MEETING THE MADONNA
Five years in the making, but what an achievement! This is a story about Crispin Orr and his friends who finally got to the Summit of Mont Blanc on skis all with the help of Mountain Tracks
WORDS CRISPIN ORR PHOTOS KLEMEN GRAICAR & JOHN CROOK
Oh, sh*t! I’m sorry, my crampon has come off. I need some time.’ I was perched on a snowy rock ledge a few meters beneath the summit of the Gran Paradiso which at 4061 m is the highest mountain completely in Italy. Beneath me, the slope fell away precipitously into the swirling mists below. Best not to think too hard about the consequences of a slip from here. Two of my teammates had also stalled with technical difficulties and I could sense that our guide Klemen was getting frustrated. ‘Come on guys, sort it out.’ I needed to tighten the crampon but this is a fiddly exercise even at the kitchen table. I wedged myself onto the ledge and somehow managed to adjust the right crampon and get it back onto my boot. I looked up … it wouldn’t be good to lose the left one up there… so I removed and tightened that one too. It was a good call and a few minutes later we were all safely on the summit hugging the Madonna and feeling on top of the world.
The ski down was a joy and an adventure with ice, powder, breakable crust and slush to contend with. All too soon we arrived at the Refugio Victor-Emmanuelle II, a silver dome that looked strangely at home in the mountain wilderness. We spent a relaxing afternoon, drying our kit in the sun and reflecting on the morning’s achievements. Klemen was very direct. ‘Those crampons are not good enough for the Mont Blanc. You need to change them.’ Whilst I was a little disappointed that my lightweight crampons bought specifically for the trip were not up to the job, I was overjoyed because Klemen had just been reviewing the weather forecast and the conditions were favourable for our planned ascent of Mont Blanc at the end of the week. Equally important, it seemed that we had all passed the unspoken ‘test’ - the guide had seen enough to be satisfied that his clients were fit enough and had the necessary skills to tackle the highest and most heavily glaciated mountain in the Alps. My previous three attempts were thwarted before they even began by weather, unstable snow conditions and covid, so I appreciated how lucky we were to have this opportunity.
The following day, on the drive back to Chamonix, we paused at a roadside café for delicious Italian coffees and gelato. The spring sunshine was strong and the Monte Bianco (it’s an Italian mountain too you know) loomed large up ahead. It was difficult to imagine how anyone could possibly skin up those icy slopes but that would be our task for the next couple of days.
Back in Chamonix, the priorities were to eat as much as possible and eliminate every surplus gram from our packs. We had to carry a lot of essential equipment (crampons, ice-axe, skins, ski-crampons, avalanche trilogy, basic crevasse rescue kit etc) and have sufficient clothing, high-energy snacks and water for a couple of long days in the mountains. Spare socks and deodorant didn’t make the cut, and the only comforts I retained were a lightweight sleeping bag liner, which was obligatory for the hut, and a miniature toothbrush preloaded with paste. We spent a lot of time staring up the mountain trying to pick out the route we would take the following day. The excitement and trepidation were building.
Well-fed and rested we caught the bus to meet our guides Klemen and John at the base of the Aiguille du Midi cable car which would transport us up to the middle station at 2317m, the normal start point for climbing Mont Blanc on skis. The cable car was full of mountaineers jangling with kit, plus a few Japanese tourists in trainers who just wanted to catch a glimpse of the glaciers from the viewing platform at the top station. The nervous energy was palpable, like in the Schilthornbahn on Inferno race day, and I spontaneously started stamping my feet and singing AC-DC’s anthem Highway to Hell much to my teammates’ amusement.
Once our avalanche transceivers (bleepers) and harnesses had been checked, we formed up in two teams of three: Peter and I with Klemen; Andy and Hammy with John. The initial climb and traverse under the north face of the Aiguille du Midi was relatively straightforward and we had time to admire a para-glider who was half-flying and half-skiing down it, leaving fresh tracks on patches of snow that would be impossible to reach in any other way. But once we rounded the shoulder of the mountain, it was time to rope up and begin traversing the immense Bossons glacier. We had been admiring this extraordinary terrain from afar all week but now we gawped at the terrifying splendour of the vast ice towers up ahead.
My nerves were beginning to settle now that the expedition was fully underway. But we soon reached ‘La Jonction’ where the Bossons and Taconnaz glaciers collide in a chaotic three-dimensional contortion of ice and rock. The normal route through this most hazardous of neighbourhoods was not passable as there hadn’t been enough snow to bridge the gaps. We side slipped down past the gaping jaws of deep crevasses to tackle the obstacles at a lower point. Peter later recalled that as he crossed a narrow and delicate snow bridge, part of it gave way, leaving his right ski dangling in the wind. We were all in a relatively precarious position at that point and I’m not sure whether being linked by a rope provided security or triple jeopardy! We were certainly mightily relieved to reach the relative safety of the snowfield beyond to start zig-zagging our way up towards the Refuge des Grands Mulets, our lodgings for the night.
Now I’ve stayed in quite a few mountain huts over the years but the Grand Mulets definitely gets the prize for the most dramatic location. Perched on a rocky outcrop between the two glaciers, the hut can only be accessed by climbing up the rocks, clinging to the fixed chains that provide a rather wobbly handrail. I quite enjoyed the thrill of this approach but reflected that it might not be quite so much fun descending in the dark the following morning!
The hut was abuzz with ski mountaineers from all over the world who have converged on this place with one objective in mind – to ski the Mont Blanc. We had a very chilled-out afternoon enjoying the spectacular views and the warm sunshine. That brings its own dangers and the peaceful chatter was interrupted by the menacing rumble of an avalanche of ice blocks tumbling down the slope just across the way. That is why we must get up at 2am and be off the mountain by 4pm. Klemen has identified turn-around points and cut-off times in case we don’t make sufficient progress.
We all retired early and I snatched a few hours of fitful sleep before the hut came alive with head torches and the hushed murmur of teams kitting up for the off. We were amazed and delighted to be served freshly baked bread at our 2:30am breakfast which tasted delicious with thick chocolate paste and watery coffee.
On the dot at 3am we met on the terrace for a bleeper and harness check. As instructed, I was wearing all my clothes (3 layers on the bottom, and 5 layers on the top) and felt pretty snug despite the cold wind blowing down the glacier. All my equipment was stowed exactly where I wanted it to be and I felt as ready as I would ever be for the adventure ahead of us. With head torches on we quietly descended the rock face and quickly completed the familiar ritual of fitting our skins to our skis.
And then without a backward glance, we were off, climbing out of the snow gulley and up onto the glacier to reveal a surreal snake of lights, slowly zig-zagging up the slope ahead and giving a preview of the angle of the terrain. The weather conditions were perfect and there would be many groups trying for the summit that day. There was no moon but it was a clear and starry night. I am quite used to running with a head-torch and felt comfortable enough between Klemen and Peter on the rope, our three little pools of light trudging up the trail. When you are connected by a rope you feel, as much as see, what your teammates are doing. Changes in slope or snow conditions lead to a change of stride length which you have to immediately recognise and adjust for, so as not to trample the rope.
We climbed for about three hours in the darkness. The trail in the snow was well established and easy to follow. But it was clear that Klemen was a man on a mission and the clock was ticking. When the way was blocked by a group ahead floundering on an obstacle, he headed off in a different direction to bypass the problem. When we stopped after an hour to adjust our clothing, Klemen instructed us to ‘be very efficient, we need to keep moving.’ It wasn’t a race exactly but it sometimes felt like it.
I remember two heart-stopping moments in this pre-dawn phase. During one bypass manoeuvre, we were climbing up a very steep slope with a bottomless crevasse immediately to our right. On firm snow, you can skin up a pretty steep slope but when the surface is loose, the skins will not provide sufficient grip above a certain gradient, the ski slips back and it is difficult to progress. This is quite alarming when you are on the edge of a deep crevasse and can’t adjust the angle of attack! With a few words of encouragement and a tug on the rope from Klemen, I somehow found a combination of leg and arm power sufficient to haul myself up the rise. Once Peter was also over the hump we progressed quickly and had the satisfaction of overtaking three other groups before our paths came back together.
A little later we were zig-zagging up a very steep slope indeed, with crevasses all around. We had become pretty adept at uphill kick turns but the steeper the slope the harder they are to execute. You swing your uphill ski round through about 160 degrees to face in the new direction, then transfer your weight onto it and then try to bring the downhill ski round to follow. This particular slope required two turns at the very limits of possibility. On this occasion, with a flick of the heel, my ski tip popped up nicely without getting stuck in the snow and came round obediently into line. I was very relieved - a snag at that point would have been inconvenient to say the least.
It did not seem long before the sky in the east began to lighten and the mountain peaks become a jagged silhouette against the vivid pre-dawn kaleidoscope of blue, pink and red. The top station of the Aiguille du Midi at 3842m was now far below us and looked almost insignificant compared to the mountain we were on.
It was fully daylight when the terrain opened out into a magnificent bowl called the Grand Plateau. To the right a steep slope up to the Vallot hut and the normal route to the summit via the Bosses ridge. But to the left, we could see several groups heading ant-like up to the Col de la Brenva. Klemen is a very experienced guide who knows the mountain extremely well. He quickly reviewed the conditions, assessed the options and elected to go left.
We were maintaining a good pace and passed several groups who had stopped for a break on the climb up to the col. At well above 4000m, the altitude began to take its toll and we were all breathing quite heavily as we reached the col. There we were in direct sunlight for the first time but it was still bitterly cold and the surface was very icy on the exposed ridge. It was time to take off the skis and switch to crampons and ice axe for the final push to the summit, with our skis attached to our backpacks.
We felt like real mountaineers kicking our way up the steep slope of the ridge, the same one we had marvelled at from the Italian coffee stop far below. It was hard work and the pace was purposefully slow and deliberate. Klemen had shortened the rope considerably for this phase and so we had to move completely in unison.
After a few hundred meters the ridge flattened a little, revealing for the first time the summit of Mont Blanc up ahead. It would take a supreme effort to get up the last pitch which, like everything on Mont Blanc, is on a grand scale. But I was feeling OK and allowed myself to think for the first time about the prospect of reaching the summit. I could see what lay ahead and was confident that nothing would stop us now.
It was more or less at that moment that I fell into a hole! This was a bit of a surprise as the snow and ice had been solid underfoot for the previous hour. But here it just gave way and, in an instant, I was floundering up to my waist in snow like quicksand. Heaven only knows what was below that. I immediately reached out to jam the handle of my axe into a firm bit of ice in front of me. But the sharp point of the handle wouldn’t penetrate the solid surface. Perhaps sensing my inexperience and confusion at this high altitude, Klemen helpfully shouted ‘use your axe properly’ (subtext – you idiot). Ah, time to use the business end of this life-saving tool. I adjusted my grip and brought the axe head down hard into the ice. Happily, it bit, giving me a solid anchor point to pull myself out of the hole.
Without fuss, we continued our relentless march to the summit. I could see and feel on the rope that my friend Peter behind me was finding the going tough. A veteran of two of the hardest ultra-marathons in the world, he later admitted that at that moment he was ‘blowing bubbles.’ It’s a feeling I know well because I’m usually the one ‘blowing bubbles’ trying to keep up with him! But we were getting very close and a few minutes later, breathing heavily, we plodded onto the summit and embraced with glee.
After five years of disappointments, we finally achieved our objective of climbing to the summit of the highest mountain in the Alps. In stark contrast to all, we had been through to get there, the summit at 4808m was spacious and the conditions relatively benign. The wind was light, the sun was shining and the visibility was unlimited in all directions. It was an extraordinary experience to look out over great swathes of the French, Italian and Swiss Alps. Even the Matterhorn seemed diminutive in the distance, and the other peaks of the Mont Blanc massif, which normally tower above the Chamonix and Courmayeur valleys, looked like mere foothills from our vantage point.
There were a couple of other groups on the summit at the same time and we exchanged congratulatory words in various languages and swapped cameras to capture the moment. It was not long before John, Hammy and Andy joined us on the summit and we celebrated their achievement and exchanged a bit of ‘what kept you’ banter.
And so to the best bit - and perhaps the whole point of it all - the ski down the mountain. You definitely can’t do that from the summit of the Eiger or the Matterhorn! We removed some layers of clothing and transitioned our skis and boots into downhill mode. Then with a quick push on the poles, we were off down the slope we had just climbed up, swooping past other groups still labouring up to the summit. We made quick work of the top section but then Klemen headed left away from the ridge and down towards the huge crevasses that form a horseshoe around le Grand Plateau. The snow on this slope was dry and soft. With a fresh pair of legs, I would have relished the prospect of linking some turns down the steep slope. But we had just spent 7 hours climbing a huge mountain and Klemen was clearly preoccupied finding a safe way down through the crevasses whilst also keeping a wary eye on the chaotic ice cliffs above us. ‘Guys, go very carefully here and don’t stop. The falling seracs are very dangerous. If you get hit by one, you will be going home in a wooden box.’ OK, best we keep our wits about us and stay in ‘survival skiing’ mode.
We did have time to enjoy the stunning scenery and even paused for a few minutes to eat some lunch in a safe spot, looking back up at our fresh tracks down from the summit ridge. Life doesn’t get much better than that. But we were conscious of the considerable distance we still had to ski and the numerous hazards along the way. Inevitably the conditions changed with every change of altitude and aspect as we descended the mountain. Lower down, Peter and I were making heavy weather of the lumpy snow and tracked conditions. Even Klemen said he found the conditions difficult but he somehow managed to look in control at all times.
Just as we descended towards the Grand Mulets hut, disaster struck. One of Peter’s skis popped off. The brakes deployed but the ski trundled off down the steep slope accelerating all the time. It was a heart-stopping moment – if we couldn’t retrieve the ski, our descent would be severely impeded. Fortunately, the ski had stopped of its own accord, more or less where it had started the day in the gully at the foot of the Grand Mulets hut! Was the ski trying to tell us something - like it had had enough excitement for one day and wanted to stop at the hut for another night? Anyway, we were all mightily relieved to be back on our way with a full complement of skis.
At this point, Klemen had a difficult call to make: descend to the left and retrace our steps across the rather problematic route through La Jonction, or descend to the right and follow a new route that some others had taken down the Bossons glacier, bypassing La Jonction altogether. We took the latter and followed a spectacular, roller-coaster of a route that weaved its way down the glacier. On any other day, it would have been a joyous experience but we were very tired and just wanted to be safely off the glacier. There was one more big hazard to cross, a vast field of fallen ice debris, each lump as big as a breeze block and as hard as concrete. The skis just would not go where you pointed them and the knees protested at having to be shock-absorbers over such rugged terrain. But we had made good time and it was hopefully still too early for new projectiles to rain down on us from above.
At last, we traversed off the side of the glacier and round the shoulder to see the cable car mid-station in the distance. There were two more short climbs to negotiate which was an unwelcome surprise as it was hot at this low altitude and we were completely dehydrated. But soon we were collapsing into plastic chairs at the mid-station café and enjoying our first thirst-quenching gulps of cold beer (from the Brasserie du Mont Blanc of course) – pure nectar – and toasting our safe return with mission accomplished!!
So, what are my thoughts, a few days later? Well, skiing the Mont Blanc was an incredible experience, which was well worth the wait, the training and the investment in the right equipment. Yes, it was hard and there were some nerve-wracking moments but the best things in life don’t come easily. I was struck by the dynamic nature of these great glaciers, and the impact that global warming is having on them. It was touch-and-go whether the route would be passable at all this year following a winter with relatively little snowfall. Our guides who had climbed the mountain many times remarked that it is getting more difficult and dangerous every year. So, if you fancy having a go at skiing the Mont Blanc, don’t leave it too late. And please make sure you have proper mountaineering crampons in your pack!
