Getting stuffed on the Aiguille Verte – Chamonix

In a rare break in the clouds when I got up to pee, I took this photo of our planned route (the Couturier
Couloir, right down the middle) and got so excited it took me about an hour to fall back asleep.  

Inspired by Hillary's up front account of not winning her race back in May, here is the tale of my failure  in the mountains this past weekend. Still, she made the podium and we didn't even begin our route, so maybe I'm pushing the comparison. The main message is that often for every post about a cool summit there are two or three wiffs that don't get mentioned, and that here in Alps we can't always get what we want...

As is the case for most climbers around here, the Verte has loomed large in my imagination for a couple years now. Every route on this 4000m giant, which presides over the Drus and catches one’s eye as soon as you enter the valley, is both beautiful and difficult. The descent is notoriously tricky: either you are on top at dawn and rally down the south-facing Whymper Couloir before the heat, or you embark on a 6-8 hour mission down the Arête du Moine.  Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved to have succeed on the first try this past weekend, but it was not to be…

Rui hiking past the terminus of the upper tier of the Argentière Glacier. Until 2003
the now exposed rock remained covered in ice. 

Above: A burst of color in an otherw-
ise stark landscape -- Primula hirsuta

Left: Arriving at the refuge d'Argent-
ière with glaciated big daddy's
in every direction. 

Due to the early-summer closure of the Grands Montets tram, on Saturday my friend Rui and I hiked for five and half hours instead of an hour and a half, beginning at the beginning all the way down in the valley floor. Getting to the refuge d’Argentière on foot nonetheless had its own appeal, and was certainly cheaper than a standard Chamonix weekend. We spent the early evening on the porch of the hut watching an alpine strip tease take place as the grand north faces of the Courtes and Droites revealed bits and pieces before receding back into the clouds. These very same clouds had us both worried as we called it a night at the rowdy hour of 8pm, and sure enough when we were up and at it at 1am the following morning the snow was only superficially frozen. Hoping for a better refreeze up higher, we persevered to the bergschrund and the beginning of the route at 3200m, only to find that the snow still wasn’t locked up. We were starting to gear up and weigh our options when a (fortunately) small slough of unconsolidated snow arrived about a meter from where we were standing. The very thought of how hosed we would be if anything bigger came headed our way was enough to spur immediate descent. So there we were, at 3:30am, diligently picking our way back down the crevassed glacier and heading back to the barn.

In the end we were out for just over seven hours, and especially descending the brutally direct ski trails at the end made it feel like we had spent a pretty full day in the mountains. Although it would have been a huge joy to get up the route and summit, at the end of the day (8am) most of what I look for in a weekend in the mountains had been fulfilled: good companionship, getting schooled and humbled by something more than me, a physical spanking, exploration of new and spectacular terrain and, perhaps the combination of these things, adventure. Les beaux jours arrivent and I already can't wait for round 2...