Back to School - "La Rentrée en Montagne"

Roc de Pellegrin, Belledonne - "Le feu au cul" - 5.10b, 500m

Last weekend was a great reminder of why Hillary and I have both worked so hard to obtain visas to come back here this fall. Consulates, screaming/butter knife wielding Montessori school children, and statistics lectures all started to fall away as we headed out on a Friday evening to the eastern side of the Belledonne mountains. Despite my recently acquired weekend-warrior status, my hopes are high for being able to strike the balance between the master's program in ecology I just began and big climbing days. Now feels like the time to capitalize on a full year's worth of growth in the mountains and tick off those last goals of the fall. The way I see it, finals period in the mountains has just gotten underway...

Hillary on the summit of the Roc de Pellegrin

(2763m) after topping out "Le feu au cul," which 

would translate to something like "fire under your

ass." Notice the Mont Blanc doing it's thing on the

horizon. On the way down we ended up taking the

wrong couloir and spent three hours improvising

rappels and working through long stretches of

downclimbing. Live and learn... 

Our friends Sarah Butsch and Spencer Paxson, on tour in Europe for a world cup mountain bike race, took the train down from the Kona Bicycles headquarters in Geneva to join us for the weekend. It was surreal to say the least to go from sipping bloody mary's at Thompson's Point post-Goudi and Lindsey's wedding three weeks ago, directly to shared adventures here in the Alps. Being both generous friends and badass athletes, they casually carried our gear up the two and half hour approach before embarking on their own scramble in the surrounding peaks. They went the distance from the early wakeup to latenight all you-can-eat-flatbread in down town Grenoble - we couldn't ask for better friends and companions!  

Les Gillardes, Dévoluy - "La dernière tentation d'un été trop court" - 5.10c, 500m

                                                            
Last minute class cancellations allowed for a bonus midweek day out with Engué this past Tuesday. The guidebook describes the Dévoluy as a "petit et formidable massif," petit being of course small and formidable meaning "great" in the French sense of the word. After two days of climbing in the area, I think compact and fierce is a more appropriate description of the Dévoluy. Below is the view across the valley to the south face of the Obiou (2790m), the highest peak in the range.

Engué following pitch 6, 5.10a. The shade was highly appreciated for staying cool and hydrated for the first six hours or so of climbing.

Topping out pitch 18 close to the top, just before the sun went down. Thankfully the descent was a walk off and we didn't have to do 19 rappels in the dark...

A Note to Friends and Family: 
(le problème d'avoir le cul entre deux chaises...)

            For the month of August I (Brad here) have been stateside for the first time in almost eleven months. Upon returning “home,” I realize that I’ve made the transition from a member of the community fabric to an appreciated but nonetheless passing visitor. I can no longer say, “I’m a student here,” or “I’m working just down the road,” or “Sorry I completely botched this I’ll be back next week.” The instant recognition and ease that comes with being a settled part of a place and community has been replaced by the stress of coming and going, of saying hello followed all too quickly by goodbye.

I’ve struggled with the basic fact that many of the relationships that mean the most to me are framed by a year of separation and are faced with another year of the same, give or take power-move visits to France and the prospect of a day or two of schwacky skiing in Vermont this Christmas. I feel like I’m playing continuous bombardment paddle ball with a dozen people and the best I can do is occasionally make a headlong dive and return one of many incoming volleys. I wish we could all move in to a castle in the French countryside and grow our own food and declare career goals achieved. Mostly I miss the daily grind of friendship and all that comes with it – unplanned and spontaneous excursions, shared time that’s hard to label, gatherings that begin and end without fanfare or farewells, discussions that swing back and forth easily from talking about life to talkin’ about junk. This past month I’ve been reminded of how much I miss the company and banter of true friends. My French is getting there, but interactions over there rarely hit the same notes.
 
            By choosing to live in Grenoble, I’ve put a good number of my family members and friends in a holding pattern where deliberate effort is required to keep the amity ball in motion. Many of you have complicated the situation by also choosing to live far from the communal stomping ground that I will loosely define as New England. The perks of living in relatively far-flung lifestyle locales are huge, I’m the first to admit, but I for one have definitely started to feel the potential cost of being so removed from the people who matter the most. Give me another couple years to let the climbing bug fully run its course, and I think the priority will quickly become access to community over access to unexplored mountains.

Despite the challenges of us living all over the place, I’ve realized that home can happen in bits and pieces. I think it’s fair to say that among our peers the idea of home as a single spot is becoming increasingly elusive. I found it this past month in a seldom-travelled mountain range in southeastern Colorado with my family, on the porch at the cabin in Keene Valley with a few good friends, out climbing for a day on Moss Cliff with Sambo, sitting around the table with Hillary and her family in St. J, crashed out on Jesse and Shira’s futon in Boston, and also in my bed in St. George still smelling cat pee from the infamous deeds of Ziggy the Vulgar years ago. Cell phones and Skype (let’s not talk about blogs) don’t quite do it, but quality conversation assures that the groove will pick up right where it left off as soon as everybody is back in the same place.

Let’s be honest – keeping in better touch from here on out may or may not happen, and that’s fine. We’re busy, selfish and scattered, but the love is there. Please know that you all mean the world to me.

Brad 

Hillary making it look good on Mont Blanc's Kuffner Arête... 

    View across the way of the Aiguilles du Diable - a project for another day.

In the fog on top of Mont Blanc - vive the Mounty! 

moods of the barre des ecrins

Brad has spent a lot of time in refuges lately.   I say this not so much to highlight the sheer amount of time he has spent in the mountains recently, but rather to allude to the the number of days he has spent holed up at altitude waiting for the weather to change.  When you add his three days in refuges to our three tent-bound days unsuccessfully attempting to outsmart storms in Italy with Gus, you might think that the sum would yield a healthy appreciation for a poor forecast.
But if you thought that, you would be wrong.  Last week, despite slightly unfavorable weather reports, Brad and I decided to stick to our maxim:  "Better to get out and get stuffed than not to get out at all", and headed up into les Ecrins. This time, rather than finding ourselves cooped up, we were reminded of why we take our chances with mother nature, happening upon an ideal and unexpected weather window.

When we packed the car and left Grenoble on Thursday morning, Brad could barely contain his excitement.   We were heading for Ailefroide (which directly translates to 'cold pasture'), and what he declared was the most beautiful parking lot in the world.  Never one for parking lots myself, I dismissed his enthusiasm and didn't brace myself for anything too special.  However, you now stand witness to a rare occurrence:  an admission.  I was wrong. It is possible to be taken with a parking lot.

Brad descends toward Ailefroide

The unlikely road to the Ailefroide parking winds up a narrow glacial valley flanked by towering granite cliffs and an alluvial flood plain.  When we finally rolled into the lot, we both ogled in wonder at hanging glaciers, milky rivers and steep rock faces.  Littered around the valley floor were enormous glacial erratic boulders and fields of blossoming alpine flowers.
While the trip to the parking lot could be deemed a sufficient destination for the day, we found ourselves looking anxiously further up the valley toward the Glacier Blanc and the Refuge des Ecrins, where we intended to spend the night.   Hoping to beat storms, we cut our rubbernecking session short, slung on heavy packs and started up the well-established, heavily trafficked trail.

After about two and half hours of steady climbing, we found ourselves at the foot of the enormous Glacier Blanc.  The Parc National des Ecrins is a beautiful place.  Compared with the highly popular and commercialized Northern Alps, les Ecrins feels remote, austere and breathtaking.  And once on the massif's biggest glacier, we felt like we had made it to the inner sanctum.   With 25 feet of rope between the two of us, we made our way slowly and inefficiently across the glacier, stopping every few minutes to to stare in awe at the rugged peaks surrounding us.  The plan for the next day was to get an alpine start, and ascend the Barre des Ecrins (the tallest peak in the range), but at the moment I would have felt satisfied to have gone no further.   Sitting several hundred feet above the glacier and looking out contentedly from the dining room window of the Refuge des Ecrins, we enjoyed a similar view--expansive glaciers, towering seracs and and proud peaks, with summits shrouded in clouds.

Evening in the Refuge was a bustling world of aspiring alpinists.  The Barre des Ecrins and in particular, its rounded sister peak the Dome des Ecrins, are very popular climbs.  They both top out over the (coveted) 4000 meter mark, and the Dome doesn't pose any major technical hurdles, making it a relatively easy tick for accumulators of high summits.   At dinner (which we, the stingy black sheep of the refuge, spent cooking our own food in the corner) the Guardian's announcement of the latest weather forecast was met with multi-lingual cheers.


The Refuge des Ecrins has two wake-up times:  3am and 4am.   The Guardian organizes the rooms according to itinerary, and he rouses our room at 3.  In the dining room, the jovial spirit of the night before has been replaced by concentration.  Everyone, ourselves included, takes themselves very seriously.  I imagine every mind going through the same mental checklist: harness-check, crampons-check, helmet-check, piolet-check, and the list goes on...  Though the whole hut is awake, we all exit in near silence, cautiously picking our way down the scree slope back to the snow.  Ahead of us, we can see a line of climbers, only visible by the glow of their headlamps ; efficient rope-teams making their way up the glacier.

The trails to the Barre and the Dome begin together and we file into the line of climbers moving deliberately into the blackness.   In the dark, you don't think about much.  It is 4am. There is a well worn piste that you follow and assume will avoid any grave danger.   Your sphere of concentration is limited to the pool of light emitted by headlamp.  Though there are many of us moving at once, we all seem to have blinders on, each consumed by our individual worlds.

the magic hour

At about 6:30, the blinders come off.   Off to the east and across the valley, the sun is making its slow ascent into the sky, and rays of morning light peek around clouds and mountains.  I feel like I just woke up out of a haze, realizing for the first time in several hours just where I am.  I am reminded of my trip with the Middlebury Mountain Club up Mount Rainier, and the feeling of awe when night gave way to dawn and we felt like all of our work was paying off.   Only here, and only after laboring for days and through the pre-dawn hours could you enjoy a sunrise like this.  Ah, yes, even more than the feeling from yesterday, this is why I do this.

"mellow ridge romp"

About two-thirds of the way up the Glacier Blanc, just below the bergschrund (the giant crevasse at the top of a glacier), our course veers left.  Now fully awake and feeling hyper sensitive to our surroundings, we find ourselves alone as the rest of the rope teams traverse right toward the more straightforward Dome.   We are in untracked terrain, and despite thick fog, Brad somehow manages to navigate around obstacles, and we arrive at the base of the ridge.

The route starts out technical.  Brad begins, leading the first pitch which we are surprised to find is all ice. I follow, and when I join him at the belay, he suggests that I take the 'sharp end', and lead the next pitch.  The solid ice has given way to rock, snow and rime, and I make my way up, via the path of least resistance, until I find the next anchor.   We continue this way, taking turns on the lead, until the difficulty eases off.   By this time, the cloud level has risen, and we are rewarded once again with panoramic views.  And reminded of the exposure. Brad would describe the climb at this point as a 'mellow ridge romp', and I would feel obliged to point out that this particular romp is not only perched at the top of a long steep snow slope ending in a bergschrund, but also peppered with glimpses of the void where the steep south face of the Barre des Ecrins drops perilously off for hundreds of meters.  My intention, in saying this, is not to terrify our mothers, but rather to emphasize the fact that even after passing the 'technical' part of the climb, the battle is far from won, and constant vigilance is still necessary.

After 6 hours of climbing, we arrive at the summit (4102m) just as clouds roll back in.   We are the first and only team of the 70+ guests at the hut to do the Barre des Ecrins that day.   We quickly enjoy our typical mountain lunch of bread cheese and sausage, feeling a wild mix of emotion-- elation, exhaustion and  anxiety; having climbed up over 3000 feet, we still have to climb back down.
The descent back to the glacier was a continuation of the ridge traverse, taking us over mixed terrain that finally ended in rappels down to more level ground.   Soon we rejoin the herd path and carefully make our way down the hill, much more aware and in awe of the the tortured nature of the glacier--yawning crevasses and precarious seracs jumbling their way at varied paces down the fall line.  It seems  incredible that we wound our way through all of this in the pre-dawn darkness.  Like zombies we trudge back to the refuge, excited to put warm soup in our bellies and get horizontal.

The day's climb is a big step for me.  It is not that I progressed so much in my ability (the climbing is no more technically challenging than routes we've done before), but rather that I advanced by leaps and bounds in the the realm of confidence.  On a traverse it is rarely much more or less dangerous to take the lead than to follow, but leading adds an extra mental component that I hadn't really ever employed before at altitude.  It is at once bold and meek; you must be confident, and know that you are in control and also vigilant, respecting that you are completely at the whim of the mountain.  And you must trust, and be trusted by your partner, who's fate is, by a few dozen feet of rope, completely entwined with yours.

Brad's climbing bender continues... 

In an attempt to soften the sadness of Gus' departure, these past two weeks I've indulged in a fairly nonstop slew of adventures. The bender began with Olivier at the Refuge d'Envers des Aiguilles above the Mer de Glace in Chamonix. Two initial days of waiting out the rain and snow and playing Uno first to win fifty games only enhanced the joy of later on being able to climb hundreds of feet of sunny granite above a glacier, all within a twenty-minute walk from the hut. Despite the constant buzz of helicopters and airplanes on a sunny day, the crowds of overly earnest alpinists getting in line at the base of this or that classic, and the Jackson Hole-esque who's the bigger bro scene, Chamonix has the goods for sure and I can't wait to go back.  

 

The following week it was great to reconnect with Engué to climb "le fou qui repeint son plafond" ("the crazy person repainting the ceiling") at Presles, in the Vercors. The route name seems pretty apt to me given our desperation to climb on a rainy day. This was my first sustained aid climbing experience, and I guess I'll say that I was psyched to climb in that setting but am happy to reserve the wack and dangle for rare occasions. 

Last weekend Hillary and I were able to get out together into the Belledonne for a relaxed, fun day of climbing. Hillary lead the stouter pitches on an 8-pitch bolted 5.10a to the top of the Pointe N du Lac Robert , on a rock buttress to the right of a couloir Buke and I skied together in January. We both agreed that this is a climb we should have done while Gus was out here... just enough spice to be an adventure, but also abundant time for casual strolling and lakeside lounging. 

Engué and I met up yet again for a trip up the Northwest pillar of the Obiou, the highest peak in the Devoluy massif to the south of Grenoble. I've heard Jean-Mi (former landlord and all round awesome dude) speak with reverence of the Obiou for years and I think I get it now. The terrain feels like somewhere between alps and prealps, between the moon and the Dolomites, between a mountain rich with climbing history and a mountain that feels so wild it's hard to imagine the passage of anyone prior.  The spectacular setting compensated (mostly) for the fairly heinous rock quality and the dubious pitons still hanging in there from the first ascent in 1970. Our route roughly followed the shadowed ridge for 500m of climbing right to the top.

Earlier this week I met up with Christophe for two days in the Vanoise mountains, situated between here and Chamonix. Our attempt to climb one of the bigger peaks in the area was stuffed by driving rain and under fifty-foot visibility, but we were nonetheless able to thoroughly enjoy a moderate ridge scramble on the Aiguille de la Vanoise as well as some Ibex spectating.

p.s. Hillary just finished work and school is definitely out!!!

I just added some new photos to my picasa album.

Check them out: We Are Here to Buy Land

The school year ends on Friday, so I'll start operating on a similar schedule to Brad, and I promise to add some of my own stories soon!!

Hillary

Gus in Grenoble, the final chapter: Here comes the rain...

In the midst of 48 hours of rain in Val d'Orco, Italy, getting stuffed on the climbing
and the camp vittles. It turns out that massive car-camping tents aren't exclusive to America.

Tête du Rouget (3418m) - we headed up the right-hand ridge
and came down the snow couloir on the left.  

Gustave dancing with the dragon while leading through wet terrain. 

Hillary on the ridge crest getting close to the top, with the
Cirque du Soreiller dropping off in the background. 

Rappelling the N ridge en route to the snow couloir.

Enjoying Pringles and other processed foods during a brief break in the clouds at the
refuge du Sélé, above Ailefroide (a fabled trailhead that translates to "cold pasture").

One of the many ways in which frère Gustave wooed the French ladies:
who needs sunglasses when the backcover of the "Easy Alpinism" guidebook
serves up both style and function?

Gus meets Grenoble, Chapter 2: Traversing the

Grand Pic de Belledonne

Watch yet another piece of vain, self-repping cinematography - http://vimeo.com/24556753

Gus meets Grenoble, Chapter 1: Ridge scrambling on the Néron and climbing on the Aiguille Dibona - SEE VIDEO!!

Another day "au boulot" in the Vercors with Engué: 

"La fissure en arc de cercle," Face Est du Gerbier (400m 6b/c or 5.10d) 

Engué and I met a few weeks ago thanks to Christophe (most good things in my life here in France I can trace back to either Darin or Christophe) and we have been going steady ever since. Hillary has termed him my latest man crush, and I won't say she's wrong. Engué passed the ski test earlier this spring in order to be accepted into the aspirant guide program and is now busily preparing for the climbing and mountaineering exam in August. With midweek availability, appreciation for obscure and adventurous routes in the prealps, and an endless supply of local hazelnut candies, Engué has turned out to be the perfect match. At the risk of taking this metaphor too far, I have been looking for a climbing partner with more experience than myself who can school me in the ways of the high mountains, and after a couple decades of exploring the hills around Grenoble Engué definitely knows his way around better than I. Thus far the main skill he has passed along is the art of "French freeing" i.e. pulling on gear to get through cruxes, a technique that I'm sure will serve me well throughout the rest of my climbing career. 

After an hour of bushwacking and talus scrambling, 15 pitches worth of climbing, a summit ridge traverse and another hour and a half of hiking back down to the car, I was pretty ready to call it a day and polish off a roll of French imitation Pringles. Two days later and recovered from the residual "climbover," I'm already looking forward to the next day of schooling with Engué.

p.s. Monsieur Gustave Goodwin arrives in Geneva for a three-week visit TODAY!! So stoked...

"au boulot" = "at work" or "let's get to work"

Engué leading pitch one (5.10a) of the endless grassy corner system.

Following the 5.10d crux of pitch ten.

Racing across the summit of the Gerbier on perfect stone and trying to
get down before an early evening thunder storm.

Looking back along the ridge, with the east face to the right and Grenoble behind.

After much obstination and waving off, Hillary and I have decided to break the digital silence and start a blog. Our intention is to keep you, friends, family and generally people we care about, in the loop and up to date on what we’re up to over here. We also view this blog as something of a propaganda outlet aimed at persuading as many of as you as possible to come out this way for a visit. We would like to think that our motivation is centered more on the sharing of adventures than shameless self-promotion, but you all will have to be the judge of this.

The lovely Lycée Pierre du Terrail, where I worked 0ctober-April.

This past fall (2010) I moved to Grenoble, France, to begin fully part-time work as an English Teaching Assistant at a nearby high school. While many of my assistant colleagues spent their abundant free time traveling to and from the far ends of Europe, I admit that I have yet to leave the immediate Alps region of France in the eight months since my arrival. “On n’est pas bien là?” (please consult list of French expressions) I say. My work at the high school wrapped up at the end of April in a flurry of flowers, candy and cheap champagne. As May begins, I find myself staring down three months of underemployment working as an English tutor and above all indulging in as much time in the mountains as possible. Primary goals for this summer include 1) surviving the oppressive Grenoble heat in our windowless loft under a black roof 2) ticking off long alpine climbs because I like it and also in order to one day maybe if everything goes just right get accepted into the guide de haute montagne program here in France and 3) getting on a first name basis with two very important yet aloof people in my life, the neighborhood baker and the local café/bar owner.

The Rivermede Farm crew looking its best - Simon,

Maggie, Hillary and myself. 

In mid-November, after wrapping up work at Rivermede Farm in Keene Valley, NY, Hillary headed this way on a three-month tourist visa to try on the Grenoble lifestyle. She found work almost immediately taking care of a local family’s two kids and teaching them English. She also found the combination of mountains, culture by which I mean tasty cheese, wine and baked goods, and community here sufficiently enticing to make the ongoing visa battle with the French bureaucracy worthwhile. In early April, she returned from a round trip back to the US with a six-month visa in hand. Yes, it is the same visitor’s visa that an elderly wealthy American would receive in order to retire to France. And yes, just recently Hillary was offered a job teaching English at a nearby Montessori school for the remainder of this school year and the next. Already converted to the Hillary Gerardi Fan Club and decidedly unconcerned with work visa status, the mothers of Montessori children have insisted that she begin work - as a volunteer of course - on Monday. Hillary is also taking nightly French classes four days a week on the local university campus, perfecting her unique blend of Spanish-accented Italian-faced French. Some of Hillary’s goals for the summer include 1) being mistaken at least once for a French native during conversation with a local yocal 2) persuading Brad to leave his beloved tower in favor of an apartment with “walkable” floor space i.e. takes more than one stride to get from one end to the other 3) blasting through the glass ceiling of chauvinist expectations for a woman’s ability to climb by showing up our male French friends on the cliff and 4) discovering the holy grail explanation for why French people ruthlessly trim the branches off all otherwise pretty trees in the spring time.

Quarter Saint Laurent is the band of buildings sandwiched between the

Isère river and the woods. Our roof is the pointy black tower roughly equidistant 

between the two bridges.  

And now for a brief word about the setting - we live in a 16 sq. m studio on the fifth floor of a 16th Century tower in a quirky Italian neighborhood known for its aversion to bourgeois newcomers. Just down the street there is an unremarkably outrageous bakery that receives close to 100% of our euro change. We drive a 1999 Renault Clio “Chipie” named after a teenage girl’s clothing line, whose size prevents my lanky self from sitting up straight in the driver’s seat. It’s the kind of car that makes one breath a sigh of relief with every successful engine start and completed round trip. Although never the fastest car out there on the road, the Chipie has proven her worth time and time again with steadfast performance on some of the more harrowing access roads in the land…

As per expectations, most of my posts here will be about adventures in the mountains. Every once and a while there might be an aside from the happenings of daily life in Grenoble, but let’s be honest, “on n’est pas là pour acheter du terrain,” and my non-mountain, non-teaching days at home can be summed up pretty quickly – sleeping in, copious coffee and croissants, trips to the outdoor markets (and also to the French equivalent of Walmart, Carrefour, alas), punctuated by the occasional evening of two-tree glasses too many of wine. Another favorite rest day activity includes “bricolage,” or tinkering, which is frequently required to win the war against humidity, mold, peeling paint, and poorly bonded trim, all delightful amenities of a vintage medieval living space. Mostly I just want to give fair warning that, at the risk of monotony, the majority of the photos and text are going to involve rock, snow, sky and little people clambering about. As for what Hillary will decide to write about, your guess is as good as mine – screaming Montesorri children, her attempts to cook enough food to keep me away from the fridge for more than an hour, all subjects demanding intellect… 

The chronicle starts now, but we will include a greatest hits compilation of photos and video dating back to the early days of our time here in France, beginning with my brother’s visit to Grenoble over Christmas and New Years. My main hope is that these posts will give you, friends and family, a better idea of where most of our time and energy is going these days. Please get back to us and let us know what’s new in your lives. In the meantime we’ll try to keep it light, considering that in the end the true subject here is beaucoup de playtime with good folks in big pretty mountains.

Ongoing list of translated French expressions

on n’est pas bien là? – are we not well here? – this is where it’s at

bricolage – tinkering - handywork

on n’est pas là pour acheter du terrain -  we’re not here to buy land – we’re not here to mess around

on n’est pas là pour branler les mouettes is also said – we’re not here to jerk off seagulls!

Greatest hits recap to present:

Check out Hillary's photosite, We Are Here to Buy Land

Christmas-New Years

Brother Buke comes to visit for two weeks of ski touring and general shinanigans. Here is the link to the resulting video, Peanut Butter and Jelly is for Dummies

January

Hillary and I get after the Mont Aiguille (2085m) by the Regular Route for an intro to "winter" climbing around here. 

A four hour drive brings us to the coast for a weekend of exploring and climbing in the Calanques de Marseille. This remains the furthest I've travelled from Grenoble - c'est grave quand même...

February

Hill and I motivate for a winter ascent of the Grand Pic de Belledonne (2977m) by the North Ridge (lefthand skyline in the photo below). We are reminded that snow shoeing just isn't that cool.

March

Olivier and I head to the Ecrins massif for ski touring on the Combeynot Est (3145m) and the Beaudoin (2843m).

Bike-to-climbing from downtown Grenoble with Hill. 

Andy Hail(storm) takes a break from med school in Boston for victory laps on the Arrête des Cosmiques on the Aiguille du Midi and a ski descent of the Vallée Blanche in Chamonix. 

April

I play hooky for a day to ski the Govard Couloir on la Dent Parachée (3697m) with Manu, Olivier and Toz. Two weeks earlier, I had been in the same neighborhood of the Vanoise with Christophe. 

Hill and climb the Tête Sud de la Sainte Marguerite (2890m) near la Grave.  

Weekend of hanging out and climbing with François and Mathilde at their family's place in la Grave. Here is a link to François' apparel company, Pop Funky Wear!

May

My Mom and Dad come out for a week of hiking and insanely tasty and rich restaurant dinners (unfortunately not pictured).

Various "grandes voies" in the Chartreuse and Vercors mountains right around Grenoble with Hillary and Engué.

A la prochaine!