Mont Blanc 4807m
Many years ago I had flown over the top of the mountain in a jet plane. It was early in the morning when everything was still sharp and clear. From that day I had dreamed of standing on that white summit. Beside me on that flight was my infant son in his carrycot. Now on his twentythird birthday we sat over a beer planning the ascent on the morrow. He and his friends had come here ice climbing. They had tempted me into the attempt by their assurances. 'Mont Blanc is easy. Its only a walk. You've used ice axe and crampons in Scotland, this is no harder.' They took me rock climbing on Dow Crag and led me up Giants Crawl graded 'Difficult' which of course meant trivially easy to them. I found it fairly sensational but enjoyed it. 'There's nothing this hard on Mont Blanc' they said 'You can do it'. 'What equipment should I bring?' I asked. 'Warm clothes, ice axe, crampons and oxygen' they said!
The weather seemed set fair. The forecast mentioned possible evening storms which worried us a little as we intended to camp. However the prospect for the following morning was excellent and the further outlook less settled so we decided to start. A bus took us to Les Houches and a cable car to Bellevue at 1790m. From here a mountain railway runs up to Nid d'Aigle but we decided to walk this bit to aid acclimatisation. It was exceedingly hot and so we collapsed amongst the hoards brought up by the train and partook of liquid refreshment. The climb became steeper thereafter although still on a good track crowded with walkers, some of them with the same goal as us but many family groups with tiny children whose energy and agility put our panting and sweating to shame.
After a time the route took to snow, the day trippers to cross an easy glacier to the Refuge de Tete Rousse and the rest of us to cross the same easy snow higher up and so enter the dreaded couloir. This is the most dangerous moment of the climb. I received my unequivocal instructions to get over as fast as possible. I could have been put on a rope here but the danger of simply falling off was negligible because although the slope of the snow was quite great the multitudes crossing this spot had worn a deep groove in it. The danger was from rockfall, but at this point I had not seen any so crossed with fleet feet but a light heart. Later we saw what horribly large boulders can hurtle down this way jumping randomly from point to point and realised the hazard we had been in.
Once over the couloir the ice axe was stowed back on the rucksack and a pleasant scramble commenced. My recollection was of Bristly Ridge although with some looser and less abrupt sections interposed. The difference however was that this ridge continues for 2000', always airy but never lacking excellent holds. Higher up there are fixed ropes and in a few places it is easier to step on piton than rock but the situation never becomes intimidating. The real bonus for us was that the threatened clouds gathered as we climbed but they gathered below and not above. By the time we emerged sweating profusely on the terrace of the Refuge de l'Aiguille du Gouter we were sailing above a sea of cloud.
The hut was of course packed to bursting with people spilling out onto the terrace to watch the latecomers struggling up and to enjoy the magnificent panorama westwards as the sun sank into the clouds. We had little time to spare and a sharp climb up the snow behind the refuge led us to the camping area. We were lucky to find a hollow already dug out and unoccupied in which to erect our tent. I had never camped on snow before and nobody had thought to warn me that normal pegs are totally useless. Fortunately my Phreerunner came with five angled pegs which were just enough to peg out the five corners. Equally fortunately there was almost no wind so most of the guys were unnecessary. By judicious use of ice axes we had it standing satisfactorily and Martin already had the Beanfeast simmering in melted snow. I meanwhile buzzed around photographing sunset and then donned every item of clothing which I had brought up. Winter breeches, two pairs of socks, sweater, fleece, cagoule, balaclava, gloves, all this was not enough to disguise the dramatic drop in temperature over a few minutes where previously we had been sweating in shorts and T shirt.
The cloud was clearing and the lights of Chamonix twinkled far far below, just as unreal from here as the mountain from those jostling streets. Those busy restaurants where only yesterday we had been sitting in shirtsleeves far into the dusk as alluring in their way now as this snowy summit had been then. Despite the many others sharing this inhospitable spot those lights below emphasised the remoteness and fragility of our situation.
I did not expect to sleep which is a sure way of not doing so. I dozed a bit I suppose and at least was not really cold. At 1.30am the first group started for the summit and I would have been happy to join them but Martin had decreed 3 as our starting time. When the alarm went off he would have slept through it if I had not woken him. Andy had spent the night in a bivi bag but was apparently none the worse for the experience and we were soon on our way. Torches were almost redundant as we followed the line of lights ahead. For the moment it was simply a matter of plodding upwards along the well trodden groove. My head torch began to fade but seeking the new batteries seemed unnecessary for slowly dawn was coming. A thin crescent moon preceded the sun over the horizon.
The route skirts eastwards of the subsidiary top, Dome du Gouter, and then for a short while breath can be regained as it drops to a wide col and an outcrop of rock below the Refuge Vallot. This is the only rock encountered on this route. The refuge is intended for emergency use only and it takes very little imagination, despite this morning's cloudless skies, to realise how easily emergency can come. Although the path was so well trodden and unmissable after many days of excellent weather, experience in Scotland has shown how quickly a blizzard can obliterate the deepest footsteps. Here where everything is white and the ridges, higher up especially, are quite narrow the risks are only too evident.
We deposited the rucksacks by the rock below the refuge and I carried only ice axe and camera to the summit. Although the sun had just risen it was still very cold so no garments were left behind. We could now see what lay ahead and the long snake of climbers zigzagging up ahead of us. It did not look very far to the top from this point but appearances can be deceptive. The climb became steeper and the air more rarefied. I was very much aware of the possibility of altitude sickness having succumbed to it before on Kilimanjaro. I realised that two days spent walking, however strenuously, around 2000m was quite inadequate acclimatisation. For this reason I refused all offers of sustenance despite urges to keep my strength up.
The ridge becomes dramatically narrow for a time; a true knife edge although blunted by the crowds who had trampled a groove across it. Because of our relatively late start and slow panting progress we were now meeting people coming down which was a bit awkward at this point One step right might have deposited us thousands of feet below in Italy and one left almost as steeply into France. That hair raising section safely negotiated another steep climb follows. By now it was a matter of taking a few steps and then leaning on the axe for a bit of hard breathing.
The very top both surprised and delighted me for what looks like a rounded snow dome from below is in reality another knife edge, not quite so sharp as the lower one but perhaps even more dramatic set as it is in the sky. Here as nowhere else in my experience I was walking the thin line between earth and heaven; between the possible and the impossible. The true summit is totally unmarked, pure and white, a place to be breathless with delight as well as shortage of oxygen.
Just beyond this summit ridge is a flat area where everyone collapses, photographs each other and seeks succour for the long descent. This top is dramatically higher than everything else, the awareness of being above all the Alps overwhelming. Afterwards it occured to me that perhaps we should have got the map out and tried to pick out other summits but at the time I was content just to be in that wonderful place.
It was 9am but still cool at the summit. By the time we had descended to the packs however we were ready to strip off all our outer layers. We melted snow and brewed up one of the most delicious cups of coffee ever. Then we descended off the ridge onto the vast snowfields at the head of the Bossons glacier. There were a few crevasses to be seen and at one point my right leg went in completely. I shouted out that I had fallen into a crevasse but received no sympathy, just 'get out then'. Had I gone right in then I am sure that my two companions would have extricated me successfully and there was no shortage of other parties around to assist if necessary. The route, as on the ridge, was very easy to see being so well used but at one point it did disappear into a vast hole. A party coming up told us that this collapse had happened the previous day. We managed to circumvent it without difficulty. Apparently sometimes there are difficult crossings on this route and ladders may then be provided. There were a few steeper bits where soft snow was the main hazard causing the crampons to ball up and giving us a few minor slips and slides.
We reached the Refuge des Grands Mulets, dramatically situated on a rognon, a large block of rock completely surrounded by glaciers. The path up to the hut is steep and loose with a fixed rope to hold onto. It was worth the effort to enjoy a litre of lemon tea. It was about 4pm and we had given up hope of reaching the cable car at Plan de l'Aiguille since we thought that it stopped at 6pm. An English couple staying at the hut told us that the previous day it had run until 8pm so we set off with renewed enthusiasm.
The easy going over snow soon gave way to more icy conditions and much more evident crevasses. Suddenly we were confronted with a jump which put me in a panic and looking for an alternative way round. While I was hesitating on the brink a couple of Frenchmen en route for the hut tackled it casually in a upward direction and seeing my fear broke into English with a friendly 'you can do it'. Eventually relieved of the rucksack and seeing no alternative I plucked up the courage and of course cleared it easily. One other spot made us hesitate where an awkward step had to be made above a gaping drop and below an overhanging wall of ice. Again passing the rucksacks across separately helped and this was the only spot in the whole day where the ice axe was used for one move as a pick, to pull up on the other side, rather than as a walking stick. Of course my two companions, far more adept and experienced than I, belayed me securely on each awkward move.
Soon we were off the glacier, removing crampons and stowing rope and ice axes. The tongue of the Pelerins glacier had still to be crossed but this was so covered in debris that it was simply a stony walk. Then, sixteen hours after our start in the dark we arrived at the telepherique station hoping that there would be room for us to make the descent. Fifty francs seemed a small price to pay to save our aching feet that agonising two hour descent which I had done anyway only three days before.
The cable car whisked us down in eight minutes to cold beer and comfortable beds. The mountain as usual stood remote and unreal, the only concrete evidence that I had been up in that icy world my red and glowing face. The sunburn would soon fade but not so that inner glow of satisfaction at having fulfilled my dream of a white mountain.
NB This account was first published in TGO magazine
Tuan's page of the Mont Blanc range
Jon Wikne's page of Mont Blanc
Walking the World Index