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.
Scrambling through the earlier pitches
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.
Looking down from the top of the difficulties
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.
Cruising to the pub
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.
benclimbsthings 
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