© J A D Healey 2014
I caught the 8.10 from Preston Park. I must have been excited for I forgot to buy a ticket! However, I paid for all the way, when I got out at Victoria. I saw that passengers were queuing for the 10 o'clock to Dover, but I didn't see anyone queuing for a booked seat, so I walked, with my sack, around the station, until I could walk onto the platform. A clergyman was sitting in my seat, but I assumed I'd have to have the back to the engine seat instead. Christina and Sylvia soon arrived; in a holiday mood we ordered morning coffee, but it came with toast and marmalade and a bill for 2/6d.
At Dover we joined the crowd through the customs and onto the Belgium boat, where all we could find was floor space. We soon found our way to the dining room for the second sitting of lunch, a meal which was to last us a long time. At Ostend, there was no time to spare; we found our seats and soon the train drew out. All went well until we were beyond Cologne, where there was a long stop, and then we started to go backwards.
Christina was a great help with her knowledge of the language, and was able to find out that we couldn't get through on that line, that we'd have to go back the hour or so to Cologne, cross the Rhine and proceed through Bonn. We were unable to make up lost time and reached Munich four hours late, having missed our connections.
I usually rely on restaurant cars and hadn't taken much food, so I was very grateful for Christina's and Sylvia's sandwiches. At Munich, Christina nobly volunteered to look after the luggage, while Sylvia and I looked around the city. I wasn't feeling very energetic in the heat, but Sylvia and I just had time to find out about buses to Berlin for the return journey, before joining Christina in the restaurant. We couldn't get any service, so we had to join the train with some ham rolls and a bottle of beer.
We were amused during the journey by some typical Italians in the carriage. The train took us straight through to Chiusa, where we arrived at about 6.30. We enquired the time of the next train to Ortesei and were told 9.30; we were rather afraid it was 9.30 in the morning, so we enquired the price of a car (it was 5000 lira or £1 each), so we thought it worth having, and arrived at about 7 o'clock at the Pass. It was an exciting run, overtaking on blind corners, relying entirely on the horn, but we arrived safely.
We weren't expected and were told there were no beds for us that night, and were advised to go over the col to the Valentino Refuge, where we obtained a room for three and supper and breakfast. It was very pleasant, quieter than the other hut, but expensive. We joined Brenda Ritchie and Iris Lemar in the evening and so to our well earned bed.
After a leisurely breakfast in the Valentino Hut, we made our way over to the Rifugio, where the others were breakfasting, and eventually Johann arrived. Brenda had the parties worked out; Sylvia and I were to climb with Johann on the Sella Towers, and she and her friends, were to go up the ordinary way on the Fünffingerspitz, and so we set out.
It was a typical guided day, with rucksacks left at the foot, ready for the return. The roping up (no bowlines) and then the climbing; I was on a short rope behind Sylvia. To my great delight we soon stopped, Sylvia was untied, and I followed up a more interesting part. I made it all right, but I began to realise that much more would have been a strain on the fingers. Then the rope was thrown down to Sylvia, and Johann enquired once more whether Sylvia could tie herself on, and then it was her turn to climb. By this time the frontier police had caught us up and they followed Sylvia closely and eventually she joined us.
Next there was a wall to the right and Johann took great trouble to explain, in pantomime and German, how it was climbed (it seemed ominous) and then he disappeared from sight. Next, it was Sylvia's turn, and I understood why he had taken so much trouble; Sylvia failed to find adequate handholds. It was lucky she was on a rope, but eventually she disappeared from sight, and at long last I could stop shivering and start to climb. I didn't find it quite so hold-less as Sylvia, and was soon up and round the corner where Johann had clipped onto a peg. The leading Italian had overtaken our rope and his crab was still in the peg, which I used as a handhold and made a delicate step across to the right, and so up the crack and then easily to the summit (the Cante Route, according to Brenda).
For the descent, Johann had Sylvia on a rope and I was allowed to follow unroped. Then he pointed to the second tower and asked us whether we'd rather take the easier route to the right, or the more difficult to the left, so we asked for the latter. It looked most exciting, a crack with a smooth wall to its left, but when we came to climb it, it was of about 'd' standard. And so we reached the next summit and retreated. Johann said it was impossible to get onto the third tower and we were to retreat.
Back to the sacks, we moved them down to a pleasant spot and lunched. I suggested another climb, but Johann wasn't keen, said he'd take me up another, but not both of us, so we returned to the hotel and, after about half an hour, took us out to a small crag with a tree on the top, to practice rappelling; he fastened the rope to the tree, we went down one end and gave the other as a life line. After we had done it several times he suggested that I climbed up the pitch. I was rather faint hearted about this; I didn't know whether it was a real climb, or not. I tried the bottom and it was too difficult, but Johann said traverse in from the right. I did that, mounted up and then said I'd have to go down; however, Johann told me where to find a handhold and I made it. Johann said it would have a V if it had been on a long climb and I said I hoped to do better after my first day. I also hoped to buy some klettershuhe (he rather turned up his nose at my Lawries boots).
Then he left us and Sylvia and I had a little stroll up in the direction of the Langkofel. When we returned the porter told us that we had taken the key and our last member had arrived. We were shown into the dining room where Anne was drinking coffee; I felt she had been rather left to her own devices, but she was able to smile and tell us long involved tales about her journey from Milan.
There was no sign of the others; we came down for dinner at 7 o'clock, but soon realised that 7.30 was the hour. The others were a little late, having got behind a slow American party on the Fünffingerspitz .
It was obvious that Anne would have to climb with Johann the next day, and Brenda suggested that I should go as well. That suited me, but I was nominally leader, and it didn't seem right to me that I should have more than my share of the guided climbing, but Brenda wasn't used to people arguing with her, when she had organised some climbing, so I gave in, thinking it would come right in the long run.
It was suggested that we should do a more difficult, but fairly short climb on the Fünffingerspitz, but Anne was in favour of something longer, so the south face of the Grohmann was suggested and the next morning Johann agreed to it.
Anne and I started up in front of Johann and made for the south face. At first we kept too far down on the left of the ridge, but another party (more anon) called us up to the crest and then Johann caught us up. We traversed easy slabs for some way, going as fast as I wanted to and then stopped to rope up. I was glad of the halt, but as soon as we were ready, we continued up at the same pace. The other party had continued their traverse to the left and roped up further along. I knew what Johann was up to, I knew that he wanted to get ahead of the others, so I did not protest about the pace, but tried to play up. It seemed to me that both Johann and Anne could have gone twice as fast, that it was simply my slowness which was holding the party back (and yet I wasn't really going slowly!). I was glad when we got over the first easy slabs, as they were quite belay-less and then started to move singly, Johann utilising the only belays. I took my time, finding the holds on these pitches, and then Anne, on the end of the rope had the rope taken in by Johann. She climbed as quickly as the guide and, as on the next few climbs, he watched in amazement, exclaiming "so stark" at frequent intervals.
At first, the other rope (a guide with two men) had come in from the left and caught us up, but then we seemed to draw well ahead, and then we came to the dreaded hand and foot traverse. I did the hand traverse "comme une debutante". It was easy really, one just needed to go low enough for it, but I tended to keep too high. When it came to my turn on the foot traverse, I was surprised to find nice little finger-holds, all the way along.
While we were making the traverse to the right and back again, I was surprised to see the other guide start straight up the chimney. I though he was on a fool's errand (I was overestimating these delightful Dolomite chimneys), but he got up before I had finished the foot traverse, but he didn't overtake Johann. At the top of this pitch, the men's rope sat down for a smoke, and Johann offered us a rest. I am used to taking what I am offered by a guide, but Anne immediately said that she wasn't tired, and I quite agreed, so Johann said did we want to go on and we agreed, and so we reached the summit in 1¾ hours after starting the climb. There wasn't much more of interest after this, we moved together most of the time.
We spent a pleasant hour on the summit, lunching and suggesting that we should do the Fünffingerspitz on the way down, but Johann wasn't having any! Then we started down, just as the other party arrived. I tried to notice the way down in case I ever wanted to go up the easy way, but it seemed very complicated to me. We seemed to climb down more slowly than we had climbed up. There was one little chimney where we rappelled, otherwise it was all easy. We went along the bottom of the Fünffingerspitz and Johann went up to his hut and we descended to the Sella. Anne at first was looking for other peaks to bag, but then decided that, on the first day, she had better not, so we sat and talked and watched the traffic go by.
It was decided that Brenda, Iris and Christine should do the Grohmann. Sylvia had joined them for a 'walk' the previous day, and had been sick, so Anne and I decided to do Brenda's 'walk' in the morning and join Sylvia for a climb, if she felt like it, in the afternoon, and we arranged to meet below the 3rd Sella Tower in the afternoon.
Brenda had written a description of the walk and we were soon to learn that every word counted. We started on the path up to the second Sella Tower, but not all the way. Soon we met a party of Italian frontier police, who were camping nearby. We asked them if our ledge went off a little higher up and they were horrified that we should want to traverse the cliffs and sent us down. We went a little way down and then stopped; it was obvious that there was no ledge lower down, and they had said we'd find the path going all the way, and Brenda had said there was no path. Anne was for sparing the men's feelings and going lower, but I said we hadn't time and so we went up and found the band of steep grass, where, as Brenda had written, we went as high as possible for easier going. Soon I remembered that Brenda had said that she had got a blister through walking on the side of her foot on the steep grass, and I began to develop the same trouble.
After about half a mile, we were to come to a huge chasm where it would be necessary to go as low as possible; this we did, walking round on the grass, for I would have found it impossible to scramble down the loose rock, the exposure was so great. From the lowest point on the grass, a ledge led round the chasm and out the other side, to the continuation of the grass ledge. The ledge in the chasm was most sensational and, at one point where I didn't like the way round an exposed corner, Anne pointed out that a through route avoided it, and we crawled through and out the other side.
The grass ledge continued into the 'Gully' named by Brenda. Once more the little ledge, just wide enough to make a path, continued on. There was much loose rock underfoot and, if I touched the wall to my left, that always 'came away in my hand', so I was most conscious of the sheer drop of a few hundred feet on my right. Then everything came to an end; the path became too narrow and there was no way up or down.
We took out our instructions and read that on this part, the way was 'narrow in parts', so we assumed that we must get round this corner, and I felt the rock on the wall. For the first time, the rock was quite firm, and there were good handholds, so we knew we had to swing round on these, and once round we realised that it got a little easier. Then down a short pitch into the gully, a moderate climb up the other side, a walk of some yards further to the right, and then more scrambling up to the screes towards the col.
On this part there was a choice of routes, but the exposure was over, and it was ordinary. I have never longed so much for a safeguarding rope, and yet it would have been useless to bring one as the rock was so rotten. I have seldom felt such exposure; I didn't blame the Italians at all. I'd have said the same to two women wanting to go that way.
It wasn't easy going across the screes, but eventually we reached the col, and the ordinary red-marked track. We stopped here for some lunch, hid the sack, and continued up Piz Selva, following the red splashes, giant pegs and cables. It was a quick and amusing way, taking us by some incredible looking gendarmes, up to a cairn on this completely barren plateau. It was saucer shaped and we were on one of the peaks on the outside, but the highest point was Piz Boé across the other side. I have never been in such barren scenery before, but this very barrenness acted as a wonderful foil to the few flowers (mostly poppies).
We were behind schedule, so had no time to linger, hurried down to the sack, and continued down the marked track, passing one little group of gentians, and on down the scree, and so to the start of the iron ladders. I thought I was incapable of feeling exposure more than I had in the morning, but I did, as I looked over the 1,000 ft sheer cliff, and realised that we had to descend it! Every hold was there, mostly of the iron bar or cable variety; there was no technical difficulty, but suppose someone was hit by a stone? or a thunderbolt? Anne was quite happy to go down unroped, but I had spent too many years, always roped where one could come to harm if one fell for any reason … and when I thought of the party the previous day, Sylvia had been sick, so Brenda and Christina had left her, while they went to the summit of Piz Selva, and when they returned she looked better, so they all descended without a rope.
After some time, the exposure eased; in fact we had an amusing descent down a chimney and, at the bottom of this, there was a platform, where a roped Italian party were sitting. "Come and eat with us?" they invited, but Anne, in front, was immune to such invitations and said that we had already eaten. As it came to my turn to run past them, they tried shaking their bottle "Stop and drink wine with us", but Anne, not trusting me to answer this one I suppose, shouted back that we had to meet our friend at 3 o'clock and on we hurried, but the route soon petered out and then we followed the path across the scree and then up to Sylvia's white hat.
I offered to drop out of the party for the 3rd Sella Tower for the sake of speed, but Anne wouldn’t have that, so I had to confess that I had had enough for one day and the other two went off in that direction. I felt very guilty later, when they confessed that the trials of route finding hadn't left them time enough for it.
Back at the Sella I swapped tales with the Grohman party. Apparently this time Johann had been held up behind several slow parties. Iris told a good yarn, that as she (the second) joined him, he'd been chanting a little sadly to himself the refrain "So langsam".
Johann was determined to take some of the party up the Keine Reiss and, as Iris wasn't keen and Brenda didn't want to lead it, everyone assumed that Anne and I were for it. I couldn't make out whether it was strenuous on the fingers or not. After Brassington, I suspected every climb of wanting to use up all my finger strength, but it never came. Anne and I met Johann who came down from his hut, I changed into my klettershuhe (worn for the first time), Johann took my boots and sack and hid them.
We walked round, past the start of the ordinary route, and roped up at the foot of some slabs; we went one at a time up the first pitch, and then all moved together. It was very easy until we reached the foot of a steep wall and Johann pointed straight up to the Schmidt Karmine and said that the Keine Reiss traversed to the left. This traverse was a good 100 ft. and I didn't like it very much; the handholds were so sandy. As Johann said, the overhang above protected it from any rain, and so it was never washed clean. I was in the middle and Anne at the end, so I was well protected.
The next pitch looked ferocious, but there were excellent handholds and it went OK. I was a little reluctant to make the pull on them, but once I summoned up the energy, it was fine. Anne walked straight up, of course, to the accompaniment of Johann's perpetual "So stark!"
Next we traversed out onto the left wall and went up that some way, and then there may have been a few chimney pitches, I forget, but eventually there came the dreaded pitch which looked as though everything depended on the fingers. Johann was out of sight, but I couldn't stay looking at it; I started up it, and, lo and behold, I found the wall behind helped me, it was only a chimney problem. As I watched Johann on the next pitch (a traverse to the left), I assumed that would be the crux, but no, every hold was there, then the difficulties eased off.
Once on the ridge there was one pitch before Johann told me to unrope. I didn't think it was quite the place, but I am a most obedient guide's client, and I obeyed and soloed up to the summit, which we reached after 2½ hours. Here Johann did one of his famous head stands. I wonder if he's often had two clients who also specialise in it? Anne did hers in the same place, but I chose a position a little further from the edge.
Then we started down, the first move being the abseil to the Schente before the third finger. Next, we went a little way down a gully to the left and then traversed down and right. Soon we met Brenda guiding Sylvia up. We learned they had come up from the hut and not the usual way which Brenda had done on the first day. Brenda told us that they had left Iris in the Schente before the 'thumb' and would we take her down. A rappel brought us to Iris, who was told that she was now with the Cannoner class and had better look out (we never learned what that was). I felt pulled both ways with Anne ahead of me, and Iris behind, but we soon went down, traversing left until we reached the first abseil point. Iris also contributed to the party an extra rope, so Johann decided to do two rappels in one, and tied two ropes together; Anne was first down and then it was Iris' turn, but Iris went some way and then stopped and altered the position of the knot. We could hear what was said and we thought that if Anne had got down why couldn't Iris – we weren't to know that Anne wasn't down. When it was my turn, I was astonished to see Anne on a minute ledge some way up, unroped and clinging to the rock. Johann was horrified when he came down, but fixed a rope for her to continue her descent. It was made much worse by the fact that it was all in sight of the hut and that there was English singing coming from that direction.
The last rappel went smoothly enough, and we had a happy half hour or so in the hut with Johann, his two daughters and Albert. Our sack had already been brought up, so we were able to eat, also I could change into my boots and save my beautiful klettershuhe the run down.
That evening the owners of the voices singing English songs called in at the Sella. They were London University M.C. and they disapproved of having guides, yet knew no routes, so Christina had invited them to meet a friend of hers who was an expert on the district. It was amusing to watch them when they were introduced to Brenda; they looked very bored and only sat down out of politeness, but when they began to realise that Brenda had something, they changed completely, and out came pencils and papers, so that Brenda could draw the routes. They had been on the Langkofl that day, but hadn't got very far; we'd asked Albert what they were doing, and Albert had replied that they were climbing rocks!
Rather late, another one entered and, recognising us as the party who had made fools of themselves on the Fünffingerspiz, he rubbed it in. "Fancy abseiling before you'd seen where the ropes went"; "Fancy not tying the two ends together". Mr. Bumptious we were to think of him, but he didn't stay very long.
Brenda, Iris and Christina had been for the Langkofel Nordwand this day, but at 6 a.m. Brenda came to our room to say that Iris hadn't slept that night, so would Anne or I take her place. Anne insisted that I went, and I agreed as I was so desperately keen to do the climb, but I was afraid it was most unwise as I had hardly slept all night. I had felt so sick, and I seemed no better in the morning.
We walked along the path, past Saturday's abseil boulder, and Johann came down from his hut and met us. He was a little put out when he saw we were four, but Anne had only come for the walk and to carry my sack. Johann also didn't like the fact that we each had a sack, so I let mine go back, and took Brenda's which was practically empty. I climbed in vibrams.
Soon we got to the foot of the wall and, after moving one at a time up the first pitch or so, we reached the easy slabs and moved together, up, and to the right. I was on Johann's rope and Brenda and Christina followed behind. When the wall ahead steepened we traversed back left into the chimney. This looked extremely delicate, but when we reached it we found the holds excellent.
Then followed hour after hour of chimney climbing; I should have loved it, but I was still feeling sick, and was terrified something violent would happen. I was no company for Johann; I didn't say a word and was worried when he'd hurry on, out of sight of the other two.
After two or three hours we reached the shoulder, and the lovely view westwards, and then continued to the left up more chimneys. These tended to have loose holds and weren't so good; in one place my foothold gave way just as I was getting my weight on it, but my handholds held. I got a gash on my little finger from a stone the rope sent down. Eventually, we reached the end of the chimneys, and the broken ground at the top, and traversed below the crest on rotten rock and a few patches of icy snow, and so on to the highest point, after 5½ hours climbing.
My inside was feeling the same, so I thought I'd better not eat, and waited until the others had finished. We set off down the easy way, Johann destroying a few misleading red arrows. I can only say I climbed 'nicht elegant' on the descent. Johann was quite disgusted with me, I'm sure. I was amazed at the complications of the route, repeatedly traversing to the left, then down the long snow couloir and onto the 'glacier', across it and then across numerous other ribs, until at length we were down to the path up to the Demetz Hut from the west.
We were in mist by now (it had been coming and going all the way down) and it was disappointing to find that we had to walk up to the hut. Brenda said that she really felt she could lead the ordinary way now, if necessary; she thought she could find it. At the hut we had tea with rum. I don't know whether that was what my inside needed, but it gave no more trouble.
Back at the Sella, we found that Anne and Sylvia were back from the third Sella Tower, apparently they had been followed by eight of the London University party, and Anne had even had an apology from Mr. Bumptious (he hadn't realised that she was experienced!).
The rest of the party had been for the Adang Kamine, except Brenda and me. Brenda left fairly early to walk 'round the block', as the walk round the Langkofel, Fünffinger and Grohmann was to become known. I hung on to see the others away, but Johann was several hours late in arriving. This was annoying, as it shortened the day for other plans.
Eventually Johann appeared and said that the Adang Kamine would be too wet; the party must wait a little longer. We felt that Johann's heart wasn't in it, perhaps he needed a rest day, so eventually we decided to give him an off-day. Anne and I then proceeded to walk 'round the block' in the opposite direction to Brenda, hoping to meet her half way.
It was a lovely walk, with the day steadily clearing. We started round by the Langkofel, looking up at the Nordwand disappearing into the mist. Then we passed the path up to the Rifinger Vicenza (and Johann's hut) and so round past the Fünffinger and Grohmann. There were plenty of animals on the first part for Anne (cows, then a group of mares and foals). Then, as we passed the col by (I suppose) Piz da Uridi we met Brenda. She had been prospecting on the Grohmannspitz, trying to find another Ganzband, I expect.
We had a chat and then continued on our ways. We sheltered under a boulder from a slight shower and then continued until I saw a farm a little below the track, and Anne agreed with me that we could ask for milk. We met a boy outside and he took us in to 'granny' who left us while she went for some milk.
Then the 'hired help' who had come to help with the hay-making appeared, and she and Anne had a wonderful session. "How did we arrive in Italy? What did we do? A Woman Tier Artz? There were so many questions, and Anne's German stood up to it well. Then the boy returned and offered to show Anne the cows. We all trooped below, and then the boy asked Anne to age a young bull. She said 15 months, and was told it would be 16 next month, so she came away with flying colours.
Soon after leaving, we joined the 'main track' to the Ggo. di Fassa, as it is called on the map, and then took a lesser track over the Rodella Pass and so back to Sella.
This day the whole party was to do the Adang Kamine. Anne, Brenda and I started to walk, while Johann took the others in his car. By the time we had walked half-way up from the Albergo Miramonti, Johann returned, and picked us up; then we all walked up towards the Piz Cir, and put on Klettershuhe. Johann was to take Sylvia and Christina, Brenda and Iris were to go next, and Anne and I could follow behind. Johann wasn't altogether happy about having leaders behind him. he told us to be sure to ask for a rope if we weren't happy.
Then he insisted that we all had a rope down on the first pitch, as there were a few loose stones. The second pitch was mine; it was quite easy, but a long lead out and it steepened at the top. I wasn't altogether happy on this top part; I retreated and found a peg just below it, but still didn't like it, so I brought Anne up. Then, of course, I found the hold I'd missed before and had no trouble.
The next pitch was the very photogenic one, but Iris went too low (I photographed her in that position), but by the time she was making the proper traverse, I had unroped to give her a back rope and was in no position to photograph. It was a long time before we thought to pull back our rope and then Anne set off out of sight. When it was my turn, I found that a threaded wire provided an excellent handhold and I soon rejoined Anne.
The next pitch was strenuous and Anne suggested that she should have it, and leave me the chimney above it, but I wasn't keen. I find a strenuous pitch a challenge, and so I tried it; when Johann had shouted to me to keep higher to the left, I found a peg and was soon up.
Anne's was the next pitch and mine the final 'crux'. I was a little put off when Brenda asked for a top rope, but Christina persuaded her she didn't need it. It was a chimney, with what appeared to be an overhang at the top, but it responded to the back to the wall technique and I was soon up and rejoining the rest of the party, unroping on a ledge at the top of the climb (it had been all too short). I got out my camera and Johann insisted on taking one with me in it and soon we started down.
We suggested we'd like another climb, so Johann and I said we could go up the Kleine Cir Spiz, and in the end Brenda and Sylvia came as well. The party wasn't amused; it was completely rotten.
Back at the Gardenajoch, Anne found that her torch had been taken back in the car. She was so annoyed, for she had planned to ascend onto the Sella Massif and traverse Piz Boé (a 'Munro'), but it was impossible without a torch, and she returned by road with Brenda and me.
Anne and I had our orders; we were to ascend the Nordwand of the 2nd Sella Tower with Johann and that's what we set out to do. It was a lovely climb, it looked a little wet and most forbidding as we set out, just a straight wall. We went more or less straight up, yet I could never find the route again, one crack looked just like another, yet no doubt the other would lead nowhere.
The two cruxes were both traverses to the right. On the lower one there was a sling which could be used for swinging down. At first I didn't go far enough down, and my fingers were almost slipping on the slimy rock. When Johann told me to go lower it was much easier. The second traverse was much higher; Johann told us to watch him, and he did some elegant foot changing, but I preferred to step through and I found it one of the easier pitches of the climb.
I remember several of the other pitches; there was the one where I saw a chimney to the left and made for it, only to find it very wet and slimy, and I had to waste time going down and back to the little crack I should have followed. Then there was the diedre; I didn't agree with Johann that you could take a car up it! In fact I was quite pleased with the way I worked out the moves to get up it at all.
Then, higher up, there was a steep, sensational looking crack, but, as always on this climb, there were just enough holds. Really, what amazed me on this route was the speed with which Anne climbed. I knew she moved fast enough on easy ground, but on this climb also, where I spent so long working out moves, she simply came straight up.
We spent 3½ hours over it (very concentrated, Johann wouldn't even let me take a photo!); it should only have been 3 hours. Johann told Anne that, alone, they would have only taken 1 hour and, when I said that I hadn't taken up 2½ hours of our 3½ hours, he said that with me alone he'd have taken 1½ hours. It was incredible that, at the end of each pitch, there was a stance large enough for three.
We came down the easy way, I was left miles behind, and then we had our lunch below the 1st Sella Tower. We didn't hurry over it, and then Anne rather amazed Johann by picking up her torch and emergency rations and setting off for her Piz Boé. I refused to go; I said I must reserve my energies for the next day.
That evening Anne arrived for supper at about 9 o'clock, but she couldn't eat much; however, she had 'bagged her Munro'.
Johann was to take Iris and Anne on the Langkofel Nordwand, and Brenda promised to take Christina and me up the Eck. It was a revelation to me the trouble Brenda took over the route finding. She had done it twice before guideless, yet she had the route translated from the guidebook and also marked the way.
She wanted to set out at about 6 a.m., but couldn't get breakfast before 6 o'clock; it seemed wrong in a C.D.J. Hut, and the girls were up until the small hours serving the late revellers. It seemed obvious that they couldn't quite be on 24 hours a day. The Nordwand party were a little later as they had to wait until after Johann had attended Mass.
At about 6.30 we started for the chimney at the foot of the Eck and Brenda led up it with Christina next and me on the end of the rope. Brenda told me to wear klettershuhe, and she herself took up a pair of rope soled shoes for the wet chimney at the top (she takes no chances).
The first chimneys were of 'vd' standard and then we had several hundred feet of easier going (following the slabs to the left, under the line of an overhang). At the top, there was an interesting move; I spent some time on it, yet Brenda had led it before Christina had got into a position to arrange a belay. In fact I was amazed at the blind confidence Christina had in Brenda – Brenda certainly justified it, but I haven't such confidence even in a guide.
The next section of the climb was a traverse to the right, broken at first by a chimney and then we started scrambling up a series of gullies. Brenda was particularly anxious over the route finding in this sector, and was using sheets of newspaper to leave at strategic points, to find the way down.
At the top we went between a couple of huge gendarmes and made our way to the incredible and shattered ridge, which led to the final chimney. Brenda insisted that the rope was threaded in and out of all the pinnacles; it was a good idea too, for rock came out by the handful. Then into the chimney and Brenda changed into her klettershuhe. As usual the chimney presented no difficulties, and we reached the summit after 4 hours climbing.
We sat and ate, and looked along to the highest point and wondered whether the others would be arriving soon. I had secretly hoped that we would make our way along and descend the ordinary way, to make a traverse of the mountain (we had plenty of time, 4 hours was a better time than Brenda had expected), but Brenda said no, she wouldn't know which side to traverse the gendarmes and, after half an hour, we started down the same way.
I thoroughly enjoyed the descent; we rappelled down the chimney, but then climbed as far as the bottom pitches. I realised that many of the pitches had made no impression on me on the way up, but, thanks to the descent, I can now remember them. That is particularly so of the last pitch (down) of the horizontal traverse. It was quite delicate.
Thanks to the paper, we had no trouble route finding, and the easy slabs under the overhang didn't have nearly so many loose stones on them as I had remembered. We rappelled the last pitch and then flicked the rope off. The descent had taken 6 hours.
I put on my vibrams and we returned to the Sella, where I was amazed to see the Nordwand party already installed, and brewing tea. They had taken 4 hours 10 minutes on the Nordwand! (and what tales they could tell!) - Anne and Iris can both spin a good yard; the trouble is that they didn't coincide on all points (were there three different coloured ropes going up the chimney together, or were there six?). However, both were agreed that they had overtaken 12 people and Johann must have announced "Wir müssen erste sei!"
We were up in good time, packed our large sacks and left them with the porter, and at about 8 o'clock Anne and I set out for the Vajolet Hut. The first part of the way was delightful, following an easy grass ridge. The flowers were a joy and I longed to photograph them; unfortunately the sun wasn't co-operative. The effects of the clouds were lovely and the patterns on the grass made by the men cutting the hay by hand, were lovely, but a brighter sun would have been a great help for my camera.
We stopped at the Sinsi "Hut" for espresso café. "Multo latti" the man understood we wanted, and then we started up towards the Molignon Pass. It was quite a grind, up the scree; the only vegetation was the odd poppy, so different from the flowery alps we had left.
Brenda had warned us that we had to go over a second pass, but it was quite a shock to look across and see the Passo di Principe, across more arid, stony country. To the right was a valley leading down to green and pleasant country, but our way went down and then kept to the left, traversing the screes and then ascending more screes to the next pass of almost the same height as the Molignon.
Before we started the traverse, we saw a few goats feeding on the scattered herbage. I should have thought they'd have found something better. The next ascent wasn't as bad as I'd feared; it wasn't so much one step up, two back, as the way up to the first pass had been.
There was a hut just over the first pass and we thought we'd order hot water and make ourselves some tea. We discovered that we hadn't our English tea with us, so we had to order tea instead. They certainly lived up to their claim of quick service. Then down a good path in grass covered ground to the Vajolet Hut. This was very crowded; there were many young Italians in conducted parties. I didn't feel that they were particularly interested in the countryside.
It had taken us about 6 hours. I had carried scarcely anything; Anne had had it all and still I felt I had gone painfully slowly for her.
At the hut we were amazed to find Iris and Sylvia already installed. We knew they were coming with Johann and we thought Johann was going to spend the morning sending supplies to his hut, and bring them round in the afternoon. Apparently Johann had arrived soon after we had left, with another client, and, once at the hut, he took the other client up a climb.
Anne and I soon set out up to the Alberto Hut, from where we wished to climb the Stabler Türre, the easiest of the Vajolet Towers. We were a little slow leaving the Alberto, but, as we were trying to look out the route beforehand, we thought we heard Johann shouting down at us, but didn't hear what he said, and went up towards the tower, despite the thunder growling in the background.
The ledge to the south of the tower was obvious, and so were the first few steps up the gully and then there was no mistaking the three storied column. We roped up and climbed to the top of the column and then climbed the little wall above it. The weather seemed no more promising, but it obviously hadn't occurred to Anne to turn back and, although I thought I had learned my lesson, I did not insist.
The next long pitch was easy enough, but I began to wonder how it would 'go' in the wet on the descent. Then Anne went up to the right, out of sight. When it came to my turn to follow, I had a shock as I traversed round to the right and peered over to the north of the tower – it was pitch black in that direction, and I would have insisted on retreating then and there even if the rain hadn't started.
We decided to be last down the pitches we hadn't led up, and that left Anne to be last down the long pitch. The water was streaming down the rocks by this time, so I put on one or two runners for Anne's protection and then sat, belayed to the abseil ring. Anne tells a good tale of the descent, that as she was coming down, collecting the whole of the party's ironmongery, the lightning was flickering around her ears (but she says I spoil it by insisting that there was never less than 2 seconds between the thunder and lightning).
We abseiled to the end of the rope, and then climbed down the rest of the chimney into the gully, down which the water was streaming. I changed back into my boots as soon as I reached the sack, and we made our way off the mountain. The rain soon stopped as we ran down to the Vajolet Hut.
We went inside and spoke to the others (there seemed a slightly cold front) and then went out for a walk, hoping it would slightly dry our clothes. It was a pleasant walk, among the flowers on the path to the Coronelle Hut. We returned and reached the hut just at dusk; the Rif Preuss, with its lighted windows, was just like a Christmas card castle. And so in to dress in Brenda's shorts and my duvet and put my sodden things to dry in the kitchen.
This was Christina's last day, so Johann was to take her and Sylvia on the Traverse of the Vajolet Towers. The rest of us were to walk and scramble. Up once more to the Rifugio Per Alberto and then onto the Santner Pass from where we went up the ordinary way to the Summit of Catinaccio . We roped for it, but it was mostly a case of moving together. Anne and I went wrong; we moved to the right of the chimney (looking up), instead of the left. On the summit was a long cross and a magnificent view of the Marmalada. We went down the same way and then from the Santner Pass we descended the marked way.
Anne and I got ahead eventually (our bad route finding frequently put us behind Brenda and Iris this day) and then we lay in the sunshine when we found a grassy patch after all the screes, and the others once more passed us. There were lots of 'walkers' on the path; it must have been an exciting route for them, with all the artificial aids where the route became more 'interesting'.
Eventually we continued our way, up a stony gully, and over the pass, and rejoined the others well down the other side. After tea at the hut, we went for a stroll up the valley towards the Passo de Principe.
The weather was bad all day, at least bad enough to give us an excuse not to go out. Christina left during a better interval to walk back to Sella; we are afraid she must have got soaked. Brenda went for a walk, but the rest of us didn't bother. We had an amusing time with Anne translating the Italian guide book. She said that her schoolgirl Latin and French enabled her to read Italian, with the help of Johann on a few technical terms. The funniest part was when someone on another table was translating her English into German. I acted as Anne's secretary.
This was a lovely day to compensate for the previous one. Once more up to the Refugio Alberto and then along our little ledge past the Stabler Tower and to continue to the East of the Winkler Tower. We hurried over sections of this, as parties were pegging their way up 'Stropiombi' and sending a little down. We had some time to wait while two Italians climbed the Winkler Reiss and then Johann started up it, followed by Iris and me. I found it quite a strenuous move; I found the sideways pull, but it felt so polished to me that I didn't like to trust all on it, but eventually I made it and waited while Johann gave Brenda a rope down for the wall to the right. He warned us never to try to climb this without a rope above, for a puff of wind would blow us off our holds, so he said.
After this, Anne and Brenda mostly climbed on their own, and Johann took Iris and me. The next chimney looked fierce, but easily 'went' by the usual techniques, and soon we were on the summit of the Winkler, where Johann filled in the time waiting for the others, by standing on his head. I did the same and was reluctant to come down, the view was so enchanting from that way up. Eventually I thought I'd better get right way up to take a photo of it, but once I was down it simply looked ordinary.
We descended to the east en rappel, traversed to the north of the tower, and then faced the gap to the Stabler Tower. Johann asked whether we'd rather rappel down and climb up, or cross the gap on a rope. We'd never done this crossing before, so we said we'd try it. Johann rappelled, and carried the rappel rope up and fastened it on the other side, and I was the first victim across. I put my karabiner over the fixed rope and my feet over it, and Johann pulled me on my life line, and I pulled on the fixed rope, and I was soon across, ready to photograph the others as they came across.
Soon we were on Anne's and my highest point, and were surprised what a short, easy pitch took us to the top. There were other parties there and we watched someone climbing the face to the right of the Pikle Reiss, and then went down, climbing down the first pitch, and then following the ledge round to the north of the tower, and so to the gap before the last tower.
Johann went up to assist an Italian girl up the crack, but she wouldn't have a shoulder, and delayed us considerably. Johann was up in a moment, but with four women to follow, the two Italians we had overtaken must have thought that they were in for a very long halt. We were out of the sunshine on the ledge below the crack. Iris went up without any trouble, and so did I; Johann insisted that Brenda had a rope down and, of course, she floated up. I didn't have time to watch Anne, as I was fixing the rappel rope, as soon as the ring was free.
What a delightful way down, with the rings fixed only 60 ft apart; for the first rappel, Johann insisted on giving us a life-line, but after that I was able to persuade him to let us go down on our own and he would throw me down the last rope and I would fix it into the next ring, and so the party descended quickly and efficiently. It was great fun. Anne simply had to bag her 'Munro' (the Kesselkogel) after all this, and Brenda and I accompanied her.
We descended to the Vajolet Hut for tea, at about 2 o'clock and then walked up to the Passo de Principe. Brenda had started in front, and we were surprised that she had made for the top of the pass (we had expected to cut up one of the paths to the right to the Passo d'Antermoia), but when she had descended that way, she had come down to the pass, and so that was our way up.
There was one little pitch which made me wonder whether this was to be another of Brenda's 'unroped walks', but then we joined the usual track up and all went smoothly. The track wound round to the left, and then followed the top of the ridge back to the right, and so on to the summit. We were only just in mist, and we waited a little while hoping for a clearing, but it wasn't to be, and we came down, only to see a clear summit later from the valley. We didn't say much, but we were a particularly happy party. This was Brenda's last day with us, and it made a lovely finale.
Anne and I set off at about 8 o'clock to walk back to Sella, hoping to climb on the way. We sat down a little below the Passo de Principo, to work out our route on the Grassleiten Turn, the route which Anne had translated; we also had with us the diagram in the book. It was all so plain!
We then went down into the mist, and left our packs at the foot of the peak and wandered up to the large ledge, below the 'characteristic black cleft'. From a distance, and now close to, it still looked a sheer face, quite unclimbable by a 3-sup route. To the left was a couloir; it wasn't the route we'd picked out from a distance, but I immediately made for it and said that surely our route would follow this line of weakness.
I remember on granite how often we'd tried to work out the intricacies of the route described by the guidebook, only to find when we reached the mountain that the route followed the obvious line of weakness. I was yet to learn that granite-trained eyes are no help in dolomite route finding.
We made our way slowly up the couloir, despite its shattered condition, but my courage was failing, especially at the thought of having to come down it again. We were leading through and on Anne's second or third lead, she came down and said it wasn't worth it, and we retreated very slowly. Back on the ledge again, I glanced up at the wall below the black cleft we had previously picked out; it was only a few yards away, but my thought was that, wherever the route went, it didn't go there.
I was completely foxed and could only think that we were on the wrong mountain. It wasn't until the evening when we were looking at the guidebook again, that we realised that the route must have gone up that vertical wall with the overhang at the top. It was later in the Dauphiné that the lesson was really pushed home, that granite climbing is always more difficult than it looks, and dolomite easier.
We amused ourselves by climbing directly down the gully to our sacks. This took some time and we could do no more playing around; we took the path straight back. We sheltered from a short shower at the Sinsi Hut, and then went on the familiar way back to Sella, arriving before the worst of the storm.
Sylvia had been rather left out, so we offered to take her up, probably the Y'an Weg on the third Sella Tower, but she thought it would be too cold for climbing, so that left Anne and I to carry out our pet scheme and try the Schmidt Kamine. On the Keine Reiss I had decided that it presented no route finding problem, and I could have led it technically and first suggested we should try it, but then realised it would be better to do the Schmidt Kamine, as it would be new to us, although it was a little easier (4 inf instead of 4 sup.).
We were a little late in reaching the foot of it, as we waited to fit everything in with the book's description, instead of simply taking the route we knew. We missed Johann's line up the first easy slabs, so we did it leading through on 100 ft pitches. Then a chimney (easy) took us to the foot of the barbicon and I think my lead after that took me to the Grotto. It was wet and I spent a long time being dripped upon, as on the next pitch Anne was still trying to follow the guidebook and find a delicate traverse. Eventually she used her common sense instead and found the guidebook, and we took the line of least resistance after that.
I don't remember many of the pitches, but one of them I had clipped into a runner and then tried to pull over an overhang, only to find it very awkward with my camera in the front of my anorak. I descended to the peg and hung the camera on that and was soon up the pitch. The rope caught in the peg and Anne started to climb up, carrying the slack; only two other climbers caught us up, and the leader released the rope and continued up. He climbed so well that we invited the second to overtake us as well. This was our great mistake for he spent about half an hour on the pitch.
One of the pitches higher up pleased me enormously; I had learned to expect all 'vd' climbing, so I didn't follow easy ledges, and I didn't try anything which looked severe. At one point, the way straight up would have certainly been severe, so I looked at the cracks on the left. One of these was also of more than 'vd' standard, but the right hand one was just right. A couple of lay-back types of move and I was up, only to find the difficulty increased. This couldn't be, so I glanced behind and found that I could bridge and then cross over to the right hand wall, where a peg safeguarded me for a delicate step out, before moving more easily up. A delicious pitch I thought, with something of everything.
Then we went deeper into the chimney, found some ice and Anne led out into the daylight and up to the Scharte between the first and second fingers. It was my turn now and I went up to where there was a youngish Italian and his decrepit old guide, and was invited to tie on at their stance. The man spoke French, but after struggling along in German for a fortnight, I couldn't even manage my usual fluent pidgin in that language.
Anne came up and they sent her along the traverse and then, after a few yards, told her to stop and indicated that I was to continue straight up. I started, but soon retreated, the pitch below had been bad enough with its iced holds, but this was worse; it was steep and with doubtful holds (loose blocks frozen in), so I retreated and Anne continued her pitch, and led to the summit.
We had been surprised in the top of the chimney when one or two parties passed us, using the Schmidt Kamine as a way down. We saw the reason for this when we reached the Scharte and found that the ordinary way was completely snow covered, with no tracks in it. All the way up, we'd had magnificent views of the snow covered Piz Boé, but we didn't realise that the storm had hit our peak to such an extent.
For some obscure reason we had climbed on double ¾ rope and the 240 ft proved invaluable in the descent. We fixed the summit rappel, and Anne went down as far as a peg at the top of the chimney. We passed our Italian friend and his guide; they had been wandering around in circles, had tried climbing the first finger, but had retreated, and now they were following us.
I was so afraid that they'd expect to use our rope, for they had only a very short length, but no, they hadn't reached me when it was my turn to go down and, although we could hear voices above, we were able to pull down the rope without hindrance. We had to be organised with the rope; we made it clear before I followed Anne down, that it would be "pull the old rope" or "pull the new rope".
It was incredible to find that pegs were put in just 120 ft apart and so we had no real trouble, only minor things, e.g. I never liked rappelling in chimneys, and in this the back wall would come up and hit me, try to undress me and scratch my back. Also. the elasticity at the bottom of the rope wasn't pleasant, and Anne said her shoulder was rubbed raw.
We didn't leave rope slings, so there was always a dreadful moment wondering if the rope would come; at times it took the whole of our combined strengths to start it. We soon learned to let Anne start to pull it before I started down.
At the bottom of the chimney, we still had all the rope out, for the first one (me this time) to rappel at any rate, but this wasn't a good idea, we'd have got down much quicker if we'd moved together on a short rope. And so to rejoin my boots at about 6 o'clock.
We wondered whether Sylvia would want to do a last climb with Johann, but no, she said her train connections would be better if she left in the morning, which left Anne and I free to do the Cameron with him.
We helped him load his pulley and send supplies up to his hut, and then got in his car and started down towards the Gardena Joch. I don't know what he thought of Anne's and my nerves; we both gasped as soon as he set off – we weren't used to the right hand traffic and we visualised a head on collision!
It seemed a long way to the top of the pass, where Johann left his car and we walked up to the foot of the Cameron. Johann was interested to hear that Una Cameron wasn't an American, but was English.
Johann started up the ferocious looking chimney, clipped into one peg as a runner, then put in two more, back to back, as a second runner and left his hammer for me to remove them. I was very thrilled with the chimney, when it was my turn to follow; at times it would seem impossible, but I would spiral round, and always the holds would appear, and I got up without exerting myself. The pegs came out with only a slight tap!
Next there was a scrambling pitch (disappointing), and then we were deep in the chimney and Johann was tackling a traverse to the right, clipping into a couple of pegs on the way. I found the first part went easily enough, but then for the move up before the stomach traverse the foothold was wet. I tried it, but my foot simply slipped off and, as I cannot pull myself up with my hands, I could do nothing. I was at my furthest stretch and hung on as long as I could and then retreated to the little ledge and said I should have to wait until my hands recovered.
Then I tried traversing further right, before ascending. The traverse went, but not the move up, so once more I had to retreat to my ledge (I was well held from both sides for all this). Then I tried my final method, I removed one of my outer socks, and put it over my right boot, and, with this, I was able to push up on the right foothold, and reached the stomach traverse. How horrible this was, full of wet clay! Eventually I was in a sitting position by Johann and watched Anne walk up this pitch with no trouble whatsoever!
Anne was then sent down about 10 ft to a little peg, told to tie on, and Johann asked whether she thought there'd be room for three there. Anne looked most doubtful, but it didn't matter, I was sent down to join her, and then Johann came down, crawled over us and started traversing even further right for the next pitch.
I had asked him if it was strenuous for the fingers and he had replied no, not strenuous, only dangerous, for the rock was bad! One peg seemed such inadequate protection for us, and I was looking frantically for a rock! The pitch began awkwardly, but soon became easier and I scrambled up to Johann. He said I must photograph Anne on this pitch and when I said I had reached the end of my film he said I must put another one in, which I did, poor Anne waiting all this time and not understanding the reason for the hold up.
After this, the route was an orthodox chimney, once more the hammer was left behind. I think Johann had found an unnecessary peg and removed it and just put it in for a belay (it wasn't in far enough to do any good).
It was enjoyable right to the top, but we decided the climb was too short, or was it just that we were so sorry that the holiday was over. There was only a cloud of dust in the distance as I picked my way carefully down in my klettershuhe. Anne and Johann had made a race of it.
Back at the pass, we ordered a meal, as a farewell with Johann and we laughed again at all the high spots of the holiday. Anne entered into the book her prepared bit, but I liked the part that Johann had "encouraged the weak and restrained the overambitious".
Johann drove us down to the shortcut before Plan, where we shouldered our packs and made for the bus stop. In Plan, Anne enquired about the 4.30 bus and learned that it didn't run on this day, as it was a holiday (she had previously ascertained that it ran on Sundays).
We made for the railway station. The porter spoke no German, but we got him to write down the times of the trains and learned that the 4.30 train reached Milan at 11 o'clock, so we waited for that. It started to rain, so that made our hitch-hiking idea seem less pleasant.
It was pouring as the train took us down the valley. At Chiusi we couldn't get any information; however, on the next train the ticket collector was able to give us the awful news that we didn't reach Milan before 5 o'clock and Anne's flight left at 4.30. There seemed nothing we could do about it!
At Bolzano we looked around the station for a sympathetic office, but nothing looked hopeful, so we crossed the road in the pouring rain and went into the nearest hotel. The reception clerk spoke English and was very kind, and agreed to ring up B.E.A. at Milan, but was a little nonplussed when he found we didn't know the number; however, he agreed to try and find it. After what seemed an hour's delay, he suggested that we should sit out on the terrace. We were horrified at the thought on such a horrid night; however, it was quite dry under the awning and we were served with coffee.
Eventually Anne was called, but came back to say there was no reply. She went back to ask them to ring again – at the airport if there was no reply to the town office, and eventually, after her second call, Anne came back to say they had taken it very calmly, that she could have a flight for the next afternoon for a fee of £3 and so we began to consider getting to Milan.
We had an hour or two to spare; firstly I cashed a traveller's cheque in another hotel (the first one couldn't) and then we sat down in the station restaurant for a meal (and what a meal); we went all Italian, and I realised how un-Italian the Sella Pass had been.
Then we went onto the cold and miserable platform to await our train, but we had to wait an hour or so, as something had been washed away with the rains.
We were in an open carriage and we had four seats between us. I slept well.
We arrived in Milan in time for breakfast, and we wanted to find somewhere serving a café complet in a back street, but they didn't seem to serve café complet. We went in several places for coffee and sometimes had a bun with it, until we began to think that we could do without our café complet.
We had made for the centre of the city so that Anne could have her ticket altered, and the first call, obviously, was the Cathedral, where we spent an hour or so wandering around the Cathedral. We were too late for the view of the mountains.
I was amazed at the faces of the other sightseers; they all looked as haggard as I felt.
Then another coffee, and an ice, to be different (but it wasn't the lovely creamy ice I had had on Bolzanno Station the night before) and then I left Anne to return to the B.E.A. office and caught the train back to the station. I bought a ticket to Grenoble, spent the rest of my lire on a colour film, and then awaited the French train.
The platform was packed, and then I noticed that there was a platform the other side, and a few canny people had crossed to it, and I joined them, but before long both sides were equally crowded.
Eventually the train arrived, already packed, and no-one seemed to be getting out of it! I decided to be cunning! I walked along the compartments, until I saw one with friendly looking people and I handed in my axe and small sack. Then I realised that the people were only women and children and I didn't like to ask them to lift up my large sack, so I decided to go in the normal way and make my way along to the seat I hoped I had booked.
It was easier said than done to get in the door way. When I was standing on the step, with the 44 lbs on my back, pulling me backwards, it was only my right hand on the rail which was holding me from toppling backwards. And it was this hand which the woman behind me was tearing at, so that she could push past me, but she underestimated my strong mountaineer's grip.
Eventually I was in the train (just) and then I realised why no-one had got out – those boarding the train wouldn't let them! At last they managed to push their way out, and that left a little more room for me. I thought I might have to wait at the end of the carriage for a stop or so, until there was room for me to get along to my carriage. Then I remembered that my money and passport was in the sack along the corridor, so I determined to push. I hoisted my sack on top of my head and made my way along the corridor and to my seat. How glad I was of a seat, the journey was so hot and miserable.
We crossed the border without incident, and then at Chambéry I decided to get out and have a night's sleep (I arrived at Grenoble after midnight). I tried one hotel and it was full; they sent me back to another (the Grand I think) which looked pretentious and expensive, but I was shown to a room with running hot and cold! I washed some of my clothes and myself, but I couldn't really enjoy the luxury. I was longing to fall into bed. I couldn't even have any supper for it would have delayed bed.
This was D-day when I was to meet Monica. I was down soon after 7 o'clock for my café complet and then made my to the station for the first reasonable train to Grenoble. After my experience of the Italians boarding trains, I was most amused when a little priest pushed past me, using his two cases to push me out of his way, to get onto the platform, and there was plenty of time for the train too.
At Grenoble I found the bus to La Bérarde departed at 4.30, so I bought my ticket to Bourg d'Oiseau, left my sack at the bus office, and wandered around Grenoble. My shopping wasn't very successful. I couldn't get any thin hemp and I was sent from bookshop to bookshop in my quest for a map. Eventually I was able to buy a couple of 1/25,000, but they weren't what I wanted.
I bought a few provisions, weakened in my resolve over eating and bought myself lunch, and then went back to the station to read until my bus was due. I was astonished when Monica came over to me; she had also been in Grenoble since the morning, but she had a ticket with the other bus company, and went an hour later than I, so we soon parted company.
I used my wait in Bourg d'Oiseau very profitably, and got the 1/50,000 map, and wandered round and even took a photo of the town more or less as a silhouette. We bussed to St. Christophe and alighted and found the Hotel des Eerins, where we had decided to spend the night. We asked if they had room and were told yes, and then I asked for my letter, my first news from home in nearly three weeks. A pleasant meal and so to bed.
We packed two sacks each, one to carry and one to send up to La Bérarde and the lady addressed them for us, to the Hotel Tiarrez. The bus wasn't until 11 o'clock, so we decided to walk up to Les Etages, from where we took the path up to the north. It was a pleasant path, up a side valley, and we stopped half way up for lunch (we were hungry, also we thought we could lighten our sack of a few pains). Then the first view of the Aiguille Dibona (it wasn't a disappointment), photographs of it and so on up to the new hut. I was amazed at the number of people around the hut, mostly very young, and in large parties, so I suppose there were courses.
No-one spoke to us, and we didn't dare speak to anyone. We felt right out of it. We cooked our supper on the primus and then I began to worry about Voie Boell. The most important thing about a first climb is that it should be a success, rather an easy route done well than to learn one's limitations on a better route, but at the same time, nothing venture, nothing have, and it seemed silly not even to try the route. If only I could find out what sort of a IV it was.
I couldn't summon the courage to ask any of the other alpinists, but in the dark entrance, as the guardian was about to show us upstairs, I asked him. It was fairly dark, but I could feel the shock I had given him. Then he thought of a face-saving way out for us and he said quickly that we couldn't do the Voie Boell, we should never find the way; we must do the ordinary route. I couldn't get another word out of him, and so we went to bed, in my case, for a sleepless (the Voie Boell or the Voie Route).
We got up at 6 o'clock and looked out to see other parties high up on the Dibona. We breakfasted and thought that 7 o'clock should be early enough for a 3 hour climb, even if we had to retreat from the Voie Boell and do the ordinary way after all. We went up and traversed the East Face. I seemed to go too high, but many others had taken the same traverse, and then I started up the gully leading to the South Ridge.
I soon decided it was time to rope up and then the way steepened, and I was glad of the pegs to use as runners. I was moving up slowly, finding it satisfying climbing, when I reached another peg and found it not too firm. The move after this was a pull up; it would have 'gone', but it would have been a struggle, so I had it out with myself, "If you find this hard, how will you find the guarded part?" and I began to wonder whether I was meant to lead. On granite it would have been all right to follow up. So I decided to retreat and tackle the North Ridge as nearer our standard.
As soon as I looked down to see the way back, I realised that I was off the route. I should have traversed easily to the (true) right. I cautiously descended, and we went up a moderate route to the beginning of the South Ridge. From here, the way in the book sounded complicated. In actual fact it simply followed the line of weakness and we were catching up the other parties.
We traversed right onto the true ridge, and then the way went further to the right, and there was quite a hold-up before the double lisse. A friendly French couple were just in front, and they actually spoke to us! Eventually it was our turn and Monica's lead, and she made short work of it. She had to wait until the next stance was clear before she could belay and bring me up.
I found the part after the slab more difficult, but there were so many pegs in it, that it didn't take me long. Then came the step to the left, for which the girl ahead had asked to use our rope as a handhold (we were belayed to a peg higher up), but when I came to do the step it was too well protected to give any trouble.
After this, even these difficulties disappeared and we moved up quickly (the other parties were out of sight). Sometimes I wondered if Monica had found the grade IV; the rope would all run out, then it would hesitate, come down a little, and I would visualise Monica fighting it out alone up there, only to find when I reached her that she had run out all the rope and then had to come down to find a belay. All too soon we reached the summit and I realised that Monica had led the grade IV!
Other parties also were friendly on the summit, and then we scrambled down to the top of the rappel, where a French boy let us use his rope.
We descended to the west of the North Ridge and were soon unroping and scrambling down. I was in my klettershuhe, so Monica was down well before me.
Tea, soup, a laze in the sun, and so down to Les Etages, from where we started to walk up the road to La Bérarde. Very soon a lorry stopped to give us a lift and very welcome it was on the hot afternoon.
We made our way to the Hotel Tiarrez, only to find it mostly shuttered up! The door was open, but inside the doors were locked and no-one about. This was where we'd sent our sacks; where were they and why hadn't the lady at St. Christophe not told us it was closed? We decided the first thing was to find a bed somewhere, so we went to the Hotel Glacier, but no, they were full. They sent us two doors along and, as we approached, we saw that this was also called the Hotel Tiarrez and there, under a table, were our sacks.
There seemed to be some doubt about a room; the man kept saying "seize", then we were asked if we wanted an evening meal. Our "oui" seemed the right thing to say and the lady took us across to the shattered building, and unlocked room 16 for us.
The meal that night was good: soup, stuffed tomatoes, stew, fruit.
It was drizzling; we had our café complet, stopped, packed and waited for the better weather. We brewed tea, then decided on a picnic lunch, and still waited. Eventually we decided to go up to the hut. We left our large sacks at the inhabited hotel and went up to the Carrelet Hut and stopped for milk. Once inside it looked even less inviting outside and we waited until about 5 o'clock before continuing up to the Refuge Temple Ecrins. The way went very easily, and we arrived scarcely damp, although there had been quite sharp showers at intervals during the day.
We hadn't taken a primus, so we ordered our food from Madame (soup and peas) and opened a tin of corned beef. We explained our plans, we wanted to do the Ecrins, but we realised it wouldn't be in condition the next day, so we'd do the Pic Cooledge as a training climb first of all.
It was nice to have the hut to ourselves, after the last crowded hut, but I was quite put out; I realised that I'd had no intention of doing the Ecrins, quite alone with Monica.
I realised that we hadn't been called at 5 o'clock as we'd asked, but I concluded that the weather was still bad. At 6 o'clock the guardian came along and said that a party had passed the hut on their way to the Pic Cooledge and I concluded that the Guardian didn't even want us on the Pic Cooledge quite alone!
We breakfasted and set out at 7 o'clock, along the well defined path, up gently into the curve to the east, then up the band of moraine and so to the glacier. The track up the moraine had become poorly defined, and there were no tracks on the glacier; however, we put on crampons and made our way up. It was practically a dry glacier, and steep, so we were thankful for our crampons. Monica had trouble with her crampons, so I got ahead and, at the top, reached virgin snow. Then at the Col du Temple we saw the tracks of the other party; they'd come straight up.
Monica had wished to try a variation of the route, but when she saw the amount of snow on the rocks higher up, she thought better of it, and we followed the Voie Normale. The next part was easy, over very easy rocks; there was a cold wind blowing over the col, but we soon got up out of it. Up sun-warmed rocks on the east side of the ridge and then onto nevé, going up into the mist. It was easy to follow the tracks up, and then we came to more rocks, with the occasional patch of snow.
By this time the mist was clearing, and we thought we saw the others approaching the summit; then, as we came closer, they seemed to be going down the other side, and we saw they were only on a gendarme and the true summit was further on. There were the three lively French girls we had seen in the Carrelet Hut, with a very old fashioned looking guide (I used my camera once when he had his knee on the snow!).
It was a glorious summit; the mist had cleared, there was a perfect blue sky and the view was superb. Also we were two very happy parties. The decrepit old guide was very pleasant too. We were most polite "Thank you, monsieur, for the tracks". "You have come quickly", was his reply. "It was thanks to your good tracks" was the obvious reply to that. One of the girls looked a little worried and asked if we hadn't a rope. Oh yes we had a rope, we said, but it was in the sack (we weren't not wearing it because we couldn't afford to buy one!). Photographs were taken and then we started down.
We just missed a good glissade on the top snow; the snow was tending to slide off the hard stuff beneath in large lumps. Then down the rocks to the glacier and down the French party's tracks. We didn't think very much of their route; very soon we left the snow and got onto stones. It wasn't too bad descending, but it must have been horrid on the way up. We occasionally saw traces, but there was lots of little scree. Eventually we joined our upward track at a cairn and were soon back at the hut.
We decided to leave, there had been masses of new snow on the south face of the Ecrins; it wouldn't be clear for days. Monica was keen to do it by any route and suggested that we went round to the north side straight away, but I was all for leaving it for a few days, so, remembering the dolomite phrase, I suggested 'going round the block', only this time the 'block' comprised the Ailefroide, Pelvoux and Ecrins. The two former peaks had looked superb from the Cooledge and I was longing to climb them by some route.
We had tea, and then spent some time lazing. I wanted to photograph edelweiss with the ridge to the Ailefroide in the background, but I could no longer find the flowers below the hut.
Rather later than we'd intended, we descended to the Carrelet Hut and left a sack there and went down to La Bérarde for a primus and more provisions. We told the Carrelet man we'd be returning for the night, and he said that was a pity as he was descending that evening. He agreed to let us have the place to ourselves, left us an alarm, candle etc., gave us warning about the crevasses over the Sélé Pass. We paid and started down to La Bérarde. We met him again on our way up and there was a solemn hand-shaking ceremony. I'm sure he wondered if he'd be the last to see us alive!
We had a simple supper and went early to bed.
The alarm was at 3 o'clock, and we were away at 4 o'clock, after leaving the key under the paper the guardian had indicated. We went by candle lantern; it was a superb morning and, for the first time, I watched the silver dawn creep down a peak. Long before there was any trace of daylight, this silver light travelled down the snow of Des Bans and then, sometime later, it began to get light.
After we'd crossed the glacier, I stopped to put my lantern away and it was broad daylight by the time we reached the Pilatte Hut. I was amazed at the elaborate building; we had about half an hour's halt, and then started along the moraine and down to the glacier.
Soon we had to crampon up and eventually reached the top of the pass, unroped. It had been a horrid glacier; there'd been the most ominous cracks all the way up, and some of the crevasses had looked very deep, but I didn't try any daring crossings of snow bridges! I kept rather too far to the right, but it was less icy there. At the top there were rocks; I didn't choose quite the right line, went a little too far to the right, but they seemed loose everywhere and were easy.
We had a long halt on top; opened and ate a tin of sardines. It seemed worth celebrating the pass. We melted snow to dilute our lemon juice and eventually scrambled down the rocks to the snow. It was snow on this side, so we roped up (the snow was beginning to melt in the sun). We tied onto the middle of the rope, so that we both had 30-40 ft to use in case of emergency, and set off down.
We had no trouble, soon got onto dry glacier again, and Monica made for the moraine, but we had to get onto the glacier again and then down the practically level dry glacier. We had seen the four tops of our Sialouze, but we couldn't pick out the hut, so we were rather lucky to hit on the path up to it (a delightful path, with little rock gardens to the side of it). Then we reached the hut itself, and were surprised to find other people in residence.
We brewed tea, and found the others very friendly, when they heard that we wanted the Sialouze they were truly shocked and said it was the wrong hut, that we'd have to go onto the Lemercier Hut for the South Ridge. The route from the Sélé Hut was dangerous because of stonefalls. I mentioned the North Ridge I had intended and was told that the overhanging chimney was choked with ice and impossible. That seemed to be that.
The people were very friendly and gave us little delicacies. As they said they didn't want to carry surplus food down. Also there was sugar soaked in rum, because we had done well to come from the Carrelet Hut to the Sélé in 8 hours. Also, they were able to tell us that the Sélé Hut marked on the map was destroyed and this was built on the next spur.
Soon they had gone and we settled down to rest, and I tried to photograph this delightful little hut. Presently, Monica began to study the guidebook and for the first time got enthusiastic about the Sialouze (she hadn't been interested in it before). Then at 4 o'clock she suggested going on to the Lemercier Hut. We had previously agreed that we should climb the Ailefroide the next day, and then move onto the Lemercier.
I felt wonderful and was longing to go on myself, but I thought it wasn't sensible to ascend 7,000 ft before a good climb, and hadn't really considered it. However, when the suggestion came from Monica, who said she was well rested, it was more than I could resist. I warned her that it would be another three hours, but she seemed quite happy at the prospect. We had another meal, packed and, at 5 o'clock, five hours after entering it, we left the Sélé Hut.
I had allowed an hour for the way down, and had secretly hoped that ½ hour would do, but how wrong I was. It was a long way and there was steep rock to negotiate. The path had been well engineered, handrails and steps where necessary. At the bottom I kept a little too high and lost the path on the stones, but we soon found it again (down and down).
When I saw the intermediate ground, I gave up all idea of taking a short cut to save losing height! Then, just in the trees, we found the path up (to and fro, to and fro, with an occasional little scramble on rock to vary it). I soon began to realise that Monica was tired; we had a little rest, and then she forced herself on at a good pace. As for myself, I felt I could have gone on for ever, and I wished Anne could have been there.
Just as the light was beginning to fade, we reached the hut, at 7.40. There were other people in residence, and they said at first there was no water, then discovered that the can was full.
It was tea and then bed for us; we were the first to turn in.
The others disturbed us in the middle of the night, but we waited until daylight had even penetrated the little dormitory, and got up at 5.30. Once more it took us an hour for breakfast, and then we set off up the path. Monica soon admitted she was tired, but I could think of no alternative to the Sialouze. We also wanted to do the Pelvoux, but obviously that would need an earlier start than the Sialouze.
We reached the glacier, roped up, and Monica set off (we had decided that, as she was lighter, she should go first on glaciers). There were downward tracks from the north end of the ridge, and Monica started up these, and then took a line below them until she found a crevasse unexpectedly and that gave us a chance to stop and discuss the route.
I said that I'd recommend cutting straight across to the left (it was obvious that the party ahead hadn't gone up). Monica hesitated, but then continued up, which wasted about an hour of our precious time.
At the top Monica's glasses steamed up and I had to go down first, but it was very easy, and soon we were on the rotten ground beneath the col. I led up the first pitch of rock climbing and Monica followed with the one sack, but obviously it was too much for her, so we decided to leave it behind, as we'd never have time for the complete traverse. (We left the contents behind and took the sack with the minimum of food and the peg hammers.)
Then we led through. Monica rather amazed me by announcing that the rock was very hard (there were loose pieces on easy ground, but it was superb on steeper ground). It was fascinating to follow the book, but this tended to waste time. The Gendarmes were called 'Flêche' and I was a little muddled as to what was and what was not a 'flêche'. We got used to traversing one side or the other of them, and then we came to one which the book simply said "traverse". I couldn't make this out at all and said that, whatever we should do about traversing, I was going over it, and then Monica was the first to realise that that was what the book meant! From the Gendarme before, it looked an impossibly steep climb, but from the bottom, it was the obvious easy route.
Then we came to the difficult part. Straight up was the grade IV, with the traverse grade IV to V, or there was the avoiding move, which was only grade IV. That went down the gully to the left, and down I went. When I had just got to the end of the rope I had reached the traverse, but Monica couldn't let me have enough rope to try it.
There hadn't been a single belay on the way down and, at the bottom, I couldn't even see a suitable crack for a peg. A little way up, I found a fine crack and put a peg in, but decided not to bring Monica down as the gully was loose, and I should have had to stand just in the line of fire. I went up and found that Monica wouldn't believe that I had found the traverse, it said a few metres and I had gone 100 ft. We decided that time was getting on and we had better turn back soon; however, there was no immediate hurry.
I felt the first few holds of the way straight up and then retreated, not wanting to waste too much time and effort, and then once more found Monica didn't believe the way went up the obvious line of weakness. She had looked out a way to the left (I let her try); Monica might make a better route finder than I do on dolomite, but not on granite. Then she tried the proper way up, realised that it would go and that made her think of the avoiding pitch again and she wondered whether we'd have time to get up it.
It wasn't 1 o'clock, so I said yes, and we could rappel down, so Monica started down the gully, armed with the pegs and hammer. I told her that I wouldn't come down unless she found two separate cracks and tied to two pegs. I was able to arrange my belay to give Monica more rope, and she was able to prospect the traverse. She said that it only needed one more step and then she'd be able to go up.
She came back, there was some hammering and she announced that the two pegs were in two different cracks. I had no excuse for not going down - until I saw the pegs! The second one came out with one gentle tap and I didn't like the look of the other, but I didn't dare hit it in case it came out! I moved the loose one up to the crack I had found already – it was at least mechanically sound in that, and then I suggested that as I was already up, and as Monica had already looked out the traverse, she could try it.
How I was to regret that decision, especially as I know it was partly my own lack of enthusiasm that caused me to suggest it. I was so bored with this climb; we were moving ridiculously slowly. Monica started along and then I could tell it was a difficult step that took her round the corner, and she disappointed me by saying there was no peg. Next she was out of sight and moving up, but I could tell that it was pretty desperate. Then she appeared on the right again and I was able to sit down and have a rest. I asked her how the rest of it looked and she was very doubtful, in fact she was all in favour of retiring, if she could come down.
I asked her if she could put on a runner to safeguard herself, and she said she'd try, so I cut off (with the hammer) a length of her waste hemp, and she pulled it up. Then came the retreat; she put it on one or two places, but it didn't seem to stay, but then I thought it must be in place as the rope went up, and then down. Even with a runner in place, as I thought, it was a really agonising time, waiting for Monica to fight her way down.
Then, when she was down, I found there was no runner, that the rope was caught! Monica came back and admitted it was the most difficult climbing she'd ever done, and it had taken a lot out of her. I went up the gully and Monica followed, but said she'd been unable to recover the second peg, so I had to descend the gully for the third time to recover it.
Then I told Monica to go down the other side of the ridge to the easy ledges the book had mentioned, as avoiding all the difficulties. Monica went a couple of yards and then returned, convinced there was no easy way down there, the ledges were all covered in sand!
It is impossible to use the rope to hurry a person on the way down, so there seemed nothing I could do, and we went down the way we had come. In two places I left a length of Monica's hemp behind, so that I could use the rope down, but in both places the rope stuck and I had to climb up again, and we were so desperately short of time. Then we came to our axes and crampons and we were able to load up the sack which Monica volunteered to take down the final rappel.
There was a length of rope round a block; it looked OK but I thought I'd better 'do a Johann' and I told Monica to go down the single rope and I'd give her the other half as a lifeline. Monica went as far as the overhang and came back again, she couldn't do it with the sack. She asked to climb down, but I said rappelling was quicker and she did it all right without the sack.
At the bottom she was able to assure me that she felt better; she said down the ridge she felt just as though she were drunk and at the rappel she was trying to tell me that she'd do it if I'd let her have the doubled rope, but she couldn't get the words out. We were soon roped on a short rope and I led across the glacier to save time, and then continued down in front, following the path down the moraine.
We reached the easy rocks just as the light had really and truly gone. I wondered about stopping there, but Monica was in fine form, and said I could belay her down, which I did, and we reached the snow much quicker than I'd expected. We used crampons and were soon across it, and then Monica was leading down the next boulder field. We also cramponed up for the next patch of snow, but it was much shorter than I'd remembered. Then we crossed the stream and came to the 'overhanging' black moraine.
In the morning we had come down the cut out steps, but we didn't find them in the dark. Monica came to a stop so I cut a line of steps up. We were so independent. Monica then cut her own line up! Then (oh joy!) we found the cairn on the band of moraine down, with the path easily discernible under our feet, but this wasn't for Monica, she had another boulder field to cross, and twice she plunged over the side to get down to it, but both times she returned.
Once more I tried to interest her in my path, and I got in front of her and started down it; Monica followed for a few yards and then sat down and said she must have a little rest. I knew Monica was the sort to drive herself beyond endurance, so I could never try to persuade her to go on, so I let her sit, and when she suggested staying the night, I also agreed (really thinking that when I'd seen her settled, I could go down to the hut for a light and return to her). However, when the time came, I couldn't bring myself to leave her, it would have been awfully lonely quite alone among the boulders.
We went a little further down and put on our woollies, took off our boots and put our feet in the sack. We started by sitting up, and then decided we might as well move to a lower place where we could stretch out. I was absolutely astonished at how mild the night was. I had always thought these occasions must be most uncomfortable, but I really believe that if I'd been with a warm person, I could have dozed the night away (but Monica wasn't a warm person).
We'd take it in turns to have our backs warmed lying down, then we'd sit up and rub each other. It was the person who was doing the rubbing who got warmest! Then after an hour or so, Monica's feet began to get cold and she'd massage them while I rubbed her back.
We had settled down at 10 o'clock (I had suggested we should keep moving for another hour, by which time I hoped we'd reach the hut, or if not, as I said, the night would be an hour shorter.
I was amazed that for the first 1½ hours there was a lightness towards the west and I hoped the moon would come up, but it wasn't to be. An hour or so before dawn, the lightness appeared in the east. It was a perfect starry night, many shooting stars. As I thought of all the continents the sun had to light before it could come round to us again, it would seem impossible it could do it in less than a week, but I needn't have worried!
Then there were the bivouacers opposite to occupy my thoughts – a patch of snow on the opposite hillside glowed as a patch of light, and I said it must be people in the same predicament!
At about 3 o'clock we began to pack up, and put our boots on and then I went up to the cairn and with Maureen behind this time, I started down 'my' path on the band of moraine. Soon there were lights coming towards us, and I was afraid of a search party, but no, it was the next morning's climbers on their way up. We followed the path down, with the first glimmer of daylight, and arrived at the hut before the last party set out.
There was water for one brew (we drank lemon juice while awaiting that), and then I took out the can to find more water. I followed the instructions in the book instead of in the hut, and found myself going up the moraine again and filling the can just below the "overhanging black moraine".
It was so interesting to see it all in daylight; also I was so pleased to see the rest of the morning's pageantry. It was another perfect day.
Back at the hut, I found Monica had just got up. She had been asleep and had no idea for how long. We had more tea, and then I felt a little bleary eyed and had a couple of half hours sleep. Then I went out for a few photos; we had a third breakfast, packed and descended to Ailefroide.
This time the valley was in sunshine. What a contrast to get down to the friendly large trees, to larger and larger paths, and then to the little hamlet of Ailefroide. We went to the largest place, the Chalet Rolande, and were able to secure a room. We got on our beds, but not to sleep, and then I mentioned patisserie, and found that Monica also was an enthusiast, so we retreated to the 'tea bar'.
The meal that night made up for everything (soup, vegetable, meat course, cheese or yoghurt, then a fruit tart) and so to a well earned bed.
Hungry as always, we went down as soon as we dared for breakfast, but the place didn't keep alpine hut hours! We found that a bus went up to the Pré de Mme. Carle at 9.30 or so, which gave me time to look around the chalet with my camera. The famous Pré de Mme. Carle was disappointing, or else we didn't really get in it, and then we started up to the Glacier Blanc. I soon got left behind in my efforts to photograph flowers. Unfortunately the flowers were mostly over.
My masterpiece was to be the Glacier Reine in the background with harebells in front; unfortunately by the time I had picked off the dead ones, there were only about 3 bells left! Once, as I went to earth with my camera, some trippers passed me, the man saying, "There are two sorts of alpinists, those with ice axes, and those without". At that time, those without were definitely winning, but we had a good laugh about it when we met again on the glacier, and the man pointed to his unsuitable shoes.
Monica was amused by the flags on the glacier and soon we were across and on the last lap up to the hut. I used the last of the fuel for a brew up here, and we lunched. Then we continued on up to the Caron Refuge, up the moraine, a little way on the glacier (I kept on it too far), then glacier and finally loose rocks up to the little wooden hut. I guessed that the scruffy little man sunbathing outside was the guardian, but when he came in we found that when he spoke his face lit up, and we became very fond of Benjamin.
We had tea, then supper and then the room began to get cold, and we noticed how badly the windows fitted. We began to think that we'd pay for the magnificent views of the north face of the Ecrins by the bitter cold.
There had been plenty to do at first, to look out the way down to the glacier, which I imagined we'd be following in the dark, then there were the other alpinists. There was a party of seven men, all with enormous packs. Presently, two who spoke English came across to us and we learned that they were Poles. The had been to a spelaeological 'do' near Grenoble and were now hoping to climb. Money was their trouble and they had brought much of their food with them. They also were for the Ecrins and the guardian advised us not to start too early, as it would be so cold.
Monica and I were get colder and colder, and decided to have some tea to warm up. When I asked Benjamin for it, he told us we must come into his cubby hole, which we did and spent some very pleasant and warm hours.
At first, I warned Monica that he was a guide, and would be looking for a client the next day, but I soon discovered that he had only asked us in out of the kindness of his heart. The great event of the evening was when he 'fais les vessaille' – he was going to do it, and talked about it for half an hour, then he did it, and talked about it all the time, and the he could say, for the next half hour that he had 'fais les vessaille' in the detergent, and no drying, yet the job was well and truly done.
And so to bed, with nothing ready for the morning.
The Poles were up in good time and started to cook on their rechaud, but there was no sign of Benjamin, and everyone else was astir. Eventually at about 4.30 a.m. we were "called" officially, and I got up. There was quite a delay for our thé wasser and then we had to pack, and the hut was empty when we left, after shaking hands with 'Ben'. We overtook one party just outside the hut.
My reconnoitring the previous evening was paying dividends; I had thought we'd be doing this in the dark, but it was broad daylight. I don't know where the rest of the people were hiding at this time, but we were first on the glacier, and set off at a sensible pace.
We stopped at the Col des Ecrins to leave our packs for the return and thought that while we'd stopped we might as well rope and crampon up. Other people were hard on our heels and I thought they'd take this opportunity to overtake us, but not a bit of it; I felt that they were waiting for us to go on.
I started up the snow to the Brêche Lory. I had read the book and knew I should keep to the left at first, but I also knew that Ben had told the Poles to go fairly straight up. I followed the tracks, but sometimes they diverged, and some way up I realised that those below were following a different line. I continued up until my steps crossed a delicate ice bridge and it didn't seem worth it.
I retreated and tried to traverse right, but once more it didn't seem sensible, so Monica started down and we came into the caravan. Two of the Poles stood aside for us to go ahead, and we found there were only a French couple ahead. Soon they suggested that we should pass, but we didn't like to and said that they seemed better route finders. They were quite useful as step enlargers, and we followed, along easy traverses, and with short steep walls between, as far as the Brêche Lory.
The rocks started here, and we de-cramponed and had a little to eat, and waited for our French friends to go on, but it was soon obvious that they were unwilling to lead, so we started. There was a traverse along steps cut in the ice a previous day, and then we were on the rocks. We went first up the north side, where there was the odd patch of frozen snow, and then along the crest, keeping occasionally to the north side. Up to the Pic Lory and then along the almost level ridge to the final summit.
I found this part most enjoyable, we used alpine belays, and were safe, yet didn't waste much time. We were keeping well ahead of the French, and then we saw gaining rapidly on us a solitary Pole. Monica and I laughed about it; we said that the Poles couldn't bear to see us ahead, and for the honour of their country, or of their regions, they had detached a climber from their ropes and sent him on to be first at the summit. He spoke no English or French, but was very pleasant. We stood aside for him to pass by and then at the top he got up from his rest and offered us chocolate.
Next a French couple arrived; last from the hut and second up they announced, but were wrong on both counts. Then the two friends we had followed to the Brêche appeared, followed by most of the Poles. Altogether there were 7 Poles and 7 French on the peak.
We were the first to leave the summit; we were anxious to get down the Bonne Pierre before it got too soft. The rock ridge was very pleasant on the descent, the way was usually to the right of the crest, which meant that the left hand could hold the crest and the right was quite free to hold the coils.
Our solitary Pole once more got ahead and was able to direct us the last part of the way to the Brêche, where we put on our crampons. I had taken my axe up the rocks 'just in case', but hadn't needed to use it.
Then down. We were going famously until we were across the worst crevasse, and I remembered that I was going to glissade down the lower part on the descent. I took off my crampons and discovered that the surface was quite different. The cold wind had glazed it over, so Monica had to stop again, while I put them back on. And so down, a last look over to Mont Blanc and all the Valaisian Peaks, and so to our sacks, and the Col for lunch.
We met a party of trippers who had walked up from Aillefroide, no crampons, no axe or anything!
We ate, and then started down, following the cable and then down the easy rocks to the snow, where we followed old steps as far as the last crevasse. We didn't like the look of it, so we took to the rocks and stepped onto the snow and avoided it.
The snow was softening in the heat of the afternoon sun, and a few stones were falling, but not our way, and we were soon on the central band of moraine and following the good path down. The view down the main valley with the late afternoon sun shining on it was superb; I was so sorry to think we were leaving. We were a day ahead of schedule, but there wasn't much we could do in one day.
Down and down, then through the odd shrub, and so to the main Etançon Valley, and then to La Bérarde for the Hotel Tiarrez. Before we reached it a man greeted us with "Oh, you're the two the sacks belong to". Had we become a mystery? Were they worried about us? It wouldn't be surprising; we'd said we'd be away for a day or so, and it had been a week.
This time we were in the main building. We washed ourselves and clothes, and waited impatiently for dinner.
CHAMONIX, TRIENT (SWITZERLAND), FLIGHT HOME
The bus had left at 6 a.m., so we decided to try to hitch down. We walked almost to St. Christophe before we had any luck; there simply was no traffic down at that time of the day. The lift down to Bourg d'Oiseau was thrilling. I hadn't realised what a lock the car had, so I had a thrilling moment as it rounded the first hairpin.
After Bourg d'Oiseau we had a lift with a climber. He had been on the summit of the Dibona at 12 o'clock. The roads were straight for this lift, but once more the ride was exciting as our driver would gesticulate as he talked climbing. He had spent some time in England, so conversation was easy.
At Grenoble we found that there was no train before 6.30 (or so) and we could have waited for the bus. We sat in various cafés drinking chocolate and coffee until our train was due. We booked only as far as Aix les Bain, as we wanted a night's sleep. At Aix, the first place we tried was able to provide dinner, bed and breakfast. There was running water in the room, but my thought was, what a pity not to use it, but after all I washed last night, so I needn't do it again!
We boarded the train for Chamonix; it came in on the same platform as the indicator said for St. Gervais, and we knew we were in the right carriage as it had a paper notice stuck on (St. Gervais, Chamonix, Mont Blanc). We were a little worried when the train went out before time, but there seemed nothing we could do about it, and we sat on. It was a brilliantly sunny morning, and I became a little worried when I realised were going persistently west and northwest. We stopped occasionally, but I didn't recognise the names, until my worst fears were realised, and we reached Lyons.
We didn't go near the barrier, and found the next train to St. Gervais and waited for it. We noticed no-one else was on our platform and enquired and found that they had removed the indicator in the subway and our train now went from the west platform. We caught the night train (just), but then the ticket collector came round and didn't like our tickets. Monica and I looked at each other; "What's the wrong train in French?" we both asked. The ticket collector eventually gave up trying to make contact with us, and let us off.
It was late afternoon when we arrived at Chamonix. We made our way to the Hotel Swiss, where Monica was expecting some letters. The only one to concern me was from Lionel Terray. At the suggestion of another guide she had written to him to see if he'd take us up the Brenva, but it was a "question de famille", he couldn't and he recommended other guides, two were in the "grand class" and I was surprised to find that one of these was André Bossonay, but I knew what his opinion of two women on the Brenva would be! The third guide spoke English apparently. We decided to stay at the "Swiss" and made our way to the bureau, where we found the only guide we were likely to meet was Didé and they promised to try to contact him.
We went early to the bureau, and were told to return at 11 o'clock. At 11 o'clock we learned that he was 'on course' but we could definitely contact him that evening at 6 o'clock. I knew perfectly well what the outcome would be and that we'd be wasting a day waiting for him, but I also knew that Monica would never really believe that unless she heard it from André herself, so I was in favour of wasting a the day and that's what we did.
Another of the difficulties was that we couldn't decide what to do; as far as I was concerned difficult things were out, and Monica could only suggest the Requin (I've done it three times!) or the Géant, but I didn't want to go to the Col Géant unless I was likely to do something good and I didn't think the Dent would please Monica with all its fixed ropes. The climb I've wanted to do for a long time with a moderate party is the Aiguille Donée and I thought that we could do as much of the traverse as we were able, but for some reason Monica wasn't keen. Once I had suggested that district, she made the counter suggestion of the Crudités; I had never heard of these but I agreed.
That evening we met André; he was quite friendly, but he was booked for the next two days, in any case he said that the Brenva wasn't in condition, there was powder snow on ice (after the condition on the Ecrins I could believe anything bad at this time of the year). We couldn't get another guide willing to take us so we decided to go alone to the Trient Hut the next day.
We had money to collect, our bill to pay and we weren't away to catch an earlier train than the 10 o'clock to Vallorcine. There was an hour to wait for the connection to Le Chateland, so we decided to walk, and crossed the road frontier posts. We stopped for refreshments at the Swiss station, but we weren't enamoured with the place. Then we started along the road. We had the impression that Trient was on a side road (our map just failed to cover this area), so at first we didn't like to try for a lift and then when we did, nothing stopped, but fairly soon we were in Trient.
We read the guidebook and asked the first person we saw the way to the chalets de "Ourtiers", only to be told the lady was English! – what a difference it made crossing the Swiss border. We received directions and followed the path to the glacier. Monica was ahead and ignored the refreshment chalet and we followed the track to the foot of the glacier.
We knew we were to go up the moraine on the true right of the glacier, but how to get there for the boiler plate slabs? There were footsteps going up between the slabs and the ice, so we followed them for some way. I got ahead and tried to take the line of least resistance. I traversed out left, doing quite delicate slab work, then I tried to traverse back right, but the route seemed to have no future in it, so I shouted Monica to try to get straight up above where she was (to the left). Meanwhile I didn't want to reverse my last traverse, so I tried to get up with the help of the alder bushes.
The slab was thick with slime, and I simply pulled myself up from one bush to another, but it wasn't really as simple as that! At first I thought it was a good job I had the rope; I would be able to go round and see if Monica was all right, but I soon changed my ideas. "Oh if only I could have a rope down", but I made it, and found Monica had also just arrived.
We had no idea where the path went, so we started traversing upwards, when we spotted a chalet (the one marked on the map close to the path), so we were too low! The weather had been threatening all the afternoon, and now there were a few spots of rain, so we hurried up to the chalet, hoping for every comfort. It had wood and a stove, but it had no hay, so it was obvious that it would be a cold bivvy, so we decided to retreat. We still had 3,000-4,000 ft to go to the Trient Hut, and the mist was down on the glacier and the weather threatening, so we decided to retreat to Ourtiers and hope for a bed (or hay) there.
We were interested to follow the path down; it was quite lost in the wood above the low chalet, no wonder we hadn't noticed it. At Ourtiers I was ready to beg for a little hay to sleep in, but there was no need, the lady said there was a dormitory upstairs.
We had supper and went to bed, asking to be called at 5 o'clock if the weather was good (we still hoped to get in our climb.
We didn't hurry up; there had been a "grand Tempête" outside and we knew there'd be masses of new snow, so we decided to return to Chamonix, but there was no need to go the way we'd come. We walked over the Col du Balme. Madame pointed out our route; her husband was up there with his "grande troupe de mouton" and he only came down once a week for more food (he'd been down that night), the rest of the time Madame was alone with her young son. Madame spoke very quickly, yet we were able to understand most of what she said.
It was an enjoyable walk back; at first we thought it would clear, we could see all the fresh snow on the tops, but then the mist came down again. We got up above the snow level, and then contoured round to the Col de Balme and the dignified stone announcing France one side and Switzerland the other. We called in for chocolate at the hotel and expected the waitress to fetch the police, but we didn't have our passports inspected. And so down to le Tour, and the train back from Mont roc, and so to the Hotel Swiss again.
We had another day before our flight back from Geneva was booked, but I said I'd rather go back that night, than hang around Chamonix for a day (there wasn't time for another climb).
Monica also decided to go back to Geneva, hoping to return to Chamonix with her Indian friend. At Chamonix we both rang up Geneva; Monica to contact Amron, and I to ring up B.E.A. I said I wanted the next flight back that evening or the next day. A very haughty English voice said that it wouldn't be possible for me to have a day flight if I had a night ticket, but he changed his tune when he learned that I had paid single fare.
We caught the bus to Geneva and then had a taxi to Amron's flat. He proved to be very kind; he knew that our first need would be a bath, and then he and Monica planned a meal. Then I got my orders; I was to go to bed and get some sleep. Amron had asked the telephone exchange to give him a call at 3.30 a.m. and he'd drive me to the airport.
I felt fine after my alpine ration of sleep; my sack was weighed (42 lbs) and taken from me, and I had no worries. I got a seat next to the window, but it didn't do me any good at first, as it was dark, then I suddenly realised that there was a line of orange colour the other side. We had been handed firstly sweets and then coffee and sandwiches. I did rather well.
A voice came over the speaker that there was fog at London airport and we'd land at Le Bourget. We circled Paris for half an hour; it was just getting light and it was rather fascinating, and then we landed. The flaps were out and then we touched the ground, but we were going much too fast, we'd never stop in time. Soon we were going at a controlled speed, and as we taxied to the airport buildings, I saw that there were several more miles to our runway!
Then a weary hour or so in the airport; my books etc. were in my sack, which I couldn't touch. Then it was our turn to board our plane and we were off again. It was broad daylight, and this was the most fascinating part, to look down on the little fields and see the toy buses and trains. Then there was the river, indicated by the low-lying mist. Then the marshes by the coast (we crossed near La Touquet) and then the English coast.
What a difference, the hedged fields, much smaller, and also the little streams, so obvious because of the bushes growing on the banks. Then right over London and on to London airport, just before the rain started.
There was a slight delay waiting for the customs, but they weren't very fierce, and I was boarding the bus for South Kensington, and the underground for Victoria.
I arrived home at about 12.50, quite unexpected, but I didn't go hungry.