benclimbsthings

Pre Warning: We didn’t really get any photos.

I often find it hard to sleep the night before a big route, especially if it has a fierce reputation. The night before the Dru however, I was working, so that wasn’t really a problem.

Straight from work, I drove to pick up my partner. After a few attempts phoning Ruby awake, the locked front door left only one option. Standing on the handrail outside the door, I managed to reach the balcony and pull up the railings. I jokingly thought that will be the hardest I pull all day, I was so very wrong. I woke Ruby’s housemate Adria, who, looking slightly confused, let me in. Ruby looked surprised to see me standing over her as she woke up, but quickly realised what had happened. Cursing her alarm, we got out sharpish and made it back to the hotel for some breakfast.

First lift just missed, we started the approach from Grand Montet, sure that this time we would get the entry to the Dru couloir right. Coming over the Petit Vert ridge, we were once again not in the right place. We had approached the Dru the week before, but we left the following morning cold and soaking wet, full of lessons learned about winter bivvying. This time we were going to get straight on the route as soon as we arrived. We made it to the base of the route in good time, and with all afternoon to make it the the niche, we were feeling pretty confident. Ruby agreed to lead off, as I would take over when things got a bit steeper. Initially, things didn’t go to plan. After a few meters of climbing, Ruby’s hands had frozen and I had to lower her down. 10 minutes of child birthing hot-aches later, I set off to lead through the first pitch, without the rack. I came back, picked up some gear and, finally, we started up the Pierre-Allain.

Initially, there was a lot of loose snow. This made the climbing slow going and meant climbing with axes and crampons, but we’d accounted for a bit of this so we merrily pitched the first pitch and when Ruby swung through to lead, we simuled up the rest of the ramp and through the first snow field. From here, we had hoped we would be able to ditch crampons and climb with our hands, even if they had to be gloved. But alas, the aspect of the route meant it had been in shielded from the sun, whilst the rock around had been cleared. This meant the axes had to stay out, as did the crampons, and it was back to clearing snow back to loose rock, which we then hooked our way up, inch by inch. The climbing, whilst not what he had anticipated, was thuggy and enjoyable, but was putting up some resistance. We steadily pitched our way along, clearing snow all the way as the clock ran down.

Up ahead, I could see the chimney pitch we had heard so much about. Assuring Ruby that it would be fine, I’d got some experience chimney climbing in the states, I shuffled along the ledge traverse and into the chimney. To get into the chimney, the rucksack had to come off and was clipped to an extender, so it was suspended just bellow my feet. The chimney proved to be fairly had work, mostly as I still had crampons on, which gave my heels no purchase agains the back wall, causing me to slip down a couple of feet on a few instances. Eventually, with bruised knees, I slithered out of the chimney and made it to the belay. On second, Ruby had a pretty hard time. I pulled hard on the rope to help out as much as I could and eventually the Dutch swearing got louder until I could see a helmet emerging. An afternoon of scratchy mixed climbing with a big bag on had clearly taken a lot out of Ruby and the chimney looked like a final nail in the coffin. It was getting late and from here we would be committed to climbing through to the niche as rockfall became a serious risk. Looking around at our current position, the small ledge was protected from above and seemed to be large enough for us to sit down.

We started by digging out a double sized bucket seat in the snow on the ledge and strung some rope between a second anchor to secure our bags and gear. After some time, hesitantly laying roll mats and edging our feet out of boots, we were in our bags, sitting upright, looking out over the massifs, feel dangling down into space. Ruby commented that it was like being in space, if you let go of anything, it would just drift away and you’d never see it again. I also noted that anything you didn’t keep warm, froze. Its amazing what you can learn from books and youtube videos, it was only now I told Ruby I’d never actually set up a seated bivvy like this before, but it seemed to have worked out well enough. Holding the stove in my hands, I made tea, then dinner and then we turned off our head torches and stared out over the valley. We could still see the dotted track in the snow far bellow from our approach. For the first time all day, we sat still and soaked in our situation. The clear sky illuminated the mountains with a blue-sliver glow and the whole of the Rouge seemed to rest bellow us. Trying not to slip out of my little seat*, the cliff dropping away under my feet for some 400m into the darkness, it felt like an enlightening moment. I had wondered how I would fair on a big winter route, and while we hadn’t come to try a fully wintered route, thats what we were on. I’d done some big rock routes before, sure, but out here there seemed to be a lot more to deal with. However, here I felt serenely content and surprisingly in control for such a new experience. Eventually, tiredness took ahold of my eyelids and drew the night to a close.

The next day, we reversed our bedding down procedure and I began my shuffle out along the ledge of the Lambert crack pitch.

Until now, the route had followed a line of weakness climbing up and right, which seemed at all times to be recessed slightly, meaning it received little sun compared to its surroundings. This pitch was no different. While all around the rock seems clear, sitting above my head, blocking the way forward, 100L of snow protruded out from a recess in the cracked rock. After a couple of steep hooks, I was high enough to start attacking it with my axe. Chopping small chunks off the bottom, I began to get pumped. I clipped into a wire and resumed my assault on the snow plug, but I still couldn’t reach high enough. I slipped my foot into a sling I’d clipped to the same wire and mantled up, stepping as high as i could on the sling. Now I had a better reach. I hacked at the sides of the snow but nothing came of it. I took one big swing into the middle of the white boulder which instantly freed the entire block causing it to drop smartly onto my head. It broke into smaller chunks, all of which seemed to go straight down my hood and into my jacket. Yet another lesson leant for next time, hood up. With the snow gone, I found some more hooks and hauled myself to the belay.

The following pitch proved just as tricky. A blank corner pitch made for difficult climbing in crampons, only made a bit easier with the aid of someones stuck ropes which helped pull through a couple of moves. I would be very careful pulling on these as they are just stuck in the snow and ice so may be loose very soon. In hindsight, we should have cut these ropes down. By now, I could see the energy fading in Ruby, but we still had some climbing to do till we were out of the rock fall zone below the niche. I lead as fast as I could across some easier ground and then swung Ruby onto lead, as she’d been seconding since mid afternoon the previous day. We could see the niche, so I told her just to keep going till she was across it, then I’d come across and we could have a discussion about what to do. When we got across the niche, it was clear that getting this far, in these conditions had pushed Ruby to the limit, and having only slept 3 hours over 2 nights, I wasn’t sure I had enough brain power for both of us. We were also slow, and slowing down, it was now midday on the second day and we were still a pitch below where we’d hoped to bivy on the first night. So we decided to bail. I had already checked out the American Direct as a potential escape option so I got my phone out to do some snooping. With my phone playing up, we got in contact with the PGHM who sent us some rough directions to an abseil down the west face of the Dru. Whilst we appreciated the help, these directions ended up proving confusing, so in the end they offered us a lift. Ruby has suffered heavily in the past from a bodged abseil and looking at the two spinning 5mm bolts we found where it seemed most likely the PGHM was sending us, I was also not so keen to lob myself off a 500m sheer drop in the hope there would be another anchor in 60m. An hour or so later, we were plucked from the face, suspended on a wire, 1000m in the air.

Walking into Le Praz from the heli pad, to get a lift from Seamus, any slight feelings of sadness about not finishing the route were crushed under the satisfaction the last 2 days of climbing had brought. To say it was a learning experience would be an understatement and it has given me a great deal of confidence for trying more big winter lines. Although I could see Ruby looked a bit disappointed that she had burnt out, seeing how hard she had pushed, and for how long was inspirational, and I’m not sure I would have found as much energy to keep hacking away snow if it hadn’t been for the constant psyche coming from the belay. I also know that this isn’t the end of the story. Somewhere right now, theres a room being filled with Dutch swearing as a beam creaks from the strain of pull-ups and the additional weight of a loaded rucksack. We will be back.

*Note for my Mum: We were still attached to the wall with a rope, so sliding off the bivy would just be uncomfortable.

Good weather and a still a night free from work. This time we are going climbing. Something big. “Hey Ben, check out this line.”

Packing skis into the car the next morning did feel a bit like a cop out but the conditions favoured skiing and if theres one thing I’ve learnt this season is that its often best to plan with the conditions not against them. We had watched a video of the route the night before, putting it up on the big screen at the bar. The two lads in the video joked about taking a lump of wood to bury as a snow anchor for the abseil in the middle. So with a branch of our own, we got in the queue for the Midi for a shot at the north face of the Noire.

 

The Valleé Blanche approach ski was crusty making for tricky skiing, especially with a wooden mast lolling around on the outside of my bag. Not the most confidence inspiring  start to the day. We tracked round to the (skier’s) right bank of the glacier, slipped skins on and followed two lads towards our route. As we got closer, we realised that these guys were doing the same route as us and later found out it was Dave Searle and Joel Evans. We followed them up a couloir to the left of the suggested approach to cut out the top section of the route as it had been bare ice a few days before.

To our amazement, the couloir had been filled with the much sought after but seldom found, TV Mountain névé. Climbing this sweaky cheese-snow was a delight, just when I was beginning to think they had been adding sound effects into those videos. After a bit of sugar snow at the top, we turned the ridge to be greeted by the jackpot. Light fluffy powder, the best snow we’d seen in a long time. After a short, deep traverse, it was time to click into skis. Alex and I both looked down the face with equal parts excitement and dread. Before too much was said, Alex slid off and put in the first turn. From here it was all smiles. Perfect snow at a constant 40 degrees, with a bit of exposure thrown in for good measure. We whooped down the face as the Mer de Glace rose steadily out of the valley to meet us. All too quickly, it was all over and it was time to step out of the shadow of the mountain. All that was left was the supposed abseil and a final slope to regain the Valleé Blanche. Gingerly approaching the edge of the abseil, we could see a way through, and having recently watched Vivian Buchez in Downside Up, I was keen to keep the rope stowed. We slid through without any trouble and blasted down the valley.

Best day ever.

After an amazing day climbing M6 Solar, everything felt a little too comfortable. In the words of Nick Bullock, it was ‘time to get scared’.

After the now standard circus of queueing, queueing and re-queuing for the midi lift, boarding passes and then the lift again, we edged passed a small Asian woman who was attempting to fight the lift attendant for a place in the queue, refusing to get a boarding pass. We watched as she returned to the queue with a pass and attempted to hit the the attendant, only to be picked up by her jacket and dropped into a crumpled heap in the queue. All very amusing, until Street Fighter herself got on the lift right next to us.

Some saucy arête and ski action later and we are walking into Scotch on the Rocks. One of the most pleasing things about trying harder routes (apart from getting the route to yourself), is the gentle convergence of the date of the first ascent with present day. Scotch on the Rocks is a Stevie Haston line from the 90’s and at M7, would be the hardest moves we’d ever tried on the mountain. The first challenge proved to be the approach. In topos, this is described as either trivial climbing at grade 2 or not mentioned at all. We could see how, with ice, how this could be the case, however, faced with 5-10m of blank unprotected slab, we felt a little short changed. After a couple of probing attempts, I noodled my way through several gear-less metres of shallow mono pockets and thin puddles of ice no larger in diameter than a tennis ball, and we were back in business.

As I’d already lead a stretch, Luke geared up and made for the first pitch. Again, pictures suggest that with ice, this would have been a little easier. With not so much as a single ice cube in sight, Luke raked at the loose soil-y cracks and pedalled crampons up the chimney till he made the belay. Luke probably climbed it more gracefully and carefully than this on lead, but it’s what I did on second so lets go with it. With one more pitch till the crux pitch, and talk already turning to Luke’s shift that evening, Luke again took the lead, which would put me onto the crux pitch. As daintily as before, Luke balanced his way up a decidedly ice free chimney, only marginally easier than the last. By the time I’d made it to the belay, I was starting to feel a little anxious.

I hadn’t eaten or slept enough the night before and my mind was still a whirl with emotions attached to personal events over the previous week and of my return to the UK the next day. After a short chat with Luke, I had some time to breathe deeply and regain focus. From the belay, we could see a couple of pitons that promised respite for the mind so I decided I had to give it a go. As soon as I stepped off the belay, everything slipped from my mind like grease from Barry Scott. Climbing was automatic and I was soon passed the first piton and onto the second. Here the flaring off width rears up and feet become sparse and inconveniently orientated. With a decent hand jam, I reached behind my head with a quick draw, Luke guiding my hand in with verbal cues, and clipped the second and last piton. From here it was possible to stretch up and reach a thin but good hook. I let my body fall slowly out of the crack until I hung beneath the axe. Here, next to the piton, one hand on the axe, one foot on a ledge, I let my body hang out like a flag in the breeze, soaking in the exposure. I this moment I was far calmer and more composed than I had clipped into the belay. A few thin hooks and some lofty bridging moves brought me to a chockstone at the top of the crack. From here there were some burly but secure moves, but, spurred on by my progress thus far, It didn’t take long till I was over the chockstone and within a few easy moves of the belay.

From here, we decided to abseil off. Luke had to get back for work, and we’d both completed our aim of pulling hard and getting scared. The crux pitch was what we had really come for and it hadn’t disappointed, so soon we were back to the floor and onto our skis, wondering if we would bump into Tekken 2 again in the queue for the train down.

I found the clarity I had gained from just that short section of climbing lasted far longer than the climbing itself. It’s said often that climbers don’t battle for victory against the mountains but victory against themselves, and today I’d come out on top, which felt good.

On the flight home, I thought about seeing my family again, and in particular the potential lead ballon that I planned on doing another winter in Chamonix. I stared at the back of the EasyJet headrest in front of me. It proclaimed that with them one could save ‘Time and Money’. As my eyes crossed out of focus, I watched as ‘Time’ and ‘Money’ swapped places on the ad. “Woah, deep”, I thought, just before I passed out.

 

Having recently received a rather painful lesson in skiing blind over features, it was good to be back on my feet and to have a chance to sharpen my axes against some granite.

It seems that all but the most exceptionally well organised days are conceived of and planned late into the evening of the night before. This was no exception. Arriving late in the bar, there were still too many punters around to discuss the itinerary for the next day, so I waited in the corner, sipping a pint and chatting rubbish with Alex, Sam and Jack. Eventually the crowds clear and I’m able to wave a guidebook in front of Ruby’s face and set a rendezvous for the morning, before she has to serve someone else. Back at the chalet, I find Seamus also packing a bag for the first lift, and when he adds that Luke may also ski passed at some point in the afternoon, it seems the stars may just align for 3 way Valleé Balnche collision.

Early next morning, I shovel my laid out kit into a bag and throw it into the back of Wilson, accompanied by some skis. Arriving only 5 mins late to pick up Ruby, we turn up as planned at the Midi. Ruby gets in the queue for a ticket. As we wait for the first lift, the info board announces everyone will need a boarding pass. Luckily, Ruby has been in the ticket queue for a while now, and as Seamus and Co arrive just in time for Ruby to grab a large stash of passes and we move swiftly from the back to the front of the queue and onto the second lift. Arrete completed, skis are clipped on and we slide gracelessly down the gentle slopes of the Valleé Blanche to the base of M6 Solar, much easier than walking.

Ruby leads off first with serious fortitude (by her own admittance, dry mixed climbing is something fairly new to her), trailing a steady stream of self encouragement. “Well, I’ll try this”, “Okay Ruby, here we go” and “I’m not sure if this works, but I’ll try” echo down as she climbs a creative line to the belay at a speedy pace. I whizz through next, mostly climbing with my hands, but occasionally using an axe as a cheat stick to latch a hold that’s too far for my fingers to reach. Ruby then swings by again, climbing until an obvious steepening, which I assume is the crux. The week before, whilst climbing a neighbouring route (Star Acadamixté), Alex and I witnessed a fully grown man reduced to loud sobbing tears by this section, eventually admitting defeat and descending, so I was quite excited to give it a go. After a few thin moves I was wedged into the corner, making the most of the perfect succession of ledges for the front points of my crampons. Eventually the gear ran out leaving a nice airy stretch to finish, before the angle eased off and gave way to a nice ledge. From here there was another short corner system that lead up to the last belay. Ruby seconded through hot aches and lead into the sun, where she sat, perched on the ridge, defrosting. From here, a short pitch of alpine faffage brought us over onto the north side of the Pointe Lachenal ridge. As I popped my head over the ridge to gain a view of the other side, I was surprised to see Seamus strolling passed having done the traverse. I called from behind my natural battlements, “Ahh, ’tis yourself”. Seamus swung round in surprise as I emerged into view. We walked back to find Luke sunning himself by the skis. We had managed to pull off the logistically improbable. Skiing down the valley together, bags loaded with ropes and gear, body tingling from perfect dose of adventure for a day in the sun, it was hard to imagine being more content.

Sitting out on the terrace of the bar, Panachés flowing, nothing needed to be said. The contented sighs said it all. Luke was free the next day, so naturally we started talking about trying something a little steeper.

The Sun has certainly been shining in Chamonix this week and while it might not be great for the snow, there are still things to do.

Having seen Alex preparing to abseil into Cunningham couloir from the Midi station, witnessing his raw excitement and trepidation, I was keen to get stuck in as soon as possible. A couple of days later I was calling around early in the morning, trying to find a partner to get up the Midi and have a look. I eventually got a bite from Joe, a friend of a housemate who I’d been skiing with the day before. After the usual return trips to houses to pick up forgotten essentials, we made it in good time up the cable car and out onto the bridge. What became instantly apparent was the wind. The air was being forced through the gap of rock that the bridge crosses and was hammering hard. After some discussion, we decided to have a go, I could at least ascend the rope if I got down and the wind was still too bad.

After a first attempt at throwing the ropes down ended in the rope getting pinned to the wall and paying out upwards into the air, we waited for a gap in the wind and down they went. Untangling the ropes from where the wind had carried them, I made it to the first anchor and to my surprise, the wind was far less noticeable. I waved up at Joe to let him know he could come down. At the anchor, we had a quick chat about the plan and then we pulled the ropes. No way back now. At this point we were like children that had just gotten away with something naughty. From the bridge, it didn’t look like a good idea, but here we were, sheltered from the wind, the couloir to ourselves. After a couple more abs, we’d made it to the softer snow and it was time to ski. We carefully clicked in and stowed the ropes. Joe went first, jumping and sliding till the angle gave way slightly. From here we could charge down, linking turns until we hit the Glacier Rond. I saw that Joe had become bogged down on the traverse in the deep snow, so I carried some extra speed and whizzed across the glacier until the snow rode up over my boots and I too was stuck in the mud. We whooped with glee, we had done it, but a quick look around made it clear we wern’t out of the woods yet. After all, we were still half way up the Midi north face. As Joe shuffled across the glacier towards the exit couloir, it became obvious that we weren’t going to make it on skis. We dug in and switched back to crampons and axes. I tied in and lead off across the short ice sheet separating us from the head of the exit couloir. After some faffing, cursing at my blunt crampons and several different thoughts about how to get both walking axes back to Joe. I’d made it across, slung a block and Joe followed. While the exposure and situation of the Cunningham couloir could not be equalled by the Rond exit couloir, the quality of the skiing made up the difference. Completely untracked, wide enough not to worry too much about re arranging my teeth on the walls and deep enough to justify bringing my longer, heavier, wider skis and all to ourselves. We screamed the whole way down, again like children, but now as if we were breaking out of school for the summer holidays. The sense of full body euphoria lasted for few days.

With a few few days off still to go before I was back in the hotel, I floated the idea of a trip to Cogne to Ruby, one of the most psyched climbers I’ve ever met. She was instantly on board so we packed up Wilson with a few supplies and some bedding and set off late one night. “Shit!….Crap, Shit, Shit, Balls!”. I’d forgotten my boots. 5 mins outside Cogne I had just realised that all I had to wear on my feel were some trainers with holes in the bottom. After a few phone calls and a bit of smart phone cheating, I found somewhere to rent boots from the following morning, so we drove on to find a comfy lay-by to call home for the night.

The next morning we decided to indulge in some local Italian culture, so after a slightly late start, we drank coffee and read the guide book until we had worked out where would be best to go climbing that day. The approach path has changed slightly since the book was written, so after we ended up unable to continue on our chosen side of the valley, we aimed for the nearest ice we could see and started climbing Thoule. It was very wet and had clearly been in the sun for some time. As a British climber, I’m well aware of the illustrious ‘sticky damp’ conditions that can miraculously occur, particularly on limestone. I was unaware however, that ice had a similar potential. With axes biting in easily, it was like climbing cheese. Well, like climbing cheese whilst taking an icy shower. After a couple of nice pitches, we bailed short of the finish due to thin ice, giving me a chance to try an abalakolv thread which I miraculously created perfectly on just the second go. That night we nibbled anti pesto and sipped beer, debating what to try the next day. Excited with our choice, we set an alarm to give us an early start so that we would hopefully beat the crowds to Repentance.

We were woken by the sunshine as it pierced the film of ice that had formed on Wilson’s windows in the night. My phone had frozen and died in the night, so no alarm, and no Repentance. Not a problem though as we already had a back up plan, so we finished the rest of our breakfast brioche and walked in for Sogno di Patagonia. The route had been in the shade all morning but just as we arrived the Sun poked its nose round the corner and illuminated the pillar of the first pitch.We decided to get on it as quickly as possible, before the Sun could turn it back into a waterfall. Pulling on, I was feeling confident. I was definitely fitter than I had been thanks to team Ireland dragging my arse for some laps at the EMHM (local climbing wall). I turned my head off and started chipping away at the pillar, axes biting nicely. Eventually, as if someone had flicked a switch, my forearms filled with an acid burning sensation. I had merrily sailed straight into ‘flash pump’ and holding on was suddenly more of a conscious effort. Trying to rest between moves, I managed to make slow but steady progress until I hit some rotten ice. To the top, the ice was severely sun effected and unclimbable. After a few deep breaths and call of ‘watch me here’, I managed to swing round to the right where the ice was better, and I’d soon made it onto the top and to the belay. Rubes followed solidly, filling the air with a constant rhythm of “Tak, tak, tak” as she too picked her way up. From here, four more easier pitches took us to the top, climbing mostly in the shade provided by a narrow gulley. Having conquered the first, crux, pitch, the rest of the route was a chance to really enjoy the situation and quality of the climb. By the time we had returned to the base of the route, the Sun was taking its toll, not just on the melting ice but on us too. Looking across at Ruby, her face had started to take on the properties of her name. I couldn’t laugh thought as I could feel the same happening to me. We trundled back to the car and drove slowly back through Italy in search of pizza and beer. While the conditions may not have been completely ideal for the ice, it was a lot of fun climbing with someone whose psyche couldn’t be dampened by living in a lay-by, eating food that I had cooked, a deflating airbed, forgotten boots, probably fewer ice screws than we needed, sunburn and did I mention eating food that I cooked… Cogne, we will be back, but maybe next time I’ll bring sunglasses (and a Hawaiian shirt).

Gizoogled version.

No sooner had I promised to post more blogage than an anecdotal outing was had.
Trying to sleep as the sun started to appear, I was uncomfortably aware that I still had to pack my bag. My eye lids had hardly closed when my alarm shattered the momentary peace. Sleepily, but somehow franticly, I stuffed a bag with gear and some additional warmth and got out the house just in time to hop in John’s van as it whizzed by to pick me up. I was pretty excited to be out to potentially try my first grade 6 ice fall, the valley classic, Nuit Blanche. As I’d not been climbing with John before, I thought I’d just make sure that he knew this would be a bit of a step up for me, but that I totally ‘backed myself’. This seemed to be news to John as he’d heard from one of my housemates that I had some ice credentials of my own. After a particularly deep yawn, John asked about my sleep, I said about 10 minutes, which he was again surprised to find was not a joke. I was unperturbed, I  was like this when I dragged myself up the Joatnar, and while that didn’t go entirely to plan, it did, at least, go.

On the ski into the crag, I made conversation, asking about John’s plans for the night. I happily told him that I was having my birthday drinks as I was finally off work. This is the equivalent of getting out a large picture of your kids at the start of a horror film. The foreshadowing was plain to see. I would be coming home in the dark.

From the top of the icefall, John started rappelling. He looked confused. He swung about a bit, looking down then leaning back and looking across the crag, then back down again. With a shake of the head, he came back over the icefall and dropped the news that it the ice pillar hadn’t formed properly yet. Not even enough for a single pitch of climbing. After some combined head scratching, we settled on walking along the crag to try and find a small ice crag that John had been to before with a client. After a short time wading through  deep snow, we found an abseil line down a couloir. When this didn’t make it to the bottom of the crag, we decided to down climb the remaining gully which turned out to be made of loose stones and mud covered in a thin veneer of snow, but I managed to save face making it to the bottom without testing my cliff dropping skills, although I recon it would have been possible to stick the landing. We could see another party climbing a large ice fall. One that neither of us recognised. Odd. We sidled over and broke it down into 3 pitches, with John leading first.

In no time, John had lead up the first steep section and onto a ledge and I followed on second, merrily loosing my belay plate in the process. The second pitch looked more sustained than I’d ever lead before, but I was pretty eager for a challenge, so I lined up with the steepest section of the ice and got to work. I was pretty glad for the circuit training session I’d had that week. Letting the pump build slowly, knowing I could control it with the occasional rest, made it a lot easier to stay level headed, and I really enjoyed my lead. Once past the steeper section, I looked up to see that the final steepening looked longer than I’d realised, so to give John the best chance of making it in a pitch, I carried on up to the base of the steepness. Then a ballsup occurred. One of the ropes got snagged and became impossible to pull up, leaving john stuck on the steep section for a while, all the time unable to hear each other. I had assumed he was still at the belay. After a short while, the team next to us, caught us up and I could relay a message through their radio to John. Eventually, John came through on one line, some how freeing the other and we were back in business. I glanced at my watch, okay so I wasn’t going to have time to sleep before my drinks, but I’d still get a shower and some dinner. John set off, straight up the most sustained section of the icefall. While this was clearly fairly within John’s capabilities, I was eager to see how I got on on second. John eventually got himself stuck in a network of large ice ‘ears’ covered in spray ice. It seemed even the slightest graze was enough to dislodge the brittle spray ice layer, which came raining down in chunks, occasionally onto my head. The light spray ice broke readily into tiny pieces as it crashed over my helmet, giving the feel of being the prow of a ship. John was eventually turned back by the maze of ice and found an easier way out traversing to the right. The team to our right had decided on heading back, as they abseiled off, they asked if we knew if it went all the way to the top. At this point morale took a bit of a hit. It was now the time I’d agreed to meet friends for drinks, we were still at least a pitch from the top and now I wasn’t even sure if the top would get us home. I was tired, hungry and cold. But more so than I would usually tolerate with a smile. By the time I had seconded up to John, I was also soaking wet, my down coat becoming a soggy duvet. I tried my best to seem enthused but my broken mind betrayed my low mood and John set about gearing up to try and find a way out. He climbed over the lip and out of sight. It went dark as I fed out slack. I shouted up to see if he could see the top. No answer. I was unsure if it was the acoustics or the limpness of my shout that meant he couldn’t hear, but I decided not to try again. As the rope trickled out, there was a loud call. ‘How much?’, ‘About 20m’ I shouted back. ‘Okay that should be enough’. ‘Can you see the top?’, no reply, I let hope set in for just a moment. The rope continued to slither away, 10m, 5m, 4m, at about 3m of rope left, it stopped. I stared at the rope. It stayed still. A call from the top and everything became a blur, I dismantled the belay at speed and hauled myself up on second. Finally, sweet relief. I could see the top, and knew we’d be heading off the mountain. However, the night wasn’t over. When I got back to our bags, I put my skis on to find that the heel piece on one ski wouldn’t engage, leaving me in a telemark-like set up, leaving only my head torch dieing as the final nail in the coffin, which of course, it did. 3 hours late, I stumbled into the bar in my ski boots and filled myself with beer.

To John, this entire outing could probably be summarised as ‘a bit of an epic’ but through my tired eyes, into my un-rested mind, with the constant promise of drinks with friends in a warm room, this is how my memory of the day was formed. So pinches of salt all round.

Later that week, my old flat mate from London arrived. We got ourselves to the pub for a few drinks. At 1:30am that night, as Will fell asleep on a friends sofa, bolt upright, it was clear things had escalated. I was dubious about our plan to go mixed climbing the following day. However, at 7:30am, Will shook me awake and dragged me to the bus stop so we could get home. We woke Luke up, who looked as surprised that we were home as I was. We all shovelled in some scrambled egg and before anyone could see straight, we were walking from the lift to the top of the Rive Gauche. We were looking for Highlander, but after a while looking for an abseil anchor, we settled on Happy House, which looked easier to access. The three of use piled onto a ledge big enough for 1 and a half people, swinging from our trad anchor, this is the ‘Scottish Sector’ after all. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t  relived when Luke won the game of rock, paper, scissors for the lead. There was a real chance I would throw up if I had to pull hard. Luke lead off admirably, clearing snow off ledges to find turf placements. Pulling into the crack initially went well, progress was steady, even if Luke was producing an interesting soundtrack of effort noises. Suddenly, Luke came whipping off. Undeterred he pulled back on, making it a bit higher before coming off again, this time pulling a chock stone out. After a short rest Luke was back on it again, making steady progress. The soundtrack was starting to crescendo until Luke stopped and looked down, saying “I think I might have to come down, I’m completely spent”. Will and I looked at each other with the same facial expression. “Nah, go on mate, you’re doing really well”, we both called back in unison. To our surprise, Luke immediately okayed the advice and was up and away, moving faster than ever. Eventually, Luke made it to a bulge, the final crux. Having just clipped a bulldog that someone had been kind enough to leave behind for us, Luke swung about a bit checking out the various potential ways over the bulge, eventually settling on the option that looked steepest to us at the belay. After a couple of attempts, Luke made it over the bulge and we cheered from the belay. While Luke was now out of sight, we could still hear him say that it wasn’t over yet. “Very loose”. There were some new vocals to add to the soundtrack including a particularly shrill squeal which was accompanied but some rubble raining down from where Luke was situated and Luke’s heel become briefly visible as he slipped down the route.

On second, the route was really enjoyable, and gave me a chance to properly road test my new (or at least, new to me) tools which did the business. It sounded like it was definitely a  step up for Will, but a learning experience too no doubt.

It seems like eons have past since I last wrote up any of my goings on. I’m not sure if my perception of what counts a significant adventure has shifted or if its just because I haven’t managed anything worth writing home about but I didn’t feel like there had been much to share. However, its about time i got back in the game so I’m going to go through a few hi-lights so that the slate is clean, and I know that my blog still works.

Since moving to Chamonix, its fair to say that I have neglected my rock climbing. Looking back, I was probably too focused on trying to climb big mixed routes in the summer (and autumn). Coming back after some time away felt like remembering I had a third arm that I’d forgotten about. It was so obvious, when theres not snow or ice, then theres rock. No need to sulk inside, mopping up salty tears with a Midnight Express sandwich, get out and find some cliffs to fall off. This process of rediscovery began thanks to Will who first asked if I wanted to get out and climb Super Dupont on the south face of the Midi. I’d wanted to try it for ages, but didn’t really feel in good shape for it, so obviously I said yes and I spent the next day puffing hard and lightly soiling my pants. On one pumpy layback pitch in particular, I became so full of lactic acid that I was only attached to the rock by my denial of my own weakness. The route was pretty stunning and takes a far more direct line than the Rebuffat and once near the top and through the difficulties, we abbed back to the glacier and strolled round to the lift station. Since then, Will has managed to drag me out between shifts for some sleepy sport climbing including a trip to La Maladière which felt a bit like I’d become trapped in a dream. It was pretty hard to believe that someone had air dropped and enormous section of Verdon-esque cliffage round the corner from my house and I didn’t know about it. Although its a bit cold now to get out for rock, in the future I’m definitely going to make sure I keep getting out, even if just to give the legs a rest.

Since I last wrote, it has gotten cold. Like ‘don’t put a carabiner in your mouth’ kind of cold. While the larger faces still don’t seem to have much ice forming on them, Tom and I still managed a smash and grab hit on the north face of the Tour Ronde which gave me a good chance to try climbing in ski boots. Even though it was our fall back plan (as the Rubuffat gully was completely bare), it turned out to be a pretty nice day out, however, I was still pretty keen for something a bit steeper. I’ve wanted to climb at the Rivé Gauche since the moment I saw a video of Nick Bullock and Jeff Mercier climbing there. Never has a video made my hands sweat more. Pure ice climbing is not something I’d done a lot of, but after a couple of days farting around on some of the WI4’s at the top of the crag, I felt like I was starting to get a bit more comfortable, but I still wanted to get some something dry and scratchy. Having flicked though the Bateau book, Bringing home the Bacon seemed like a good choice for an exciting day out. After a bit of a detour to collect an ice screw, Luke and I waded across the the base of the route. Looked like a pretty obvious line. There was a lot of loose snow to start, which after clearing revealed a pretty bare ramp up to the base of the crack. After teetering about on some little edges I was into the crack and figured I’d be away. Unfortunately the crack was quite flared (normally how I like it) and was full of loose stones. O well, supposed to be the easiest pitch. After 30 meters or so of breathing a lot more deeply than I’d anticipated, I realised I had run out of gear that would fit in the crack. Looking ahead, it looked like it was going to keep going for another 20 meters at least and I didn’t feel terribly secure climbing a route that was now a fair few kilos lighter since I’d removed some of the looser rocks and flakes. A quick check of the watch also showed that we were quite behind schedule so I lowered down and was pretty happy to be back in the snow. We simuled out of the crag via one of the WI4’s from the previous days and skied back to the car. We will be back.

Since the first snow fall in November, it has been pretty hard to ignore the desire for a day out skiing. In fact, between days of skiing, ski touring and mixed climbing, there really haven’t been many days where I’ve had a good lie in. Ski touring was completely new to me this season but I committed to buying the full set up before I had even moved out in summer. I have regretted nothing. As much as I will always love a day bombing around under the lifts, combining skiing with greater sense of isolation and a bit of a proper mountain feel that comes with skiing out of the resort limits makes for the days you will actually remember. Even the novelty of being able to stroll about in deep snow without sinking too far hasn’t worn off yet. While I’ve been out for a couple of days here and there, the best run so far was out with Sam for the Col de Floria. There were hardly any tracks in front of us and we got a great day skiing in powder while people were still waiting for a storm to come in.

I’m going to try and write more regularly now, but hopefully now the lifts are open and theres been some snow, I’ll have something to write home about.

 

Theres a common trend in climbing blogs, especially those coming from Chamonix, to write about having climbed something and then attach a load of pictures. I’ve not got anything against it and I’m sure it would help my blog appear better in google searches, but I’ve tried to avoid this style for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I’m not climbing hard enough for a route to be worth reporting individually. Secondly, I find that I really enjoy telling the story around the climbing. However, today I had a really awesome day climbing with Tim, and I’m going to tell you all about it.

Finishing my shift at 7am, I changed into my climbing kit and walked straight to the Midi lift station where I tried, and failed, to get a quick snooze in before Tim arrived. On the lift, the only other pair that looked equipped for our route was lead by Jeff Mercier, so we weren’t too worried about getting stuck behind them if they ended up on the same route as us so there was no rush when the doors slid open and let us into the top station. This was my first time abseiling off the bridge of the Midi station. It was just as intimidating as I’d expected.  The loud echoes, steep walls and long free hanging abseil really remind you that if you mess up, you can’t come back the way you got down. After a few more abs, we made it to the base of our route, the Jottnar. I’d been pretty psyched to try this route for a while and it felt a little surreal actually being at the bottom of the route and looking back up to the lift station which looked a long way away.

The first two pitches went reasonably smoothly, both being around Scottish V. Certainly enough to keep me awake. Next was the supposed crux pitch, which I’d volunteered to lead. getting up to the base of the crack seemed fairly comfortable, then, after a few deep breathes, it was game time. Having thought about this pitch a lot before today meant I was possibly a little over psyched. The crack actually proved fairly steady going, but a couple of foot slips made it a bit more exciting and it felt a little less secure than I was expecting. I think if I’d been a bit more relaxed, it would have gone a little smoother. I eventually made it to the point where the route steps left. The topo says a very balance step left. But balance is my middle name, I’ve been climbing slabs all summer, I’m a master of delicate moves… aaaaand its gone wrong. During the move left, one of my axes fell down behind a flake, making it difficult to retrieve till I got onto the ledge. This meant I was left with one snowy, gloveless hand jam while I tried to clear the snow off the ledge with the other axe in my left hand. Once I’d cleared some space, I tried to find somewhen decent to latch my axe for the mantle. I moved my feet up ready to pull onto the ledge when my foot popped, causing my axe placement to rip as well, catching myself with the hand jam and friction of my body on the ledge. In a panic, I stuffed my other hand in the hand jam, by which time both feet were dangling in the air. As my hands began to freeze, they started slipping out of the crack forcing my to doggy paddle into the crack as I desperately thrutched away, trying to get a knee onto the ledge. Just as I was sure I was about to slide off, my knee gained traction and eventually I began moving in the right direction. Pulling onto the ledge, I was a little embarrassed. Defiantly relying a bit on some rock climbing skills there. From here, a short corner section lead to easier ground and the final pitch.

While I was glad to have lead the crux, this pitch looked of a higher quality. Watching Tim climb it really showed me that I still have some experience to gain reading natural features and working out how not to wind up in a pickle. Whist much less physically demanding, the final pitch required a lot more tenacity, something which is defiantly easier on second. When we pulled into the lift station, it felt a bit like a dream, and not just because I would normally be asleep. I was really happy with how I’d climbed and I know if I can improve my foot work and technique a bit, climbing at this grade would feel a lot more comfortable. After a much needed sleep, it was back to work for another night shift. At 23:57. as I was setting up breakfast, my watch bleeped; “You have reached your daily activity goal!” Guess I’ll have to keep it up.

If anyone has read this far to find out about conditions, there was enough ice left in the last pitch for us to climb, wouldn’t take many more climbs to make it a lot harder. Having said that, if there was much more ice, the top pitch would have been a fair bit easier. As for the grade, I’ve not got enough experience to wade in on that one, all I know is that its a lot harder if you have to use your chin when mantling the ledge.

Heavy eyes follow the large stainless steel spoon as it circles, freeing chunks of scrambled egg from the side of the large pan. Its 5am. Having worked 5 nights in a row the week before, I spent my two days off camping out and climbing all day, now I’m back for five more nights. As I slowly collapse into the vat of egg, the steam oven shrieks, telling me its up to temperature, snapping my eyelids back. This is it I tell myself, living the dream.

We are always told that we will suffer great hardship before we can realise our dreams. After a jobless summer of pottering around Chamonix, ticking off summer classics with carefree glee, I’m glad to inform you that I’m making up for lost time. As strange as it may seem, working 5 nights a week (thats 11pm till 7am) has done nothing to dent my psyche for climbing. If anything, the long nights and broken sleep patterns have only reinforced that I am on the right path. In the words of Nietzsche (via Mark Twight), “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” While my life at the moment may be the most physically and mentally demanding it has ever been, I’m completely stress free, I feel a sense of purpose and motivation. The kind of feeling that makes cooking breakfast for an entire hotel on my own, 5 times a week, at 5 in the morning, really not a big deal. Guess I should probably write about some climbing now.

Busting out from work as quick as possible to get the maximum amount of sleep possible, I  almost beat the sunrise back to my flat. Almost. When the alarm goes off at 2pm, my room has turned into an oven, and its not difficult to convince myself out from under the duvet. I pack up quickly and dash to the shops for some more food and meet Matt at the lift station. We are both a little sad that we had to bail on our plans for the Walker Spur that weekend, but when we step out of the mid station onto the Plan de l’Aiguilles, the low cloud and approaching cumulus validate our decision. After a stroll across the plateau, we make it to our bivvy site, with a good view of our route for the next day, the Cordier Pillar on the Grand Charmoz. After some food, wine, rain and red hot bivvy banter, we bed down. This being the first time I’d actually taken a roll mat to a bivvy this season I passed out straight away, sleeping straight through to our first alarm, which we both agreed was far too early. After some additional snoozing, it was time to go. As we would come back passed the bivvy on the way back, we could leave all our kit and go light.

Unfortunately, a friend of ours had told us that when he’d done it, they didn’t need crampons, so without asking anyone else or assessing the conditions at all ourselves, we left the crampons at home. This made for quite an exciting approach, traversing a few icy sections by clinging to the small stones stuck in the glacier. But thankfully we navigated our way across the glacier and made it to the base of the route just as the sun came up. The first pitches were good climbing, but a bit loose in places. But loose in a way that was not unenjoyable. Following a system of cracks, we cut up the cliff, occasionally simul climbing sections to make up a bit of time. Mostly we followed what seemed to be the obvious line, using our topo to spot the larger features. Having a rubbish topo definitely made the route more challenging, having to rely far more on route reading skills than following a map, but when we pulled onto the large ledge at about two thirds height, it felt like more of an accomplishment. Taking a few minutes to rest and chow down on what what little Haibo I’d managed to scrape together from the remnants of trail mixes, I felt like the route had not really been that great so far. Looking back now, there was definitely some quality climbing in there, but at the time I think we were far more focused on trying to stay on route. The few times we’d strayed, it had gotten loose pretty quickly. From here the climbing gets a lot better. We set off simul climbing to get passed the easy ground quickly. Having run out of gear that would fit, I merrily climbed on knowing that another belay would appear soon. Unfortunately, I sailed straight passed one which was hidden the other side of a ledge and ended up running out a pitch of 5a/b to make it to a belay. It didn’t make me uncomfortable, but seeing as I thought it was 4a/b, it may show I’m getting a bit more used to the granite. From this belay, our topo was of no use, we had no idea if we were in the right place, but I was feeling confident. I knew I could probably climb the ground above us, and could defiantly get a few runners in, so I should definitely have a go. After some interesting stemming moves I poked my head over the top of the pitch. Miraculously, there was a belay sitting right there, far better looking than the one we’d just come from. We must be back on route. The next pitch, whilst certainly physically harder, and with less protection, was far less challenging as I knew we were in the right place and I wasn’t sailing off into the middle of nowhere. From here we could see the top. Matt took over for a couple of leads, leaving me with the last pitch.

Our friend had also said to take a big cam, referencing a Camelot size. But seeing as I use friends, I took my size 4, assuming he couldn’t mean I’d need to take a large size 5 cam, Camelot owners never buy them that big. Once again, I found myself longing for a piece of gear that was sitting in my flat. Pulling over the top of the final, off width pitch, rope flapping in the breeze, dropping away some way before being constrained by runner, made for a fitting end to the days climbing. The route had taken us 7:45. However the day was not over yet. After 4 hours of abseiling, we’d made it back onto the snow, which was much softer now. A merry glissade back the bivvy (reversing our route across the ice as well) and the day felt over. 3 hours of downhill trudge later, we were spat out into Chamonix, having walked the whole way down.

Unfortunately, I didn’t really get any pictures of the route, but Matt made the day into one of his vlogs, which you can see below, if you haven’t already.

The next day I climbed Verdon Memories on the Peigne with Tim. Exhausted, but all smiles, that night I went to work. Next time I promise to take more photos.

It can be difficult getting back out there and I was in desperate need of new partners. Working out if they are a high five person or a fist bump person whilst avoiding the dreaded awkward cabbage scenario can be tricky. Thankfully, there is a place where meeting new people is easy, the internet. As my friends from home have now all gone back home I put out the word that I was looking for climbers for some action, and the results were surprising.

The first excursion was with Tim, a friend of a friend of a friend (but then who isn’t in the climbing world). Tim suggested that we head to Barborine, I was keen as I’d never been (hey that rhymes). After a short drive and a shorter walk in, we’d found the base of our route the eponymously titled ‘Barborine’. We’ve all been there before, you’ve talked the talk, you can name some things you’ve climbed and seem to know where some famous routes are, maybe even have an anecdote or two about a famous climber, but now you’ve got to prove you’re not useless. Double checking my knot wasn’t an embarrassment, I set about the first pitch. The climbing at Barborine was instantly enjoyable, teetering from slabby edge to edge was fluid and the only steep section was peppered with great slots for the hands. Happy not to have made a tit of myself, it was Tim’s turn to second up, which he did without any trouble. So far so good. After a few goes swinging lead, and some wet slab trickery that I think comes naturally to anyone thats tried to climb in North Wales, we were up to half way. Here there is a step change. The slab is snapped upwards and a much steeper, meaner looking face makes up the second four pitches of the route, starting with the crux. Unsure how climbing 6c would go with a rucksack on, I set off, confident I could see where the crux was from the belay. Getting to the steepest section of the roof, I braced for difficulty but was past it without much effort. Gleefully proclaiming that I think that was the pitch in the bag, I continued upwards to another similar feature. Ahh, this must be the crux. Ha! Now it’s in the bag. Arms starting to feel used, there couldn’t be much route left as I was nearly out of quickdraws, just a last steep section on some suspiciously dark rock. Upon arrival at the actual crux, everything was soaking wet. As water flowed over the small pockets, and down my arms, my will to impress seemed to be all keeping me glued to the rock. Eventually, I found a feature that was sharp enough to provide some traction despite it’s wetness and hauled through to the belay ledge. Pretty chuffed with myself, it was Tim’s turn. After what sounded like the same panting shuffling moves I’d had to make, Tim arrived at the belay and agreed that the wetness defiantly added a bit. From here we made pretty steady progress to the top and back down around to the car. After a short lift back into town, we both agreed that we’d like to see each other again. Happy days.

The next day I was out with Nikolay, another new friend. For our first outing we’d settled on the Chapelle de la Glière. We met before the first lift left for the Index, but to our surprise there was already quite a queue. Worried that other parties may be going for the same route, we walked with serious haste between the two lifts at the mid point, eliminating the competition. From the top of the chair lift, we still walked with purpose to the base of the route to make sure we were first, a tactic that payed off as, as we readied ourselves to depart, other teams concertinaed behind us. We’d decided to simul climb the route and so put some distance between us and the teams behind till it felt like we had the route to ourselves. The climbing was good but not as sustained as I’d hoped, frequently crossing easy broken ground. However, where its good, its really good. The famous ‘razor’ pitch lived up to its reputation and after a bit more broken ground, the ‘chapelle’ offered a final bit of sport to finish off the route. Weirdly, the part I possibly enjoyed the most was the walk off. The cloud was bellow us, giving a feeling of intense isolation and added to an already exposed scramble descent. We also came across some wildlife on the way which is always a welcome addition to the day.

The next day we decided to go a little bigger. Chasing the Pouce. We decided to go for the classic Voie des Dalles. Getting the first lift up again, today the pressure came from making sure we’d get back to the last lift in time. Having hiked up through the first col, we dodged some of the snow by sneaking behind the bergschrund, as we’d brought axes but come in trainers so didn’t fancy the hard snow. The descent from the top of the pass to the start of the route was pretty grim. The whole face feels like its falling down around you, something a bit of skree skiing only reenforced. Eventually we’d slipped and slid our way to the base of the route and we could start. The climbing was fairly intuitive, but hard to protect in places. The occasional peg helped, but I’m not sure many of them would still hold a fall. After a couple of old school crack pitches, we were past the crux. The following traverse pitches were probably the best, not difficult but run out and exposed, heading first right and then left. From here, easier ground led to the top, so we decided to simul climb the remainder to make up some time. We made the top in good time, still plenty of room to make it back to the lift. All that stood in our way was the descent ridge. This proved to be probably the greatest challenge of the day. Loose, exposed and unprotectable meant slow progress. After a fairly focused and quiet hour, the navigation nightmare was over and it felt like being back on firm ground. Having said that, the final gully on the way back to the Index did also decide to shed some stones on us as we descended, forcing us to one side until we could make a break from safe ground. Even with some unexpected excitement, we still made it back to the lift with over an hour to spare and it was nice to feel like my adventure glands had gotten some use.

At the weekend, Matt again had custody. Having decided against the Dru north face due to the heat potentially causing rockfall, we walked into the Covercle hut to try the Aiguille de Moine. It went pretty badly, following topo instructions, we abseiled in the wrong place and couldn’t get back on the ridge, only to find out later that a lot of teams did exactly the same thing in the same place, which probably explained why there was such a good abseil anchor. But mostly I got a cool picture of Matt down climbing to beneath the sun rise.

As the valley waits with baited breathe for the ice to form, I’m excited to find out what I’m capable of this autumn and happy that I now have some new friends to share it with.