I had the error: 2 beeps and 2 dots. Here's what I did
lørdag den 23. januar 2010
søndag den 10. januar 2010
Snow Kite Jutland
This was and absolutely brilliant day in Jutland. Perfect snow conditions all over Denmark (rare) and then a nice sunny, windy, frosty day.
Kite surfing on the fields of Jutland: top.
Thanks to Celine for the photo.
mandag den 3. april 2006
Jordan Climbing Trip
"Shurkran habibi" said Andrew with a grin. The taxi driver had accepted to drive us from the airport into the desert some 4 hours drive away. I had just landed in Amman Airport at 3am Sunday morning and was greeted by a happy Andrew who had arrived half an hour earlier. We set off towards Wadi Rum, a little beduin village on the border to the desert in the South of Jordan. The drivess would take 4 hours and we'd arrive as the sun would rise in Rum. Andrew had got his hands on blankets and pillows from his flight and we cuddled up in the back of the car to sleep most of the way.
Arriving with not much sleep we went straight to "Wadi Restaurant", a weathered old building with a few tables outside. We immediately bumbed into some of the local friends of Andrew's: Erga, an 71 year old American woman turned Bedouin and Atech the son of the local Bedouin Master (not quite a sheik I think), We also met the chef of the restaurant Abu Ali who would turn out to become a good friend over the next days. Abu Ali had been in Jordan for a year or so, having escaped Iraq leaving his wife, kids, dogs, house, fields and work (he was a lawyer). It was quite eye-opening to listen to his stories in the evening and discuss politics and wars with someone who was really affected by it. It must be truly desperate to have to leave your wife and kids indefinitely.
Once fed with tea and a good breakfast (omelet, pita-bread and jam) we checked out our possibilities for accommodation which was either a grim looking Abi Ghrail type prison block or an excellent looking open air penthouse flat (basically the roof of Abu Ali’s restaurant) we decided on the later leaving Abu Ghrail to Andrew’s Swiss friends who was arriving the following day.
Being fairly knackered from not having must sleep in the taxi we considered two options: take a nap and take it easy or go climb a rock, we were surrounded by it on all sides. No place for the weak, and the boys wanted to rock and roll, so we geared up and headed off in the sand towards the nearest crag some 10 minutes walk from Wadi Rum, some 500 meters high! We (or Andrew really, the guide for the week) chose a route called Mumkin that would take us half way up the magnificent rock and our descent would be by abseil. Since I had no idea how the grading was I trusted Andrew to having picked something suitable easy to easy us and especially me into the climbing – I hadn’t climbed any real rock for a long time, and my ambitious training regime had consisted of the run to catch the bus to the airport 24 hours earlier. So it was not without trepidation that I got my shoes and harness on and tied into the ropes, luckily Andrew had offered to lead the first pitch so I still had time to … well to get more scared.
It turned out to be an excellent climb with my pitch being really exposed but on good and solid rock with plenty of challenges to keep me focused. I found it pretty hard and Andrew kindly agreed that it was a bit hard for the grade after he had swum up it to meet me at the stance. It was a pretty exciting first climb.
The descent was equally exciting if not downright scary. Apparently this is a regular trademark of Wadi Rum climbing: scary and nasty rope-eating abseils. The problem is really in the rock that is so shard and flaky that the rope is more or less certain to catch and jam if you are not both careful as well as lucky. We managed to get the rope completely stuck in one place and Andrew had to climb up in a rather exposed fashion to retrieve the jammed rope. If you can’t get the rope back (which in many situations is very likely), there’s really not any alternative than to sit tight and wait for rescue. This can be a very long wait in certain places out in the desert. So it’s a real nail-biting experience to “pull the ropes” on these long abseils. Andrew did get our rope freed and we managed the rest of the week, by being careful and lucky, not to get the rope stuck again.
After an excellent afternoon on rock we returned to the village to the local Refreshment Tent and re-hydrated the best we could in the local (quite expensive) Golden Throat Charmer. After a quick meal at Abu Ali’s (chicken and rise) we headed off to the penthouse for a long and nice sleep. Andrew, being a seriously experienced and up to date traveler, had even brought earplugs for the both of us, so that we could sleep all the way until the late morning ignoring the 5am prayer, the local dog barks, and the general noise of an open air penthouse. Good job.
Monday
Next morning (Monday) we met the Swiss who’d arrived the previous evening and after much greeting and eating we stocked up, packed our gear and headed out in a 4wd (with driver) to the desert to stay three days. This was something I really looked forward to and I was not disappointed. Andrew knew an excellent camp spot and knew all the climbs in the area and it was really just a matter of picking and choosing between the numerous challenges out there. Monday afternoon was spent climbing “Sunkiss” while the Swiss did the neighboring route called … . A most excellent route again, with a finish that one hardly forgets. A full rope length of an exposed traverse (not trivial) with pretty must 1 perhaps 2 pieces of protection. The traverse teaches you a good lesson about Wadi Rum: you probably don’t want to fall off this stuff.
We returned to the camp in the evening and had our pita-bread with various toppings, refreshments, and numerous cups of tea. Sitting around the fireplace in the desert is a great experience. It almost reminded me of the happy days being a scout. Maybe also because of Andrew had announced himself the Scout Master (with a cane and all) and that I was on a good path to take my Tea-making badge, my Bedouin Climbing Badge, etc.
Tuesday
Next day’s objective was a suggestion to climb “Snow in the Desert” a hard and awfully intimidating looking 11 pitch route that it bang in the sun for the most of the day. Does look like a super climb, but as we approached the shadow of this towering sea of rock we quite quickly came up with several excuses why this climb would have to wait for another day. Instead we looked across to the other side of the valley and spotted “Ocean Slabs” which was a long “Bedouin” type route up a genuine sea of slabs taking the commuted team all the way to the summit. This fitted the bill and we set off to do this instead.
It was quite and undertaking and we had a full day probably even more in the sun, but with more easy climbing and lots of it. It was pretty scary stuff though and although we climbed without ropes we tended to swap leads once the leader was drained mentally. This solo-climbing is very much a mental game and although it really is easy climbing, one can suddenly freeze half way up a 100 meters slab and think: “Will this go”, “how the hell do we get down” etc. Our route-finding (a major issue on these long climbs), was pretty spot on and although we had a couple of moments where we seemed to have lost the “bottle” (or the YOOOR!), we managed to pull it through and got up to the final barrier before the summit. We couldn’t figure out how to get over the last bit though, and after several brave attempts from Andrew, and with a fairly worried “how do we get down” Mathias, then we decided that the actual summit could wait for another day and we started heading down. Andrew had an inspirational suggestion that we should go down another way than we came up and although this can sometimes get you into some serious trouble, this was a good decision as we quickly found some old abseil thread here and there and started a quick and enjoyable descent all the way down to the desert floor.
We arrived at the camp before the Swiss team and having been in the sun all day we felt pretty exhausted and therefore started the refreshment phase early.
Wednesday
Next day was booked for doing “Merlins Wand”, a classic of the area. A awe-inspiring crack splitting one of the steep rock faces in the Barra Canyon Valley. We invited JM along from the Swiss team, and climbed the beauty as a pleasant team of three. We took our time and enjoyed it all. I led the “crux” pitch and was really pleased that I still have it in me and can climb stuff in the extreme end of the grade. It’s a top climb that everyone visiting the area should do.
Returning the the camp in good time we packed everything and spent the rest of the afternoon bouldering on the beautiful boulders that was scattered around our pickup point.
Ataech picked us up in the afternoon and we headed back thirsty and dirty to Wadi Rum. In the evening we managed to get Abu Ali to extend his menu from Chicken and Rise to include “A Jebel (mountain) of Chips”, which went down really well. We also met all the local young Bedouin hotshot guides which was quite entertaining. They also thought it was quite a laugh waiving their hands under the chin to illustrate a head-chopping session, suggesting that I would not live to see another day (because of the Muhammed Drawings), and Andrew quickly established that he was indeed English and planned to sleep in our open access penthouse with his passport taped to his throat – just in case they came to us that night. I didn’t sleep much that night.
Thursday
Next morning was layed out as a bit of a rest day and Andrew and I took it easy and enjoyed being in Abu Ali’s restaurant and company and only around 11am did we start thinking about doing something or the other this for me last day in Wadi Rum. We lazily looked left to Jebel … and right to Jebel Rum, the second highest mountain in Jordan. Suddenly we forgot all about rest days and decided: let’s climb the bugger. We geared up in 5 minutes, grabbed some water and headed off to what is usually a two day climb (one day up, camp, and one day down). Without any mistakes (route finding wise, a major challenge), we should be able to pull it off in time for refreshments in the evening.
The pace was set (quick walking) and we spent the next 7-8 hours non-stop climbing up rock for miles and miles. It was a truly excellent climb and only possible because of Andrew now totally transformation into a Beduin Guide. He wasn’t taking any prisoners, and all I could do was to follow and politely mention when the stuff was a bit dangerous. We got to the summit and enjoyed the views and again headed down a different route. This descent route Andrew knew though and that made it straight forward, although not easy. We were particularly cribbled a bit only having brought one rope and we did have a few scary abseils to mid-way point on big walls where we had to set up our own abseils on creative bits of sandy rock. It went fine though and we were actually a bit chuffed getting down to the village again even before the Swiss had returned from their full day venture. An excellent tick.
Friday
I was due back to Copenhagen from Amman Sunday, and decided to visit Petra on the way. So I left a full blood Beduin Andrew Friday morning, and headed off to Petra with a couple of other travelers in the local bus. It was well weird suddenly to be on your own (I’d had Andrew taking care of me the whole week), but it was also really enjoyable to set off into new land on a popular tourist path to see some culture and history of Jordan. Petra was excellent a really interesting place (huge). We (the people I had met and was now traveling with) all stayed at a most excellent youth hostel with an inclusive dinner, which I salvaged in the evening. I had only tasted chicken, rise and pita-bread (and a chip), so the lavish Arabian buffet that evening was an overwhelming site and it was really really excellent stuff. There were many other travelers gathering around on the tables and we all had quite an enjoyable evening telling stories etc.
Saturday
Next day I decided to head to Amman to spent a bit of time in the regular city and to experience a bit of the atmosphere of the Arabian Mad City life that I have enjoyed before in Cairo. I wasn’t disappointed and I actually really liked Amman – it’s less crazy than Cairo and it’s actually really pleasant to walk around. You practically don’t get hassled but if you ask someone they are still well on for haggling over the prices etc. They have all the exotic shops and some fine restaurants, barber shops, fruit markets and spice shops all over the place. There isn’t must history to see, which is why there aren’t many tourists I suppose, so a day or two is probably enough, but definitely worth it. I had a good laugh meeting local nutters on the street, overcharging taxi drivers and enthusiastic shopkeepers. Another thing that’s nice in Amman is that you see women, both with vail, without and with the burka, whereas in Wadi Rum they are practically hidden.
I ate in some westernly looking place in the evening and slept on a fairly rough hotel. Next morning I got the 7am bus to Amman Airport (2 hours drive, price: 1 pound). I had a long and fairly tedious flight back (connecting in Vienna with a long and boring Transit wait) and arrived back in Copenhagen Sunday night.
It was an excellent trip, especially because of Andrews local knowledge and all his double racks of useful items. The climbing is world class and Wadi Rum and the desert is quite a unique place. Petra is a world class tourist attraction and Amman an interesting stop on the way. The people are really friendly and come from all over the Middle East. Since many of them are immigrants and since Jordan is a fairly new country you don’t feel that much of a stranger.
Mathias
lørdag den 25. juni 2005
Scialet du Pot 2
The speleoteam was in good shape after the highly successful untick of A2 by Martin and myself, and we were fired up after successful bottoming of this highly recommendable set of shafts. So our attention turned towards a long sought objective: Scialet Pot 2.
Ever since the first opening the pages of the Speleo Vercors volume 2, I had been fired up to do this baby. But since we had ventured into the depths of the Vercors it was clear that an attempt on descending Pot 2 would require an absolute well oiled machine of speleology and I think Martin and I was pretty fired up by having Tim unboard completing a normally pretty strong team. We had set the clocks for a morning 6'o'clock start and Martin was packing his bags the night before. Tim and I packed our back the next morning and retrospectively this is where the first screw up could be identified. Since we were packing individually and without the usual "get all the gear out on the floor and lets pack together" we didn't really know what each other was bringing and was therefore individually assuming that the other ones had taken bits of critical gear. Not good when the cave is a 1 hour drive and 3 hours hard walk from our basecamp.
We set off in moderate spirits as the weather was quite horrific - stormy and occasional showers. After about an hour drive we reached the end of the forest road and started racking up. It was here we realized a grim fact: we had not brought any food (except 3 croissants and 1.5 bar of chocolate) and maybe even worse we had not brought the guidebook or the fine copies we'd made the day before. Not a well oiled machine at all. Had we not been under a time pressure (which we were because of evening commitments) we would of course have gone back to get the critical bits needed for an successful descent. Since we were already in principal running late there was no alternative but to push on and try to locate the pothole in one of the most difficult to reach places of the Vercors. I had brought a map and a compass and Martin and Tim had their altimeters.
After about 3 hours of extreme hiking mostly following an excellently marked hunting boundary (red paint on trees and rock) deep in the forest we reached the limestone slabs underneath Pass Morta - a very remote and somewhat hostile environment unless you are a speleologist. For the speleologist this place is like a little piece of heaven - a place littered with potholes and since the weather had improved a little - the wind had died down and the rain was infrequent we were all pretty excited to be up there. We fired up the radios (which had proven extremely valuable on the hike already) and split out in search of Pot 2. Without the guide book this was going to take some time, although luckily I had meticulously marked the cave on the map we had brought with us. This proved the key to success. After a good deal of spotholing and finding many interesting sites we reassembled for our croissant and Martin (who had found the A2 two days earlier in a stroke of pure inspiration) sat down, to a careful look at the map and he headed of in the direction he thought it would be most likely to be in. Some 10 minutes later Tim and I heard it on the radio: "I've got it, I can see a spit and Pot 2 written on the face of the rock". Brilliant. We got our sacks from basecamp and moved over to what was unmistakably the Pot 2 some of us had been dreaming about for a long time. An excellent looking spot underneath some big pine trees and with marks of previous speleological presence on the ground.
If we hadn't had the time pressure I'm convinced we would have bottomed this baby. Even with the lack of food I think we all felt down for it and was ready to go on reserves and beyond, for it is not everyday that you get a chance of descending a straight minus 320 meter shaft created by mother nature herself - how, nobody really knows for sure.
We did however have time running against us and therefore had to accept the fact already at the surface, that we couldn't get to the bottom and up in time, and therefore decided to get to at least scratch the surface, and get to a point of around -90 meters. Martin headed down in determined style while Tim and I got a fire going in the camp. We soon heard on the radio that the shaft was already rigged which came as a huge surprise and was unfortunately not ideal, although it didn't really pose a problem as such. We would just rig on top these ghost speleologist, and this was what was done.
Tim went second and after putting a good number of logs on the fire I followed.
I reached the bottom of the initial 15 meter shaft where the entrance to the 300 meter straight shaft starts. I radioed Martin to hear what was going on since it seemed there was a halt in the progress and Tim was hanging on a y-hang some 50 meters below. I couldn't quite figure out what was going on since communications to the surface was for some reason sparse but it sounded like Martin was contemplating bolting a y-hang somewhere down there on a shelf he had svung into. This sounded odd to me and I was anxious to go down and have a look at things. I many times considered going down on the second rope already in place, but I thought I better keep my place in the line. Eventually Martin put a spit in on the ledge on which he was standing, and we could all have a look at the affair.
It was obvious that there was something wrong in the rig. Martin had swung in on this ledge which seemed like quite a deviation from the straight line which, guidebook or no guidebook, just couldn't be right. It was obvious to me that one had to go straight down and perhaps search for a y-hang on the main wall of the shaft. This sometimes means going all the way to the end of the rope which is pretty mentally demanding - especially in a shaft the size of p2. But for some reason Martin seem fixed on this ledge, and anyway, since we had decided on the surface, that we were not going to go any further down, and we now had a new spit insitu there was one only thing to do. Get back up. Going further down establishing a new route would be rather pointless as we would essentially just create a "false line" which would serve no purpose.
After a bit of discussion we decided to leave the cave for another day, and we started the ascent and got up and then down (the hill), back with the car in perfect time for celebrating Martin's birthday. Céline had with usual splendor fired up some French dishes and everybody in the hut had been busy making the evening special. We had a great evening in the cozy hut singing birthday songs and drinking champagne all the while the Vercors was thundering and lighting outside almost in a triumph of another straight win to this fascinating place.
We will be back
Ever since the first opening the pages of the Speleo Vercors volume 2, I had been fired up to do this baby. But since we had ventured into the depths of the Vercors it was clear that an attempt on descending Pot 2 would require an absolute well oiled machine of speleology and I think Martin and I was pretty fired up by having Tim unboard completing a normally pretty strong team. We had set the clocks for a morning 6'o'clock start and Martin was packing his bags the night before. Tim and I packed our back the next morning and retrospectively this is where the first screw up could be identified. Since we were packing individually and without the usual "get all the gear out on the floor and lets pack together" we didn't really know what each other was bringing and was therefore individually assuming that the other ones had taken bits of critical gear. Not good when the cave is a 1 hour drive and 3 hours hard walk from our basecamp.
We set off in moderate spirits as the weather was quite horrific - stormy and occasional showers. After about an hour drive we reached the end of the forest road and started racking up. It was here we realized a grim fact: we had not brought any food (except 3 croissants and 1.5 bar of chocolate) and maybe even worse we had not brought the guidebook or the fine copies we'd made the day before. Not a well oiled machine at all. Had we not been under a time pressure (which we were because of evening commitments) we would of course have gone back to get the critical bits needed for an successful descent. Since we were already in principal running late there was no alternative but to push on and try to locate the pothole in one of the most difficult to reach places of the Vercors. I had brought a map and a compass and Martin and Tim had their altimeters.
After about 3 hours of extreme hiking mostly following an excellently marked hunting boundary (red paint on trees and rock) deep in the forest we reached the limestone slabs underneath Pass Morta - a very remote and somewhat hostile environment unless you are a speleologist. For the speleologist this place is like a little piece of heaven - a place littered with potholes and since the weather had improved a little - the wind had died down and the rain was infrequent we were all pretty excited to be up there. We fired up the radios (which had proven extremely valuable on the hike already) and split out in search of Pot 2. Without the guide book this was going to take some time, although luckily I had meticulously marked the cave on the map we had brought with us. This proved the key to success. After a good deal of spotholing and finding many interesting sites we reassembled for our croissant and Martin (who had found the A2 two days earlier in a stroke of pure inspiration) sat down, to a careful look at the map and he headed of in the direction he thought it would be most likely to be in. Some 10 minutes later Tim and I heard it on the radio: "I've got it, I can see a spit and Pot 2 written on the face of the rock". Brilliant. We got our sacks from basecamp and moved over to what was unmistakably the Pot 2 some of us had been dreaming about for a long time. An excellent looking spot underneath some big pine trees and with marks of previous speleological presence on the ground.
If we hadn't had the time pressure I'm convinced we would have bottomed this baby. Even with the lack of food I think we all felt down for it and was ready to go on reserves and beyond, for it is not everyday that you get a chance of descending a straight minus 320 meter shaft created by mother nature herself - how, nobody really knows for sure.
We did however have time running against us and therefore had to accept the fact already at the surface, that we couldn't get to the bottom and up in time, and therefore decided to get to at least scratch the surface, and get to a point of around -90 meters. Martin headed down in determined style while Tim and I got a fire going in the camp. We soon heard on the radio that the shaft was already rigged which came as a huge surprise and was unfortunately not ideal, although it didn't really pose a problem as such. We would just rig on top these ghost speleologist, and this was what was done.
Tim went second and after putting a good number of logs on the fire I followed.
I reached the bottom of the initial 15 meter shaft where the entrance to the 300 meter straight shaft starts. I radioed Martin to hear what was going on since it seemed there was a halt in the progress and Tim was hanging on a y-hang some 50 meters below. I couldn't quite figure out what was going on since communications to the surface was for some reason sparse but it sounded like Martin was contemplating bolting a y-hang somewhere down there on a shelf he had svung into. This sounded odd to me and I was anxious to go down and have a look at things. I many times considered going down on the second rope already in place, but I thought I better keep my place in the line. Eventually Martin put a spit in on the ledge on which he was standing, and we could all have a look at the affair.
It was obvious that there was something wrong in the rig. Martin had swung in on this ledge which seemed like quite a deviation from the straight line which, guidebook or no guidebook, just couldn't be right. It was obvious to me that one had to go straight down and perhaps search for a y-hang on the main wall of the shaft. This sometimes means going all the way to the end of the rope which is pretty mentally demanding - especially in a shaft the size of p2. But for some reason Martin seem fixed on this ledge, and anyway, since we had decided on the surface, that we were not going to go any further down, and we now had a new spit insitu there was one only thing to do. Get back up. Going further down establishing a new route would be rather pointless as we would essentially just create a "false line" which would serve no purpose.
After a bit of discussion we decided to leave the cave for another day, and we started the ascent and got up and then down (the hill), back with the car in perfect time for celebrating Martin's birthday. Céline had with usual splendor fired up some French dishes and everybody in the hut had been busy making the evening special. We had a great evening in the cozy hut singing birthday songs and drinking champagne all the while the Vercors was thundering and lighting outside almost in a triumph of another straight win to this fascinating place.
We will be back
fredag den 3. juni 2005
Scialet A2 - Double Black Helmet
It was not the best of days for a descent : it was raining gently, but we just went for it.
Finding A2 was not exactly easy. Portering in 250m of rope was as tedious as ever, but at the end we had the added hassle of trying to locate a cave in a dense pine forest with a not completely accurate description. Mathias firstly located Scialet P2. This was somewhat uninspiring : we knew we were on for something more significant.
20 minutes of ferreting around between limestone pavements, shakeholes and other general speleological features saw me at the gaping edge of what was unmistakably a hole of major speleological significance. It was quite apparent to me that whether this was A2 or not, this was the hole that we were going down today. More out of politeness than anything else, I radioed to Mathias on the talkie walkie to come on down (I was so awestruck).
After a somewhat arduous walk-in, it was good to be racking up at the top of what appeared to be a bottomless shaft deep in the Vercors forest with a steady rain dripping around us. Mathias's 3 month abesence from the monsters of the deep meant that he was more than un for leading the descent of the first pitch (i.e. it didn't take much persausion from me for Mathias to agree to the lead).
The first pitch down the shaft was masterful : one tree and a single deviation 3m down led to a glorious 40m drop to a small snow pile at the base of the shaft. The walls were perfectly smooth in the lower section, the water had etched out the fossils in the bedrock to yield a display of unparalleled beauty.
The next two shafts were shorter, but of similar aesthetic quality : magnificently shaped shafts just yearning to be bolted (which Mathias was forced to do on the second shaft : though we loved the glorious limestone, we felt that a deviation to avoid catastrophic rope rub could only add to the zen of the situation).
We found ourselves looking down a classic Mendip-like vertical squeeze (this was the worst section of the cave). I tried to broddle a sling into a thread to help protect this descent. When I seemed to be getting nowhere, Mathias appeared and in a moment of inspiration, he had threaded this tight little hole. It was at this moment that I realised that Mathias was operating on another plane from me. This was further confirmed when I attempted the downward squeeze and was repulsed only to find Mathias later dropping this squeeze like a log from a .... (well, suffice to say, it was shear elegance).
At the bottom of the squeeze, Mathias was looking nervously up at the E15 - "tres delicate" which looked to me more like an E22 gurt hard. I was right, the climb (that Mathias led) was gurt hard. I do not wish to undersell what Mathias did on this E22 : Mathias's ascent of this climb was the single most inspirational piece of outdoor action I have ever witnessed. The climbing was steep and technical (4c : that is technical for a 22m climb in a cave) : there was always the danger of loose rock and the prospect of a fall was unconscienseable [sp?]). Given the nature of the obstacle, this was likely to be an early repeat of the feature. Mathias's effort went beyond boldness : this was pure bravery - an inspiration to us all.
I met Mathias at the top of the the climb, belayed to a couple of uncannily new bolts. I offered my congratulations and the ropebags. He gracefully accepted the congratulations, but initially declined the ropebags claiming that he was mentally drained. I could well understand his mental exhaustion : as I jumared Mathias's climb, things looked well wild. However, I knew that I didn't have the mental strength to face leading to the base of the shaft having witnessed Mathias's heroic efforts minutes beforehand. I concocted a story that the lower pitches would require drilling and that Mathias had clearly mastered the art. Mathias fell for the excuse hook, line and sinker and reluctantly accepted the bags.
The 71m (actually 85m) pitch was an absolutely huge pitch. It started as a sloping shaft with a crucial deviation in the sidewall (which later required a rope protector in case of failure) and was followed by a couple more deviations before the floor of the shaft was reached 85m below (not bad for a 71m pitch!). I followed in absolute awe of "The Master" in top form. Even when Mathias offered me the lead of the bottom pitch, it seemed almost unethical to deny The Master the descent of the final pitch: a descent that was executed in a single stylish slippery drop.
It would be almost churlish to describe the ascent in great detail : lest it detracted from the heroics that Mathias displayed on the E22. The (sic) 71m pitch seemed huge (and fine training for Pot 2). I was amazed when I descended the E22 : it seemed impossible to climb : I said to Mathias that his ascent of this was pure brilliance (and I totally meant it). Half way up the P14, we could see daylight and we knew we were almost there. There was no time for rushing now and we were able to savour the majesty of the entrance shaft (a grand version of Jingling Pot).
We got out of the cave at around 8:30pm. As we changed, we retold our stories of a brilliant cave : a cave of beautiful shafts and formidable obstacles. I realised at the exit of this cave that Mathias had almost transcended his status as an elite speleologist : he was at another level.
The walk back was arduous yet amenable. I really felt for Mathias as he dragged his weary body backed to the La Moliere car park : he is clearly more akin to the Vercors's depths than its heights.
Finding A2 was not exactly easy. Portering in 250m of rope was as tedious as ever, but at the end we had the added hassle of trying to locate a cave in a dense pine forest with a not completely accurate description. Mathias firstly located Scialet P2. This was somewhat uninspiring : we knew we were on for something more significant.
20 minutes of ferreting around between limestone pavements, shakeholes and other general speleological features saw me at the gaping edge of what was unmistakably a hole of major speleological significance. It was quite apparent to me that whether this was A2 or not, this was the hole that we were going down today. More out of politeness than anything else, I radioed to Mathias on the talkie walkie to come on down (I was so awestruck).
After a somewhat arduous walk-in, it was good to be racking up at the top of what appeared to be a bottomless shaft deep in the Vercors forest with a steady rain dripping around us. Mathias's 3 month abesence from the monsters of the deep meant that he was more than un for leading the descent of the first pitch (i.e. it didn't take much persausion from me for Mathias to agree to the lead).
The first pitch down the shaft was masterful : one tree and a single deviation 3m down led to a glorious 40m drop to a small snow pile at the base of the shaft. The walls were perfectly smooth in the lower section, the water had etched out the fossils in the bedrock to yield a display of unparalleled beauty.
The next two shafts were shorter, but of similar aesthetic quality : magnificently shaped shafts just yearning to be bolted (which Mathias was forced to do on the second shaft : though we loved the glorious limestone, we felt that a deviation to avoid catastrophic rope rub could only add to the zen of the situation).
We found ourselves looking down a classic Mendip-like vertical squeeze (this was the worst section of the cave). I tried to broddle a sling into a thread to help protect this descent. When I seemed to be getting nowhere, Mathias appeared and in a moment of inspiration, he had threaded this tight little hole. It was at this moment that I realised that Mathias was operating on another plane from me. This was further confirmed when I attempted the downward squeeze and was repulsed only to find Mathias later dropping this squeeze like a log from a .... (well, suffice to say, it was shear elegance).
At the bottom of the squeeze, Mathias was looking nervously up at the E15 - "tres delicate" which looked to me more like an E22 gurt hard. I was right, the climb (that Mathias led) was gurt hard. I do not wish to undersell what Mathias did on this E22 : Mathias's ascent of this climb was the single most inspirational piece of outdoor action I have ever witnessed. The climbing was steep and technical (4c : that is technical for a 22m climb in a cave) : there was always the danger of loose rock and the prospect of a fall was unconscienseable [sp?]). Given the nature of the obstacle, this was likely to be an early repeat of the feature. Mathias's effort went beyond boldness : this was pure bravery - an inspiration to us all.
I met Mathias at the top of the the climb, belayed to a couple of uncannily new bolts. I offered my congratulations and the ropebags. He gracefully accepted the congratulations, but initially declined the ropebags claiming that he was mentally drained. I could well understand his mental exhaustion : as I jumared Mathias's climb, things looked well wild. However, I knew that I didn't have the mental strength to face leading to the base of the shaft having witnessed Mathias's heroic efforts minutes beforehand. I concocted a story that the lower pitches would require drilling and that Mathias had clearly mastered the art. Mathias fell for the excuse hook, line and sinker and reluctantly accepted the bags.
The 71m (actually 85m) pitch was an absolutely huge pitch. It started as a sloping shaft with a crucial deviation in the sidewall (which later required a rope protector in case of failure) and was followed by a couple more deviations before the floor of the shaft was reached 85m below (not bad for a 71m pitch!). I followed in absolute awe of "The Master" in top form. Even when Mathias offered me the lead of the bottom pitch, it seemed almost unethical to deny The Master the descent of the final pitch: a descent that was executed in a single stylish slippery drop.
It would be almost churlish to describe the ascent in great detail : lest it detracted from the heroics that Mathias displayed on the E22. The (sic) 71m pitch seemed huge (and fine training for Pot 2). I was amazed when I descended the E22 : it seemed impossible to climb : I said to Mathias that his ascent of this was pure brilliance (and I totally meant it). Half way up the P14, we could see daylight and we knew we were almost there. There was no time for rushing now and we were able to savour the majesty of the entrance shaft (a grand version of Jingling Pot).
We got out of the cave at around 8:30pm. As we changed, we retold our stories of a brilliant cave : a cave of beautiful shafts and formidable obstacles. I realised at the exit of this cave that Mathias had almost transcended his status as an elite speleologist : he was at another level.
The walk back was arduous yet amenable. I really felt for Mathias as he dragged his weary body backed to the La Moliere car park : he is clearly more akin to the Vercors's depths than its heights.
fredag den 17. januar 2003
Caturgeas, La Grave. 600m W4.
Ice climbing Epic:
The winter 2003 as a really good season for ice. It had been cold, there had been loads of snow, and just a week or two before Sean was arriving for a weekend of ice climbing, the snow stopped and we had perfect cold and sunny weather right up until Sean arrived. The weather forecast was good, so we couldn't ask for better conditions for this weekend of ice monstrosity. We headed into the La Grave valley Thursday evening with the intention of getting an early start and upon arrival we decided to aim for Caturgeas thenext morning at around 8'o'clock.
Everything was looking promising and we packed our bags ready to roll next morning. We also managed to get a few obligatory beers in, in the local pub in downtown La Grave.
Next morning was a perfect day: sunny, cold, not a wind and with a stable feeling in the air. Excellent. Obviously the weather plays a major role in ice climbing and with all these good signs we felt really fired up for the task of Caturgeas which is a 280 meter grade III/IV, 8 pitch ice climb. The 280 meters is only midway though and although many (or most) people abseil off from here the climb does continue for another 400 meter to the summit of "plateau d'En Paris" 700 meter above La Grave. As we started the first pitch we had both options open (abseil midway or climb the lot).
I led the first pitch and was sincerely enjoying being here in La Grave with one of my best climbing partners (certainly one of the maddest!), on a climb that I had always wanted to do. Sean joined me at the first stance some 40 meters of the deck and I was curious to how he felt about the whole thing (it all looks quite daunting from below). He had never really climbed water-ice as such before although he had done plenty of winter stuff in Scotland, The Alps and Greenland. When he joined me he was just one big grinning smile and I knew we were in business! I led the second and the third pitch as well since Sean needed a bit more time to get used to it all and get the systems going. I was up for leading the whole climb if needed but Sean joined me at the third pitch and told me "I'll lead the next one if you like". I was very pleased (and impressed) because this meant that we would tick this baby in the most efficient way, as it is much quicker not having to sort out gear and rope at each stance. It would also later turn out that I would seriously appreciate the shared mental work load of what ended up being quite a full day out.
As Sean took over the lead on the fourth pitch going up to an prominent rock overhang (where the ice splits in two - we went left) I enjoyed the back seat view, but less so the constant chunks of ice pouring down right to where I was belayed. Ice coming both from Sean (impossible to avoid), but also from two parties far above us (some real early birds). This scenario would repeat itself for the duration of the climb - half the time with me trying to hit Sean with blocks of ice (some which would have taken him out for good) and the rest of the time with Sean trying to aim for really painful and exposed spots on me - often hitting the helmet full on, and fortunately only once or twice hitting the arms or legs luckily not causing any major damage. It is really ugly this ice bombardment business and is not enjoyable at all, but often it just can't be avoided. Luckily we escaped completely unharmed with a few near misses (I dislodged a real nastily big chunk of ice that was going straight for Sean who couldn't do anything but crimp together and hope for the best, and I saw it smashing right next to him, jumping over him and carrying on downwards towards the valley floor).
Back to the climb: I seconded Sean on the fourth pitch and checked his placements as I went up (as he had requested) - absolutely tip top and I was getting really fired up seeing this quality climbing from Sean. I arrived at a rather manky stance which I wasn't particularly impressed about though; little did I know, that I would later dream about a stance as good as this one!
I lead the 5th pitch which looked pretty wild going out on the left from this overhanging rock which Sean was safely covered by. This pitch was our first real encounter with the violent torrent that was the Source of all of this kingdom of ice and was still happily thundering down underneath all the accumulated ice. The water had broken through this bit and I was forced to climb right next to a genuine water-fall. This could seem like a bit over the top (we would get totally soaked), but after having seen a couple of French guys returning to the bar in La Grave absolutely soaked from top to toe last year, I thought this probably was de rigeur for this level of climbing. So I committed and swung out into a quite exposed and very wet and very exciting pitch of, probably at that point, some of the wildest ice climbing I had ever done. I felt totally in control and was thoroughly enjoying the fullness of it all. We were in perfect harmony with the climb and was in The Yoor Zone. I found a belay shortly after and Sean followed, again impressing me by a completely "just do it" attitude which Sean has always had on everything we have done together.
Sean led the 6th pitch, I led the 7th, and Sean led a suprinsingly exposed finish of the regular climb on the 8th pitch and he belayed to a couple of good trees on an obvious finish on the top of the main steep section of the total waterfall.
We were now roughly 300 meters above the valley floor, the time was around 15.30 in the afternoon and we were feeling strong as oxes and absolutely on for anything. We were faced with the important decision whether to call it a day and find the abseil anchors (not on the route), or to continue the climb. According to the guidebook continuing would mean "a bit more than 300 meters of easy snow gully". And then instead of abseiling we would walk out on the plateau above it all and have a pleasant 2 hour walk back down to La Grave just in time for dinner. We discussed the two options for about 5 seconds and were not in doubt for any of those seconds: we wanted more, and would love 300 meters of easy finish and a nice walk down, rather than a 280 meter unknown abseil. So after a bite to eat and a bit of water, I led off "alpine style" up the promising looking gully. We probably "short roped" for about 70 meters (still climbing on pure ice) before I made a belay and got Sean up to me again. We had reached a steepened section and we had better climb this in normal style. I led up it and was a bit worried that the pitch had to go without any protection, the ice was getting thinner and thinner, and the torrent more and more visible. I tried making a stance with what I had after running out the full 50 meters of rope. I started getting a bit worried that we maybe was biting of a bit more than we could chew as it hadn't been "easy snowfilled gully" yet.
Sean came up and we assesed the situation. The ice wasn't turning into easy angled snow as far as we could see, and we had no idea for how long this would continue, or if there would be ice all the way to the summit. There wasn't really anything to discuss though, so we just carried on (Sean leading). We were fully committed to finishing the climb since we there was no way to abseil back to the midway point as we had no rock gear, no bolts or anything like that. And the rock was totally shite anyway, so it never really became a consideration.
I joined Sean and carried on. It looked like it was gonna go on forever and although the ice definitely was getting more and more delicate (with the ever thundering water just below) I was really enjoying (or at least forcing myself to enjoy) the excellent stretches of superb ice we still encountered. This was truly amazing - we had already done over 300 meters of pure ice and it was still on for it! Unbelievable. Sean came up and he's attitude was exactly like mine - we were enjoying it all!
We're probably talking about 6pm when the sun had positively gone. I think we had both silently hoped that we would be out of this thing before the sun disappeared, although we were in pretty good shape for a nocturnal outing - we had three headtorches (including my latest customized Petzl Zoom with a super strong halogen beam) and we still had a good bit of food and water and I even had my down jacket stashed away in the shared rucksack that Sean The Mule was carrying for the cold belays (we never used it). On top of this when we drove in the previous night the moon had been full and it was now already starting to illuminate the opposite North Face of La Meije and its lesser peaks, and we were hoping that we could be lucky enough for the moon to turn towards us at some point and show us the way.
Just before it got time to fetch out the headtorches (the moon wouldn't really come to our assistance until a good few hours later) I was leading a really ugly pieces of ice shield. I had looked at it from Seans stance below and It was like a shield of ice forming a tube with the water flowing violently inside, breaking through here and there. Mostly one could avoid climbing directly on this relatively thin ice but once in a while you would have to accept and commit. This section had a huge open at the base and then the tube formed above it. I got myself balanced delicately and carefully on the tube trying to distribute the pressure as much as possible. The absolute last thing you would want would be for the roof of the ice tube to collapse with you on top of it, sending you straight into a almost certain death in the icy cold water. A top climbed apparently died like this last year, somebody told me earlier this year and this kept going through my mind when we were climbing these sections - which most of the remaining climb actually was. By the way since we had left the midway point we had slowly and silently accepted the total lack of protection on the climb and had to make do with only the stances as relative safety. So falling off was never an option.
Anyway, back to the shield. I was balancing on the ice only tapping my axes which went all the way through the maybe half an inch think ice. the tubes was probably 1-2 meters in diameter so they were quite spectacular pieces of ice work.
I was really worried that when I transferred all my weight to the shield above the hole it would all naturally just fall down taking with me it. I transferred one foot, moved the one axes a bit further op and as I was releasing the weight of my second foot the ice gave a little "cracck" and about at my hip level I saw a crack going from left on it's way to the right. Shit. As quick and quitely as possible I got my axes a bit further up in some luckily increasingly thicker ice, so in case the floor gave in on my feet hopefully my axes would hold. Desperate. The floor held though and I quickly got up above it and continued with some significant relief but also with some significant worry, because Sean would have to repeat this and I feared that the ice would give in on this second go (not mentioning what a fat bastard Sean is!) so as I was continuing the climb above it my main concern was finding a decent belay somewhere so that we would be safe. I climbed and then I climbed some more, and then I climbed some more and the ice worringly started to turn into thin snow with an ice crust. Totally useless for anything and even quite dangerous to even climb on. As I was assessing the situation and realized that I just had to continue Sean came in on the radio "I can only give you to- maybe three meter more of rope - the rope is in a complete tangle". Okay, shit. Well at least it made my options easy - I had to find a stance of some sort within a couple of meters. I spotted some saplings (small branches) sticking out from some rocks a bit off the route on the right and I decided to divert and go for this, in the hope that they would maybe be coming out from a bigger mother tree. I could only just reach it and to my despair it was only a couple of downwards pointing branches and nothing else. I had no option but to put a sling around each of them (two) and then burrow my axes in the muddy earth in front of me. On top this I burrowed my feet in the snowy patch I was standing on (this was maybe 60 degrees) and I radioed Sean "Sean, I'm safe, well sort of. I'm okay I guess. You can take me off and start climbing when you are ready. But don't fall off, and take care on that thin tube - it looked pretty dodgy". "Roger, off belay". It was a tense next half hour until Sean reached me, and I wont forget the ever horrible sound of Sean's crampons banging into the hollow ice. Sean made it though he was now wearing his headtorch) and carried on past me. It was a nervewrecking period until Sean had reached his stance further above and could only pray that it would be better than the one I had spent perched on this rocky slope. When it was time to move on, I gently removed my slings and quitely thanked each sapling for their assistance to our climb.
We continued climbing like this - compeeting making the most creative and unsafe stances along the way, once when Sean radioed down and said "I'm safe, sort of", I knew how bad it would be since Sean being educated on the rock faces of the Avon Gorge in Bristol (where protection is marginal and stances often require creativity) and only rarely would consider a stance "sort of safe".
The hours went on and I think it must be when we hit a 20 meter stretch of genuine snowslope where I could finally make a real snow belay and Sean came up to me, the moon was starting to shine its light to us and we had a feeling that the worst was over our spirits rose and we were both actually really enjoying this. Little did we know at this point that the real sting in the tail was still to come, but we were still feeling strong, in good spirits and never did we really feel cold - although in ice climbing you always go between sweating like a horse (when climbing) and freezing your ass off when belaying - and it must have been at least minus 10 that night although we didn't really feel it (probably because there was no wind what-so-ever - thank god).
Sean carried on above my good snow anchor - over an incredible gnarly looking section which when I seconded it was nearly swiming up forever trying to get purchase with my axes and crampons in some ugly ice cube ice surrounding the torrent. Good effort from Sean I thought as I somehow managed to get through it. I joined Sean on the stance cursing whether this stuff would ever end, and also more seriously we tried to underplay the ever lurking fact that we suddenly could be face with a section of no ice at all and only water which would be pretty much the end of the road for us. I looked at the watch and on the altimeter - it was half past nice in the evening and we had and estimated 155 meters to go. We'd been climbing for over 10 hours solid with just one rest for the bit of food and water. We were hoping that we were nearer the end than the altimeter suggested but it looked like from what we could make out in the moonlight that we were soon to enter some sort of amphi-theatre with some very steep and long sections before what then had to be the real summit. I started off again and led the next pitch with Sean on his "sort of safe" belay.
Meanwhile at down in the village of La Grave...
Sebastian and Sonja, the owners of the chalet we had booked ourselves into and also good friends of mine, was getting increasingly worried as we didn't show up for dinner in the evening as they thought we would and that we had also originally intended. As the clock approached midnight the couldn't face the worry much longer. They knew we were out ice climbing but didn't know where. It was then they decided to phone the Gendarmeri - the local police of La Grave. While the police was discussing matters, Sebastian and local ice guru and shop owner Thierry went out on the road to try and locate what climb we might be on to try and help us. They located my car standing lonely at the bottom of the layby which was normally full of cars during the day. Sebastian spotted the discrete DK sticker on the side and knew it had to be mine. Thierry, being the real expert of ice here, reasoned that we had gone beyond the 300 meter point and carried up all the way to the top, and judging from the time that we started (which Sebastian roughly knew), he was pretty sure that we either was stuck on the climb or probably more likely had just about reached the summit and was preparing the (long but safe in this moonlight) walk down to La Grave. After looking for headtorches and shouting a bit they went back to their respective beds.
The police in the meantime - being police - was preparing a rescue attempt of some sort which they lauched sometime during the night. They never found any traces of us, and must have gone home fairly disappointed.
The next morning they decided to send the helicopters out to look for us, but again they found nothing. They also had been at the car investigating "the scene" and was probably expecting the worst.
Back to Sean and me
I was just preparing myself for the continuation at Seans "sort of safe" stance. The coming section didn't look clever at all. I had often considered if we should leave the waterfall and continue up the actual rock face. But carrying no rock gear and leaving our only real sureness of direction, this just wasn't an option and we were forced to stay in the waterfall for as long as it would keep us. But this next section looked like I would have to divert. It was bascially the full on waterfall probably just under two meters wide with a bit of ice - maybe 20 centimeters - accumulated on each side above a maybe 1 meter deep vertical water fall. I would have to choose either left of right - but the right side was really just a vertical/overhaning blank face of rock - so I went for the left side which looked like it would go - vertical rock for about two-three meters with a bit of this snow with icecrust on top and with steps here and there. Above it was pure rock but on an easier angle with boulders spread our here and there. If I could make it above the vertical bit I was convinced that we would be home free. I ended up "dry tooling" this bit - carefully like never before placing my mono-points on little positive holds on the rock and half using my axes and half my gloved hands trying to pull myself slowly up and upwards. If I fell off I would fall into the waterfall. This would be a bad job. The technique seemed to work well and I managed to pull myself up it, up to the gentler slope but on the constant lookout for any gear placements. I slinged yet another little sapling, and went back into the ice fall which was now getting more solid again. Eventually I reached a steep ice pinnacle which looked like it would take a good ice screw and with that and my axes used as anchors I called Sean up. I was hoping he could get up this section since he didn't have monopoints like I do, which would make the rock climbing a bit more difficult. He came through and somehow managed to gnarl his way up it. Without much talk he carried on up the steep ice. We were later amazed - we were nearing the end of the ice and we would have ended up climbing 600 meters of pure ice all the way! That's a lot of ice! Anyway, Sean led, I was right underneath him trying to cover myself from all the iceblocks but I was totally exposed to it all and got a few nasty hits on my arms and plenty on my helmet. It seemed to go on forever but finally it stopped and a while after the "I'm safe" on the radio came and I prepared going up to Sean. Sean had actually diverted completely from the icefall now and chosen a less steep looking contributor on the left, which just seemed more like the way. I climbed up and joined Sean in the amphi-theatre that we had seen from below and - thank god - Sean was belayed to a thick genuine tree and I clipped into the belay with a relief. It seemed like we were nearing the end now. We still had at least 100 meters vertical left. We shared some food and water and I prepared to carry on. At this point it would be rather random were we chose to go (since we didn't have the main waterfall to follow anymore), so I got a real boost of confidence when I by accident saw some fresh foot prints going away from our tree: somebody had done this before us, and judging from the prints quite recently. Excellent!!! We had to be on route.
I followed the foot prints tracking them carefully and they took me a full 50 meters rope lenght up to a little bush. Pfeew, this was really promising. Sean joined, carried on, and after another full 50 I joined him at a big block of rock where he was sitting with an even bigger smile on his face than what he usually has. We're there dude. Another 150 meters vertical or so of screeslope and after that, a genuine snowslope we arrived at the summit of the plateau (quite hard work). We took off the rope after 15 hours of climbing and had a break and the last bit of our saussage and cheese. We were so pleased. Now we just needed to traverse the plateau (2h), get to the nearest village (Chazelet) and from there it would be a bit more than 1 hour walk on roads down to La Grave and to our beds in Au Vieux Guide. We arrived back at 3am exhausted, hungry and went straight to bed.
The next morning we're woken up by a very relieved Sonja and Sebastian who could tell that La Grave had been pretty worried about us that night. Damn. I was very sorry for this, since I've tried this worrying business a few times now and it's not any bit of fun. They also told us the Gendarmes had been involved, which surprised us since we hadn't seen anyone anywhere for the whole night.
Sebastian gave me a lift to pick up the car and when I got back Sean and I realized that the trunk was empty. All Seans belongings and my video camera and camera was gone! Bummer big time. The freeze had made the lock not lock, so somebody had been in there. First thing we did was to go to the police station and low and behold, there was all of our stuff! They'd searched the car in the night and found it open and decided to take everything! Interesting work model, but certainly better than anyone else taken our stuff, so we thanked them a lot. They told us about their rescue missions during the night and in the morning which we could only appreciate, but in the same sentence had to make clear had been unnecessary. It took some arguing back and forth (they were trying to get us to pay for the chopper) and I think they wanted to know if we were really competent. They asked us where we had rented all of our gear and after I explained that it was all ours and we did this as a hobby and we enjoyed it and we'd done it before (well this sort of thing) I think they were happy and we left after a crazy 24 hours in La Grave! What a trip, and what a tick. We both felt we couldn't really top this effort and decided to get some good lunch and do some leisurely boarding which we did the day after in excellent Villard de Lans (Vercors).
Things to learn from a trip like this
The winter 2003 as a really good season for ice. It had been cold, there had been loads of snow, and just a week or two before Sean was arriving for a weekend of ice climbing, the snow stopped and we had perfect cold and sunny weather right up until Sean arrived. The weather forecast was good, so we couldn't ask for better conditions for this weekend of ice monstrosity. We headed into the La Grave valley Thursday evening with the intention of getting an early start and upon arrival we decided to aim for Caturgeas thenext morning at around 8'o'clock.
Everything was looking promising and we packed our bags ready to roll next morning. We also managed to get a few obligatory beers in, in the local pub in downtown La Grave.
Next morning was a perfect day: sunny, cold, not a wind and with a stable feeling in the air. Excellent. Obviously the weather plays a major role in ice climbing and with all these good signs we felt really fired up for the task of Caturgeas which is a 280 meter grade III/IV, 8 pitch ice climb. The 280 meters is only midway though and although many (or most) people abseil off from here the climb does continue for another 400 meter to the summit of "plateau d'En Paris" 700 meter above La Grave. As we started the first pitch we had both options open (abseil midway or climb the lot).
I led the first pitch and was sincerely enjoying being here in La Grave with one of my best climbing partners (certainly one of the maddest!), on a climb that I had always wanted to do. Sean joined me at the first stance some 40 meters of the deck and I was curious to how he felt about the whole thing (it all looks quite daunting from below). He had never really climbed water-ice as such before although he had done plenty of winter stuff in Scotland, The Alps and Greenland. When he joined me he was just one big grinning smile and I knew we were in business! I led the second and the third pitch as well since Sean needed a bit more time to get used to it all and get the systems going. I was up for leading the whole climb if needed but Sean joined me at the third pitch and told me "I'll lead the next one if you like". I was very pleased (and impressed) because this meant that we would tick this baby in the most efficient way, as it is much quicker not having to sort out gear and rope at each stance. It would also later turn out that I would seriously appreciate the shared mental work load of what ended up being quite a full day out.
As Sean took over the lead on the fourth pitch going up to an prominent rock overhang (where the ice splits in two - we went left) I enjoyed the back seat view, but less so the constant chunks of ice pouring down right to where I was belayed. Ice coming both from Sean (impossible to avoid), but also from two parties far above us (some real early birds). This scenario would repeat itself for the duration of the climb - half the time with me trying to hit Sean with blocks of ice (some which would have taken him out for good) and the rest of the time with Sean trying to aim for really painful and exposed spots on me - often hitting the helmet full on, and fortunately only once or twice hitting the arms or legs luckily not causing any major damage. It is really ugly this ice bombardment business and is not enjoyable at all, but often it just can't be avoided. Luckily we escaped completely unharmed with a few near misses (I dislodged a real nastily big chunk of ice that was going straight for Sean who couldn't do anything but crimp together and hope for the best, and I saw it smashing right next to him, jumping over him and carrying on downwards towards the valley floor).
Back to the climb: I seconded Sean on the fourth pitch and checked his placements as I went up (as he had requested) - absolutely tip top and I was getting really fired up seeing this quality climbing from Sean. I arrived at a rather manky stance which I wasn't particularly impressed about though; little did I know, that I would later dream about a stance as good as this one!
I lead the 5th pitch which looked pretty wild going out on the left from this overhanging rock which Sean was safely covered by. This pitch was our first real encounter with the violent torrent that was the Source of all of this kingdom of ice and was still happily thundering down underneath all the accumulated ice. The water had broken through this bit and I was forced to climb right next to a genuine water-fall. This could seem like a bit over the top (we would get totally soaked), but after having seen a couple of French guys returning to the bar in La Grave absolutely soaked from top to toe last year, I thought this probably was de rigeur for this level of climbing. So I committed and swung out into a quite exposed and very wet and very exciting pitch of, probably at that point, some of the wildest ice climbing I had ever done. I felt totally in control and was thoroughly enjoying the fullness of it all. We were in perfect harmony with the climb and was in The Yoor Zone. I found a belay shortly after and Sean followed, again impressing me by a completely "just do it" attitude which Sean has always had on everything we have done together.
Sean led the 6th pitch, I led the 7th, and Sean led a suprinsingly exposed finish of the regular climb on the 8th pitch and he belayed to a couple of good trees on an obvious finish on the top of the main steep section of the total waterfall.
We were now roughly 300 meters above the valley floor, the time was around 15.30 in the afternoon and we were feeling strong as oxes and absolutely on for anything. We were faced with the important decision whether to call it a day and find the abseil anchors (not on the route), or to continue the climb. According to the guidebook continuing would mean "a bit more than 300 meters of easy snow gully". And then instead of abseiling we would walk out on the plateau above it all and have a pleasant 2 hour walk back down to La Grave just in time for dinner. We discussed the two options for about 5 seconds and were not in doubt for any of those seconds: we wanted more, and would love 300 meters of easy finish and a nice walk down, rather than a 280 meter unknown abseil. So after a bite to eat and a bit of water, I led off "alpine style" up the promising looking gully. We probably "short roped" for about 70 meters (still climbing on pure ice) before I made a belay and got Sean up to me again. We had reached a steepened section and we had better climb this in normal style. I led up it and was a bit worried that the pitch had to go without any protection, the ice was getting thinner and thinner, and the torrent more and more visible. I tried making a stance with what I had after running out the full 50 meters of rope. I started getting a bit worried that we maybe was biting of a bit more than we could chew as it hadn't been "easy snowfilled gully" yet.
Sean came up and we assesed the situation. The ice wasn't turning into easy angled snow as far as we could see, and we had no idea for how long this would continue, or if there would be ice all the way to the summit. There wasn't really anything to discuss though, so we just carried on (Sean leading). We were fully committed to finishing the climb since we there was no way to abseil back to the midway point as we had no rock gear, no bolts or anything like that. And the rock was totally shite anyway, so it never really became a consideration.
I joined Sean and carried on. It looked like it was gonna go on forever and although the ice definitely was getting more and more delicate (with the ever thundering water just below) I was really enjoying (or at least forcing myself to enjoy) the excellent stretches of superb ice we still encountered. This was truly amazing - we had already done over 300 meters of pure ice and it was still on for it! Unbelievable. Sean came up and he's attitude was exactly like mine - we were enjoying it all!
We're probably talking about 6pm when the sun had positively gone. I think we had both silently hoped that we would be out of this thing before the sun disappeared, although we were in pretty good shape for a nocturnal outing - we had three headtorches (including my latest customized Petzl Zoom with a super strong halogen beam) and we still had a good bit of food and water and I even had my down jacket stashed away in the shared rucksack that Sean The Mule was carrying for the cold belays (we never used it). On top of this when we drove in the previous night the moon had been full and it was now already starting to illuminate the opposite North Face of La Meije and its lesser peaks, and we were hoping that we could be lucky enough for the moon to turn towards us at some point and show us the way.
Just before it got time to fetch out the headtorches (the moon wouldn't really come to our assistance until a good few hours later) I was leading a really ugly pieces of ice shield. I had looked at it from Seans stance below and It was like a shield of ice forming a tube with the water flowing violently inside, breaking through here and there. Mostly one could avoid climbing directly on this relatively thin ice but once in a while you would have to accept and commit. This section had a huge open at the base and then the tube formed above it. I got myself balanced delicately and carefully on the tube trying to distribute the pressure as much as possible. The absolute last thing you would want would be for the roof of the ice tube to collapse with you on top of it, sending you straight into a almost certain death in the icy cold water. A top climbed apparently died like this last year, somebody told me earlier this year and this kept going through my mind when we were climbing these sections - which most of the remaining climb actually was. By the way since we had left the midway point we had slowly and silently accepted the total lack of protection on the climb and had to make do with only the stances as relative safety. So falling off was never an option.
Anyway, back to the shield. I was balancing on the ice only tapping my axes which went all the way through the maybe half an inch think ice. the tubes was probably 1-2 meters in diameter so they were quite spectacular pieces of ice work.
I was really worried that when I transferred all my weight to the shield above the hole it would all naturally just fall down taking with me it. I transferred one foot, moved the one axes a bit further op and as I was releasing the weight of my second foot the ice gave a little "cracck" and about at my hip level I saw a crack going from left on it's way to the right. Shit. As quick and quitely as possible I got my axes a bit further up in some luckily increasingly thicker ice, so in case the floor gave in on my feet hopefully my axes would hold. Desperate. The floor held though and I quickly got up above it and continued with some significant relief but also with some significant worry, because Sean would have to repeat this and I feared that the ice would give in on this second go (not mentioning what a fat bastard Sean is!) so as I was continuing the climb above it my main concern was finding a decent belay somewhere so that we would be safe. I climbed and then I climbed some more, and then I climbed some more and the ice worringly started to turn into thin snow with an ice crust. Totally useless for anything and even quite dangerous to even climb on. As I was assessing the situation and realized that I just had to continue Sean came in on the radio "I can only give you to- maybe three meter more of rope - the rope is in a complete tangle". Okay, shit. Well at least it made my options easy - I had to find a stance of some sort within a couple of meters. I spotted some saplings (small branches) sticking out from some rocks a bit off the route on the right and I decided to divert and go for this, in the hope that they would maybe be coming out from a bigger mother tree. I could only just reach it and to my despair it was only a couple of downwards pointing branches and nothing else. I had no option but to put a sling around each of them (two) and then burrow my axes in the muddy earth in front of me. On top this I burrowed my feet in the snowy patch I was standing on (this was maybe 60 degrees) and I radioed Sean "Sean, I'm safe, well sort of. I'm okay I guess. You can take me off and start climbing when you are ready. But don't fall off, and take care on that thin tube - it looked pretty dodgy". "Roger, off belay". It was a tense next half hour until Sean reached me, and I wont forget the ever horrible sound of Sean's crampons banging into the hollow ice. Sean made it though he was now wearing his headtorch) and carried on past me. It was a nervewrecking period until Sean had reached his stance further above and could only pray that it would be better than the one I had spent perched on this rocky slope. When it was time to move on, I gently removed my slings and quitely thanked each sapling for their assistance to our climb.
We continued climbing like this - compeeting making the most creative and unsafe stances along the way, once when Sean radioed down and said "I'm safe, sort of", I knew how bad it would be since Sean being educated on the rock faces of the Avon Gorge in Bristol (where protection is marginal and stances often require creativity) and only rarely would consider a stance "sort of safe".
The hours went on and I think it must be when we hit a 20 meter stretch of genuine snowslope where I could finally make a real snow belay and Sean came up to me, the moon was starting to shine its light to us and we had a feeling that the worst was over our spirits rose and we were both actually really enjoying this. Little did we know at this point that the real sting in the tail was still to come, but we were still feeling strong, in good spirits and never did we really feel cold - although in ice climbing you always go between sweating like a horse (when climbing) and freezing your ass off when belaying - and it must have been at least minus 10 that night although we didn't really feel it (probably because there was no wind what-so-ever - thank god).
Sean carried on above my good snow anchor - over an incredible gnarly looking section which when I seconded it was nearly swiming up forever trying to get purchase with my axes and crampons in some ugly ice cube ice surrounding the torrent. Good effort from Sean I thought as I somehow managed to get through it. I joined Sean on the stance cursing whether this stuff would ever end, and also more seriously we tried to underplay the ever lurking fact that we suddenly could be face with a section of no ice at all and only water which would be pretty much the end of the road for us. I looked at the watch and on the altimeter - it was half past nice in the evening and we had and estimated 155 meters to go. We'd been climbing for over 10 hours solid with just one rest for the bit of food and water. We were hoping that we were nearer the end than the altimeter suggested but it looked like from what we could make out in the moonlight that we were soon to enter some sort of amphi-theatre with some very steep and long sections before what then had to be the real summit. I started off again and led the next pitch with Sean on his "sort of safe" belay.
Meanwhile at down in the village of La Grave...
Sebastian and Sonja, the owners of the chalet we had booked ourselves into and also good friends of mine, was getting increasingly worried as we didn't show up for dinner in the evening as they thought we would and that we had also originally intended. As the clock approached midnight the couldn't face the worry much longer. They knew we were out ice climbing but didn't know where. It was then they decided to phone the Gendarmeri - the local police of La Grave. While the police was discussing matters, Sebastian and local ice guru and shop owner Thierry went out on the road to try and locate what climb we might be on to try and help us. They located my car standing lonely at the bottom of the layby which was normally full of cars during the day. Sebastian spotted the discrete DK sticker on the side and knew it had to be mine. Thierry, being the real expert of ice here, reasoned that we had gone beyond the 300 meter point and carried up all the way to the top, and judging from the time that we started (which Sebastian roughly knew), he was pretty sure that we either was stuck on the climb or probably more likely had just about reached the summit and was preparing the (long but safe in this moonlight) walk down to La Grave. After looking for headtorches and shouting a bit they went back to their respective beds.
The police in the meantime - being police - was preparing a rescue attempt of some sort which they lauched sometime during the night. They never found any traces of us, and must have gone home fairly disappointed.
The next morning they decided to send the helicopters out to look for us, but again they found nothing. They also had been at the car investigating "the scene" and was probably expecting the worst.
Back to Sean and me
I was just preparing myself for the continuation at Seans "sort of safe" stance. The coming section didn't look clever at all. I had often considered if we should leave the waterfall and continue up the actual rock face. But carrying no rock gear and leaving our only real sureness of direction, this just wasn't an option and we were forced to stay in the waterfall for as long as it would keep us. But this next section looked like I would have to divert. It was bascially the full on waterfall probably just under two meters wide with a bit of ice - maybe 20 centimeters - accumulated on each side above a maybe 1 meter deep vertical water fall. I would have to choose either left of right - but the right side was really just a vertical/overhaning blank face of rock - so I went for the left side which looked like it would go - vertical rock for about two-three meters with a bit of this snow with icecrust on top and with steps here and there. Above it was pure rock but on an easier angle with boulders spread our here and there. If I could make it above the vertical bit I was convinced that we would be home free. I ended up "dry tooling" this bit - carefully like never before placing my mono-points on little positive holds on the rock and half using my axes and half my gloved hands trying to pull myself slowly up and upwards. If I fell off I would fall into the waterfall. This would be a bad job. The technique seemed to work well and I managed to pull myself up it, up to the gentler slope but on the constant lookout for any gear placements. I slinged yet another little sapling, and went back into the ice fall which was now getting more solid again. Eventually I reached a steep ice pinnacle which looked like it would take a good ice screw and with that and my axes used as anchors I called Sean up. I was hoping he could get up this section since he didn't have monopoints like I do, which would make the rock climbing a bit more difficult. He came through and somehow managed to gnarl his way up it. Without much talk he carried on up the steep ice. We were later amazed - we were nearing the end of the ice and we would have ended up climbing 600 meters of pure ice all the way! That's a lot of ice! Anyway, Sean led, I was right underneath him trying to cover myself from all the iceblocks but I was totally exposed to it all and got a few nasty hits on my arms and plenty on my helmet. It seemed to go on forever but finally it stopped and a while after the "I'm safe" on the radio came and I prepared going up to Sean. Sean had actually diverted completely from the icefall now and chosen a less steep looking contributor on the left, which just seemed more like the way. I climbed up and joined Sean in the amphi-theatre that we had seen from below and - thank god - Sean was belayed to a thick genuine tree and I clipped into the belay with a relief. It seemed like we were nearing the end now. We still had at least 100 meters vertical left. We shared some food and water and I prepared to carry on. At this point it would be rather random were we chose to go (since we didn't have the main waterfall to follow anymore), so I got a real boost of confidence when I by accident saw some fresh foot prints going away from our tree: somebody had done this before us, and judging from the prints quite recently. Excellent!!! We had to be on route.
I followed the foot prints tracking them carefully and they took me a full 50 meters rope lenght up to a little bush. Pfeew, this was really promising. Sean joined, carried on, and after another full 50 I joined him at a big block of rock where he was sitting with an even bigger smile on his face than what he usually has. We're there dude. Another 150 meters vertical or so of screeslope and after that, a genuine snowslope we arrived at the summit of the plateau (quite hard work). We took off the rope after 15 hours of climbing and had a break and the last bit of our saussage and cheese. We were so pleased. Now we just needed to traverse the plateau (2h), get to the nearest village (Chazelet) and from there it would be a bit more than 1 hour walk on roads down to La Grave and to our beds in Au Vieux Guide. We arrived back at 3am exhausted, hungry and went straight to bed.
The next morning we're woken up by a very relieved Sonja and Sebastian who could tell that La Grave had been pretty worried about us that night. Damn. I was very sorry for this, since I've tried this worrying business a few times now and it's not any bit of fun. They also told us the Gendarmes had been involved, which surprised us since we hadn't seen anyone anywhere for the whole night.
Sebastian gave me a lift to pick up the car and when I got back Sean and I realized that the trunk was empty. All Seans belongings and my video camera and camera was gone! Bummer big time. The freeze had made the lock not lock, so somebody had been in there. First thing we did was to go to the police station and low and behold, there was all of our stuff! They'd searched the car in the night and found it open and decided to take everything! Interesting work model, but certainly better than anyone else taken our stuff, so we thanked them a lot. They told us about their rescue missions during the night and in the morning which we could only appreciate, but in the same sentence had to make clear had been unnecessary. It took some arguing back and forth (they were trying to get us to pay for the chopper) and I think they wanted to know if we were really competent. They asked us where we had rented all of our gear and after I explained that it was all ours and we did this as a hobby and we enjoyed it and we'd done it before (well this sort of thing) I think they were happy and we left after a crazy 24 hours in La Grave! What a trip, and what a tick. We both felt we couldn't really top this effort and decided to get some good lunch and do some leisurely boarding which we did the day after in excellent Villard de Lans (Vercors).
Things to learn from a trip like this
- bring emergency rockets next time in case of an accident. We had no way of bringing attention to ourselves had there been a problem.
- if somebody knows roughly what you are doing, then let them know not to worry and tell them that you'll take care of yourself.
- when indulging in a really long route maybe ask around if possible in advance to hear if conditions are okay all the way up. (we didn't have a chance to do this, since we needed to start very early)
- even very thin ice can be climbed
- our climbing and total execution was flawless
- the chalet owner's worry and subsequent actions were flawless
- the ice expert's assessment of the situation was flawless (he was spot on)
- the gendarmes involvement was straight by book
- if the people in the village had left a note on the door of the dormitory saying "we are looking for you, please let us know when you get back" we would have known that they were, and would have taken immediate action (at 3am) and this would obviously have called off any further actions.
lørdag den 1. december 2001
Trou du Diable
I was completely fired up this weekend by the successful UK campaign and just had to have more unrock. It seems people are getting more interested down here and I might be able to recruit some porters if I play the cards right.
Under the cover of a hike I managed to persuade Céline for a two day hike into Trou du Diable. I brought *all* the gear - camping gear, caving gear, tent, stove, food, 100 m rope, drilling kit and bolts. Boy was I racked up. I had to wear the ropebag on the front and stodge all the rest in a bag from hell on the bag. Céline took her share which was good.
Excellent camp in the middle of f*cking nowhere and with absolutely fantastic weather. Crisp (minus 10) clear starry night (superb) and excellent campfire. All this was right down Célines street.
Next morning stodged along to finally reach the Trou du Diable - saw an excellent deer on the way - big motherf*cker with horns and everything - you probably saw quite a few in Disneyland Unstone. This one was the real stuff though - only made eye contact like 300ft away, but even so it was awesome. Just adds to the wilderness feel of this amazing place.
The caving campaign was not a complete success. The original goal was as you know to create a new line in through the rift I'd discovered on our last trip up here. Slightly more nervous than on the last trip I descended to the rift entrance - after having informed Céline what to do if something went wrong. It doesn't "feel" very clever to go down alone, but as the other speleologist can't do much anyway in case of accident there shouldn't really be that big a difference. Theoretically.
The rift looked tighter than last time, and was filled with flies and spiders and spiderweb (like Disneyland?), which made it quite unpleasant. I tried squeezing through the rift but it wouldn't go. I took off all the srt gear and it still wouldn't go. It just didn't feel right. I less convinced that this route is a good idea now. (Note: I did get through it in the spring. Maybe the earth had shrinked a bit due to the cold?!)
I pulled the handle and went out into the open shaft again and decided to try and do some more decent bolting that the lack of bolting that was already not there (!). This actually turned out to be an excellent learning exercise in choosing the right place to spit and to get into a conformable position for the hammering. This is not piss easy. I'm adding a sky hook to the caving rack from now on.
I think I managed to do quite an improvement to the line - I setup a nice y hang which takes you straight down to the place where Martins bolt ripped 6 months earlier. I didn't continue down the line, this is still down for grabs and should be done by installing a traverse line.
After a bit more than an hour in the shaft, a few nasty blisters on the hammering hand (hard work - bring leather workman glove next time), I surfaced to a happy Céline who had painted the whole area on her watercolour thingy while also brewing nice hot tea from the available snowpatches. Good job.
A fast two hours walk back to the car (which wasn't parked at the car park of course - there is solid ice on a lot of the road up there), I was well pleased about the weekend untick. And it was good portage training if anything. I was (and am now) completely knackered.
The cave is now ready for a full on AHPES campaign. The bottom awaits.
Under the cover of a hike I managed to persuade Céline for a two day hike into Trou du Diable. I brought *all* the gear - camping gear, caving gear, tent, stove, food, 100 m rope, drilling kit and bolts. Boy was I racked up. I had to wear the ropebag on the front and stodge all the rest in a bag from hell on the bag. Céline took her share which was good.
Excellent camp in the middle of f*cking nowhere and with absolutely fantastic weather. Crisp (minus 10) clear starry night (superb) and excellent campfire. All this was right down Célines street.
Next morning stodged along to finally reach the Trou du Diable - saw an excellent deer on the way - big motherf*cker with horns and everything - you probably saw quite a few in Disneyland Unstone. This one was the real stuff though - only made eye contact like 300ft away, but even so it was awesome. Just adds to the wilderness feel of this amazing place.
The caving campaign was not a complete success. The original goal was as you know to create a new line in through the rift I'd discovered on our last trip up here. Slightly more nervous than on the last trip I descended to the rift entrance - after having informed Céline what to do if something went wrong. It doesn't "feel" very clever to go down alone, but as the other speleologist can't do much anyway in case of accident there shouldn't really be that big a difference. Theoretically.
The rift looked tighter than last time, and was filled with flies and spiders and spiderweb (like Disneyland?), which made it quite unpleasant. I tried squeezing through the rift but it wouldn't go. I took off all the srt gear and it still wouldn't go. It just didn't feel right. I less convinced that this route is a good idea now. (Note: I did get through it in the spring. Maybe the earth had shrinked a bit due to the cold?!)
I pulled the handle and went out into the open shaft again and decided to try and do some more decent bolting that the lack of bolting that was already not there (!). This actually turned out to be an excellent learning exercise in choosing the right place to spit and to get into a conformable position for the hammering. This is not piss easy. I'm adding a sky hook to the caving rack from now on.
I think I managed to do quite an improvement to the line - I setup a nice y hang which takes you straight down to the place where Martins bolt ripped 6 months earlier. I didn't continue down the line, this is still down for grabs and should be done by installing a traverse line.
After a bit more than an hour in the shaft, a few nasty blisters on the hammering hand (hard work - bring leather workman glove next time), I surfaced to a happy Céline who had painted the whole area on her watercolour thingy while also brewing nice hot tea from the available snowpatches. Good job.
A fast two hours walk back to the car (which wasn't parked at the car park of course - there is solid ice on a lot of the road up there), I was well pleased about the weekend untick. And it was good portage training if anything. I was (and am now) completely knackered.
The cave is now ready for a full on AHPES campaign. The bottom awaits.
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