Then I rappeled down, swung over into the DNB crack system, climbed up and set up a belay. Lou came over and started leading the next pitch. This pitch is rated 5.7, but it is very long, strenuous and wide. Sometimes a squeeze chimney, sometimes an offwidth and it finishes as a steep stemming/jamming problem. Lou took quite awhile on this pitch and I think it intimidated him. I self belayed myself up most of this pitch while pushing the haulbag whenever it got stuck.

At the belay Lou tells me that he doesn't feel that well. Translation: "You lead this next pitch." The next one was a devious 5.9 pitch and it wasn't obvious how to proceed. Once again the topo is fairly accurate. This pitch starts by standing on a loose flake and placing a small stopper. Then I moved left on very thin face moves back into the main crack system. From here the climb continues up a loose dihedral where protection is sparse due to the dubious quality of the rock. A couple of very strenuous traverses are made back right on small holds and nonexistent footholds. Eventually I reach a hanging belay near a bush and place three friends for protection.

The haulbag gets stuck again and will continue to need help for the rest of the climb. Rope management is a key issue when hauling from a hanging belay in cramped quarters and I try to keep the ropes organized by coiling one rope over a tree branch.

Next Lou leads around the right and reaches a primo two inch 5.9 jam crack which he follows up to a 5.8 layback and finally a ledge. The climb is finally following a fairly direct line and the second will jug from here on up so that he can help with the haul bag. When I reach the ledge we scope out the route above. The next pitch is suppose to be 4th class and the next, 5.6. What a joke. The next pitch is actually a very challenging, hard to protect 5.7/5.8 offwidth/flare.

But before Lou started up that pitch, we heard a fluttering sound. Numerous times during the climb we were startled by an entire flock of birds swooping right by us, this had a similar sound and we looked for the birds. Whoosh! a big rock zipped on by us and we could see another one, two or three feet across heading right at us. "Duck!" yelled Loobster and he buried his head beneath his hands. I knew ducking wouldn't help me if this thing hit me so I watched it in order to dodge it. The rock smashed into the wall about 40 feet above us and I covered up as fragments showered us.

The acrid smell of burnt rock filled my nostrils as I looked up to see if the coast was clear. My adrenal glands had just pumped an overdose into my bloodstream and I let out a monster yell, "FUCK!!!!!" It was a release, but mostly a signal to anyone above who might have knocked off this rock. I wanted to let them know there were people down here. I never did see or hear anyone and no more rocks came our way.

Lou led the "4th class" joke and the next pitch. The second pitch he did looked very difficult and it was the second time we used the Big Bro. He established himself at a very cramped belay anchored to a large tree with only a stance to stand on. I say the pitches "looked" difficult because I didn't climb them, but they were quite difficult to jug because you had to be careful not to "fall" into the offwidth. What a pain!

The Loobster's leading work was now done and it was up to me to finish the last few pitches. The first one is rated 5.7 and that might be an accurate rating if you believe the other ratings, but it certainly wasn't easy. It was about 150 feet of steep jamming and offwidth climbing. The pitch ended on ledge with only a single crack for protection and I had only one piece left that would fit the 2" crack. I also slung a chockstone, but the stone continuously moved and did not inspire confidence.

The next pitch was at first glance, the most disheartening pitch I have seen. As I bridged across into the chimney system I felt I was entering hell itself! Okay, it wasn't that bad, but in my fatigued state I doubted whether I could ascend the unprotected, flared, squeeze chimney. Flared chimneys are quite scary. They are difficult to climb and offer no security. I used the following technique: cram your left side as deep in as possible and scrap around like a madman for an arm bar; dangle your left leg useless and use your right leg in a tenuous foot/knee chimney bar that threatens to slip outward at any moment. Then inch painfully up the slot trying to ignore the increasing runout until you can place your only #4 Camalot. This technique continued for the length of the 150 foot pitch broken only by the four chockstones that served as overhangs in the chimney. Oh, what joy.

Lou followed and we now needed to go "100 feet to the Kat Walk"! This is total crap! I lead up another 100 feet of 4th class terrain and it put me at the base of a vertical wall with a hand crack. After bringing Lou up, I climbed the crack to another big ledge, but no sign of the Kat Walk. I tried climbing the loose wall above and got into trouble 50 feet up as the wall turned into a loose talus block. I was able to reverse myself back to the ledge. I looked left and right and then gave up and brought Lou up. I needed to eat. In the last 22 hours I had only consumed a single breakfast bar that I ate that morning, It was now 4:40 p.m. and we had just finished the DNB, but had a long way to go to get down.

After gorging ourselves on the rest of our food, the Loobster descended down to the left to find the route. He returns after awhile with no luck. Now I descend to search again. I end up doing some tricky climbing across and up and then back until I am right above Lou and we have found the way to the Kat Walk. I climb back down to the Loobster and put the haulbag on my back. It will be impossible to haul it from now on. Lou takes all the gear and the spare rope and leads the way. We remain roped together on a short line and work our way along the very exposed and tricky Kat Walk traverse. By now we are racing the sun. We must get to the descent gully before darkness or we will spend another night up here.

We work our way to the top of the gully and are desperately trying to get to the rappels before darkness. I am leading the way now and urging Lou on. We downclimb around the first rappel, but then darkness descends on us. I dump the haulbag and start emptying it in search of the headlamps. The Loobster discovers that his headlamp battery has split in two and is not functioning. It is amazing that it worked at all the night before. Mine still works though and with it we find the final rappel and eventually grope our way back to the car by 8:30 p.m. I don't get to bed that night until 1 a.m. after the long drive back to San Jose. What a weekend.

You have heard the expression that "it isn't over 'til the fat lady sings"? Well, on the DNB she doesn't do any singing until the top. Actually, we didn't hear a peep out of her until we had found the Kat Walk descent. In summary, this maybe be the hardest climb I have ever done. We spent 10 1/2 hours climbing on the first day and 9 hours on the second day (not including the four hour descent.) Half Dome only took us 20 hours of climbing to do. But we didn't haul up Half Dome and hauling on the DNB is a monstrous chore. The Loobster and I have also done the North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock and that route only took us 11 hours car-to-car. The DNB is in a different league.

In retrosect, the crux 5.10b pitch, which is quite difficult, is one of the easiest pitches on the route. It has a runout section, but it doesn't take long to lead and it is easy to get past the mantle on aid. The run-out nature of this route wore me down. That and the frequent wide pitches. There are offwidths or squeeze chimneys on the 1st, 10th, 11th, and 14th thru 17th pitches. In my beaten down state on the second day, the 17th pitch was the crux pitch of the route and it is only 5.8. The next hardest was either the devious 12th pitch or super sandbag 10th pitch.

There is a new route called the Ho Chi Min Trail (5.10c, put up by friend Clint Cummins) that splits off from the DNB at pitch six. I wouldn't be surprised if this route is easier despite the more difficult rating (I need to do this route.) If you think you are a confident 5.9/5.10a leader try the 10th and 17th pitches of this route – they’re full value pitches. An incredible struggle, but also an incredible climb. I am in awe of first ascensionists. Very bold.