Prima facie Day Two was spoiled by a late start and the bad ice conditions that go with a warm day. However, I suspect that it was more of a question of guts - or lack of them. Neither of us was feeling particularly confident to start with and taking a short fall down a polished ice slope certainly didn't do my confidence any good ("thanks for the arrest Nick"). Consequently, after failing to find a way past the séracs from the valley below we climbed back to the hut and announced that we would be staying for a further evening. We used the warm summer sun to get some washing done and allow our various wounds to dry out. I had sustained a quite hideous bruise to my hip that traversed all the colours of the rainbow but favoured blackish blues and blood-tinged purples. Both Nick and I fairly cut up hands although I suspect that his out-did mine for sheer bloodiness.
During the evening we surveyed out fellow climbers and came up with a dastardly plan. A Chamonix mountain guide was leading a family party of two teenage children and four adults up the mountain. We figured that a) we could keep up with and then lose a slow party such as this and b) if we waited for them to leave we could use our unpaid-for guide to show us the unmarked way across the lateral moraine. This is deeply unethical behaviour but, safety being our new maxim, we woke early we loitered suspiciously over our rye bread.
NB It might be noted at this point that Harris has never been known as an early riser. Indeed he is little more that a brown hair's breadth from being known as Cadaverously-Brown. He may claim that his sleep is the "sleep of the just" but I know from personal experience that his snoring sounds suspiciously like the moaning of souls crossing the Styx on the Birkenhead Ferry. He may sleep through the hooting braying and wailing, but only the deaf and the distant may join him. It is relevant to note that I had thus far chosen to sleep without ear-protection in order that I might hear my alarm and get us moving at the required time.
DAY THREE
Allowing the guided party a discreet lead we followed them down the steep path from the Refuge. We crossed the moraine and descended towards a distant point where a white patch of new snow snaked between the rocks to our right and the field of séracs to our left. It looked fairly straightforward but as we came closer we began to realise the size of the features we had seen from over a kilometre away. Tiny cracks resolved themselves into enormous crevasses and a patch of bare ice gradually became a long smooth convex saucer of ice set at about 50° and emptying, at its bottom lip, into a large black hole where two ice-sheets met. The guided party had a significant advantage here. They could belay a climber from top and bottom while we, being a party of two, would have little chance of arresting a fall from below if the leader fell high on the bulge. We watched the guide cut small steps then skilfully (if not cheerfully) pick his way up. When he reached the top of the smooth ice he fitted a double ice-screw anchor and shouted his party past him one by one. He then removed the anchor and followed them over the brow of the hill and onto the snowfield above. After a short time they were gone and we were once again alone. There was nothing left to do but to follow the guide's line with as much caution as possible. Moving off over the ice I attempted to ignore the gaping black maw of the crevasse and to focus on the ice in front of me. Being basically unprotected (I would have vanished 30ft into the hole before running out of rope) I began by cutting fairly large (OK they were huge) steps and kicking the front points of my crampons hard into the ice. As I got a rhythm going I began to cut smaller and more efficient steps and to move more fluidly. One firm downward stroke, followed by a sweep with the adze, to remove the ice debris, created a passable step. Reaching the top I planted my axe as far into the ice as I could and wrapping the rope round the axe head I took a belay stance for Nick. Before long he joined me and we walked up the rise towards the snowfield above.
Having lost an element of confidence in Nick's navigation skills I had spent several hours the evening before taking careful compass and distance readings and I determined to put my knowledge into effect. As it happened the 8.5 kilometres from the top of the séracs to the Cosmique Refuge (which give an increase in altitude of 1000m) were not very challenging. The landscape was however, quite beautiful. The sky was a piercing blue and the white peaks all around were truly stunning. We stopped for photographs in the valley leading towards the Cosmique and by 11:30 we were removing our crampons at the door. On arrival we were told that Chris had phoned to tell us that he was OK but would not be joining us, by 12:30 we were both fast asleep. At 6pm we were served an excellent meal of soup, lamb kebabs and chocolate mousse. The view from our dining room was however a little sobering. To my right was the Aiguilles de Midi, to my left was the blank white face of Mont Blanc du Tacul. From where we were it looked little less than vertical with a sickening looking snow bulge about three quarters of the way up.
During the evening we surveyed out fellow climbers and came up with a dastardly plan. A Chamonix mountain guide was leading a family party of two teenage children and four adults up the mountain. We figured that a) we could keep up with and then lose a slow party such as this and b) if we waited for them to leave we could use our unpaid-for guide to show us the unmarked way across the lateral moraine. This is deeply unethical behaviour but, safety being our new maxim, we woke early we loitered suspiciously over our rye bread.
NB It might be noted at this point that Harris has never been known as an early riser. Indeed he is little more that a brown hair's breadth from being known as Cadaverously-Brown. He may claim that his sleep is the "sleep of the just" but I know from personal experience that his snoring sounds suspiciously like the moaning of souls crossing the Styx on the Birkenhead Ferry. He may sleep through the hooting braying and wailing, but only the deaf and the distant may join him. It is relevant to note that I had thus far chosen to sleep without ear-protection in order that I might hear my alarm and get us moving at the required time.
DAY THREE
Allowing the guided party a discreet lead we followed them down the steep path from the Refuge. We crossed the moraine and descended towards a distant point where a white patch of new snow snaked between the rocks to our right and the field of séracs to our left. It looked fairly straightforward but as we came closer we began to realise the size of the features we had seen from over a kilometre away. Tiny cracks resolved themselves into enormous crevasses and a patch of bare ice gradually became a long smooth convex saucer of ice set at about 50° and emptying, at its bottom lip, into a large black hole where two ice-sheets met. The guided party had a significant advantage here. They could belay a climber from top and bottom while we, being a party of two, would have little chance of arresting a fall from below if the leader fell high on the bulge. We watched the guide cut small steps then skilfully (if not cheerfully) pick his way up. When he reached the top of the smooth ice he fitted a double ice-screw anchor and shouted his party past him one by one. He then removed the anchor and followed them over the brow of the hill and onto the snowfield above. After a short time they were gone and we were once again alone. There was nothing left to do but to follow the guide's line with as much caution as possible. Moving off over the ice I attempted to ignore the gaping black maw of the crevasse and to focus on the ice in front of me. Being basically unprotected (I would have vanished 30ft into the hole before running out of rope) I began by cutting fairly large (OK they were huge) steps and kicking the front points of my crampons hard into the ice. As I got a rhythm going I began to cut smaller and more efficient steps and to move more fluidly. One firm downward stroke, followed by a sweep with the adze, to remove the ice debris, created a passable step. Reaching the top I planted my axe as far into the ice as I could and wrapping the rope round the axe head I took a belay stance for Nick. Before long he joined me and we walked up the rise towards the snowfield above.
Having lost an element of confidence in Nick's navigation skills I had spent several hours the evening before taking careful compass and distance readings and I determined to put my knowledge into effect. As it happened the 8.5 kilometres from the top of the séracs to the Cosmique Refuge (which give an increase in altitude of 1000m) were not very challenging. The landscape was however, quite beautiful. The sky was a piercing blue and the white peaks all around were truly stunning. We stopped for photographs in the valley leading towards the Cosmique and by 11:30 we were removing our crampons at the door. On arrival we were told that Chris had phoned to tell us that he was OK but would not be joining us, by 12:30 we were both fast asleep. At 6pm we were served an excellent meal of soup, lamb kebabs and chocolate mousse. The view from our dining room was however a little sobering. To my right was the Aiguilles de Midi, to my left was the blank white face of Mont Blanc du Tacul. From where we were it looked little less than vertical with a sickening looking snow bulge about three quarters of the way up.
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