Few weeks after the gouty ordeal on Domes de Miage, the Beggar of Chamonix had well recovered. And so my real test of Alpine climbing would begin. One week of harder climbs in Chamonix. I would meet up with 2 of my long time friends, Matt Wright and Matt Kielan.
My plan was to do Aiguille du Tour through the table couloir. Then Aiguille du Chardonnet, through the Migot Spur. Then, well I would decide after. Being the one with the most technical climbing experience I was leading the trip. I drove down from the Netherlands on Saturday and we started on Sunday. We first had to rent some gear for a friend, so our hike up to the Albert 1er was at around 11 am. There was a thunderstorm expected but I thought we'd likely just about make it, and if we didn't. Well, I have been in these kinds of storms at low altitude, its somewhat scary but not the end of the world. The chances of being struck is really not too high, and if we didn't do this now we would lose window of good weather. So off we went. The big cumulus clouds followed our rise in altitude, and gathered in strength. The surrounding peaks had clouded over and the skies took on a color of grey. I sent a photograph to a friend with whom I sheltered from a similar mid summer Chamonix storm just 2 years prior.
It is always remarkable to me how a storm hit you in the mountains. There really is a hit. One moment its okay, the next a torrent of rain and wind. The cloud moves on to you like some Eldred monster, rising over the undulations in the terrain. We got caught in the storm for about 30 minutes, at about 2100 m. Lighting flashed and thunder clapped all around us, they were falling close, but luckily on the peaks above. We placed all our metal gear under a solitary tree and waited away from it a while until it passed. One of us, out of instinct moved to shelter under this tree with all the metal gear, an error that was quickly corrected! In the end we were thoroughly drenched.
At a first glance, the Albert 1er is a weird hut. A mix between a hipster juice bar and an Alpine refuge. When we entered the dining hall, there was one individual mediating and another doing Yoga. The morning after we had a wide selection of offerings for breakfast, including, gluten free bread! One thing the hut did not have, however, was a dry room. No, they had a wet room. Our gear would somehow come out wetter and damper than they were when they went in. This was not my favorite hut of the trip. Also for some reason they were completely booked out for the Wednesday, which meant that Chardonnet was off.
The next morning we woke up at around 3 am and got going. The approach was straightforward over the glacier. The snow conditions were interesting. There was a crust of snow over softer snow that would "womp" with every few steps giving way. Part of me thought I was stepping in to a crevasse every time this happened. But in the end, I got used to it.
The couloir is composed of a 50 degree snow slope, followed by 20 m of steep mixed climbing then about 60 degree hard snow/ice for 200 m or so. We simuled the snow slope then I led up the mixed pitch. I had never climbed mixed ice and rock before at this angle. I was unsure about each move, placing gear as much as I could. Levering the tool in to a crack in the rock with one foot in the ice, other on the rock was truly a special kind of experience, and one I would like live again. It took me 40 minutes to lead this pitch. The other guys were getting frustrated, thinking to themselves, "what the hell is he taking this much time for" and getting annoyed as I cleared the crux with a shout of joy. I set up an anchor and belayed them up. They soon realized why it had taken so much time!
After this, there was the the calf busting 200m slope which we simuled. Towards the end of the couloir the rock becomes loose and rotten. I kicked down a few blocks which Matt Kielan had to do some acrobatics in mid-slope to get away from. The couloir led to summit ridge. We weren't quite ready for how long this would take as a party of 3. But I enjoyed every moment of moving through beautiful, clean granite with crampons, taking in the exposure and just cruising. I led most of this section placing some gear to protect from a second fall. It was one of the most beautiful rock climbs I have done in the Alps.
When we got back at the hut there was less of the weird vibe, no yoga for instance. The food was still being prepared, with the smell permeating through the main dining room. Our bellies became giddy with anticipation, those fourteen long, arduous hours without much sustenance was about to come to an end.
The food was excellent, real care was taken by the chef to provide comfort for both our body and soul. All in quantities one could not hope to finish.
However, I, just like in Scotland was affected by the same cramps, this time worse. My legs were cramping, so were my abdominals, I struggled to eat as my fingers and thumb also started to cramp. At one point I was spayed out on the floor of the hut, with Matt Wright stretching my leg. I am sure the onlookers were very intrigued by what was going on, but I was otherwise too preoccupied to know.
After a while of laying on the floor the cramps subsided and I got up. I managed to eat some more food but in the end gave up, short of Matt feeding me, which I was not yet prepared to allow, eating any more was just not worth unclenching my fingers from the cramps induced by manipulating the fork. I ended up sitting on a seat in the main dining hall for a few hours with my limbs extended waiting for the spasms to subside. The night was thankfully uneventful and the worse was over. Though I was still anxious every time I contorted myself in and out of the cramped bunk.
Later next morning we descended without issue to the valley for a nice rest. The following day, the weather was marginal, so we decided to get the train up to Montenvers and do Fretes des Charmoz. This is an easy rock route with a maximum altitude of 2500m. We completed the route in guidebook time.
The descent needed us to go to the shoulder of Auiguille de L'M but we rappelled too early. I knew we rappelled too early, but I had already said no to Matt’s protests about getting off the ridge as soon as possible a number of time already, the presence of an abseil point with some tat (old climbing cord) was too much to say no again, even though I knew this was likely not the abseil point mentioned in the guidebook.
The reason why Matt was so eager to get off the climb was that, one he had really only climbed in fair weather and two, he didn't want us to be hit by the bad weather coming to us on the ridge. Even though I knew this was only a bit of precipitation, nothing serious. But we rappelled, then down climbed some, roped together at this point. The climbing was easy at first then it got steeper, looser and greener. It was possibly some of the least secure bit of steep slick climbing I had done. In my mind I could see my self pull a block loose and fall down the gulley, and for what? I crappy little rock outing. I told him that it was nonsensical to be roped together here, so we unroped. He continued soloing down and I soloed some more, before coming across another bit of tat which I used to rappel from. I was quiet upset with him at the time, especially when we were on the gully, though I knew that this was nonsensical. The decision was joint. Moreover, things like this, though they shouldn’t happen, do happen. Only a year and a bit later I would lead my brother in law to 4 hours off-route rappels on an Alpine face in Austria, with snow and darkness snapping at our heels.
The next day was a well needed rest day for us, not much happened. We did stay at a place called ‘‘Vert Lodge’’. Matt, out of all the possible places in Chamonix, had found a lodging on the ‘‘English Street’’, one with a pub attached to it, frequented only by the ‘‘Cham’’ locals. After taking a shower, and unwinding a little bit I walked downstairs and sat by the benches outside the pub. I took out my crampon and started to sharpen the edges with a small bastard file I packed with me. It does make rather an irritating sound, and quiet attention grabbing also! One guy, whom I later found out was an electrician who decided to settle in Chamonix because of the excellent skiing, commented out loud, ‘‘Only in Chamonix would you have someone sharpen their crampons next to you in a pub’’. I told him, with a smirk, that I could go elsewhere. Then another man, his friend pitched in with beer in hand, ‘‘No no, let him be, his life may depend on it up there’’ gesturing with his head towards the Mont Blanc.
That evening me and Matt had a microwave dinner and looked up at the monstrously large Boisson glacier, spilling out from the top of the White Mountain herself. Back in the old days one could almost reach out from Chamonix and touch the ice, now, with the global warming, it had retreated far up the mountain, leaving a scar of polished rock in its wake.
After brooding a bit we moved up to our room to sleep. We only had a double bed in the room. An English man and a Turkish man both equally prudish in nature, share a bed. The English man designates a straight border right through the middle and an agreement with a definite ‘‘No footsies’’ clause is reached before sleep.
It rained and snowed the whole day the next day and the White Mountain was shrouded in a blanket of clouds such that only the green forested hills could be seen. We only read that day, with out feet up and tea and croissant by our side. The following morning we managed to get a ride to Aiguille du Midi (3842 m) for around 10 am. This was delayed somewhat because of the deicing operations needed after the previous days storm.
We descended down the ridge to start our route, the Midi-Plan traverse. We knew that we were somewhat late, so we gave ourselves 3 hours to make as far as possible then return back to the Midi and on to Cosmiques Refuge. The traverse is really quite nice. On one side of the thin ridge, you have the green valley, the town of Chamonix and civilization. On the other side, you have the glaciated world of the White Mountain with this many sharp peaks and pinnacles, its icy slopes and hidden crevasses.
The route was covered in powder snow so progress was difficult. We managed to get to the steep slopes just before the Rognon. To give an idea of the conditions, the slopes before the Rognon are around 60 degrees. There was a layer of soft powder snow on them, below which there was harder snow. The powder, not only prevented our crampons from biting in to the harder snow underneath, it also acted like tiny ball bearings, making travel very treacherous.
After a about 40 m the slopes terminate in a series of cliffs that plunge 1000 vertical meters towards Plan de l'Aiguille. As you traverse the steep slope you trust that your foot that is planted on it will remain so. But because the snow was so powdery, sometimes, it wouldn't and you would find yourself having to arrest on to the slope. Even if you tried to work harden the soft snow before trusting it, it would only work to some degree. My partner fell on the steep snow. I shouted "Arrest" and he dug his crampons and axe in to the snow, and stopped the fall. The rope between us went tight as I held it with my left arm.
He made himself safe and I belayed him back up to his position on a rock horn that was next to me. We carried on the traverse for a while, having to ice axe arrest multiple times as a snow step crumbled under our feet, though these were fairly immediate arrests. After a while, we stopped and decided to turn back. The sun was warming up the already soft snow and so its weight bearing capacity was even lower. Why did we choose to continue after the fall? Partially, because we were tunnel visioned, the objective and route were clear, we just had to follow through. I also think we somewhat relished the danger. To operate under such perilous conditions, to keep calm to carry on is a show of bravery and competence.
The way back took as an agonizing amount of time. We had continued on for perhaps 30 minutes after the fall, but the route back to the same place took us 1 hr 30. Such was the attention and care required. I went up the same spot Matt had fallen and placed the rope around the rock horn just to be sure and belayed him up to where I was. Just as he cleared the tricky section and said "Oh thank God we are safe now" he slipped and fell. This time he didn't arrest. The rope on the rock horn went tight and stopped his fall. We were roped together, if the rope had not been around the rock horn in all likelihood he would have continued to slide, and I would have followed him down. It is possible that we could have arrested prior to get an express ride down to Chamonix. But then, all bets are off.
I again belayed him up to the "safe" position. He was frustrated with himself, for letting his guard down. And I guess we shouldn't have advanced as much as we did under such crappy snow conditions. Such things can happen to anyone under these conditions. I remember one occasion where I slipped on verglas and almost slid in to a gully on Gran Paradiso, only by divine providence did I not.
I sometimes muse about being roped together, otherwise known as ‘‘moving together’’. This is usually required in Alpine terrain where one needs to move across rapid complexities. Sometimes the climbing is hard so you need to ‘pitch it’ and place a lot of protection, then quickly after, the climbing is easy but getting rid of the rope would cost time because soon after the climbing becomes harder again, or there is a glacier with crevasses in the way. A lot of the time one finds oneself moving together on easy but massively exposed terrain. Here, a slip of one can lead to catastrophe for both. You must have ultimate trust in your partner and their ability. It also means that if one slips, and the other was not in a position to secure them, there is no guilt but only oblivion.
On the way back up to the Midi I felt like a fitness monster. My body was firing with all pistons, the thin mountain air, somehow turbocharging the snapping of ATP. Matt, on the other hand was struggling. He was starting to feel the altitude. By the time we were at Cosmiques Refuge, the tables had reversed. I had a cracking headache and a sense of doom. The view of Mont Blanc du Tacul from the refuge felt oppressive, lethargy had seeped in to my bones and I did not want to get up from my bunk. This was my first and thus far, only experience with altitude sickness. Going from 1000 m to 3800 m in the span of a few hours was not good for me as I found out. As I sat there waiting for my food, wondering if anyone else was feeling as awful as I was, the veil started to lift.
And in the span of an hour I felt just fine, as if nothing had happened. This feeling, as I would find out later on, was very similar to the feeling of lethargy and fatigue I experienced during my final days with my native kidneys. To this day, I am not sure if I was actually altitude sick, or if the heavy anemia I had was affecting my function.
The following morning we set off at 6 am with the ambition of doing the Cosmiques arete and so to climb our way out of our self-imposed ordeal. The Cosmiques as far as I am concerned is quintessential "alpine cragging". We got it on perfect conditions, all to our own. Truly a wonderful route, not much endurance required at all. Some technical climbing sections, all culminating on the Midi station, 10 minutes up from crepes and sunshine at Chamonix.
I was glad that this little adventure ended without any incidence. The task you set on yourself on these Alpine climbs can be intimidating and having ended what you set out to do is very much a relief. I didn't want to see mountains or glaciers for a long while, and so, back to the Netherlands I drove. Of course, my zeal to climb came back just as the last bit of physical fatigue was leaving me. I once again was making a list of routes. Not too long after, in the middle of July a friend of a friend invited me to fill in the place of a partner of hers that dropped out of a planned Piz Bernina trip. I was quick to accept this offer.