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Oh no, a snow ridge again... To the left a drop of about 1 kilometer and a half. To the right a drop of only a few hundred meters with lots of jaggedy bits of rock poking out the snow. Sweating ice and a heartrate that hummed - and I wasn't even on it, just looking at it from the bridge between the cable car and the main summit. Stewart persuaded me not to bottle it ("if you start to panic, ram your ice axe in and crouch over it"), for which I'm sort of very grateful. Guy had a sandwich.
The ridge itself wasn't too bad in the end, because my goggles steamed up and all I could make out was the path in front and my boots. The void on either side disappeared into a misted illusion of flat snow. As soon as we did get to a flat patch I tripped over my crampons... Not a good sign for an activity that requires careful dexterity.
We trekked around the 'back' of the Aiguille de Midi to the old cable car housing just below the Cosmique Refuge. There we de-cramponed and prepared to climb up lots of rocky bits (technical term) to the viewing terrace. Guy ate a small cake.
Alpine climbing is not quite as secure as Scottish climbing (or so I am told), partly because "speed is safety" - getting around the route before you succumb to exhaustion has to be balanced against putting in security at every dangerous point. This meant that the first stretch up an open broken rock face was done with almost no security. Visions of someone tripping over or slipping and dragging everyone else off the cliff by the common rope - ping ping ping - kept crossing my mind. I concentrated on the rock in front of me, and not being the one tripping or slipping. If we paused I put a sling over something nearby - rocks, passing frenchmen, etc.
The crows gathered around us. Below, elephant footprints showed where they'd danced in the snow.
The route was supposed to take about 4 hours - it took us near 8. We were overtaken several times by folks who walked up rocks I clutched with a fear-induced vice-grip. I learned to love rock, to hug it and hump it. I relearned abseiling, and tried to kill Stew with a large bit of rock dislodged on the way down - I got out a 'below!' and I can still see him ducking behind a convenient boulder while the rock, sillouetted against the snow below, bounced out and down in a cloud of dust and pebbles. The others behind could hear it bounce, bounce, bounce.... bounce.... bounce, bounce.... bounce... all the way to the bottom. I learned that disco leg happens to other people too, and when Stew couldn't extract his foot from a crack, and my attempt to help release him just sprained my shoulder (unnoticed thanks to andrenaline) he resolved to stay and beg food from passers by for the rest of his life.
One sheer (to me) face had a piton and an old length of rope attached to it. Stew went up first, but the only safety he could make use of was the piton itself; by the time he'd passed it and was lunging at the top for a handhold, that safety was well below him. I had to decide between keeping the rope taught enough that he wouldn't hit the floor (or me) before the safety took the strain, and pulling him short if he leapt for something. Wayne behind me wrapped the rope around something solid. Mark bolted himself to the wall. Somewhere behind us a distant crack and rumble - an avalanche. Guy had another sandwich.
An hour before the last ascent we'd run out of water, despite bringing 2-3 litres each, which is another thing to bear in mind between safety (slow and careful) and safety (not taking so long that you run out of water, suncream, or in the case of Guy, sandwiches).
The last bit goes over an 'exposed' (read: drop off to nowhere on both sides) pile of rocks just below the viewing platform, then up a ladder to stand as nonchalant as possible amongst the non-climbing tourists (one of whom videod us as we dekitted - I have no idea what she said). In my case the calmest I could manage was hysterical laughter, sobbing, and a need to kiss the lovely level platform with its lovely rails. I was better once we'd had cake.
The first day had started badly, with Stew leading up the Index only to come back down and tell us we wouldn't make it. All psyched up and no where to go... the three relative newbies went for a walk instead to Lac Blanc, very nice, and the beer was cheaper than Chamonix.
Basically a long glacier climb with bits of rock and ice at top. We stopped for lunch and had a look up the rest of the hill, and the sun shining, and decided to come down. Mark led, I followed as safety (oooh, the ''trust''...) Along an ice traverse, a hacked ledge narrower than a foot is (that we'd walked up), we got a bit cautious and clambered along, putting in an ice screw every now and then, mostly for practice. But we got into such a routine that we were still shuffling one foot, shuffling other foot, moving ice axe, etc as we hit the flat patch on the right. Stewart walked in.
The cable car managed about 50 meters out of the terminal - the scary bit where it drops away - when it stopped, rocking... An hour later it was still there, I was failing to kip in the middle of the floor, Wayne had passed out and Stew was explaining to a Dutch family who'd been up sunbathing that we'd both had a few drinks the night before... Eventually they winched us back up and gave us a free drink (beer!). Apparently one of the electric motors had failed, so we were to be helicoptered off! Six at a time and there were around a hundred to get off. The Dutch family had come up to enjoy the sunshine in shorts and vests, and now it was getting chilly, so we handed out fleeces and jackets. Children first, then old folks - we were the last down, and the pilot wasn't messing about. He took off and nose-downed over the edge of the glacier, following the line of the valley down and then up a short rise to the second cable car. Brilliant!
"AD is the most difficult route I've done. Actually, I think the route you did yesterday [Cosmique Arret] was AD" - Stew...
Caaaake! Lovely pastry shop in Les Houce.
Apparently rubbing your thigh and going 'baa' can be (mis)interpreted as a leg of pork. Which won't quite fit in the oven.
Photos are here
''Encoule vous et votre famile laide'' would be rude, but it's in a foreign language so that's alright then. Poo [colloq] to you and your ugly family.