“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, cafĂ©s
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”.
**************************************
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.
**************************************************
“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 arĂȘte 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 cafĂ© 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.
***************************************************
Andy
arrived on the 20th 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 2nd
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.
******************************************************
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....... |