Boundless Horizons

“Cheers, for that” I said to the lad keeping an eye on my bags.

“No problem, where did you come from?”

“Carlisle” I replied

“Long way”

“It bloody felt like it, it took 7 hours in the coach just to get to Birmingham” I said looking down at my watch, wondering how on earth that was correct when I was sat here in Paris at 10am in the morning having departed from Carlisle at 2 am.

I looked outside to see the darkness, revealing it was in fact 10 pm and I’d been travelling non stop for 19 hours. In another 10 hours I would finally have made it. I would be in that place I had heard so much about and imagined in so many different ways. I’d yet to read a bad word about it. Campsites, bars, cafés bursting with climbers all eager to get out the following day straight after the last, a chance to play on some of the best boulders, crags and mountains in the world. Everyone from Rebuffatt to Bonnington had walked its streets as a young ambitious lad like me ready to embark on a lifetime of adventure.

The bus pulled up, time to get on. We boarded and scrounged around for a good seat. The lights of the coach flicked off and we started moving.  Off we went. The coach weaved along France in the night. Sleep was hard to come by. At 4 am we were awoken by Swiss guards. We had to clear our bags off the coach while a youthful Alsatian walked along sniffing them, every so often halting to scratch its ear with its hind leg. I wondered whether it was looking for a place to wee rather than checking for drugs.... 

2 hours wasted and 2 passengers removed (obviously not expecting the use of passports to cross into Switzerland, when the coach only stopped in France), we finally pulled up outside a train station, mountains shooting up into the sky higher than I could ever remember. The usual crackle of whitenoise came through the speakers above me, shortly followed by the call I’d been waiting to hear for the past 31 hours  “………Chamonix”.

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I went into the Vagabond to find Bill. I knew little about him. He had put up a forum post on ukc about getting partners out here and we had kept in touch loosely over emails. Bill didn’t have a phone that worked in Europe so we had made contact out here by leaving messages for each other at the bar.

Tired from his ascent of Mont Blanc the previous day Bill suggested we meet up the following day for some easy rock climbing at Les Gaillands, a crag down the road.

“Just to check we were on the same ground” was the kind of way Bill put it.

This was the polite way of saying “To check you’re not a nutter.”

This had always occurred to me as a good idea, but I wouldn’t have insisted on it myself, Bill seemed a nice guy and had I died in the mountains because of him cocking up I wouldn’t have held it against him too much. But at the same time I was kind of pleased that this would be one day of my trip where I wouldn’t have to fork out for a cable car.

I left Bill to sip his coffee in peace while I went over to Pierre D’orthaz, a boulder just outside of Chamonix a short walk via a river. I was content. I had come out to this place half expecting to be drinking tea in my tent the whole time with no-one to climb with, I'd learned to be pessimistic when it came to getting partners.

This Boulder was the perfect place to get fit again. I had an aim to onsight 7a out here. This felt well within my grasp having just fallen off on the final crux move of a 7a at Coudy Rock a few weeks before. I wasn’t even feeling strong then having not climbed for a couple of weeks due to having little time on my hands. I knew that a little bit of ‘training’ before hand would put me in good stead for it. The problem was I hadn’t had time for that either, so I’d come to Chamonix having not climbed hard for over a month. I needed to get fit again and this boulder would help. Most days throughout the trip I would come back to this place at the end of each day, feeling slightly stronger every time, yet having a slightly bigger hole in my finger to go with it.

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“Hurry Up!” I grunted to myself as Bill disappeared round the corner.

I needed to move. I’d come up here in the wrong clothes. A pair of thin trekking pants with a hole in the knee was perhaps the first problem. Having left my primaloft jacket in someone’s van back in England a day before I went to Chamonix, I was forced to scroung around the shops for the cheapest thing I could find to replace it. A £12.99 Tresspass Gilet would do. That was my second problem.

‘Its boiling out there most of the time’ I thought.

This time it wasn’t. I was on the Cosmiques arête of the Augille du Midi. A classic easy route. It couldn’t really get much simpler. But the cold had come in. It was hovering just above freezing and it was soaking wet, snow falling from the sky saturating everything it fell on. The two previous abseils I’d done had somehow caused my harness to slip under my jacket causing my bare skin around my core to be exposed to the elements. I had just led up the easy rock pitch. 6 metres of easy climbing, a pitch everyone makes a big deal of when talking about it back in the bars. I was shivering below the base of it, and then gone on to climb it in thick gloves with no feeling in my hands. It felt surprisingly tricky, but I knew it wasn’t. My body had been succumbing to the cold. But after all it wasn’t even cold. It was a self inflicted cold. This was my doing. No one else on the mountain was in this state but me.

“Climb!” Shouted Bill

“Finally!"

I followed Bill, shivering along, glad that my body was starting to get some warmth back after standing around belaying for so long.

“We don’t need to pitch here we could move together and both stay warm” I thought to myself.

We had left too long a rope length between us though. Both being to wet and cold to care with another party waiting behind us impatiently, neither of us said anything so we just pitched up the ridge bit by bit.

I lead on, thankful for movement. Swearing at my body as I went. Trying to get my bare hips tucked away from the cold. I threw the rope around a spike leaning my face into the rock.

“Climb when ready.” I shouted.

Using all my mental focus to take the rope in while keeping it round the spike. The only relief I had was knowing that once we reached the top of the mountain the cable car station would be there, we wouldn’t have the massive descent you’d usually have to face after reaching a summit. I was just focused now on getting to the top. That was the easiest way down. 

Bill came round the corner. My head still resting against the rock, I was breathing fast and heavily, just stood still doing nothing. Bill took control.

“Come on, wave your hands around. Just take a minute or two to warm up.”

I just did as he said. I swung my arms around as hard as I could and slapped my knees repeatedly. The blood returned. Burning my fingers like I’d stuck them in hot coals. My mind started to think properly again. I was good to go.

“I’m good now,” I said thankfully

I had a new lease of life, all I ever needed to do was wave my hands around yet I needed someone else to get me to do it.

Bill who’d been up this ridge before, gave me the pleasure of topping out on the final ice pitch. I set off. Not that there was enough ice to call it an ice pitch. I left my axe tucked away in my harness and scrambled up, excited that this was the last pitch and that a warm cable car station was waiting for me at the top.

“That was an experience.” I said to Bill as we sat in the café of the station drinking hot chocolate. “I loved every second of that.”

“Shame about the weather, the view round here can be amazing” he replied.

“That’s alright, I saw the view remember?” The Tourist office had kindly put up a board on the edge of the platform, with a labelled photo of the Mont Blanc Massif  from where you stood on a good day.

After all it wasn’t the views that I’d remember about this route and it certainly wasn’t its technicality. It wasn’t difficult. It was one of the easiest routes in the whole Mont Blanc Massif. What I would remember were those few moments when I had my head into the rock swearing at Bill to hurry up. When I wondered if I could fight off the cold from creeping further through my body long enough to reach the top.

At that point reflecting back on it in that cafe I was glad I had gone up in a crap pair of trousers and a crap gillet jacket and that my harness had exposed the bare skin of my core to the cold. All the other people on the ridge that day had bought themselves warmth well before they had set foot into the thin air, in a shop down in the valley. In doing so they had missed out on something I didn't.

I went down in the cable car, appreciating the whole ‘Chamonix Style’ of things. Warmth, food and beer were waiting for me just a 10 minute cable car ride away.

Chilling in the valley

The rest of the days with Bill were spent chilling out in Chamonix. He had been here for about a month now and he’d been climbing most days. I could see he was tired and what he wanted most of all was rest. I had been climbing with him over the past 5 days. We never did anything particularly big or challenging but I was grateful to have a partner to climb with and a friend in the evenings.

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Andy arrived on the 20^th and he immediately picked me up in his car and whisked me off to the col du montet, where boulders lay around with lots of problems (routes) to climb. I had climbed with Andy quite a bit over the last few months in the Lakes, he’s one of those climbers with a wealth of experience and someone I naturally trusted. I probably wouldn’t have been out here if it wasn’t for Andy convincing me how much I’d enjoy it. He was right.

 It wasn’t long before the sky turned dark. The evening thunderstorm, which I had become quite familiar with in Chamonix, was clearly on its way. Andy dropped me off back at the campsite, feeling tired having driven for 18 hours with little sleep. Tomorrow we would climb ‘L’Index’, to warm Andy up to the thin air.

I awoke nice and early and put a brew on. The cheap pan au chocolates that I had been living on tasted better dunked in tea and having only discovered this yesterday I was excited for this morning's breakfast. Holding my Pan au Chocolate up excitedly I prepared it for the plunge when mid dive Andy sat on the bench next to me 15 minutes early encouraging me to get a move on to beat the guides. The plan was to do the Chapelle de la Gliere and then hop on the index, but we needed to get a move on and if we missed the first cable car that would be it.

“Andy…………I err…..forgot my helmet.” I announced half way to the cable car station.

Below the Index

Andy on the second pitch

We took the roundabout back to the campsite, drove back and hopped on the 2^nd cable car me now with my helmet. We decided we should just do the index as the Chappelle was now covered with climbers, guides and clients. Slowly but surely we worked our way up the Index pitch by pitch behind clients and guides out in front and at the back. A 60 metre abseil dropped us off at the bottom of the gully where a short walk down lead us back to the station. We had a whole day to play with, being only 12pm. We decided to head down the telesiege back to the car where a trip to Coupeau, the crag above les houches, was the end to the climbing day. It had been a blast.

The following day I introduced Andy to Bill. We all went up to the Mer de Glace to have a play on the ice. I was due to have a masterclass in ice climbing.

On the way up it occurred to me Bill and Andy were getting on very well indeed. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Bill earlier in the week.

“Andy….” I enquired innocently “Have you ever fallen on ice?”  Having a fairly good idea what the answer would be.

“Nothing too big” he replied indicating that he had.

On the Mer de Glace

“It’s just……Bill says only assholes fall on ice.” I left it there.

The day was taken up practising my ice climbing technique with advice from both Andy and Bill. We never put a rope up finding it more convenient to traverse along the ice at the bottom. By mid afternoon it was agreed we would go down to the bar for happy hour, where beer was half price. I was beginning to fall into the Chamonix ways. This inevitably starts with the problem that the last cable car down is 4pm and happy hour starts at 4:30pm suddenly making a day’s worth of climbing half a day’s worth and often encouraging a laid back approach to your day up high. This felt great at the time but when I reflect now I don’t think of the times I spent at the bar or lounging around in the sun outside, I think of the times I spent out in the mountains when I was in my element.

Looking across the glacier to the Grand Jorrasses

Perhaps objectives were the best way to do things out here. The problem with them is that when I set myself something to do I make sure I give it a good go, regardless of how convenient it is. I’ve spent many evenings out on crags where I’ve spent my whole time working a 10 metre route pushing my limits and coming away with nothing. I’d started to view this as a bad trait of mine. There’s that thing people will always tell you about trying something achievable and not over stretching yourself. But if you know it’s achievable before it’s been done there really isn’t much pride in the outcome. Chamonix is truly an amazing town but it isn’t the paving slabs or the bars or the campsites full of alcohol and climbing talk that you truly enjoy. 

There’s nothing like two ends of a rope to start a friendship off. That was something I realised when climbing with Bill. I’d only just met the guy but within 5 days I felt I could trust him with my life. It was Bill’s last night that night so we went for a pizza.

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Yet again I awoke early. I was just about sick of this tent, riddled with ants and empty food packets. Greeted every morning with drips of condensation and a soggy sleeping bag. Today was to be a big one. We would climb the Augille du Peigne. My one big wall of the trip. An easy route up it was the plan for the first part of the day, then we would have a play on the harder stuff later on to the left of the easier route, making use of the bolted belays for a quick rappel down if we needed it to catch the lift back to Chamonix. This would be the biggest day of the whole trip. I met Andy at the Bus Station. I immediately felt stupid seeing him in approach shoes while I was in mountaineering boots with an ice axe and a pair of crampons packed ready for the walk in. Andy then went on to explain the problem……. The problem being that due to the abnormal amount of snow below the face he would need boots, crampons and an ice axe for the walk in. All of which he’d left back in Les Houches where he was staying. I took this very well actually. I seem to remember thinking that we would just go back and get his boots etc. then hop on the Peigne an hour later. The only thing was it would be about 10am by the time we would have all that sorted. An ascent of the Peigne was not on the agenda for today or this trip.

We went up to Le Brevente, a sport climbing venue just below 2000 metres where we climbed with a leisurely laid back approach throughout the afternoon. Both having been beaming with energy to get on the Peigne, I could tell Andy just like myself wasn’t too excited about being up here. We were just making the most of the day. Needless to say it was a good reccy of the area and the crag held some fantastic routes on it, but I had finally lost my energy. I knew the trip was coming to a close. Tomorrow couldn’t be spent up high. I was due to be catching a bus that evening and if we missed the cable car back down that would be it.

Tonight was my last night in Chamonix for this trip. I walked into the town revisiting the places I’d been to at the start of the week, now much wiser. I went to the park and lay there below the Dru. 2 weeks ago I sat here unsure of how my time here would go. I wondered whether I would just be spending my first week here in loneliness with no one to even to talk to. I had actually had one of the most sociable 2 weeks of my life. I’d felt so at ease round here with like minded people. I had found a place where I could fit in with the crowd. I’d never felt like that before. It was good to know that with £112 and a lot of patience I could return here and feel this way again.

Packing to go home with mixed emotions

I awoke feeling tired. A trip around all the crags in chamonix was the plan. Or something like that. We went to Les Pierre d’orthaz Boulder. I had been working on a 7b traverse all week. It was in my grasps but I was to tired to reach out for that last hold and pull over that final move. I knew when to call it a day. It wasn’t giving up, it was making the most of the time I had. We drove up to the Col de Montets again for some final bouldering. I was finished. I stood at the bottom of a line and started to climb. I couldn’t, it felt almost impossible at that point. I could feel my body doing the move in front of me but just couldn’t get it to do it. I had two nasty cuts on my fingers and a hole going right through my rock boots, the skin of my big toe protruding out from them, starting to get sore. My arms were tired and my fingers were tired. I’d come to Chamonix two weeks ago feeling weak and low. This time I hadn’t gained back my strength and confidence through doing pull ups on a fingerboard or circuits at a climbing wall. It was the rock that had given me back my strength and that was something I was proud of. But at the same time as giving me strength it had worn my body out. 10 days of climbing on the rock around the valley had finally paid its toll. I was throbbing and ready to rest.

I boarded the coach at 9pm. I looked up all around the peaks of the Mont Blanc Massif for the final time this year. I knew for sure I would be coming back here. I thought of all the things I didn’t do this trip. That was fine. They were still there to do. I thought back to a conversation with Andy the day before at Le Brevente. I was feeling slightly low having fallen on a climb I should have found easy. He explained to me what should have been obvious to me. He pointed out what was staring me in the face. I had years of my life to come back to places like this, each time I’d be better than the last. I could go wherever I liked, climb whenever I wanted. At that point I began to realise who I was and how glad I was to be me. My whole life spread out in front of me like an ocean. I was 17, I had found what I loved so early on and I was only just at the beginning of it. I looked out across the mountains and beyond, now seeing boundless horizons like never before. 

Abseiling down Le Brevente's hardest route with Boundless Horizons.......