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With a Little Help From My Friends
I was pretty light-headed by the time I reached the top of Mont Blanc. I remember the 360-degree view of mountain ranges, and thinking ‘I’m on the highest peak in Europe’ and then sinking backwards onto my rucksack and beginning to shake. Pete whipped my hat and gloves off and stuffed me into an emergency down jacket before plonking a far more serious climbers hat on me.
Like many things in life; the journey leading up to and after a major event contain some of the best bits. I felt incredibly close and affectionate towards the three men I’d just spent the last 2 days roped to; we’d lived a mini epic adventure, and in many ways didn’t want our time together to end. There’s nothing like climbing a mountain and all that it entails for connecting at a deeper, truer level. Mountains are great levellers.
Because It’s There
I can’t remember when I first had the idea to climb Mont Blanc, my best friend probably can; she says I used to talk about it years ago.
In April 2005 a chance meeting at a trade show in London provided a chance meeting. I was supporting a colleague in a Horse Whispering demonstration, galloping round Olympia playing the part of a ‘bad horse’. I felt an amused pair of eyes, watching and looked up to see a I recognised but couldn’t place. Hugh Moss came up to me at the end of the demonstration and we chatted. I’d last met him a year before when he’d been in the process of establishing and climbing and training business. We talked mountains and I shared my dream of climbing Mt Blanc. As a parting comment he’d thrown over his shoulder, ‘I’ll teach you to climb if you want’.
I’d been looking for the past 4 months for a company to learn mountaineering skills with; the timing of the meeting couldn’t have been better. I’d felt a connection the last time we’d met and was intrigued our paths had crossed again. He seemed to be offering a solution to that which I’d been seeking; a company whose purpose was to enable me, that would push me to play an active part. A company, which would provide both the opportunity and support the risks to experience something new.
To put my expectation further into context, although I was reasonably fit, I was scared of heights and had never been on the end of a rope before!
By the time I got home I’d already made up my mind, I’d take up the offer.
Preparation is everything
Two weeks later I was climbing. I met Pete Baily, Hugh’s business and climbing partner at the Westway Climbing Centre, Shepherd’s Bush. Both are naturally different in personality with strongly complimentary styles of teaching.
‘The mountain begins in London’, they kept saying as they put me through my paces each Wednesday evening, inviting me to get securely into a harness, tie in and manage the belay system. Later I realised that the guys were getting me to build self confidence, that I had the basic practical and technical knowledge needed to climb safely, and to learn to trust the kit, and my climbing partner. It was the first stage in expanding my sense of what I was capable of
My first climb up the wall was pretty pathetic; I went 10feet up the wall then got scared! I yelled at Hugh to let me down. I had a sense of what going up meant however I hadn’t a clue what to expect coming down and needed to experience it before attempting the full 45 feet of a pitch. I had an uncontrollable fear that I was going to flip over backwards, fall out of the harness, come crashing down, break my neck, and never walk again!
Hugh let me down and asked me what I wanted. I said to go up and down a few times at about 10 feet of height, to see how the rope and harness worked together. That’s what I did. Before long I had taken to climbing the indoor walls like a salamander; feeling confident and enjoying the moment and feeling less self-conscious calling out ‘ready on belay!’ to someone who was only two feet away. As I was to learn, clarity of communication is critical to safety when climbing.
Within three weeks I’d been taught me how to climb competently indoors, how to tie in, rope up, and confidently belay another. I passed the indoor competency safety assessment at Westway - I was one my way.
Hugh and Pete advised on the best physical preparation for and for additional cost offer to work out a bespoke mountaineering strength and conditioning programme. Being a person who regularly runs, cycles, and is pretty active, I felt happy preparing for the climb myself. With hindsight had I taken their training advice more seriously and trained in a really structured manner I might have made the climb easier on myself. There’s no doubt that a slow build up incorporating mental and physical endurance exercises would have helped the cardio-vascular system cope with climbing at altitude as well as training the mind to keep going when the body is at it’s limits of fatigue.
Team mates
I was introduced to the three other people I’d be making the trip to Mont Blanc with one evening at the Wall; Caroline, Sinead, and Steve; all from London and lovers of the great outdoors were reasonably fit and equally inexperienced at mountaineering. Caroline worked with Sinead and was friends with Steve. They all seemed pretty friendly and relaxed.
Wales
I’ve heard some people say that climbing Mont Blanc is a walk in the park, Hugh and Pete’s opinion was, it isn’t and they wanted to prepare us physically, mentally, and emotionally for the endurance trip that lay ahead. I’m glad they did. Nothing however but experience can prepare you for the physical side affects of climbing at high altitude.
The next stage took us on from learning the ropes in the simulated safety of the climbing wall to the heart of the Cambrian mountains of Snowdonia. It was time to put theory into practice on real rock, in real weather out in real mountains. Over three days we honed our rock climbing, got used to mountain exposure, learned what it was to move together roped up and had our commitment, stamina and endurance put to the test over a 12 hour walk with a pre dawn start.
Each day in Wales begun with a dip in a mountain stream to wake up and a morning briefing and concluded with an evening feedback session. We got the chance to talk about the three main areas of performance we were focusing on; pace, confidence, and teamwork and let the trainers and the rest of our team know what was going on for us what we felt we needed more of, our anxieties and our personal triumphs.
Within two days we were introduced to real mountain climbing on Pinnacle Rib on the West face of Tryfan where we met our first crux at the great yellow slab.
At 4 o’clock the second afternoon, slow drizzle, cloud cover, temperature falling and Sinead and I not making any progress on this huge, slippery, slimy beast of granite. We were unable to find and maintain footholds and fingerholds that Hugh assured us were there. It took Hugh 25 minutes to encourage me to a personal breakthrough as suddenly I unlocked the combination of moves and my feet pushed me up the 30 foot slab. I was tied of to the anchor whilst Hugh engaged in the process of enticing Sinead through the challenge as the drizzle thickened to rain. I sat on my rock, fighting an uncontrollable fear that the rock I was sitting on would finally have enough of inexperienced climbers and decide to leave it’s nest.
I looked at Hugh; he looked concerned at the conditions although his calm voice didn’t show it. Seeing I was tired and wet, he offered me his jacket, touched I declined thinking that we needed him well to keep us safe!
40 minutes later after careful cajoling we had Sinead on the top of the slab and safely tied in. Immediately Hugh set off up the ridge. Sinead was exhausted and her knee was playing up after the rigours of Yellow Slab. We got nervous as we lost sight of Hugh through the mist. It was getting late then we heard the call to climb on. Sinead and I climbed the remaining part of Pinnacle Rib with a sense of urgency, staying in close contact, talking and encouraging one another constantly. It was with a sense of relief and joy that we reached the summit and joined Pete, Caroline and Steve were sheltering under a rock with reenergising chocolate to greet us. We began the descent through the clouds and reached the foot of the mountain at 8.30pm, just in time for our well earned pub supper.
No rest for the wicked
Bleary eyed and stiff from the exertion of the previous days we were woken at 4am with tea and breakfast before setting off in the cold pre dawn for a full day to test our stamina. We walked from our campsite in the Ogwyn Valley along the shores of Llyn Idwyll up through the Devils Kitchen and over the Glyders. We did this in the rain. Although I’m not an early bird normally I found the early start energising; there’s something magical about seeing the world waking up; the skyline lightening and the silence being broken by nature.
We walked all morning until about 11 when we dropped into the Llanberis valley where Hugh met us -- hot coffee and bacon butties, which had never tasted so good – then it was up and into the mist again as we struck off up the Pig track to the summit of Snowdon.
Tired, wet, and with legs shaking furiously from exhaustion, and with bruises to be proud of, we returned to the base of Snowdon at 4pm Sunday. This concluded the first serious part of our training for Mont Blanc; we were exhausted and elated!
Pacing was the one area I had lots to learn about. I have a tendency to run rather than walk. I am a runner, maybe that’s why. On the Welsh trip I was taught how to find the right pace, how to use different parts of the body going up and travelling down hill to conserve energy, how to tell the appropriateness of my pace through my ability to talk and walk and the amount I was sweating.
The Welsh weekend was for me one of the best things I’ve ever done; climbing Tryfan was electrifying and petrifying. I’d been inspired me to take a leap of faith and trust. I still get a surge of energy and confidence when I look at the postcard I have of Tryfan and I smile at the fear I faced, and stepped beyond. With the memory I feel taller through the achievement.
Climbing Mont Blanc
Acclimatisation
Arriving in Geneva on the 9th September 2005 I felt like a race horse finally let out of the starting blocks; I was ready to run! Sorry, pace, pace, pace Turner! I mean walk.
The forecast was settled, all things being fair we’d have a good chance of attempting a summit climb.
It was my first visit to Chamonix; I’d been expecting a loud, heaving outdoor resort, full of pretentious celebrities sunning themselves. It was quite the opposite; a charming town dropped like a pearl at the feet of Mont Blanc, which rose majestically above the stunning pinnacles that are the Chamonix Aiguilles.
That first night we were taken into town by Pete to an Aladdin’s cave of a gear shop to hire or buy items we were missing. Gear is a bewildering minefield of expense if you are new to the game – you can waste a lot of money buying inappropriate stuff. You can’t stint on kit; it’s specialist and needs to be to keep you safe, warm and dry in the mountains. Hugh and Pete had given us a detailed and extensive gear list prior to the trip and had been on hand for any questions.
Yannick, our lead guide arrived the next morning to join us at breakfast. A Swiss IFGM guide he was friendly, lean and fit, and his deep knowledge and clear love of the mountains inspired confidence. He obviously had a good relationship with and respect for Pete who busily checked our gear and showed us how to pack our 35-40 litre rucksacks between slurps of coffee and mouthfuls of croissant and jam. And then we were off for our first three days in the mountains.
Finally we would be moving slowly up into the gleaming white hills to spent time at altitude giving our bodies vital time to acclimatise to the thinner air and produce more of those essential oxygen porting red blood cells. We would also spend time learning to walk efficiently and climb over mixed rock and ice in crampons, get used to travelling safely roped together across the glaciated landscape, get a taste of climbing steep ice and using our ice-axe to climb and to self-arrest in the event of a fall.
The first cut is the deepest
We drove to le Tour and took the gondolier up to le Col du Balme and set off for the Refuge Albert Premier. It was like walking through a film set of special affects; outlandishly large natural wonders appeared in quick succession through mist; waterfalls, glaciers, distant forests. By lunchtime we reached the refuge and after a bite we ventured out onto the Glacier du Tour for an afternoon playing on ice.
For those of us who had never walked in crampons before it was awkwardly exhilarating. It gave me a new sense of adventure as we scaled walls of ice and clung to the sides of slopes with simply the front of your feet. Steve started singing Rod Stewart’s song ‘The first cut is the deepest’ which made us all laugh. We’d been amassing songs on the way up, tying our learning or experiences to song lyrics.
We returned to the Albert 1er for a well-earned rest, a good meal, and a beer to celebrate the end of our first day. In spite of the exercise I didn’t get much sleep that night due to sharing a room with 20 Dutchmen who were charming ‘till they started snoring in relay!
I found myself reflecting that first night at the refuge; I was living one of my dreams; I was on my way to climb Mont Blanc. Remembering how one of my elderly neighbours, John had waved me off, giving me one of his special walking poles, I felt incredibly lucky to have limbs that would carry me this far, this high, and humbled by the sheer beauty and majesty of the mountains.
After very little sleep and with a thumping headache the awe turned into quiet grumpiness the following morning at breakfast. It was raining. Kitted up we left a little after 8am across the Glacier du Tour heading for la Tete Blanche; there we’d make a decision whether to climb the Petite Fourche or the Grande Fourche. I felt tired, cranky, and ill equipped for a day’s extensive walking.
Jump!
Roped up to we would stop occasionally and Yannick would sternly remind us, the art of rope taut and distance. I don’t think any of us truly appreciated the importance of this until I disappeared down a crevasse. I knew I was going down, although I’d tried to bunny hop it at the last moment I didn’t make it.
It was a funny experience; when I’m really scared I tend to freeze inside, nothing escapes, I went down the crevasse suddenly, and dangled in silence. I knew the rope would hold me, and had absolute faith in Yannick’s skills and experience and knew Pete was right there too. I heard a water bottle break off, dong dong as it bounced into the bottomless silence. I suddenly became paranoid about dropping John’s walking stick and grappled to hold onto it like life itself. I felt a tug around my middle as someone began to pull. I was stuck upside down and it was hurting my back. I yelled for them to stop until I got myself into a more upright position. It wasn’t long till they had me out. Some great lessons to be learnt in that moment on the importance of rope management, keeping a distance, and timely communication.
We carried on up the glacier, at a remarkably slow pace and decided to be happy with climbing to the top of the Petite Fourche at 3512m. It felt strange and rather awkward to climb the rock and ice in crampons.
We spent nine hours that day moving across the snow. Mountain peaks rose and fell behind us. Progress was slow, we even abseiled down the side of a mountain section to try to make up some time. It was a long, long day.
That night we stayed at a refuge called Cabine du Trient It was smaller than the Albert 1er had been, cosy with a wood burner downstairs in the central meeting and eating space, there was a large, black dog there and after what had been a personally demanding day, it was good to stroke an animal. The food was first rate as was the camaraderie and story telling.
Pace, confidence, teamwork
It had snowed heavily over night and after a good breakfast we set out on our third day. Tiredness was beginning to show a bit. We stopped after an hour of making slow progress through deep, deep snow; I sensed Yannick wasn’t happy. There was a discussion as to whether it was safe or sensible to stick to our original route plan. We changed direction and headed down the mountain towards Champex in Switzerland a shorter and easier route with less climbing. Our pace was obviously slow and Yannick kept urging us on. We walked in silence; each of us lost in our own worlds yet trying to remain connected enough to manage the vital rope connecting us, and to be aware of other people’s needs.
After long hours we reached our destination and retuned to Chamonix. In the warm, thick valley air I slept like a log.
The next day was the big day and with great excitement, we packed, unpacked, and repacked, only the bare necessities. The acclimatisation stage had served its purpose well in teaching us a number of important lessons around rope management, communication, preparation of kit, and effective decision making around what to take and what could be shared.
The day dawns
In a small, sunlit café in Les Houches we were introduced to Christophe Profit our second guide for the summit (local legislation dictates a client:guide ratio of 1:2). The first thing that struck me about this man was his warm and friendly face and the understated way in which he was dressed in an old t-shirt on and a well worn pair of rock climbing slacks. He looked more like he was going for a stroll than a summit climb.
After a gondolier ascent to the Col de Voza we sat on the grass in sunshine and waited for the train. I’d felt a little in awe of Christophe, a man who climbed the vertical west face of Les Drus solo, that’s without ropes, in less than 3 hours; he’s a legend in climbing circles. And yet this big man was so down to earth and easy to talk to that within a short time I felt relaxed, excited, and nattered away to him.
Before long we were climbing. The first part of the climb was over rock and followed a steep yet fairly easy path. The decision had been made to stop that afternoon at Tete Rousse, eat, put our heads down for a bit then crack on at 1am. The climb that afternoon was fantastic, I was feeling strong, the headaches had stopped, and we were climbing in great conditions; cobalt blue skies and sunshine, allowing us to see clearly for miles. My heart sang.
Heaven on Earth
The view from the Tete Rousse was breathtaking; a myriad of mountain peaks glistening in the late afternoon sunshine; a sea of calm and tranquillity. That evening I stood outside and watched as the sky slowly changed from blue to blood orange red. I felt the presence of my mum and grandad who had both died when I was a child, it was as if they were there with me now; happy, relaxed, it was a good place to be. I felt at peace and as if I belonged on that mountainside.
After a great meal we tried to get our heads down and rest. Before we knew it, it was 1am, I don’t believe any of us had really slept. In silence we got up, dragged our stuff together and made our way to the eating room for a hot drink and something to eat. Christophe seemed on fine form, Pete was chirpy, the rest of us were pretty silent. I was teamed with Steve and Christophe, and Pete joined us. Sinead and Caroline were with Yannick.
Starry, starry night
The night sky was awash with brilliant stars, and in the distance you could see the bobbing lights of other climbers, which reminded me of fireflies. I was really excited and although I hadn’t slept felt pretty awake; I felt a bit sick but nothing too bad.
Like one of the 7 dwarfs, off I trundled with my pickaxe in the dark for the night shift! The rest of my team were in good spirits and we set off at a good pace. We crossed the lower snow slopes and were hurried across the Grand Couloir because of the risk of falling rocks and then settled into a steady pace up the Gouter Ridge. Climbing in the dark was exciting and I felt like a true adventurer.
Christophe and Pete were fantastic people to have with in this new and challenging situation; they were relaxed, calm, confidant, and seemed to sense when I needed a bit of encouragement and gave it. That first part of the climb will remain in my memory as one of the most enjoyable parts of the ascent! It took us 3 hours to reach the Gouter hut where we put our packs down and rested for what turned into 2 hours. Christophe decided there was no rush and we should start off again at 7am. Leave others to make the first tracks was the idea. Yannick, Sinead, and Caroline turned up 45 minutes later, and rested alongside us in the recently vacated bunks.
I was unable to sleep, and felt damp and cold for the first time. 7 o’clock arrived. We got up and started climbing. At over 3800m, the climb was getting tougher. I tried not to, but every now and then I’d look up ahead and feel demoralised by the amount of height still to go. Stumbling, it felt as if I was rapidly seeping energy. Someone had pulled the plug on me. On and on, hour after hour, up and up; each mini summit had another beyond it to greet us with.
Hitting the wall
What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Beatles song. No chance of that half way up Mont Blanc tied together. Steve had found another song to add to the collection. I never was too good at talking and concentrating at the same time, and at this particular moment climbing the last 2 miles of Mont Blanc I was concentrating hard on just staying on my feet. Exhaustion had reached every corner of my body and soul, I felt limp and powerless. I searched deep inside for a connection to the stamina I’d built on the physical and mental preparation for this trip. Stumbling, pulling myself back up to the persistent encouragement from the man in front.
After about 7 hours of walking, I remember thinking ‘I can’t do this’. I told myself to shut up, can’t think that way, but I began to feel incredibly weak and despondent. For the first time the thought entered my head that I might not make it to the top. I felt overwhelmed with emotion, disappointment in myself for allowing negativity to seep in. I just wanted to stop, stop moving, stop feeling sick. Pete, Steve, and Christophe saw I was struggling.
We stopped, they were kind, and tears soon turned to laughter; I’d needed an outlet for the negativity, tears in that moment were the best vehicle.
Each step from then on took great effort but I felt refocused on reaching the summit. Christophe was a star, and with sheer determination and a few, quiet words encouraged me to keep going. I fell a few times and remember swearing at the mountain and wanting to be sick but unable to because I had no food in me.
Looking back I now realise, I hadn’t prepared properly for the mental aspect of climbing; I should have had a plan or strategy in place to help me focus on this part of the climb which was long and slow to distract me from any negative thinking and the physical tiredness.
We are the champions my friends and I
The ridge narrowed and the gradient eased. Suddenly as we were within retching distance of the summit, my spirits rose, we were there! The tallest peak in Europe; we hugged, took photographs and all slid down the side to shelter from the wind and have a bit to eat and this is where we come full circle back to the beginning of this story where Pete stuffs me into a down jacket and sensible gloves.
I was lucky. I had three good men looking out for me. Pete has a rare quality; he is non-judgemental and chooses to help rather than criticise, leaving you to come to your own conclusions, as we all do, about the mistake you’ve made; in this case not having warm enough gloves.
The rest is history, as they say. We made it home! For me the experience is one I will never forget. It changed me inside, made me feel taller somehow, and I know there is more good stuff to come as a result of that.
Sharing the uncertainty of nature, fear, exhaustion, joy, elation, and success draws you close and builds bridges of understanding, empathy, and respect for others in a way that I hadn’t appreciated until now. I now know why organisations use the outdoors environment and mountain climbing in particular, as a vehicle for individuals to learn their own lessons on communication, team working, support, flexibility, self-management, and building confidence.
One of the great impacts the preparation for the trip and the climb itself had on me was on my fitness levels and body strength! I’d been through a complete upper and lower body weeklong workout! I had colour in my cheeks, a shine in my eyes, my thighs were taut and my calves looked like a ballerinas. I had eaten with gusto all week and come home leaner! I felt healthy and fit.
For many people stepping out onto a summit would be the highlight of a climbing trip, for me it was three days later powering through the streets of Newcastle in the Great North Run feeling strong, alive, vibrant, and intoxicated with life and all that it offered. This was where I surfed the wave, crested my summit, and felt the true impact of my achievement…but that’s another story
Because It’s There was the right company for me to venture with; their words, actions, and attention to detail on the safety, procedural, and more esoteric aspects of climbing inspired confidence and a deeper understanding of mountaineering. I came to know them as my friends, to trust them and step out into the unknown. I had a ball!
In the preparation stages that are the foundation of a Because It’s There experience the guys took me to the edge of my comfort zone physically, mentally and yes emotionally. They took me beyond where I was comfortable but not to where I panicked. I learned to face and conquered fears I didn’t even realise I had till I started climbing, and as an after effect have grown confidence through the achievement in ways I never thought possible.
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