Making Hay

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.

Credit – Seamus

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.

Credit – Joe Gross

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).